#following directions in a book can be a little challenging. but i got it.

[orcelito]

Crochet Update

Last night vs right now. The current progress on the maybe-scarf. I might just run out of yarn before I reach actual scarf length, but I'm curious what the full length of one of these yarn balls is. Kinda just getting a feel for it & all.

I Also bought a little book that teaches some crochet basics, and spent some time going through some more stitch styles. The above scarf is made with single stitches, and the following...

The half-double stitch

The double stitch

The treble stitch

Fuck the treble. The process for doing it was so different from the others, I Hated it. Maybe my hands being tired also doesn't help, but I am Grrrr at this one. Final product was okay at least.

These 3 little bitches took me 2 hours to make. Ugh.

[oonajaeadira]

Patricio Keeps a Journal, Pt. 1: Winter

Good. Things. Take. Time. is a series that grew out of prompts–the whisper of a character, the asks of readers. And now, to get myself back into PATS’s head, the prompts are coming from @fanfticionoverload’s Seasons of Life challenge.

What you’re about to read are some excerpts from Patricio’s journal. Heads up they probably won't make much sense if you haven't read the ongoing series.

Each excerpt is just that–snippets that pertain to the story, taken from his presumed wider journal, each notated where it lands in the series and follows the chronology of the series.

The rules of the challenge ask for 250 words per prompt. I thought it would be a little less forced if I didn’t worry so much about that, so some may fall short of that number. And I’ll say that these aren’t heavily edited nor are they anything other than basic reactions, precisely because I wanted them to feel like the unfiltered thoughts one writes in a journal.

Let’s say that it was Shell’s orders for him to keep a journal in the first place. If his practice is his way of dealing with his demons, if he’s not going to go to traditional therapy, then “the least you can do is just offload before bed, and not the kind of offloading you do with your dick. I’m not gonna read it, but I’ll want to see words on those pages. Write a fucking play for all I care, write a manifesto about your love of pasta, I don’t give a shit what. Just write.”

I don’t have anything to write. I’m not a fucking poet. Shell says use the pen, get the words out of your head, just write anything. Anything. Anything. Tables have turned. Now I’m the one practicing letting it all out. Trying not to think too hard.  Anything.

EXCERPT 1: SNOW

TIMELINE: a few days before Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

#39 gifted me four tickets to the game at her last session. It’s Neils’ birthday. I’ll surprise him and Dan with a guy’s night out.

Got a new client coming in on Thursday. #48. I wasn’t going to approve her. Nothing in her application hints at any lingering trauma that she can’t just get treated at a legit clinic. But Shell was pushy about this one. She's got a knack for these things and hasn’t been wrong yet. Official referral diagnosis: pain is psychological tension from a recent(?) divorce. I guess it’s worth a shot. If nothing else, divorcees are usually just in need of a good fuck so it’s an easy fix. Good photo. I like her style. She’s going to make pretty faces.

Thinking about taking some time off after that. Rare confluence of three clients ending their run at the same time, it’s slow season at the office and the guys can handle a week without me, I should get out of town. Someplace quiet. Or fuck, I don’t know, someplace distracting where I can get out of my head. Maybe I should book a massage. Look at me, I’m hilarious. Who massages the masseuse? I’ll have Shell find me something. Keep it interesting. Place yer bets: seedy and cheap or golden toilets and happy endings? As long as it’s somewhere warm.

Renee posted the pictures from her honeymoon. Skiing in the Alps. She always used to hate the snow. Guess people change. Change can be a good thing. 

She’s better off. 

___

EXCERPT 2: SCARF

TIMELINE: The night of Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

Shell hit the jackpot on this one. Perfect plaything. She’s like I custom ordered a client. Recurring cluster knots all down her starboard teres major, needs a hand getting in under the port shoulder blade…can’t do it alone. Needs my hands. She needs me. Follows directions, trusts completely. Has a good imagination. That will open up more in time. I expect a challenge out of this one. Surprised the shit out of me with the beautiful thing though. Maybe shouldn’t have let her have that. Maybe shouldn’t have gone down on her. It’s fine. She’s clean. Tastes good smells good ass for days. I can get a good handful. Everywhere.

And perfect inside. Tight but not too tight, good control with the right assistance, takes direction like a dream. I’ll be able to get her to sing if she keeps listening. Mierda, her skin. My hands want to eat it. Oil it up and map it out and scarf it down. Her muscle structure is    -just-    amazing. I haven’t been this amped in months. This one hits the spot.

Giving her Thursday across the board might have come off too eager. Well, if that didn’t, offering up extra days on call probably did. Jackass.

Not gonna worry about that tonight. Bowling with the guys tomorrow night. Hope they’re ready to eat their damn balls. I’m fucking invincible.

She called me beautiful. She’s [sentence scratched out] 

Forgot to note in her file–she said she hasn’t had anyone make her come in over a year even though info says she’s only been divorced a few months. What kind of an asshole just walks away from that her? How could anyone share a bed or a house or anything with that and resist for a year? She deserves to get fucked every day. Why wouldn’t you want someone that just falls into you so willingly and fucks so pretty? Great. Now I’m angry. Not my concern. Just my gain.

___

EXCERPT 3: COZY 

TIMELINE: weekend evening, after installment #2, relieving period cramps

…

Keep thinking about Thursday. It’s not about the blood. It is and it isn’t. It’s obviously that she needed relief. It’s good to see her trusting. That can be tricky for some women. Beaten into them that they have to hide what their body does. It’s a body. It’s a unique mechanism. It has shit and blood and needs a good release now and then. Or every day for some people...another truth for some of us that the world wants hidden away.

The blood’s messy. It’s primal. It’s brutal and nobody blinks an eye if it comes from a punch to the face or a slice of the thumb. But the minute it comes from the minute it shows you what  a woman’s body is capable of… But it’s also the harshness of the color, a signal that if there’s pain then it’s real. It’s a helpful focus.

She just LETS me. There's beauty in that pliability. She trusts, she follows, she heals. The way her face just relaxes when the knots are gone. It’s almost as good as the orgasm itself. Beautiful.

Got her all warmed up in the bath, all cozy in bed. Fell asleep like a worn-out kitten and I had an urge to kiss her forehead. Poor thing just needed it today. Successful session.

___

EXCERPT 4: FIREPLACE 

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks later, evening, after installment #3, the treatment for migraine and anxiety AND includes this six sentence ficlet

…

Well shit. There’s a coincidence. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her.

Thursday came in tonight tight as a screw, migraine a good 7 or 8. I had to take it slow. Asked her to focus on some bright spots in her life, like her favorite things. I might have guessed the animals and reading, but the fanfiction was a surprise. Cute. It was best not to talk about what was causing the stress because

Her family coming to stay.

Fuck if I don’t sympathize. 

Mama got here two days ago and all she can do is complain about her hotel and American food and how everyone speaks too fast for her to keep up. It’s cold here. The hotel should have a fireplace. Why don’t you take time off Patricio? You have an extra bedroom, why can’t your mama sleep there?

I love her. But I get it. There are just some boundaries that are hard. I get you, Thursday.

Preciosa.

Fucked her five ways til Sunday. She fucked ME five ways till Sunday.. She drew blood. Didn’t even care. Mark me up, girl. Glad I could help, but damn that might have been more mutually beneficial than I’d originally planned.

___

EXCERPT 5: HOT CHOCOLATE 

TIMELINE: night of installment #4, with the undergarment ripping and the thigh-highs

…

I didn’t expect to get to play this much. I’m usually so focused on the pain and making sure the client can come in their condition that there’s not a lot of room for fun and surprises. I got to take Shell out last weekend and might have bought her too many beers and pull-tabs. It took her about three bottles to get profound. She wants to know who "therapies the therapist" and told me I should remember that it’s okay to put my own priorities first sometime. She said that people in the industry of care need to be taken care of too. She said it’s okay to have a client that gives as good as she gets. Then she went home and threw up and texted me the next day that she’s drinking nothing but hot chocolate from now on. Haha

Shit. Thursday feels good when she walks out of here. She looks like a million bucks. I did that. I DO that. THAT’s what I need. So yeah. Why shouldn’t I enjoy that? Cute tonight. She wanted me to rip her panties. All she had to do was ask, but I think she was embarrassed to?

So the new diagnosis is lack of confidence and the treatment is for her to speak up for what she wants. We’re going to get her to a place where she can ask–or demand what she needs. We’ll work on her trusting that I’ll give her anything she wants–anything. 

She’ll be able to walk out of here and conquer the world when I’m done with her.

___

EXCERPT 6: FREEZING 

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks after the previous entry

...

[….] and Niels can go to hell though because I don’t care how low key it is or how good the whiskey is, I’m not giving up my Thursdays to fill in the hole in his poker night. His basement is freezing and I have warmer places to be.

Although speaking of, Thursday canceled again. It’s been a couple of weeks. Crunch time at work for her I guess. Her portal messages seem pretty stressed. She’s apologetic about missing sessions. I can tell her she doesn’t need to apologize, I’m getting paid whether she shows or not. And honestly, it just means we’re going to have to work that much harder to get her malleable again and I can hardly complain about that. A build up’s a hell of a thing. As long as she doesn’t mess up her rhombs again. We were just making headway on that. I should ask her about her desk chair.

But I’d be lying if I said that I gave a shit about the pay. I’m allowed to enjoy my clients and be disappointed when I don’t get to see them.

At least Jean’s back on Friday. It will be nice to see her again. Now that her latest surgery’s all healed up, we can find her some good positions for her to take home. I know her partner’s skittish about the discovery phase. But she’s almost done and when the reconstruction’s over, he’ll thank me for it. He SHOULD thank me for it, she’s got a good laugh and good tits.

Jean’s a perfect example of learning to speak up for herself. I can do the same for Preciosa. Lucky for her she doesn’t have Jean’s level of pain to work through. But she’s gotta show. up. for. it. Come on, girl. I got you.

___

EXCERPT 7: MARSHMALLOW

TIMELINE: directly after installment #5, all pent up and feral

…

Now THAT. Was a successful fuck. We’re making headway here. Little slapping, little biting, she got a good few hair yanks in there. She’s learning that not only am I not a marshmallow…neither is she. Good girl. Pretty high praise response, but she’s also got a little fight in her. She’s a switch and doesn’t even know it. She will. 

There were some real emotions tonight, real anger, real tears. But when she let go I nearly wept myself. It was beautiful. She’s working too hard and she knows it. But she also knows I’ve got her when she does. Hopefully that will preempt some of the stress next time. Not even upset about that shoulder blade. We’ll just start from the beginning on that.

[....]

Just reminded me of Renee nagging about working too hard. I just remembered that I had a dream about her a few nights ago. Not really about her. She was in the background somewhere and not even angry that I didn’t stop to say hello. Then she picked up her purse and left. The light kind of shifted like, I don’t know. Felt like it was the last time I’d see her. Not in a bad way. 

It’s good. Like a door really closing.

Maybe I do work too hard. But I like it. It’s who I am. It’s my choice.

____

PATS in winter by @d4rm4nd4

SERIES MASTERLIST

[blackknight-kai]

Female reader getting eaten out by Wukong and Destined One (separate) while reading a NSFW book (they basically want to give her what that pile of pages and ink can’t😭♥️)

Love your blog, thank you for bearing with our fantasies, take all the time you need, don’t fret yourself over us🩶🥰🩶

LOL this fits really well with a fic I’ve been working on but I wont use that fic for this since I’m waaay not at that point in it.

That said! I think he’d be suuuuuuper into this. So let’s get cookin! N.S.F.W under the cut.

