#good quality band-aids

[gricean-sphinx]

I spent all day cleaning out the upstairs closet because I developed a personal vendetta against it because I cut my finger on a wooden shelf because I tried to move it out of the way because I was trying to get to the Christmas stuff that goes on the banister because I was supposed to put it up today but I guess I cleaned out the closet instead

[ncis-nerd]

first day

boss wanda maximoff x college student reader

about: y/n, a college student starts her new internship. she is off to a rough start but don't worry it gets better.

secrets untold au

You loved the fall, watching the leaves fall to the ground. The quiet simplicity of birds chirping, how they’d wake you up each and every morning. Every morning was a good morning in your head.

You were in on your way to work, a part time job as you were a college student. This “job” as you called it, was a paid internship with one of the most well-known film companies. Today was your first day there, you still couldn’t believe it.

Your heart raced as you approached the bold red stairs that led up to the tall building. You stood there for a moment, was this really happening? You thought to yourself as a woman with auburn hair bumped into you, causing you to stumble. You fell to the floor, your knee bleeding slightly. You groaned softly, looked at your skinned knee.

Your eyes glance up towards the tall woman in heels who had a frown on her face, you could tell she didn’t mean to do that. “Oh, I am so sorry honey.” She spoke, helping you off of the ground.

Her eyes trailed down to your bloody knee, she winced. “I have a first aid kit in my office, if you want?” She asked. You nodded, following behind her as she led you into the building.

Your eyes scan the room, there were a bunch of cubicles and a break room. This building didn’t feel like professional place of business though, the decorations felt homey in a sense. There were a bunch of pictures in frames, a lot of scenery and sunshines.

One photograph really caught your attention, you stopped in your tracks when you saw a picture of a really beautiful red-headed woman with green eyes. The woman hovered behind you, smiling at your interest in that specific image.

“You like that one?” She husked, her voice startling you slightly. You nod in response, “It’s such a good photograph, not just the quality but the woman in the picture as well.” Your eyes focused on all the little small details that could be missed by another’s eyes. Like the sparkle in the green eyes or the small grin in the photo that is hidden by an obvious frown.

“My wife. That’s my wife, I took that photograph myself. You think she’s pretty?” The woman smirked at you, your eyes notice the very obvious wedding band on her finger that you had not seen before.

You turn red, slightly embarrassed that you were fangirling over her wife, and her photo. You were impressed though, because it was such a good photo. “Aw, you getting shy on me sweetheart?” Her eyes burned into yours, it felt like she could see right into your soul.

Her eyes fall back onto your bruised knee, “Ah right, let’s go get that cleaned up.” She nodded, leading you to her office. Her office was huge, she had her own leather couch, fairy lights and even a wall mounted television. Your attention fell onto her shelf of cameras, which made sense since she said she took that photo from earlier.

She pulled a first aid kit out of her desk, “Come over here, will you dear?” She asked, digging through the bandaids and such. You sat on the couch, near her. Her hand brought your leg up, on top of her lap.

“This is going to sting a little” She hummed before wiping your knee with an alcohol pad. You groaned, feeling the intense sting. You were never one for pain, even the slightest amount would send you spirling. Which is why you were surprised that you were able to remain your composure before. But it’s like the woman could see right behind your wall, as tears started to form in your eyes.

She placed a bandaid on your knee, sealing the bruise after putting antibiotic cream on it. “All better.. Do you want me to kiss it better?” A warm smile creeped up on her face. You nodded shyly. That didn’t sound too bad, you thought.

The woman gently removed your leg from her lap, placing it back onto the ground. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as to how she was going to kiss your knee if it was on your ground.

That’s when she stood up from the couch, crouching right in front of you as she made direct eye contact. As she got on her knees and kissed yours.

You could feel her warm lips on your knee, her hot breath tickling your knee. You groan softly, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t lie that she didn’t get you all flustered. She arose, helping you up.

“Well, you’re all fixed, sweetheart. Excuse my matters, I didn’t catch your name earlier? My name is Wanda Maximoff.” The auburn haired woman smiled.

You felt your heart drop when you came to the realization that this was THE Wanda Maximoff, as in your BOSS, Wanda Maximoff? This was not good..