Destined One

- [ ] He finds out you read these smutty books and at first, AT FIRST, isn’t intimidated or jealous about it.

- [ ] That is until he can SMELL you.

- [ ] Smell you? Yes. He’s gonna smell how hot and bothered you get reading your books/scriptures (Modern or past either works here people have always had porn so…)

- [ ] See, thing is, he’s used to you smelling like that for HIM. Or regarding him.

- [ ] So when he keeps catching whiffs of you as you read or after you read hes gonna catch on really quick that while, yes, it’s fantasy and not in anyway a threat to him….he’s gonna see this as a direct challenge.

- [ ] Thats when he gets an idea, he grabs a book you had been recently reading and skims the pages. Wondering what it exactly is that has you smelling so delicious.

- [ ] Later when you come home / see him again he is ready for you. He’s going to show you that he’s better than any book that you clearly find interesting.

- [ ] He is going to have you lie down on your back and he’s going to have the book RIGHT there open and ready. Your job? Sit there and let him work. And also YOU have to read out loud what’s happening.

- [ ] He’d picked out the exact scene he wanted you to read, of course he got you simmering before starting, his hands touching your body sensually and he trails kisses from your lips down your body. Nipping and sucking as he goes. He wants to make sure you’re at least a little bit in the mood before you start reading, and once he can smell that you are..well….get reading Peaches.

- [ ] As you read hes going to nip and lick your thighs, gently squeezing them as well with his strong hands or caressing your body. Keeping you warm and interested.

- [ ] When you come to the spicier bits, well hes going to start acting out exactly what you’re reading. He’d picked out a scene where the main character is getting eaten out of course. And lucky for you, its a long drawn out scene.

- [ ] His tongue and lips will follow each word you read, not moving any faster or slower than what is exactly directed on the pages.

- [ ] He will definitely give little random movements though, just to keep you on your toes. Might plunge his tongue inside you or flick you clit with it. Might sudden shove his fingers in and fuck you with them hard and fast, curling them just right before pulling them out and going back to his sensual movements as directed from your book.

- [ ] If you stop to moan or get a little lost in the feeling of his mouth? He’s going to slow down and pointedly look at you as if to say, ‘Keep reading or I stop’.

- [ ] He’s going to make it so good for you too, since he knows your sensitive spots and what makes you tick.

- [ ] As the scene ends dont worry, he’s got another for you to read. Depending on what it is either he will continue his movements with his mouth OR he will start acting out THAT scene.

- [ ] If he keeps eating you out, well his goal is to make it so you cant focus on the pages.

- [ ] But as the act carries on, hes going to realize just how turned on you are, how sensitive you’ve become during this. Which in turn gets him revved up as hell.

- [ ] Especially when you tell him that you always envision the main characters as you and him in your stories.

- [ ] The next time you try this, maybe he finds another scene for you or you find one yourself. Either way, his going to view it not as a challenge anymore, but as a way to get you both a little extra hot and bothered.

- [ ] He also just might come up to you while youre reading, able to SMELL when you’ve come up to a smut scene. Maybe he will eat you out again, maybe he will fuck you - either way youre not allowed to stop reading.

Wukong

- [ ] Oh he’s thoroughly amused and interested in what has you smelling so damn delicious.

- [ ] Ever curious he snatches your book out of your hand and takes a look for himself.

- [ ] He’s gonna tease you, relentlessly about what you’ve been reading. Not in a bad way. He likes it.

- [ ] But he’s gonna wanna make you squirm at first.

- [ ] “Read it to me Peaches, let me help you.”

- [ ] He’s going to want to give you exactly what your body is slicking for and cant wait to start devouring you while you read.

- [ ] Wukong is going to GET IN THERE. Yes, he may follow what’s written on the pages but at the same time? He just wants to stimulate you and taste you, getting you off while you enjoy your little fantasy.

- [ ] His hands, mouth, and tail are going to be all over you - stimulating and keeping you locked in pleasure and feeling you up.

- [ ] For once, he’s gonna be quiet. At least when he’s not being cocky and mouthy as you have to pause in your reading.

- [ ] But dont pause too long, he wont allow that oh no. You have to keep reading.

- [ ] He wants you to hump up and grind on his mouth and face if youre on your back, if youre sitting on his face he will relish in you grinding down and fucking his face. He will hold you up dont worry.

- [ ] He just wants you to take what you need sometimes you know?

- [ ] He’s DEFINITELY going to seek you out when you’re reading, he wont hesitate to slide your legs open and get to work lapping at your juices and making you come on his mouth.

- [ ] Would absolutely make you read as he finger fucks you, whispering dirty shit in your ear and nipping or sucking on your neck. Pinching your nipples and maybe even getting his tail involved if it’s not being used to hold you up or in a position he wants you.

- [ ] He’s gonna have you on your hands and knees, book open on the floor below you so you can read as he fucks you to a scene youre reading out loud.

- [ ] Honestly, you’ve got him kinda hooked and so are you. Even if it’s NOT a spicy book theres a tension in the air a lot of the time and often you’re gonna find yourself being fondled and made to come while reading.

- [ ] Wukong see’s this as a useful tool to help you two get off even more. Sometimes it gives him inspiration too.

- [ ] If you tell him that you’re imagining him and you as the characters? Hooo boy is he gonna love that. He’s gonna make out with your pussy until you cant stop thinking about his mouth every time you read.

- [ ] Will lick you and pussy warm? Is that a term? Whatever, he could be down there licking you for ages as you read, not stimulating you enough to make you cum - well he might - but he will just suck on you and taste you for however long he feels like if you decide to read for a couple hours. You might come several times.

- [ ] He also might edge the hell out of you. He’s moody like that.

Both:

- [ ] Will transform his tongue, making it longer or thicker as needed to bring you the ultimate pleasure. Especially if youre reading a scene where the male lead has a long cock or a thick one. You’re going to get tongue fucked exactly as the character in your book is getting dicked down.

- [ ] Cheeky as hell and will switch things up at random.

- [ ] Addicted to this new type of play.

- [ ] Will crawl under the covers and go silent, allowing you to have your fantasy while reading as he licks your pussy and makes you come on his tongue or fingers (occasionally his tail) - but generally want you to read aloud to him.

- [ ] Might even read something on his own so he can surprise you with it later.

- [ ] Will read the book to you, his husky voice right in your ear as he fucks you to the words on the pages. (DO does this less often but its even better with his voice as its rough from disuse)

- [ ] Will willingly act out scenes from your books when NOT reading, he wants to fulfill your fantasies and doesnt mind indulging especially since HE can give you everything you read pretty much.

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading.

AO3 LINK ONE

PREVIEW

Walking through King's Landing is exhausting. Your life as a bastard has not been easy, especially with the struggle for the Iron Throne. Unsure of which direction to take, you have tried to be invisible to the Targaryens while working in a brothel to survive. This morning, you were summoned by a royal messenger on behalf of King Aegon II. You thought it was a joke, but soon realized you really had to go to the Red Keep. You are taken to whoever summoned you like a little mouse sneaking through the sewers until you reach the surface. Perhaps they don't want to publicize that a prostitute is being brought in for a private conversation with the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I heard that my presence here had been requested. But I didn't imagine I would be summoned by Prince Aemond," you say as you enter the room indicated by the messenger and come face to face with Aemond One-Eye. He looks a bit more intimidating in person, but in a way, it's not a bad kind of intimidating. Just surprising.

"Ao kostagon enter, bastard." Prince Aemond commands with a certain skill. But you are somewhat worried that he might know you are a Targaryen bastard. So pretending to be oblivious seems to be the wisest course of action for now.

"This is a lovely place. An extremely enchanting castle. However, if you summoned me here for a conversation in another language, I will be a nuisance to Your Highness. Since your request for my presence proves ineffective, perhaps I should leave immediately," you say, trying not to show any hint of fear. You are a prostitute, accustomed to pretending all sorts of things. As you hesitantly move toward the exit of the room, where you are alone with the Prince, he doesn't seem to fall for your ruse. He throws a dagger in your direction, which grazes the corner of your cheek before embedding itself in the door, which is closed.

"Do you intend to waste our time here? I know you speak High Valyrian, and honestly, I’m hating your attempt to deceive me, gundjabo." He speaks while watching you turn, somewhat irritated by his actions. However, the One-Eyed Prince seems very proud of his deed. He is speaking in High Valyrian to you, probably to test you, but you feel that if you do not meet his expectations, the dagger will find its final mark and you will die.

"If you know that I can speak and understand what you are saying in High Valyrian, Your Highness, tell me, what use would a prostitute be to you? Do you, by any chance, have some secret desire in your chambers that requires a different language?" You might lose your tongue for speaking this way to the Prince Regent, but anger got the better of your temper, causing you to suggest that he brought you to the Red Keep to exchange heated vows in High Valyrian, which is nothing but folly.

"Your mouth would be much better sealed forever. But I need you for a mission, so for once, be less of a deceitful prostitute and serve your King," Prince Aemond says as he moves across the room, seemingly trying to reach you. You, however, despite your nerves, manage to grasp the dagger embedded in the door. Now, he stands just a few steps away from you, while you hold the dagger that could have gravely wounded you.

"I think this is yours, Your Highness." Your eyes meet the Prince's gaze. One eye reveals a hint of surprise, perhaps even pride, confirming that you can speak High Valyrian. The other eye, covered forever, conceals something deeper—perhaps resentment, perhaps fear. He approaches slowly, as if analyzing your behavior; likely wary of being harmed. But swiftly, his hand moves over yours, pulling the dagger from your grip and into his own.

"Follow me," is all he says as he sheathes the dagger somewhere in his attire and opens the door. You don’t fully understand his intent, but you know you don’t want to provoke Prince Aemond's wrath. At least not in this way. You follow him quickly, while the Prince seems to be almost racing toward one of the castle’s exits. He mounts a horse with enviable precision. You watch him, still unsure of your role in his sudden departure from the castle. He adjusts his long hair and then extends a hand toward you. You stare at him for three seconds before hearing him grunt in your direction. Seemingly as impatient as possible, he nearly falls off the horse while trying to grasp your arm, but he manages to hold onto it after the first attempt—holding your arm, not falling off the horse.

"Where are we going, Your Highness?" you ask, feeling your hair whip in the wind, as you notice a few people—probably servants of King Aegon II—passing by as if you’re inconsequential. Another grunt from Prince Aemond makes it clear that if you don’t get on the horse, you might be risking your well-being.

"I intend to test you before revealing your purpose. Now I suggest you come with me, or I’ll be forced to find another bastard to replace you and order your death." Prince Aemond seems astonished by your reluctance, forcing you to follow his commands. But really, there’s no other option. You leap toward him, being propelled onto the back of his horse. He begins to gallop with astonishing speed, so fast that you’re compelled to wrap your arms around his waist. He gives a slight turn of his head, looking in your direction, which startles you and almost makes you fall off the horse. However, this seems to amuse Prince Aemond. Before you can react, it seems you’re arriving at a location. A place certainly surrounded by nature, which gives you a comforting feeling despite the unknown. That is, of course, until you notice a massive dragon ahead. He brought you here to become dragon food.

"As flattered as I am by the importance you place on feeding your dragon well, I must say that a prostitute who speaks High Valyrian will not be any more special than any other meal given to your dragon," you say as you dismount the horse, struggling a bit. Prince Aemond is too absorbed in admiring his dragon to notice your struggle to get off the horse.

"Vhagar is a female dragon. And keep your mouth shut for a moment. You’ll soon understand your purpose here," Prince Aemond says, drawing closer to Vhagar. She, with her head lowered, lifts it from amidst some branches and foliage to see who is approaching.

"She is quite impressive. But I don’t understand why I was brought here, Prince Aemond. Is there a reason I need to meet your dragon?" you say as you follow the Prince toward the dragon. Vhagar emits a somewhat shrill noise, making you stop for a moment to look at her.

"I’ve heard that my sister plans to raise an army of bastards. I thought I might at least try to have one bastard on my side. There is a dragon, which has been confirmed to be available to be claimed. I want you to claim it for me and fight alongside your King." Prince Aemond speaks with vigor, as if discussing a great triumph that is to come. You look at him reluctantly, struggling to accept such an absurd proposal.

"You brought me here to force me to interact with your dragon. So if I don’t pass this test, I’ll be eliminated one way or another," you say, looking at Prince Aemond with some anger. He remains indifferent to whether you live or die. He just wants to ensure that he isn’t wasting his time chasing an illusion.

"I'm glad you're not as stupid as you seem. Now, stop wasting our time and go on," he says, as impatient as ever, stopping midway between you and Vhagar. You let out a nervous laugh, not quite believing that this is how you're going to meet your end.

"Likyri, ȳdra daor sagon zūgagon." You speak with a certain precision as you approach Vhagar. It’s not as if your job is to claim her. But if she accepts you, you might be able to prove useful to the Prince. And if you’re useful to him, you’ll be useful to the King. You move your hand forward to signal Vhagar that you are there. You are a nobody to her, but you appear alongside her rider. You look into her eyes, trying to stay steady as the dragon raises part of her body in your direction. She seems to be still assessing who or what you are.

"Gīda, Vhagar. Ao ȳdra daor jorrāelagon naejot zūgagon nyke." You try to calm her, speaking in High Valyrian or at least the most you’ve learned. You’re somewhat terrified when you notice that your hand is on Vhagar. It seems she has allowed you to touch her, perhaps mistaking you for a previous rider. The reasons for the dragon allowing your touch may not be particularly relevant. What matters is that now you’re at risk of becoming dragon food, as Prince Aemond certainly seems very enthusiastic about the fact that you’ve touched, and are still touching, his dragon.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[fishfooddude]

Hi

I read some of your stuff and really liked it and I was wondering

If you could do like a carmy x English major fic?

Like maybe a book store opens somewhere near the bear and it’s Natalie’s babies first birthday and he figures that kids like books and stuffed animals and he’s been too busy to get anything for the party cuz he’s helping Natalie by catering so she doesn’t have to worry about it

So he goes in and he meets reader and she recommends him something (like stellaluna or where the wild things are, like a classic kids book that carmy has somehow never heard of)

But then he thinks she’s really cute so he just keeps finding excuses to go in and talk to her and she starts like regularly recommending him books and everyone’s like “when the fuck did he learn how to read?”

No pressure just thought I’d ask, tysm!

Written Romance

Carmy Berzatto x Reader

The Bear MasterList

Directory

 “What do you even get a one-year-old?” Marcus queried as he looked down at the pastel-fruit-decorated birthday invitation. Michelle Witaske-Berzatto’s Berry's first birthday was this upcoming Sunday, and of course, the entire Bear staff was invited.

Carmy shrugged, “Last time I babysat, she played with a paper towel roll for 45 minutes.” he chuckled, remembering his niece squealing as she threw it in the air as much as her chubby little arms could. While he had become one of Natalie’s go-to babysitters, his apartment lacked baby-friendly activities. He’d busted out a couple of his old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage, and he had a couple of soft blankets for her to sit on, but aside from that- he was the awkward uncle who didn’t know what to talk about with a baby. He did like reading about French cuisine with her, but Sugar argued she preferred the story books Donna and their Nona used to read them when they were little. Carmy insisted she was actually a huge Julia Child fan, but his opinion was written off.

Carmy was taking out the trash when he noticed a new bookstore had opened a few storefronts down. He paused before throwing the bags in the dumpster; he’d have to check it out on his break.

~

It had been a slow day in the bookshop, granted days like this were nice since you were behind on homework. You were on a hot streak with your writing when the welcome bell rang, signaling you had a customer. After mentally cursing their existence, you closed your laptop and looked up to see a handsome man. Black Dickie work pants, crisp white t-shirt, and Birkenstock clogs with a reusable tote bag on his shoulder. You bit your cheek as you watched this mystery man approach the counter. “Hey, how can I help you?” your voice cracked subtly enough for him not to notice- or at least not indicate he heard it crack.

“Do you have any children’s section and recommendations?” he asked hopefully. “Well, that depends,” you started as you walked around the counter. “How old is the kiddo?” you asked as you walked toward the back of the shop, motioning him to follow you. 

“She’s one.” Carmy answered, following you through a narrow hallway made up of two overstuffed bookshelves. You nodded, “Well, my nephew loved Stellaluna when he was little- so that’s my go-to.” 

Carmy nodded, “Okay.. any others? It’s her birthday, so wanna get her somethin’ fun.” he explained as you handed him a copy of Stellaluna, “Is this about bats?” he asked as he held up the book to you. You laughed and nodded, “It’s charming- it’s about embracing differences and how different people can be friends.”

You directed Carmy through the children’s section for about an hour. Carmy held a pile of colorful picture books and a copy of a fairy series you’d recommended for when Michelle got older. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Carmy asked as he set the pile of books on the counter. You nodded as you began ringing up his purchase, “I’m getting my Master’s in English Lit.”

Carmy smiled, “That’s cool.” 

“Thanks… what about you? Are you passionate about your work?” you challenged as you put each book in a paper bag. “Passion is a subjective experience… I’m a chef- I actually own The Bear.” he laughed, gesturing toward the exit. “Is it nearby? Sorry, I don’t go out to eat often.” you grimaced, hoping you hadn’t offended him. Carmy nodded, “It’s across the street a few doors down.” 

“I’ll check it out sometime.” you smiled, handing him his bag. Carmy nodded, “Sure thing. I’m Carmy, by the way.” 

“Y/N. I hope the little one likes her books.”

“I’ll be her favorite uncle for sure.” 

~

It took a few weeks for Natalie to notice, Carmy was happier. When she went to pick Michelle up she noticed an ever growing stack of children’s books, coloring books, and his not ratty old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage. Something was goin’ on… she just didn’t know what. 

“Is Carmy dating someone?” she asked Syd one night when they were alone in the office. She shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t want to know about his love life.” she laughed at the end. The sheer obscurity of Carmy having a girlfriend after the Claire saga was something Syd didn’t want to wrap her head around. “He’s been going to that bookshop a lot- if he is seeing someone, she probably works there.” Syd thought aloud as Natalie hit print on the document she’d been working on. 

“Hm. Interesting…”. “Natalie trailed off as she exited the office with the paperwork and a pen. She walked into the dining room to get Richie to sign off on an order. She watched him squeeze the bridge of his nose at the host stand. “Stressed?” Natalie commented as she set the documents in front of Richie. Yeah… where’s Carmy? I need to ask him about the menu for next week.” 

Natalie shrugged, “Not sure. He said he had to run an errand?” 

Richie shook his head, “I swear that child is tryin’ to get with this girl- mother fucker learned how to read to impress her. Marcus saw him reading some philosophy book in the office last night.” 

“Hm. I guess I’ll just have to ask him about it.”

[pitchsidestories]

Arsenal Book Club || Katie McCabe x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1897

With a satisfied smile Kim Little oversaw the little group of players who decided to stay after the Arsenal afternoon training to participate in the first meeting of the club’s book club: “Great, I think we’re complete now that means we can start.” “We’re more people than I expected.”, Leah Williamson admitted genuine. Next to her Lia Wälti had an amused smile on her lips: “Me too to be honest. Although some of us are more present than others.” The Swiss midfielder could not help but to nod into Noelle Maritz direction who was deep asleep using the stacked books as pillows.

Out of breath but with a huge grin on her face Katie McCabe crashed the peaceful scenery: “Hi guys, I hope you didn’t start without me.” “Katie, you were the last person I expected to come here!”, stunned Vivianne Miedema looked at one of her closest friends in the team. Playfully offended the irish woman asked:” What’s that supposed to mean?”  “I’ve never seen you reading.”, the Dutch striker replied laughing.

You’ve been quiet so far, holding the book club pick in your hands but you’d never miss a chance to mock Katie so you interfered into the conversation with a challenging grin: “You can read?” “You two are so rude. I’ll sit as far away from you as possible but at least I brought the most important thing with me.”, the brunette said, a mischievous look on her face. Her expression made Jen Beattie chuckle:“ Your book?” “No, the wine, Jen!”, the Irish midfielder rolled her eyes. She lived for the drama. “So that’s why you’re here.”, Beth Mead exclaimed delighted.

Innocently Katie looked around her teammates: “Is not that what book clubs are all about? Good company and wine?” “And talking about books, Katie.”, Leah reminded her. The Irish woman threw a cocky smile in the direction of the English defender:” Did you finish a book for once, Leah?” “Of course, I finished it.”, the vice-captain mumbled although her blushed cheeks were telling the truth that she didn’t. Her schedule was just too busy.

Already slightly frustrated about the fact that the evening did not go as planned, Kim groaned: ”Can we start now?” “Yes, please.”, Lia agreed motivated while trying to ignore Noelle’s snore who got louder with each minute that was passing by. Relived the captain sighed: ”Thanks. Wait, Manu that does not look like our book club pick?” “It’s, it’s just the German translation.”, the goalkeeper explained. Sceptical Leah glanced at the Austrian:” Why would you read it in German?” “That way I can understand it better.”, Manuela Zinsberger told them, her cheeks burning red.

Katie changed the topic, holding up a bottle of wine and gesturing towards some glasses; “So who of the ladies wants wine?“ Before anyone could answer, she flashed you a flirty grin; “Does the bookish missus want a glass?“ “Katie! We didn’t even start discussing the book!“, you admonished the midfielder but couldn’t suppress a smile. “So?“, she retorted. Rolling your eyes, you finally gave in, in hopes that this would shut her up; “Okay, fine. You can fill the glasses.“ “Was that so bad?“, she grinned, filling the glasses and handing the first one to you. To your surprise, she did let you have a conversation about the book for some time, during which she made a point to look extra bored. At some point, she got up and excused herself. Vivianne followed shortly after.

At the door to the bathroom, the dutch player stopped her; “Katie, you didn’t really come here for the books, right?“ Katie stood in front of the sink, washing her hands and gasped in feigned shock; “How did you find that out, Sherlock?“ “The way you look at her, Watson.“, Viv replied, arms crossed in front of her chest. The Irish midfielder shrugged unimpressed; “And? What if I say yes? Will you kick me out of your book club?“

A small smile appeared on Viviannes lips; “No. But do you want some advice?“ “No.“, Katie answered quickly which made her team mate frown in confusion. But then Viv just shrugged and stepped in Katies place to wash her hands; “Alright.“ “I can do that without your help.“ “I know but maybe you should try to her hobbies seriously.“, Viv suggested casually.Katie gestured around herself; “I do. That’s why I’m here.“ “That’s cute for your standards.“, Viv smirked. “Shut up, Miedema.“

The smile on the dutch players face only grew bigger, knowing she hit a nerve; “Let’s go back to the others.“ “I thought you wanted to wash your hands for the rest of the night.“, Katie nodded in the direction of the sink. Vivianne turned off the water; “Only until you admitted why you’re really here. Thankfully I can read you like a book.“ “No, you can only read books like a book.“, the Irish woman answered. Vivianne ignored the joke with a shake of her head; “False.“ “No, I don’t have text all over me.“ “You’re such an idiot.“,Viv replied with a mixture of annoyance and fondness before following Katie out of the bathroom.