“Y/N…. Y/L/N.” You mumbled softly, your eyes fell to your floor as you felt your gut drop.

"Oh? You’re Y/N, ah I was wondering where you were. You are my new intern. I bet we’ll be having a lot of fun together.” She chuckled, taking a seat at her desk.

Your eyes read her gold name plate on her desk. It read W. Maximoff.

[moneyndior]

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ you’re too sweet for me. ⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! luke feels as if you’re too sweet for his bitter self.

tags/warnings; luke castellan x apollo!reader, teenage dirtbag!luke, mutual yearning for each other, luke being kinda insecure, luke taking reader’s innocence as a bad thing, grape and wine mentioned a lot, my interpretation of ‘too sweet.’

ೃauthor notes��➷ go listen to too sweet by hozier tmrw. also i threw this up because i fear i might leave for the week next week since it’s spring break and i wanna see my friends

—

you watched as luke walked past you. again.

what you did to deserve such treatment like this—you’ll never know. you truly did all you could to seem sweet, kind, gentle—loving. but it’s like none of those qualities appealed to him.

it’s like it pushed him away. like you being too sweet was too much for him. you tried to not be overbearing, overly clingy, too sensitive, everything. because you genuinely liked luke.

and you genuinely liking someone was rare. you treated your body like it was sacred—something that not even the gods above could touch.

luke seen the disappointment in your eyes as you bit your tongue. he’s doing this for your own good, he’s doing this for your own good. he swears it up and down.

he’s too much of, well, an asshole if we’re being honest. you’re a deity he’d hear about from stories passed down from generation to generation. he’d pray and worship you if you weren’t actually in the same camp as him.

luke wants nothing more than to protect you, truly. corrupting a girl like you was the last thing he’d want.

he wants nothing more than to be the guy to hold you, to kiss you, to brush your hair, to be your assistant when your fixing up another broken nose. luke prays to experience such a thing in another life.

his bitterness and your innocence were just something that were never meant to be. and luke took that harder than you did.

you were as soft as rain, as bright as the morning, pretty as a vine and as sweet as a grape. luke would wait forever for you to, inevitably turn bitter. slowly but surely, he believed everyone did. he wished that he could sit you gently on a barrel and wait for you.

but watching you patch up percy with the most careful precision he’d ever seen made him feel different.

like he’d take his whiskey with a chaser instead of neat like luke normally would. he’d throw out his plain black coffee and take whatever iced latte you prefer.

seeing how well you are with kids would make him hear wedding bells. luke pushed the chimes to the back of his head and finally took his eyes off you as he seen a younger aphrodite girl rush up to you, frantic.

“y/n! help me, please! i got a paper cut and it’s bleeding and it hurts! will it scar? be honest!”

you couldn’t help but giggle at lottie as she looked like she was on the verge of tears. for a moment, you didn’t think about luke. you rushed her into your cabin, under the premise that ‘you’ll do everything you can to make sure it doesn’t scar her pretty finger.’

lottie felt you put a band-aid on her with the utmost gentleness she’d ever felt. a thumb wiped away the tears that couldn’t seem to fall down her cheek.

as you guided her back to her cabin with a smile across the blond’s face, you felt a pair of eyes watching you.

luke wanted to be right there with you, helping lottie, praising you as he kissed your temple. but he stood several meters away with a clenched jaw as his brows in their normal furrowed state.

he knew he couldn’t go up to you like he prayed he could. maybe in a few years, months even. if he prayed to you hard enough. if he clenched his hands together harder.

luke castellan would rather hold the 7 realms with his pinkie than ever corrupt what he grew to love about you. even if it meant pushing you away, pushing you to love another, he’s doing it for your own sake.

maybe he would have to forget praying to the gods for a day and be selfish. just this once. he’d pray that the grape he loved so much would turn to wine faster.

things that were too sweet for luke were simply too much.

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (3)

[Astarion x reader] As I mentioned in a previous post, this came along surprisingly easier than the last one. The same can’t be said about the quality though maybe– sorry for that. :,DDD|Word count: 2.6k.| 

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, one sex joke (lol), the normal warnings that you’d associate with the game

Part 2 here!!