The striker glanced curiously at the teammates when she was sitting down:” What did we miss guys?” Kim sighed frustrated:” We started to talk about Jen’s love life instead of our recent read.” “We didn’t even finish Leah’s excuses on why she was too busy to finish the book.”, Beth teased the blonde teammate. “She’s really a busy girl.”, you hummed. Immediately Leah started to defend herself while pouting:”I am! It’s not my fault.”

Innocently Katie turned to you:” Maybe you should tell us how do you make time for reading while having a busy schedule aswell.” “Or we could keep talking about Jen’s dating dilemma.”, you proposed the idea with a wink in the direction, of the older Scottish woman.  “Or we could finally start talking about the book”, Kim added already feeling her evening plan going of the rails tonight. Slowly you agreed:” Yes, that is an option too.” “Sounds boring.”, Katie mocked you two.

A big smile was on Beth’s lips as she nodded:“Honestly, especially because Jen’s dating stories are always so funny.”  “I give up. Katie, can you give me some more of your wine`”, the captain groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Motivated the Irish woman stood up:“I’ll gladly do that!” “Thanks. Cheers to you all .”, Kim mumbled with a defeated smile. A wide grin was on Katie’s face: “Cheers, captain!”

“Tell us some of them, please.”, Meado begged. Smirking the Scottish defender reassured her:“Yes, don’t worry I’ll.” Jen loved to tell the stories, everyone in the team knew that and they loved her art of storytelling. Playfully she scolded Katie and Kim:” Shut up you two. We’re trying to have a conversation.” “Tell them about your date last week.”, the captain demanded. Happily Jen shook her head:“No, I might see her again.”  “Wait, what?!”, Kim blurted out in surprise. The defender laughed because of her long time friend’s expression:“You heard me.” “Really?”  

“That’s more interesting than the book, right`”, Katie leaned over to you with a cheeky grin. You rolled her eyes because of her comment: “Oh please.” “You can’t tell me, it’s not true.”, the Irish woman said. A small smile was on your lips while admitting:” Maybe I do enjoy a little bit of gossip here and there.” “I know you would.”, the midfielder triumphed. “You know that gossipy books exist too?”, you tried to remind her. “And what should they gossip about?” Confidently you told her:” I’m sure I could find a read for you which you could not be able to put down.”

“I’m sure you won’t be able to.“, Katie answered, shaking her head with conviction. You raised her eyebrows at her; “I disagree. We don’t live too far away from each other so maybe you can come with me after the book club ended and I can give you your book. The one that was just waiting for you all this time and you didn’t even know it.“ “Okay, fine. I’ll come with you.“, she answered faster than you expected. “Alright.“ Jen interrupted you two, calling for attention once again; “Guys, could you stop talking for a second. I’m here telling you my story.“

“Oh, you know, we were about to leave anyway.“, Katie grinned and drained the rest of her wine. You smiled apologetically at Jen; “Katie can’t wait to hold her book recommendation in her hands.“ “Pretty sure it’s not the book she wants to hold in her hands.“, Noelle mumbled with a yawn. “Oi, Noelle, we thought you were asleep!“, Beth yelled out in surprise. The Swiss defender grimaced; “That’s impossible with you all constantly talking.“ “That’s not true. You were sleeping at least in the beginning.“, Lia chimed in. The two Swiss players started discussing while Jen continued telling her dating stories and Kim rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance while you left with Katie.

To your surprise, your Irish team mate got a lot less annoying on your way back to your flat. You opened the door for the two of you and led Katie into the kitchen; “You can wait here and I’ll get you your next read.“ “Okay, I’ll wait.“ “Got it!“, you called from the living room when you finally found the perfect book and returned to the kitchen with it. Katie turned the book over in her hands; “Thanks.“ “You’re welcome.“, you smiled brightly. “So…“, Katie started as she carefully put the book down on the kitchen table. “Yes?“ “Now that we’re alone…“ The smile disappeared from your face but instead you gave your team mate a curious look; “Was Noelle right? That you’d like to…“ You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence as Katie bridged the distance between you two. “I’d like to kiss you actually.“, she answered, more earnestly than she had been all evening.

With a challenging look you leaned forward; “Then what are you waiting for?“ “For you to give me the go.“, she explained, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Go on then.“ Without another word she pressed her lips on yours, kissing you passionately like it’s the only thing she wanted to do tonight.

When you woke up the next morning, you weren’t surprised to find Katie in your bed. You knew she stayed the night. What actually surprised you was the fact that she was reading in the book you gave her. “Wait. Am I still dreaming? Katie McCabe with a book in her hand?“ “It’s just for decoration. I’m trying to impress you.“, she replied fast but only reluctantly took her eyes off the page.

You smirked at that; “Yeah, it’s a pretty sight. But tell me is the model hungry?“ “Always.“, she laughed, so you got up, pulling an oversized shirt over your head and headed to the kitchen; “Breakfast will be ready soon.“ “I even get breakfast?“, the Irish midfielder asked in surprise. “Yes.“ “What a service.“, she teased.

You were just preparing the pancake better when you suddenly felt her strong arms around her waist; “I’m trying to cook here, McCabe.“ “Oh really?“, she laughed, her lips close to your ear. “Yes, or did you mean hungry in a different way?“, you asked. She replied by playfully biting the skin on your neck; “I meant it both ways.“

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: short.

Caitlin Foord x Reader:

Title: Against The Odds

MasterList

The community center buzzed with the energy of volunteers preparing for the upcoming charity football event. Y/N moved with quiet efficiency, juggling tasks that ranged from directing setup crews to arranging stacks of flyers. She had little interest in the spotlight. She thrived in the background, ensuring that things ran smoothly while others took the credit.

It was a quiet life in a quiet town, and that suited her just fine.

But her routine was about to be disrupted in ways she couldn’t have imagined.

The arrival of Caitlin Foord changed the atmosphere instantly.

As the celebrated footballer stepped through the doors of the community center, the room seemed to brighten. Caitlin was magnetic, her confident stride and easy smile drawing every gaze. Wearing her Matildas jersey and her trademark charm, she exuded the kind of effortless charisma that made people gravitate toward her.

Everyone, that is, except Y/N.

Caitlin approached her table, where Y/N stood surrounded by stacks of flyers and a clipboard in hand. “Hey, you’re the coordinator, right?” Caitlin asked, her Australian accent as smooth as her smile.

Y/N barely glanced up. “Yes. I’m managing logistics.” She handed Caitlin a pile of flyers without preamble. “Can you distribute these to the tables by the entrance?”

Caitlin blinked. She wasn’t used to such brusque treatment. Most people fawned over her or at least gave her a moment of recognition. This woman acted like she was just another volunteer.

“Sure,” Caitlin said, recovering quickly. “Happy to help.”

As Caitlin moved off, she couldn’t resist looking back. Who was this woman, and why was she so… unaffected?

Later that evening, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse. Thunder growled in the distance, and a torrential downpour turned the streets into rivers. Caitlin had planned to head back to her hotel in the city, but the storm had other ideas.

“You’re not driving in this,” Y/N said firmly when Caitlin mentioned leaving.

“Got a better idea?” Caitlin challenged, though she already knew the answer.

Y/N sighed. “There’s a spare room at my place. It’s not fancy, but it’s dry.”

“Guess I’ll take you up on that.”

Y/N’s home was modest but cozy, filled with well-loved furniture and a lingering scent of fresh coffee. Caitlin looked around, intrigued by the glimpse into her host’s life.

“You’re not a fan of small talk, are you?” Caitlin teased as Y/N handed her a blanket for the guest bed.

“Not particularly,” Y/N replied, her lips twitching into the faintest smile.

Despite the rocky start, the storm forced them into an unexpected companionship. Over cups of tea and the soft rhythm of rain on the roof, Caitlin shared stories of her life as a professional athlete—the highs, the lows, and the constant pressure.

Y/N listened intently, her quiet presence a comfort Caitlin hadn’t known she needed.

The following day, the storm showed no signs of relenting. Trapped indoors, Caitlin found herself drawn to Y/N’s quiet strength. The two spent hours talking—about the charity event, their favorite books, and their vastly different lives.

“I don’t get it,” Caitlin said at one point, her voice thoughtful. “You’re smart, organized, obviously passionate. Why keep such a low profile?”

Y/N hesitated, then shrugged. “I like helping from behind the scenes. The spotlight… it’s not for me.”

Caitlin studied her, seeing for the first time the vulnerability beneath the surface. “You don’t have to be in the spotlight to shine, you know.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment.

The next day, the roads finally cleared, and Caitlin returned to the city for the charity match. Y/N thought that would be the end of their brief connection.

But then someone posted a picture online—a candid shot of Caitlin and Y/N together at the community center. Within hours, the image was trending, with tabloids speculating about Caitlin’s “mystery companion.”

Y/N was horrified.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” she told Caitlin over the phone, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “I don’t want to be part of your world.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Caitlin replied, her tone pleading. “But you are part of my world now, whether you like it or not.”

Caitlin drove back to Y/N’s town that same night, determined to fix things. She found Y/N at the community center, stacking chairs in a futile attempt to burn off her frustration.

“Hey,” Caitlin said softly, stepping into the room.

Y/N looked up, her expression guarded.

“I get it,” Caitlin continued. “You didn’t ask for any of this. But I’m not here because of the headlines or the attention. I’m here because I like you. The real you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, but she remained silent.

Caitlin took a step closer. “I know my life is messy. I can’t promise it’ll ever be easy. But I’m willing to fight for this—for us—if you are.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the windows. Then Y/N nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s try.”

The days that followed weren’t easy. Y/N struggled with the attention, while Caitlin juggled her demanding career with her desire to protect their budding relationship. But through it all, they leaned on each other, learning to navigate the challenges together.

At a post-match press conference weeks later, Caitlin surprised everyone by dedicating her performance to “the unsung heroes who keep the world running—like the ones at our community centers.”

Y/N watched from the sidelines, her heart swelling with pride.

As Caitlin stepped off the stage, she found Y/N waiting for her, a rare smile lighting up her face.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Y/N said softly.

Caitlin grinned, pulling her into a hug. “Only because I’ve got you.”

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t mind being in the spotlight—because with Caitlin by her side, it didn’t feel so overwhelming.

[occamstfs]

How To Be A Father

This was meant to be a shorter one but it seems to have gotten away from me, I hope you enjoy! I’ve got a special one coming later this week! Gonna do a little epistolary/diary multi TF to celebrate 500 Followers !! - Occam

Franklin’s older brother, Jack, was a soon-to-be dad, he is terribly nervous about raising a kid, as anyone should be. Franklin was looking for some way he could show his support. His eyes scan the shelves of the local bookstore, sure that there must be something of use in the advice section. He has only just graduated university and remains in a sea of uncertainty but at the very least he could buy his brother some pittance of a self-help book.

There wasn’t exactly a sea of options available, many of them were clearly religious, some were on raising children in other cultures, one particularly gaudy one was a guide on rearing the perfect American citizen. Franklin prepared to throw in the towel and order a book to be delivered, before at the end of the aisle he saw a simple clear cover, upon which was written, “How To Be A Father.” It didn’t even have the author’s name on the front. Franklin couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued as he goes to pick it up.

As he does so it’s almost as if the lights of the store dim as the monochrome cover continues to call out to him. Before checking the contents he checks the back looking for any hint of what lies between the pages and finds another completely featureless page. At this point Franklin’s eyes would usually roll as he returns this obnoxious marketing mishap to the shelf, but instead his brows furrow. He simply must know what is inside. He rushes to open to the first page as his mind can only obsessively demand the contents of the book. 

He opens to the middle of the guide, stumbling on a photo of what may as well be the platonic ideal of man. Franklin’s stomach lurches in discomfort, his heart pangs knowing he could never be such a man, as the image in front of him. His eyes trace the jawline defined even through a dense beard. He hungers to be even a hundredth as masculine as the imagine in front of him. Franklin glances at the next page hoping for some recipe to be just like him, rubbing his hairless jaw as he turns eyes blurring as he reads the sentence:

"A Real Father Is Strong."

He audibly grunts as he reads the sentence and holds that exemplar of man in his mind. He doesn’t dare desire to be a father, but strength. How could he not want that? He looks down the page hoping for work out tips but his eyes find no purchase as the words blur together. Nevertheless he stares at the smudges, willing them to give him answers, as the book begins to work its own will unto him.

Franklin has spent little time on his body. It has never been a priority for him, and yet now he wants strength? The book grows warm in his hands as his eyes roll back. He bites his lip as he feels the warmth begin to surge from the book into his arms. Veins begin to bulge in his hands as they continue up his arms. His hands grow calluses from day after day of lifting iron. His forearms burst forth growing to a size larger than his calves are currently. He feels his shirt soon grow tight around his biceps as muscle begins to bulge. Thick veins appear down the direct center of his arms as he is overcome with pleasure.

The strength does not stop flowing into him as his arms start to rip open his sleeves however. Just as soon as his massive biceps make room for themselves his chest begins to demand its own attention. Muscles that he didn’t even know he had cramp on his chest as pecs burst out of his chest shooting buttons down the aisle. Just after this he feels his back expand similarly giving him a wingspan he never dreamed he could achieve. His knees buckle as he feels the warmth force itself into his lower body. 

He slams to the floor loudly as his growing limbs fall out from under him. Sensing challenge from the forearms his calves rip holes into his pants as they reach a size and definition of a bodybuilder and his thighs swiftly follow suit creating a tear from his waist down to his feet, fully exposing Franklin’s lower body as he struggles to stay conscious. Not to be out done he feels his feet begin to press against to press against the boundaries of his shoes, the tongue bulging out as he starts to hear the fabric tear before he’s interrupted-

“Um, Excuse me sir? Do you need help up?,” asks a clerk at the bookstore, seeing Franklin on the floor.

Franklin’s face blazed red at being caught in such a compromising position as he shoots up to standing. “I! So sorry I don’t-“ he struggles to explain what he thinks happened having fully lost himself in his growth. As he looks down at himself however he sees that although his clothes are fitting tighter, there are no rips to be seen. His nipples make themselves well apparent through the polo, but his sleeves remain untorn, and his pants hug his waist and ass but are clearly in one piece. There is also a massive bulge in his pants though it is thankfully not growing at the moment.

Franklin starts to make small talk with the clerk who checked on them but before getting very far he is thrown off guard as the clerk replies, “I don’t know sir”. Why the kid keeps calling him sir? Kid? Franklin is sure they’re about the same age the kid can’t be less than  twenty three? Well wait? Franklin isn’t twenty three either, that had to have been? Franklin feels his mind start to heat up as a massive headache starts to build. He stares down at his feet as the clerk once more grows concerned.  

The problem does not stay for long however as he sees the book he was so obsessed with is on the floor. That can’t be right! As he goes to pick it up he finds it is on a new page! Excited to learn what new wisdom lies in store he is greeted once more with an all too eye catching man. It’s a mirror selfie which should have no place in what is presumably an advice book. His body is absolutely shredded as he smirks from the page, but even more eye-catching is his massive cock.

Franklin does his best to look away from this clear attempt at softcore porn lest he have yet another issue growing out of his clothing. Unfortunately the text opposite the image is even less help to this end, Franklin can’t help himself but read:

"A Real Father Is Horny."

If the power flowing into him from the book filled him with pleasure, it was truly nothing compared to the energy and desire burning through his veins now. The clerk's eyes widen as the sound of fabric stretching emanates from Franklin’s crotch before being immediately followed by the loud tear of a zipper bursting off. He quickly looks away before seeing whatever has apparently burst from Franklin's pants as he stares at the man in shock.

The embarrassment only heightens Franklin's ecstasy, his clothes caress his powerful body as he feels his balls pulse as he feels them shift into overdrive, begging Franklin for release as they fill his barely hanging on briefs. Briefly keeping his lust at bay he looks up to see the clerk still in front of him and chokes back a grunt of hunger. His body flexes to pounce before he hesitates, god, he looks like he could be my kid. But that would- That can’t be right. 

Before he can question any further he feels his balls grow even bluer as his cock begins to create rips in his underwear. Putting off his lust just long enough to avoid criminal charges he runs from the man who he could have sworn was his age, or his son’s age? His breath catches in his chest as he storms down the aisle. He feels his nipples scratch against his shirt as pre soaks through his increasingly torn briefs. He clenches his jaw to avoid moaning as he leaves a trail of sweat in his wake, barely making it inside the restroom and locking the door.

The cool air shocks his body as he holds his sweaty body against the door. Directly across from him is the mirror, seeing himself sets his hunger aflame higher than anybody can sustain. He sees his cock fully burst from his pants, sticking out straight from his crotch, the length he would’ve sworn his forearm was. Looking back to the mirror he flexes at himself and fully loses the ability to hold back. He moans as he cums without even touching his cock. His balls pulse as they continue producing five more loads to take the place of this one as he slides against the door, leaving a trail of sweat on the door as he moans and closes his eyes.

When he reopens them he finds himself in a thankfully different scene. There is no sign that he came all over the floor of a public restroom and he did not have a boner burst from his pants in front of that clerk. He’s been this horny his whole life, he knows how to handle himself. Fuck did he turn him on though. Franklin decides he needs to masturbate more, can’t be getting so horny for college hunks now that his son’s going to school. Fuck! He doesn’t have a son! Franklin knows something horrible is happening but before he can even start to make a connection he sees in front of him, precisely where he thought he came on the floor, his book. Lying open to a new page. He hasn’t the willpower to even feign resistance. He sees a powerful bear of a man. Franklin craves his power. He craves his virility. He needs to be more like him. He doesn’t even need to read the page opposite for it is already ingrained into him.

"A Real Father Is Mature."

He burps as his tight abs quickly begin to soften and slightly bloat into what can only be described as a dad bod. He rubs his still growing stomach as his pubes inch above his waistline and shadow the whole of his torso.  His body loses definition though he of course exercises to stay tight and strong as any real father should. He feels his hairline then as dark arm hair inches up towards his shoulders. He smirks as he reaches up to scratch at his ever-present stubble. Exposing his hairier pit to the fresh air, he laughs as his mind is filled with thousands of jokes, each worse than the last. You could say he’s Armed for every occasion he laughs as he flexes at himself in the mirror, each chuckle sounding deeper than the last.

Frank looks in the mirror ahead of him and feels and starts to chub up once more. He looks younger than he remembers being, although with each laugh at his own jokes his hair starts to grey and his forehead lines grow deeper. Each final change cementing him as a real father like the book suggests. He needs to go try these dad jokes out on an audience now. His son Jack would love to hear them.

Frank feels content looking at the book in front of him. This will be the perfect gift for his kid. This thing’ll make a dad out of anyone, lord knows it's worked wonders for him! Frank chuckles to himself, as his stubble grows out into a beard, thinking about whatever less-than-clever joke he’ll tell his son when he gives it to him as he heads out of the bookstore. He eyes the clerk that went to help him earlier as a hunger begins to build within Frank once more. The twink seems to be looking at a book on the shelf as if he’s never seen one before. He starts to reach out to its white cover as he thinks to himself, couldn’t hurt to see what’s inside.

[b1rds3ye]

Task Force 141 but it's Battlefield's Bad Company - a unit of disgraced soldiers who are valued no higher than cannon fodder but who are also too skilled to simply get the boot. Despite being thrown at the most devastating threats, they are low on resources and lack respect from the rest of the military. No one bothers learning their names, they're not expected to last more than a week. But a small unit of them always manage to pull through.

Captain John Price says he only took up Bad Company because he was given an offer of early retirement if he survived leading the dredges of the military. In truth, he's gone off the books one too many times, his last mission had him temporarily A.W.O.L. as he pursued what he believed was right. If the military can't silence him with retirement, they'll silence him with Bad Company where they'll throw every mission under the sun at him until he inevitably falls. He doesn't comment on how his last official mission went, but if you ever bring up General Shepherd he says he has a special bullet reserved for that bastard.

No one knows exactly why Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley got into Bad Company, he doesn't say. In fact, no one knows shit about him. All anyone knows is that he's a damn good soldier, the longest lasting in Bad Company - he transferred even earlier than Price. Simon says he willingly transferred here because he thrives with the freedom and informality compared to the standard military and no one dares comment on how utterly unhinged that sounds. Still, his personality seems to fit the story; he's not afraid to go off the beaten path to reach the mission objective which seems to have taken out everyone but him.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish is just a menace, but a crafty one which is a problem for the military. He enjoys being demolitions expert and one day got too bored and a little too curious. Destroying physical objects would be too obvious but he may or may not have infected the military system with a virus to see what sort of information he could extract. He learnt the hard and very expensive way that he has a knack for hacking. Perhaps that's why they transferred him to Bad Company, with trash-quality guns, outdated tech and precisely negative ammo, there's not much destruction he can wreak. Well, that was likely the thought process but Johnny's always loved a challenge.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was framed - he presumes. He excels in all the drills, his performance is promising, he follows all the orders, and yet he's here. What he doesn't know is that he doesn't have the personality superiors desire. He questions too much, he's far too open minded, he can't be molded like other soldiers. He's stubborn - they transferred him because he filed one too many complaints of inefficient directives that could be boiled down into polite military speak of "screw you and your orders, I have a better way (P.S. may your tea always be lukewarm)". He's annoyed the big bad men at the round-table and now he's paying the price. Fortunately, those are the traits that thrive in Bad Company and the exact traits that prompted Price to take him under his wing.

And that just leaves you, the newest member on the brink of promotion to sergeant until you were transferred into Bad Company. You're jittery, you've heard of the nightmare that is Bad Company, how it contains the worst of the worst (and yes you are aware that it apparently includes you now). When you step off the helicopter, you repeat your simple goal - to survive this one mission with Bad Company so that you can go back to your squadron and get your damn promotion.

But as the mission progresses you find yourself getting closer to all the members of Bad Company. You look back fondly at the memory of Price forcing the rest of you to run back into gunfire to retrieve his stupid bucket hat, the same hat he plops on your head if you're ever too on edge. You can only feel thankful for Ghost's unconventional medical advice - you have to give it to him, this discount Bear Grylls has saved your life more times than you can count. You look forward to the new creative ways Soap will blow up an enemy cache, or watch as Gaz hilariously tries to mimic your direct superiors with an overly high-pitched voice as Price begrudgingly talks to them over comms.