Next Part here!!

As an outsider to most of everyone’s problems, you find your place by helping in whatever way you can. Even if that may be at the expense of your own comfort, but at least it’s been fun so far.

Alternatively: Reader can't catch a break from anything, can they?

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Being resident camp caretaker was surprising, for lack of a better term. You were away from the stresses of technology, corporate assholes, and disappointing family with your choice to pursue unpractical careers. Instead living the “cottagecore lifestyle” of foraging for food and cooking with a cauldron that those from the digital world claimed to be the best. What they failed to mention were the incessant pests coming in to nibble through rucksacks if you were not careful, and the occasional swarms of ants or flies coming in to nip at your flesh.

The experience was a mixed bag, so it would seem. But the tired smiles that the group would give you when you greet them with a warm and filling meal was always a comfort that you would have.

And it would seem they needed it now more especially than ever.

Your band of misfits planned to venture out and defeat the goblins at their camp in order to aid the tieflings’ journey to Baulder’s Gate. Per your instruction, you convinced the more solipsistic members of the benefits of eradicating the sect. Namely, they wouldn’t hinder you as much in the future if they were taken care of. Hence your plan to slightly increase the amount of portions for supper tonight.

By twilight, you had a good broth steeping in your cauldron. The camp having returned just a few moments prior from an earlier excursion. You were making a pottage that the others have expressed their enjoyment for. A stew of sorts that you had made when you had quite the number of items that would have spoiled before consumption had you not done anything about it. A mixture of fruits and meat, stewed in a consomme of a pig’s head and various mushroom caps. 

This time around, you’ll be using fresher ingredients to hopefully lift their spirits.

As you’re chopping up fruits, you think about all that’s happened to you and possible explanations for why your character suddenly ceased to exist in order to make room for you.  What’s more is that no matter how many nights pass, you never end up waking from your dream. Which you fear is lasting longer than your usual ones.

Your working theory is that whatever force, be it magic or fate, tethering you to this world is also responsible for removing Tav. Astarion claimed that he couldn’t remember the finer details when you had confronted  him. And so you settled with that hypothesis. That like how a thread that unravels opens a seam in a garment, a new thread must be used to darn the cloth together again.

You laugh at the disgustingly poetic analogy you created in your head. You fear that you’re becoming more and more deranged as—

“My, aren’t you busy?” The intrusive voice causes the knife to slip out of your hand a bit, thankfully only cutting off a portion of your index finger’s nail. Your shoulders, that were raised in alarm, release their tension after feeling the sudden chill leave your body.

“Astarion,”  Exasperated, you put the knife down on the cutting board to catch your breath for a while. 

“I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped sneaking up on me when I’m doing something dangerous.”

The high-elf offers a mischievous smile in response. “Very sorry, pet. But it’s hardly my fault when you’ve barely been paying attention to me.” There’s regret in his words, but not in his tone.

Because while perhaps it’s an odd interest, he enjoys hearing the quickened pace of your heart. The pulse getting louder, as it stays that way for longer.

“I’d feel sorry for doing so if you were too, but you’re not.”

You laugh out, breath still shaky but steadying slowly, as you pick up your knife again.

 “I heard you’re part of the encampment that’s finishing off the goblins by midmorn.” Chopping the rest of the fruits, you feel his presence move from behind you to off to your side so you can see him from your peripherals.

“Hm? Yes. Although I would have preferred if we didn’t do this at all. It’s too much work, and the goblins could be entertaining! Killing useful spoils seems like an awful waste.” 

This must be the reason why he approached you, to persuade you to call off the hunt. And his unfading smile supports that thought. When you voice said thought, it earns you a playful scoff.

“Don’t you have anything else on your mind other than the parasite lounging in it?”

The mood is light as you say this, the banter welcomed by you both. 

And as you continue to converse, a few eyes begin to follow the two of you. They’ve never really seen Astarion interact with you for this long, at least not away from your private spaces. And even less without hushed voices. The interlocution is definitely a welcome spectacle to them. 

“On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.” He says, proudly. Gesturing to himself with one hand, and the other held high like he was swearing an oath. 