And that's when you realise that there will be a day where the mission is inevitably over. And instead of looking forward to your transfer back, you find yourself wanting to risk your life every day with your beloved bunch of military misfits, the group of you against the rest of the world, than whatever stuffy perks come with being sergeant.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[quibllyfish]

Hello! I was wondering if you might like to write either a set of hcs or small Drabbles for (pre-established relationship) Satan x MC? In which MC is shy, sensitive, quiet, likes helping around, maybe comes off as a pushover at times, gets flustered very quickly, and gets startled easily (or you can add/remove any of these if you’d prefer!). So a lot of the brothers think that MC wouldn’t even bat an eye towards Satan, yet on an Asmo night, while playing truth or dare, Asmo asks MC about their opinion on Satan. MC answers very bashfully saying he’s really admirable, he seems gentle and sweet. I’m very curious to see what the brothers think! You can add in any brothers you like for this Asmo night!

Have a lovely day!

౨ৎ﹒Satan x Reader : Late Nights With Strays．𝝑𝝔

﹕ An unlikely relationship begins to bloom between a lovely human and the avatar of wrath / 1102 word count

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა：❝—I mightve went a little overboard with this ask, but I couldnt help it! I am a SUCKER for an opposites attract trope, okay? I will admit that I did take some creative liberties with the prompt. Please enjoy!! And BTW! I did not proofread this at all, I hope it's readable ꒱ . . ♡

From the first day you arrived in the devildom ALL of the brothers realized you had a bit of… A faint heart?

Despite your attempts to put on a brave face and take the reins of a challenging situation, it was a bit obvious you were way out of your comfort zone. Shaking hands, a wavering voice, averting eye contact; you weren't aware of any verbal agreements on the matter, but it was safe to assume the brothers collectively decided the best way to ease you into life in the devildom was to tone down their very.. vibrant personalities.. and try their best to hold themselves back for a bit.

This effort admittedly did include trying to minimize your interactions with Satan as much as possible.

It wasnt that he was bad!! No! Perhaps it was just that they didnt desire their sweet, skittish human to be forever traumatized from witnessing Satan attempt to rip another demon limb from limb.

Eventually, however, these attempts proved fruitless. Even though you were easily coaxed into following directions, it became obvious (and annoying) that you were being ushered from place to place, shielded from experiencing the full extent of this new realm. In a small act of rebellion, you stayed up until you were pretty sure the rest of the house was asleep.

Wandering through the home's many rooms, eventually you find your way out the front door. Something you see in the distance makes you genuinely question whether or not this is a dream; surely that's not a certain green-eyed demon attempting to coax a cat out of the house of lamentation's flower beds?

When Satan notices you approaching, he's instantly in the middle of contemplating whether he should turn tail and immediately leave or question why you're out so late. Before a decision can be made, you're sat down in the grass, tempting the feline by swaying a plucked flower in its line of vision. To his surprise, it not only entertains the hunt, but after one foul pounce it decides to find a comfortable perch atop your lap.

" It must be very lonely, being such a tough kitty and braving the devildom alone, " You coo, scritching the cat's chin, " You're not mean though, no, you're a big softie! "

Remembering Satan's standing behind you, you crane your head towards him, " Look! I made a new friend! "

Perhaps.. You had just made two.

After that night, going out after the sun fell past the horizon to spend time with strays (and Satan) became a regular occurance. The mystery of why so many feral cats began roaming the area of the HOL was baffling to most, but the two of you basked in knowing it most definitely was due to your habit of feeding them late night snacks. Each feline eventually got a name, many after book characters. These nights with strays eventually were followed by late night walks, and eventually the walks were followed by Satan reading aloud to you in the comforts of his room.

Sometimes—and these nights were your favorite—you would doze off, leaning your head on his shoulder as he read. Only to find yourself tucked snuggly into your own bed the next morning. Often there would be a note on your bedside table, summarizing where the story last left off. It might've just been a dream, but you could've swore he kissed your forehead while you were half asleep.

As for the other brothers, they were none the wiser of you two's after dark expeditions. This is why tonight's game of truth or dare became so interesting.

Each avatar of sin (excluding Lucifer, who had no patience for silly matters such as living room sleepovers) sat in a circle with you on the floor of the living room. The activity? Truth or dare. Giggles lingered over the hilarity of the last dare, as Mammon was forced to down a deadly concoction of every condiment inside the fridge mixed together. To be honest, it seemed to even rival the horrors of Solomon's cooking.

As the turn fell to Asmo, a giddy smile tugged at his lips. He twisted to face you, taking your hand in his own, " So! What will it be? Truth? Or, are you brave enough to pick dare? I pinky promise I'll go easy on you! "

Whilst you felt inclined to make Asmo's day by choosing the latter, you did not feel so inclined to subject yourself to any sort of embarrassment. Tapping a finger to your lips, you feigned being lost in thought.

" Hm.. I think... I'll pick truth! "

The avatar of lust let out a whine, " And I had the perfect dare too..! Well.. The truth can be just as entertaining! This'll be juicy- so, tell me… What do you think of Satan? "

For a moment, the entire room fell silent. To everyone else, this was an obvious attempt to stir up drama- perhaps, Satan, with a bruised ego, might storm out angrily. Or worse..

Mammon groaned, " Dont make em'- "

You tutted, interrupting your greedy guard dog before he could even finish that thought. Glancing in Satan's direction, you could tell he was eyeing you with curiosity. In a way, it might've been a bit entertaining for him; like you both were in on an inside joke that his brothers were none the wiser to.

" Satan is, " you smile, looking down at your hands, " Well! He's- how do I put this.. I think getting to know him has been one of my favorite parts of moving here. "

The room, quite literally, was too stunned to speak, but the sparkle of interest in Asmo's eyes told you he wanted to know more.

" That might sound silly! But I honestly think- you know, and I dont wanna embarrass you, Satan- but you're really sweet! And… And you always try to make sure I feel comfortable and safe when we spend time together! Honestly, I think the devildom feels more like home whenever we hang out? Thats- geez, that's a dorky thing to say, "

Before everyone can erupt with complaints, Asmodeus squeals like a school girl, " This is SO cute! Awwwhh! My favorite human- and my little brother! Friends! So so unexpected, but so so cute! How did I not notice?? "

You're instantly pulled into a hug as Asmo gushes about how adorable you are, but you swear that you saw out of the corner of your eye- Satan's flushed face, adorned with a soft smile.

[thnxforknowingme]

Klaine Valentine's Challenge 2025

Day 1: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

Notes: For this challenge I'm going to write snippets from the Mediator!Klaine AU I've had in my head for, oh, a decade and a half now? Based on Meg Cabot's Mediator series, Kurt can see ghosts and help them resolve unfinished business to move on from this plane of existence, and Blaine is a ghost haunting the house Kurt moves into. These snippets will not be in chronological order. I hope you enjoy!

.

Kurt booked it through the parking lot and back over the fence that surrounded campus, heart hammering in his chest the whole time. When he reached the street he chanced a look backwards to see if Santana was following him.

He didn’t see anything, so he slowed to a jog. After another few seconds with no violence directed his way, he stopped moving and bent over, bracing his hands against his knees. It seemed that her wrath was confined to school grounds, for now at least. He was safe from paranormal attacks for the time being.

“That seemed to go well,” a voice next to him said suddenly.

Kurt just about had a heart attack, but when he jolted up he saw it was just Blaine standing in front of him.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “Warn a guy before you materialize, will you? What are you doing here?”

“I sensed a great deal of activity down here,” Blaine replied, and Kurt realized he seemed kind of angry for some reason. “And I figured things probably weren’t going according to your ‘plan.’”

“Look,” Kurt said. He started walking again, to put more distance between him and the school. Just in case. “Things did get a little out of control, I’ll admit. But I’m perfectly capable of handling unpleasant spirits. I got out of there in one piece.”

"You're bleeding," Blaine said.

"What? No I'm not."

Blaine, with an expression of forced patience, gestured towards Kurt's left wrist. Kurt held it up and saw, in the faint illumination of the moon, that he had a cut just over an inch long starting below his palm. He must have sliced it open on the window or the fence during his escape. Luckily he didn't seem to have damaged any major veins, but he was definitely bleeding. The adrenaline and the chilly night air had kept him from feeling any pain. He was sure he'd feel it in the morning, though.

"Oh," he said, a little sheepish. "I guess I am."

Blaine reached into his pocket and pulled out a cloth handkerchief. This struck Kurt as very old-fashioned, but it made sense, given that Blaine had probably been born around the turn of the 20th century. He had the whole chivalry thing down pat. Really, Kurt thought, many of his contemporaries could stand to learn from Blaine’s manners.

"Here," Blaine said, reaching out for Kurt's wrist and cradling it between his hands. He wrapped the handkerchief around Kurt's wrist, snug enough to staunch any additional bleeding, and tied it off in a neat knot. 

"Thanks," Kurt said, a little breathless, and not just from sprinting away from a homicidal poltergeist. It wasn't often that a cute boy touched him at all, let alone so tenderly. Even if that boy was dead, and not interested in Kurt beyond making sure he didn't bleed out on the street.

"You're welcome," Blaine replied, letting go of Kurt's arm. 

“Anyway,” Kurt said, clearing his throat. He started walking in the direction of the Hummel-Hudson house again. “I guess I need a new strategy for dealing with Santana.”

He pretended not to hear Blaine’s self-satisfied scoff.

[muffinsin]

Hey muffin. A lot of people tend to write the sisters as Cat like. With the purring and tendencies. I know you've mentioned it before. Along those lines how do you think they would react, if at all, to a laser pointer? I saw an image of this somewhere and was wondering what you thought.

Absolutely! HC them as cats is funny

*I need this meme of Alcina throwing the canon table*

(Post mentioned about purring and cat tendencies : here)

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlists

Bela

She sees the red laser dot immediately, and immediately her head turns in its direction

You see her study it, almost. Maybe, to deem if it’s worth her time

Bela is the type to attempt to play it cool, really

Yes, she has this urge to catch it, but doesn’t want to make it obvious

As the laser pointer dot is moved to her bed, she will, slowly and elegantly, move over to sit on it

If it’s moved to a wall, she will get up and stand next to it, but not pay the dot any mind at all

In fact, she will do her best to seem uninterested in the shiny thing

And it does appear to others like she isn’t interested at all, until…

SLAP

Her hand slaps over the dot, with her sharp nails out and digging into the wall

Of course, she dislikes this feeling

She jumps and swarms, higher than you’ve ever seen, and pulls her nails back out, just to immediately tackle and cover the dot again

When you move it, she lifts her hand, confused how her prey got away

She keeps following the dot, and tries to slap her slap over it again, slow, steady movements

Bela has a bit of a fragile ego at times

Allow her to catch the dot and only continue a while after, or she will deem it as

“Stupid, below her, not worth it anyway” and ignore it entirely while she pouts

You might want to be careful, too

Bela- she has her eyes on the dot, yes. However…

She will figure out where it’s coming from

Cassandra

A toy? A toy!