Your closed mouth drops into frown, eyes wide, and your eyebrows skew upwards. A very undignified, but small, squeak coming from the back of your throat. You swore you heard someone groan in disappointment from far away too.

You know full well that the look of shock that you were sporting was by no means attractive, but the flagrant revelation, though not at all out of character, was shocking to have directed towards you. You’ve been trying to romance the elven vampire with your character, only to end up nowhere. Therefore you are completely unsure if the dialogue he was spewing was completely a figment of your imagination, or is, indeed, canon.

The elf in question has seen this expression of yours before. Quite often, too. And while he doesn’t think it a, “pleasant sight,” it is rather… charming to him. 

Whether it be on purpose or not, people have the tendency to be on guard around him, preserving any twitch and sound that could give them away to themselves. Not that much had ever evaded him before with his naturally cunning behavior. But this clearly unscripted response, with the blatant confusion swimming in your eyes, is a rather refreshing sight to see.

“I see–” you clear your throat to lower your voice back to its normal octave. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to uh, bring those thoughts into fruition! Uh–,” You slide the rest of the cut fruits off of your cutting board and into the stew. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Something I should know?” You turn to face him. He laughs at first, but then his brows furrow in question, as if he did have something to say and forgot about it or thinks it is no longer an appropriate time to ask. He shakes his head and says something along the lines of, “letting you do all the hard work” and returns to his tent.

But you are not left alone for long as another member of your little ragtag team joins you to ask about dinner. To which you ask them for which meat would be better to toss into it. 

—————————

After dinner, your little rapport concerning the plan and new findings with everyone is adjourned. Some thanked you before they left, and others simply walked away. From what you have learned from them, the Archdruid that was taken prisoner by the goblins was named, “Halsin.” He was a topic of interest as they said he might be able to aid you in your search for moonrise and understanding the Mindflayer worms.

Wyll had also approached you alone after dinner and offhandedly mentioned a dead boar being on the road. He had planned to return to camp with it if it could have been useful, but he had claimed that the animal had been unnervingly light. As if half of its weight was no longer there despite seemingly just keeling over for no reason.

You take note of that in one of your many journals, including additional information about the Archdruid and their kind in general. The book appearing more and more like the game’s quest booklet, with the exception of a few crossouts and colored ink to emphasize each quest’s urgency and relevance to finding a cure. When you successfully rescue the druid of the grove, it seems you will have to move out quite soon after, so you fixed up your pack just a bit to make it easier later on.

You look around, everyone seems to be in their respective areas. Doing whatever it is they usually do  with the exception of Astarion. Though he has been known to either sneak off or hide away from time to time in his tent, so you think nothing of it.

You return to the communal chest, tallying up the remaining supplies and inspecting the wares. You sort the tradeable objects in one rucksack and appraise its worth. The chest also has pieces of gold, some that others have placed, and others you picked up and added. You prefer to let the others keep what they think is valuable to them, and only place what they want to share in the vessel. 

If the party’s gold ever runs out, you think that the rucksack is worth a few nights of food when you travel out again. Assured by this knowledge, you placed your writing materials back in, closed the chest, and turned in for the night.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up. But you also don’t really want to. Not just yet. 

—————————————

As you slept, you wondered about the longevity of your knowledge of the media. You hadn’t finished the game, and although you’ve accomplished a fair bit of it, you worry about how you will face the events to come. One of the only reasons why you haven’t flinched so much at the terrors that occurred was because you had anticipated them. Braced yourself for the dangers ahead.

You fear what might happen when you no longer have that power at your disposal.

Perhaps it's the worry, perhaps it's the stiff, compact ground that you have yet to be accustomed to sleep on despite the bedroll, or perhaps it's the presence of something suddenly cool that stirs you awake. 

But what you did not expect was Astarion’s face hovering over yours to be the reason. Fangs bared, and ready to bite. Your eyes go wide and you let out a small gasp, hands moving up in a gesture akin to clawing at yourself. 

The elf realizes that you’re awake now and he curses. Moving away as you scramble upright just like you did all those nights ago. The look of genuine fear at the prospect of being bitten is apparent on your face, and he feels almost guilty to be greeted with it.

“Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you— I just needed, well, blood.” He says it in a panic. Worried that you might run off, losing his only sure chance, and possibly enraging the rest of the camp.

In this moment, you realized the error in your ways. Astarion had been hunting nearly every other night in the same area. And if you were progressing through the events like how the game did, he couldn’t have had the time nor energy to venture too far after feeding from most of the creatures in the vicinity.

‘The exsanguinated boar…’ You remember.

“You’ve been feeding on animals for the past few nights, haven’t you?”

“It seems like word got around then.” Although unknowingly, he’s referencing what Wyll delivered to you earlier in the night.

“I’m not some monster, I feed on boars, deer, kobolds– whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. And with the damned excursion,” He stops himself, complaining is only doing worse for his condition.

“It’s not enough. I feel so…weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” You’re conflicted. You had no problem offering yourself as your character for him to feed on, but even witnessing that through a disconnected screen was enough to make you feel uncomfortable imagining it. You care about him, want to give him what he deserves, but this…

What’s more is that you know what he’s saying is necessary, not at all overstating how dire his need to satiate his hunger is, making it all the more difficult.

He needs to convince you, if he wants to continue on, that is. Without the presence of the illithid, he resorts to more practical means of doing so. Similar to what he did to many.

Noticing the slight tremor of your hands, he takes the chance to slowly kneel down on your bedroll. Closing the distance between you. He takes your hand, now rougher from the work you do, and meets your shaken gaze with his dark eyes.

“Please. I only need a taste, I swear.” He had meant to tell you before dinner, had he not felt the eyes of the others on the two of you. This discovery is not lost on you. He needs you specifically. And you realize it's out of convenience because you’re an expendable resource. If you pass, the group can venture on, but he also still needs you alive for whatever reason. He can’t have the others finding out, not until they trust him. 

He needs you to trust him. And this is the only way you can help him in this moment.

With that, you strengthen your resolve. 

“I…I trust you, Astarion. But no more than what you need.” A dangerous bet, but you hope it would be worth it.

“Really? I–”

 “Can I trust you on that?” The shock on his face fades, and he agrees.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” You lay down, preparing yourself to faint during the process and allowing your blood to flow throughout your body. He observes the rapid movement of your eyes as he drapes himself above you. Your sight flitting from anywhere but him and then returning all the same. No doubt that you fear being at his mercy.

He feels almost sorry that you have to do this for him.

So he graces you with what mercy he can give.

The bite is quick. You would have felt the flesh of your neck parting for him, had he not done so. You feel tears prick at your eyes and start to feel the area from your neck and upwards go cold.

A momentary, sharp pain, that lulls to a chilling numbness in what seems like a matter of seconds.

You feel his body start to grow warmer at your expense and you feel satisfied knowing that you could help him.

When he doesn't stop, you start to worry.

Your breath catches in staccato beats, pulse quickening in tandem. You try to stop him, hands coming up to push or tug, but the heavy sensation that washes over you only permits them to find purchase on his form.

You try to speak, but it seems as if the common tongue does not reach him.

Your mind goes into overdrive, all of a sudden it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore and genuine fear courses through your veins.

You need him to stop, and you try to think of more efficient ways of doing so.

But your mind starts slowing as well. The pain has certainly faded, but the presence of the vampire at your throat reminds you in case you’ve forgotten.

As a last ditch effort, you try to use whatever might appeal to him, to break him out of the trance that he was in from finally replenishing himself. 

“Isalhal–” One of the few Elvish words you recalled.

The effort thankfully makes him pull back in shock, stopping him. Your eyes finally close, thankful for the reprieve you're finally granted. You hear a distant, “thank you,” and a more distant “shit” before rest takes over.

You worry about waking up tomorrow.

But for now, you’re thankful that Astarion will be able to fight well.

For himself and for everyone else’s sake.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, and @auszimbo for asking to be tagged!!