She is already chasing after it the second the sees it

Doesn’t matter what is in the way, either

Chairs? She’ll knock them over trying to catch the stupid little, glowy dot

Tables? She flings herself across them

Curtains are pulled down and walls are scratched

Vases are shattered and decoration flies about the place when Cassandra mindlessly jumps into them

Cassandra already likes glowing things. This is the best, though

Cassandra, despite not as much as her younger sister, can be very energetic at times

And very stubborn

She won’t rest until she has the damn dot

When she clasps her hands over it and it disappears, she tilts her head in confusion

She isn’t quite sure what the laser pointer is or does, but knows she wants that dot

She runs into walls and slips on the floor, but keeps chasing the damn dot

You’ll need to move it fast, and everywhere

Cassandra wants this challenge

She attempts to bite the air to catch it, to no avail

Only once has the laser pointer almost been taken from you

When you played as usual and kept aiming it, and spotted Bela sitting in the corner, reading her book

You aren’t sure why you couldn’t help but aim the enticing red dot right at her forehead

Of course, Cassandra tackled her sister to get the dot

With her sister holding her up by the collar of her dress and Cassandra hanging unusually calmly- merely pouting- the laser pointer was snatched from you

Cassandra claims she’s killed the dot

Daniela

Ah, Daniela. It seems, she has endless energy

Luckily, this is a good way of letting most of it, if not all, out

Daniela immediately chases after the dot

Immediately. Its attack on sight

Like her sister, she doesn’t care what she knocks over or destroys in the process

She’s having her fun, and Alcina could never be angry with her anyway! At least never for long

Daniela can be occupied for hours, merely to chase the little dot

She loves when it’s high in the air and she needs to jump and swarm to get it

Unlike her sisters, she attempts to bite it rather than catch it with her hands, most of the time

When she does so and the dot disappears, as her head covers it, she immediately whines

She doesn’t know, it’s now merely at the back of her head because she’s covering it

When she turns around and crosses her eyes upon finding the dot on the tip of her nose, you aren’t fast enough to react

With her hands slapping against her own nose, you only hear a whine and a long, drawn out “Ouwwwwww!”

You are demanded to kiss it better

After this, the hunt goes on

It keeps going for hours and hours, with Daniela laughing and giggling nearly constantly, bouncing about the room like a little ball trying to catch the laser pointer dot

When you notice her energy slowly drain, you move the laser pointer less drastically

With a bite into the air again, you turn it off. Daniela is sure, she’s caught it, and makes a comment about it tasting like a mouse

At last, she flops down on top of you, snuggling and dozing off, demanding head scratches and plenty of kisses for her job well done

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemicrofic February challenge.

So Here Is Us

February Prompt: Edge | Word Count: 509 | Rating: T | CW: Post-Apocalyptic, Pre-Existing Injury | Tags: Canon Divergence Post-S4, Hurt/Comfort, End of the World, Survival, Just the Two of Us, The World is Bleak, But We're Together

Steve's been walking forever. 

He was goddamn certain there was a town nearby, and now he's scared. Scared he's made a mistake. Scared Eddie can't survive him being wrong.

Steve studies landmarks, memorizing his way back to the abandoned building. Back to Eddie. He repeats the directions he's been making up in his head:

Straight towards the burned out car, past the tall tree, turn at mile marker 365…

With no map, he repeats these markers, over and over, making sure he'll be able to find Eddie again, because if he doesn't, they'll both be dead. Eddie from infection; Steve from the insanity of finally being truly alone.

Eddie had looked at him, his expressive brown eyes shining with pain and fever, and begged Steve not to go. Begged Steve not to leave him. Steve hadn't wanted to, had scrubbed his hand over his face, pinching his nose, terrified, and trying not to show it.

But, Eddie can't walk anymore.

So, Steve had to leave him somewhere safe, stashed away from monsters, despite every instinct in his body telling him no, don't because you don't split up. That's rule number one. But, Eddie's got an infected demobat bite on his side, with lines of red shooting upwards, towards his heart. He's balancing on the edge of trouble, real trouble.

Steve's scared to death if he doesn't find antibiotics that Eddie won't survive the next few days. And if Eddie goes…

Eddie can't go, can't leave Steve all alone out here, on the raggedy edge.

Civilization is gone, decimated by Vecna, and yet, somehow they've survived. And Steve needs them to keep surviving. Needs Eddie to keep surviving.

"How will you find me again?" Eddie had asked, sweat dripping down his temples, as he tried to hold back the shiver that wanted to break free.

Steve had held Eddie's overheated face in his dirty hands, and pressed his dry lips to Eddie's, "I'll always find you again."

Now, when Steve finally sees the abandoned small-town pharmacy, he wants to cry. The sign says Steve's Pharmacy, and he wonders if he's dead. If this is a nightmare Vecna's trapped him in. 

No. He doesn't have time for a crisis. Eddie doesn't have time for Steve to have a crisis. The door to the pharmacy is standing wide open, already ransacked. 

But the pull-down gate over the pharmacy hasn't been breached, somehow, and behind the locked metal barrier are shelves full of pill bottles.

Steve digs in his backpack, gets his bolt cutters, and goes to work. It's hard, nearly impossible, and his hands are blistered and throbbing by the time he's made a hole large enough to squeeze through. 

There's a drug reference book on the counter, laid open, abandoned, and Steve reads. Finds the matching bottles, stuffing his backpack full. Taking everything he can carry. 

Taking the book, too. They'll need it again, he's certain.

Back on the abandoned street, he starts repeating as he walks:

Turn at mile marker 365, past the tall tree, towards the burned out car…

Notes: This was set in the same little universe as my fic for the November prompt, Miles to Go, was. Can be read alone, or continued there, if you're so inclined.

Title is from a quote from Serenity: "This job goes south, there well may not be another. So here is us, on the raggedy edge."

Picture is from The Walking Dead. I was like, "I need an abandoned pharmacy, like the one that was in that early ep of The Walking Dead. Maybe I can find a screenshot." I did, and but I definitely did not remember it was called Steve's Pharmacy. Hilarious. That was just a gift from the universe, lol.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[sweetladyjustice]

This is a repost, because I think my visibility settings were preventing it from ending up in the tags.

Here's a little something for @bloodweaveweek Day 1: Firsts.

Life got away from me (I blame Dragon Age) so my BW Week responses will just be updates from stuff I'd written for a Discord creativity challenge during March. This was going to be a part of a longer fic I wanted to write, but I've since changed direction.

Be warned: sappy, soft, and really self-indulgent! Takes place three years post-game.

~~~

Their life was simple. 

The sun was setting over the water, casting brilliant reds and pinks across the horizon. A carafe of good wine sat on the table between them. Astarion was sprawled on the chaise, facing the setting sun and sitting up just enough to sip his wine, reading the weekly gossip rag. He was particularly curious about the love triangle that had caused near-blows at last month’s soiree at a minor lordling’s manor. He and Gale had been invited to the soiree, but declined as Karlach and Tav had been passing through Waterdeep on their latest adventure. Now Astarion was regretting not having gone, even if it had meant missing out on an evening with his friends. He hummed and turned the page, eagerly continuing the story.

Gale sat across from him in a wicker chair, an ancient book about some kind of esoteric magic balanced on his lap. Occasionally, he asked Astarion for an opinion on spell techniques. Astarion mostly answered in grunts and shrugs, more focused on his own reading. 

Life was very boring. But Astarion loved it. 

Gale broke the companionable silence.

“Do you want to do anything special for your birthday?”

“Gale, I love you, but I do not understand a word of what you’re reading from that dusty old book. Wait.” Astarion dropped his reading as Gale’s words finally registered. “My what?”

“Your birthday! It’s in three days.” He winked at Astarion. Winked. Astarion scrunched his face into a frown as Gale continued. “And, if I may point out, it’s a significant one!”

Astarion sat up and topped off his goblet of wine. He reached for the carafe and poured himself another generous glass. He would probably need it for wherever this conversation was going. “Significant how? And how did you know? I didn’t even know my birthday. Not until this very moment, anyway.” 

“It was etched onto your headstone,” Gale answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in all the realms.

“Oh, right,” Astarion responded. Then he flashed Gale a wicked grin. “I don’t remember what my headstone said, but I remember what we did on my headstone.” 

Gale ignored him and pressed on. “Per the dates, you were 39 years old when you were turned. The ‘clock’, so to speak, restarted on aging for you after we returned the Crown.” Astarion pursed his lips at the mention of aging, but Gale didn’t notice. “This is your first birthday since your mortality was restored. Do you know what that means?”

He wracked his brain, trying to think of human birthday customs. “Ah! Yes I do. You will be taking me out to a very expensive dinner followed by a night of mind-blowing sex?” 

“Well, yes, we will certainly be doing that,” Gale said, with an almost dismissive wave of his hand. “But what I mean is, you’re turning 40!”

Astarion blinked, then laughed. “Oh, I’m older than that. I was born in 12-something, and it’s…” he paused, thinking. “It’s 1494.”

“It’s 1495.”

“Oh. It’s 1495. That means I’m actually…” he paused again. “Well, it means I’m actually much older than 40.” He shrugged. “But if you don’t want to count all those undead years, I can accept that.” He took another sip of his wine. “While I won’t say no to being spoiled, I’m curious. Why is this so important?”

“Forty is a milestone birthday!” Gale spread his hands in the air in a ta-da motion. 

A long pause hung heavy in the air as Astarion tried his damnedest not to giggle at his husband.

“For humans, maybe.” He tapped the point of one ear. “I’m an elf.” 

“Ah, but you’re married to a human.” Gale leaned forward, reaching across the table to take Astarion’s hand. “So please, indulge your very human husband and allow me to make a big deal out of this?”

“Fine. Expensive dinner, lots of sex.”

“That’s all?”

Astarion nodded. “That’s all. This whole birthday thing,” he waved his hand in front of his face with a flourish, “is entirely new to me. Let’s start simple. Wine me and dine me.”

Gale smiled, resplendent, and released Astarion’s hand. He leaned back into his chair and opened his book. “Now, I would like your opinion on an original illusion spell technique that I am developing for my more advanced students.”

“Ask away, darling.”

~~~

Astarion’s birthday dawned bright and clear, like most days in Waterdeep did. He roused from a light doze and slipped from Gale’s arms, creeping his way to the washroom so as not to wake his husband. 

Astarion studied himself in the mirror. Forty. He looked just as he had yesterday at 39. Same high cheekbones, same light splash of freckles across the same prominent nose, same beauty mark under his left eye. He still had a shallow dimple in his chin and a small scar next to his mouth. And the same ocean-blue eyes stared back from the glass. An unbidden memory flooded into his mind.

“I would rather be a spawn for eternity than be indebted to you.”

“You owe me nothing, Astarion.”

“Then why did you bring me here? Fix him like you promised!”

“I already have. The orb is gone. Gale was as obstinate as you are, and he insisted I give you a boon for your part in reforging the Crown. On that, he and I agree.”

“Why? Since when have you been charitable?”

“It is not charity. It is my obligation. I witnessed the great pain you endured retrieving the netherstones from the Chionthar. I would not have the Crown were it not for your help.”

“I didn’t do that for you. I did it for Gale.”

“Then consider this my obligation to him, if you must.”

There was a flash of purple-silver light, blinding him momentarily. Just as suddenly as he had been snatched away, he was back in the tower’s library, heart pounding and lungs filling with gasping breaths, entire body tingling. A pair of arms circled his waist, holding him steady. Gale’s face swam into view, eyes wide, staring at Astarion in awe. 

Astarion sighed. Whether it was a wistful sigh or frustrated sigh, he wasn’t sure. He still didn’t quite believe he did anything to deserve the gift of mortality, but over the last several months, he’d stopped questioning Mystra’s motivations. Or, perhaps, he’d grown to trust Gale even more deeply than he already had. It had been Gale that had advocated to Mystra on his behalf. There must have been some lingering fondness there on her part for her to agree to his demands. As he pondered, Astarion craned his neck and brushed his fingers over the fading scars, the last remaining hint of what he used to be. 

He pushed his doubts away and gazed back at himself in the mirror, this time indulging in a bit of vanity. He grinned, reveling in the way the corners of his eyes creased. And no fangs, of course. He finished washing up, tousled his hair, and crept downstairs to the kitchen. 

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt a woosh of air ruffle his hair and heard the flutter of feathers. 

“Happy birthday, Mister Dekarios!”

Astarion ducked, nearly bopped in the head by the tressym zooming excitedly around the kitchen. 

“Ah, thank you, Tara. And good morning to you.”

Tara made a few more tight circles in the air before settling on the kitchen table. Astarion gave her a few scratches behind the ears on his way to the coffee pot. She had warmed up to him surprisingly quickly when he and Gale arrived in Waterdeep. He had been certain that his presence would be tolerated at best, outright rejected at worst. However, within days, Tara could be found perched on his shoulders or settled in his lap in front of the fire. Even more surprisingly, Morena Dekarios had welcomed him with open arms. She was a warm and caring person, just like her son. Astarion wondered if she made a big deal out of Gale’s birthdays when he was young.

Astarion turned back to the tressym as the coffee brewed. “Tara, do all humans get so excited about birthdays?” 

“Oh, yes, humans very much enjoy celebrating the people they love. Why, I recall Morena fretting over what to do for Gale’s 30th birthday. He was so wrapped up with that goddess at the time, and completely disregarded Morena’s invitation!” She stomped her little paw on the table. “Oh, what an awful day that was. Poor Morena was so heartbroken.”

“Right, that.” He didn’t want to think anymore about Mystra today. Astarion scratched absent-mindedly at his chest. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe that his kind, loving husband was once a callous man obsessed with his proximity to power. He made a mental note to bring up the 30th birthday incident (as gently as he was capable of being) with Morena next time they had lunch.

A rather depressing thought popped into Astarion’s head. “Tara, Gale wants to celebrate my birthday tonight. Do you think he might be doing this out of guilt for the 30th birthday thing?” 

“Oh no! I assure you, this has nothing to do with guilt. He apologized to Morena years ago. He wants to celebrate you, his love. Human lives are short, dear. Every year is special to them.”

“Hmm, yes, I think about that far too often.” He sighed and picked up the two mugs of coffee and made for the stairs. “Thank you, Tara. I’ll indulge him with this birthday business.” 

Tara tsked when she saw the mugs in his hands. “Gale should be bringing you coffee! It’s your birthday! You’re supposed to be relaxing! He should be spoiling you! Oh that lazy boy, I will be giving him an earful later!”

~~~

As promised, Gale took Astarion out to an expensive dinner with even more expensive wine. The walk home felt excruciatingly long, as Gale had also promised mind-blowing sex. A promise on which, of course, he delivered. And delivered. And delivered again.

Hours later, they were lounging in their bed, sweaty and sated. Astarion’s heart was thudding in his chest, still a novel sensation nearly a year after it had beat back to life. Gale’s head was pillowed on his chest. Astarion drew lazy circles with his fingers along his husband’s shoulder. 

But despite his contentment, he couldn’t stop thinking of his conversation with Tara that morning. I’ll have to do something nice for Gale’s next birthday, he reasoned. 

Then it dawned on him. He was missing a major piece of information about his husband. 

“Shit.”

“Mmm?” Gale had been drifting off. He rubbed his face sleepily on Astarion’s chest. “Everything alright, Astarion?”

“I have a question. And before I ask you, my darling, my love, I want you to know that I love and cherish you very much. Every moment with you makes up for centuries of torture and torment. I cannot imagine my life without you.” 

Before he could continue, Gale stiffened and lifted his head off of Astarion’s chest, looking him in the eye. He looked… suspicious. 

Astarion cleared his throat. “Well, I was thinking. If humans like birthdays so much, perhaps we should make it a habit of celebrating them, and I thought I should do something for your next birthday. Something nice. And nice still isn’t really my thing, so I would need help from your mother and Tara, and then I realized…”

“You don’t know when my birthday is, do you?” 

Astarion blushed red to the tips of his ears and shook his head. 

“Astarion!” Gale pushed himself onto his elbows to glare at his husband. “Do you even know how old I am?”

Astarion paused. “Forty two?”

“Forty two?” Gale’s voice came out much higher than usual.

“Not 42?”

“I’m only 38!” 

Astarion gave Gale a sheepish grin. “Well, you don’t look a day over 35, my dear.”

Gale frowned and huffed, but leaned forward and gave Astarion a soft kiss on the lips. He settled back down, and Astarion knew he was listening to his heartbeat. He pulled the blankets up over them both and pressed a kiss to Gale’s gray-streaked hair. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” Gale whispered. His breathing grew slow and heavy. Astarion grinned and as he slipped into a trance, he thought to himself, May it be the first of many. 

[ihni]

(Got stuck writing a longer fic, so thought I'd challenge myself to write something shorter. Asked @callieb to open a random book and read me a word to use as a prompt, and the word was "taxi")

~~~

Steve sighed deeply as he slowed the BMW into a crawl, rolling down the driver’s side window so he could try to talk some sense into the drunk blond who was stumbling down the middle of the road, going in entirely the wrong direction.

“Where are you going?”

Billy must have heard the car coming because he didn’t seem surprised at the sudden voice. He didn’t even look up as he threw his arm out and pointed loosely at the road in front of them. “Going to my boyfr … going … going to my girlfriend’s house.”

Fighting back a smile, Steve cleared his throat. “Really? Where does she live?”

“Lo … loss. Loss Nora. That’s … that’s her name.”

“Her name is Nora?”

“No!” Billy exclaimed in drunk exasperation, gesturing wildly with his arms and almost toppling over. After righting himself, he finally turned to the car. “She lives in Nora. Her name is –“ He saw who was driving, and his face split in a big grin. “– Steve! Hey!”

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling, as Billy ambled up to the car and all but fell in through the window to pat clumsily at Steve’s face. “So you were at Maddy’s party, huh?” Frowning, Billy seemed to be thinking hard before nodding. “Got a bit drunk, did you?”

Billy let out a non-committal grunt and leaned heavily on the car door. “Got keg king.”

“Really,” Steve deadpanned. “I never would have guessed.”

“But I didn’t get … a crown. Or maybe I lost it.” He stuck out his bottom lip, which wobbled precariously. “Lost Steve.”

That made Steve snort, despite everything. “What a coincidence, because I lost someone at the party too.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“My boyfriend,” Steve said, pointedly. “Who can’t handle his liquor after that time when his little sister shot him full of some weird tranquilizer.”

Billy squinted at him, before saying, slowly, “I … have a sister.”

“You do,” Steve confirmed. When no other reaction was forthcoming, he added, “Anyway, my boyfriend apparently forgot that I was his designated driver tonight, and instead chose to try to walk home. In the complete wrong direction, I might add.” He watched how blue eyes tried to process this information, and waited patiently for some kind of reaction.

“Desi… dess … de– driver?”

“Designated driver, yes.”

“De–”

”Taxi. I’m his taxi.”

Billy’s eyes lit up at that. “Can you drive me … to my boyf– girlfriend Steve’s house?”

Steve laughed. “That, I can. Come on in.”

What followed was a brief chaotic minute where Billy first tried to climb in through the open window, before Steve convinced him to go around the car instead. He even opened the passenger’s side door for him.

When Billy dropped down in the seat, he sighed happily and turned his head so he was watching Steve with a dopey smile on his face. “You’re so pretty.”

Steve, who was busy trying to fasten his boyfriend’s seatbelt, snorted. “You keep saying that. Keep it up, and someday I’ll believe you.” His reply was a hand on his head, patting him awkwardly and then fingers carding through his hair, messing it up.

“Pretty.”

“Okay then. Wanna go home?”

A grimace. “No.”

“I mean, do you wanna go to my place?”

“Yeah.” Billy leaned towards him until he could put his head on Steve’s shoulder, almost falling out of his seatbelt but with one arm still stuck under it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his hose buried in Steve’s jacket. “Drive me to Steve’s house, taxi-man.”

[sabrinahawthorne]

What's Happening in 2025

I think it's time for an update, and a tentative schedule for the coming year - so let's do that.

Games

Development on CLASH! really slowed down in the latter half of 2024, and while the reasons for that are by and large out of my direct control, I still feel a little bad for not speaking about it for so long.

I am still working on CLASH! - promise. The state of the game is that I'm working around a design challenge (regarding Techniques and how they relate to Fighter customization) by dissecting the game to a more bare-bones version and playtesting the parts that need tweaking until I can iron out those wrinkles. Once I've made some progress with that issue, I'm going to start fitting more pieces back onto the system, playtesting as I go, and putting out further playtest materials.

I don't think I'm going to finish CLASH! in 2025. Looking back, I definitely bit off more than I could chew in trying to complete it in 2024. A project of even this relatively small scope is orders of magnitude more complex than something like Broke Wizards. So in 2025, I'm going to pace myself with it. It's still going to be my focus, so don't worry, especially if you contributed to its crowdfunding campaign. 2025 will have goodies for you, even if the game itself probably won't be done. But I'm going to give the book the time and care it deserves.

But it isn't going to be the only thing I plan on making this year! I've got a handful of lighter things I want to put out. For one, I really want to release supplements for Broke Wizards. Adventure modules, mainly, but I've also got and idea for a magical items supplement with some new rules for crafting and the like.

This year will probably see a new Yon release as well! It's going to look pretty different from A Tyrant's Throne, and it's an exciting prospect.

Keep an eye out through the year. You'll like what I've got coming.

Public Appearances

That's such a bizarre thing to be posting about. Anyway.

The only certain event I'll be at is an episode of the Dovecote with @darlingdemoneclipse! I had a blast my first time, and it made my day when Eclipse offered me another go. I'll be on the show on the 27th of January, and I hope you'll join us.

A less certain prospect is a possible appearance on @tinytablepodcast. As of this posting, Broke Wizards has made it to the second round of voting as a submission for the show! If it wins, then the wonderful folks there will do me the amazing honor of playing my game. You should join their Patreon and vote to get my game a place on the show. And to support the show, of course. They make good stuff. If they end up playing it, then I'll make an appearance for a post-mortem Q&A!

I'm very excited about the possibility, but you should listen to the Tiny Table podcast regardless.

Other Stuff

The bad news is that I'm going to be focusing a little less on writing in 2025. Not ignoring it completely - hopefully the Games section of this update is proof of that - but a little.

The good news is that I'm doing some teaching this year! I won't go into too much detail right now, but the gist is that in 2024, I was given the opportunity to teach game design to beginner designers, and I'm going to take the gig. It's nothing prestige, mind. This is a recurring job at a local arts center, and I'm by no means an expert in this field (at least compared to some peers of mine). But I do have experience as a self-taught designer, and I'm honored and delighted to have the opportunity to give new designers a jumping-off point.

Relatedly, I'm going to be spending a lot of time this year introducing new players to RPGs. This, too, is also going to be a thing local to where I live, so if you follow me you probably won't hear a lot about it. But I'm excited about it, so I'm talking about it.

A Personal Note

You no doubt know this already, given how I have been - and will be - posting about it, but I'm having surgery this summer! It's nothing serious, and it's obviously not urgent. But it's something I've needed done for a while, and it'll be the end of several long-standing issues for me.

What you also certainly know by now is that I'm holding a sale to raise funds for that surgery for the next six months. All my games are included in it, and anything I release before it's over will be added to it. I'm also pushing my ko-fi during that time.

Needless to say, I probably won't be doing much from July to September this year. Not nothing, but not a lot, either.

Thank you all for the support you've shown me this year. It doesn't go unnoticed. Happy new year.