[scramratz]

Rant abt your Cds I'm curious

OK HERE GOES SCRAMS 2024 CD COLLECTION TIER LIST

(Disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions and if yours differ from mine, fine. It’s not a sin to be wrong)

S TIER-

Goo-Sonic Youth: Straight bangers all the way through. Girls love it when you show them your Sonic Youth cd. Extra points cuz the pamphlet unfolds into a sick poster

Midnight Vultures-Beck: Good album to clean the house to. Every song a banger. Beck as a person sets off alarms, though 🤔

Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot-Sparklehorse: Genuinely my favorite artist and album of all time. Fall asleep to Homecoming Queen often.

Siamese Dream-Smashing Pumpkins: Fire straight though. Good when you’re in a depressed 20-something mood. Better than Mellon Collie in my humble opinion.

Gorillaz-Gorillaz: The start of one of my favorite bands and objectively one of the best bands in the world don’t fight me on it I’ll kill you.

A TIER-

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots-The Flaming Lips: Solid album. Iconic cover art. “Do You Realize??” always got me feeling feelings

Violent Femmes-Violent Femmes: Top 3 favorite band. Every song went platinum in my household. Would have been higher but reminds me of my mom too much.

Dig Me Out- Sleater-Kinney: Got it because the name sounded familiar. Ended up loving them! Doesn’t sound right if it’s not played loud, though, and considering I live in an apartment, I don’t play it often.

Fear Yourself-Daniel Johnston: Got it because I love “Hi, How Are You” but haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Was pleasantly surprised! Hits the same melancholy spot but slightly more upbeat.

Figure 8-Elliot Smith: My favorite sad boy that definitely DIDN’T kill himself. Not my favorite Elliot album but every one of his albums is A tier personally.

The Diary of Alicia Keys-Alicia Keys: WENT QUADRUPLE PLATINUM IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. Prime cleaning the house on Sunday music. Dragon Days is seriously underrated.

Garbage-Garbage: Don’t know how to say this without sounding insane but this album sounds like the color #DC007F and I like that color a lot

2-Mac Demarco: The CHOKEHOLD Mac Demarco had on us artschool bitches in 2016 OMG. Was gonna change my name to Viceroy

B TIER-

Money for Nothing- Dire Straits: Top tier dad music.

Lumine fever- The Adrenals: Got it cuz the cover looked cool. Was pleasantly surprised! They rock the adequate amount

Rocket to Russia- Ramones: They’re good but I don’t get the hype honestly. They’re the Flavor-Aid of Punk

Starfish- The Church: Only love one song on it, the only song anyone likes tbh. The rest are your standard 80s deal

Crooked Rain-Pavement: I really love Pavement but there is a thing as too much Pavement and I think I’ve reached it

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-Wilco: Honestly should have been in A tier but all the pretentious music dudes I’ve met has soured this album for me so it goes in B outta spite. Jesus Etc my fave song tho

An Evening with Silk Sonic- Silk Sonic: Nice, short, gets me in a happy mood. Does what it needs to do!

Prolonging the Magic- Cake: John McCrea don’t really be singing, do he? He just fancy talkin

C TIER-

Gigantic, Fuel, and The Nixons: I got all 3 on sale and they all sound the same and that sound is…ok? Like it’s alright background music

Blind Melon-Blind Melon: What was with 90’s bands putting random kids as their album covers? Decent listen, though.

Summerteeth-Wilco: Good background music. I can’t remember any songs off it.

Los Angeles/Wild Gift-X: I like X but I hate that fucking album art omg it’s so hard to look at. I like their songs individually but as a cohesive album, eh.

D TIER-

Throwing Copper-Live: bought it on sale with the above 3 but liked this one substantially less. Only redeeming quality to me is the album art.

Ben Folds Five-Ben Folds Five: Misleading considering there’s only 3 of them. He sounds like my ex boyfriend from highschool before I realized I liked girls

F Tier-

The Ragetones/Fall Apart-The Ragetones: Saw them play at a shitting basement show. Everything sounds better when you can barely hear yourself think.

F Punk-Big Audio Dynamite: Found it at the thrift and rehomed it outta pity. Sounds like the 80s in a bad way.

[civetcider]

Hey I finally got around to drawing your Butch Bear!! She’s my fave. Sorry the quality got a little crunchy.

HOLYYY CRAP SHE LOOKS SO GOOD!!!! this was such a cool thing to see when i got off work LOOK AT HER!!! i love the beer and her lil band-aid, and i really like how you did the painty background and her fur! THANK YOU SO MUCCCH

[jadeddangel]

The Owl House x Reader

General Headcannons for The Owl House x Reader

Older!Luz Noceda:

Her love language is physical touch and gift giving

She's a cuddle bug

If your sick or not feeling well she'll refuse to leave your side

The kind of girl to write poetry that doesn't make sense

But you can still tell that she does it cause she loves you

She's a horrible cook but don't tell her that

She buys or makes charms for your staffs

She kisses any kind of small wounds that you have

Luz let out a loud gasp "ay! Mi amor! Tu estas bien? Does it hurt?" Luz asked frantically as she held your hand looking at the literal smallest paper cut on your finger before digging in her pocket and pulling out a small bandaid and putting it over the cut and kissing over the band-aid " all better mi amor!"

"Uhm Luz? Why do you just have bandaids?" You asked confused. Luz straightened her lips into a line "uhm.. a good witch is always prepared?" Luz said questioningly

She buys you themed band-aids from the human realm

she tries to teach you Spanish

She's not the best teacher but you can see her effort

Older! Amity Blight:

Her love language is acts of service and words of affirmation

She's really big on arts and crafts

She likes to make you things

She likes to let your palismans play together

She likes to do things like make your laundry and things

Cause in some part of her mind she thinks it'll make you love her more

She's rather shy with PDA at first

She's a touch starved baby

Ghost and your palisman were cuddled up in a little window hammock that amity had made for them

"Hey amity? Do you think our palismans live eachother like we love eachother?" You asked curiously

Amity blushed a bit "oh quiet take your nap you were so adamant on it earlier" amity said defensively

It doesn't matter if you've been dating for years

She still gets flustered if you say anything too sweet

She shows her love with actions rather than words

So she often makes you food

She's an amazing cook btw

Eda The Owl Lady:

Her love language is quality time and gift giving

She likes giving you shiny things

Like rings, jewels, anything that shimmers or shines really

She doesn't particularly like her curse being around you

But after she makes her piece with it she's fine cuddling you

Whether that's in her harpy form or in her full form

She's starting to realize that it won't hurt you

Eda groaned holding her head. "Eda? Dear? Are you ok? Is the owl bothering you again?" You asked sweetly sitting up in edas nest. Eda sighed and nodded "its just getting worse and I don't know what to do it just.. it's like it wants to be with you? If that makes sense?" Eda tried to explain as you nodded along.

"Yknow, eda I don't really mind the owl.. it's rather sweet after you guys had that heart to heart, so how about you just let it put? And if anything goes wrong I'll have elixir on hand" you reassured the older woman

That night was one of the first of many that eda let the owl interact with you

Raine Whispers:

Their love language is the same as Eda's, quality time and gift giving

They can't really cook anything but eggs

They're so sweet

They really like to make little songs/ lullabies for you

but they're willing to learn anything you'd be willing to teach them

They're not really touch starved

But if you so much as lock your pinkys together they're melting in your arms

They loves you with their whole heart so when they're performing or teaching your the only thing on their mind

In all truth the thought of you probably helped with their stage fright

They gets flustered so easy

Raine was playing their fiddle for their class they were playing the song they had made for you.

Raine finished the song after a few moments before bowing and putting their fiddle away gently

They had a smile on their face at the thought of you in the next classroom over listening to them play... just for you

They always sat and ate lunch with you in their classroom

The Collector:

His love language is gift giving and acts of service

Game nights literally every damn night

He likes to hide your things all over your home

He always takes your petty arguments as a joke

He may not be the healthiest but he's definitely always there for you

He's a cuddle bug

Practically clinging to your side where ever you were

He isn't shy about pda in the slightest

The collector was clinging to your sleeve "nooo don't leave!" Collector whined trying to tug yoy back into the house

You sighed "baby please I'm begging you just let go of me I'll be back soon, I've got a class to teach" you bargained

The collector let go of you gently "fine.." he pouted

He's beyond clingy

It's a problem sometimes but you manage

Older!Hunter:

His love language is acts of service, quality time, and gift giving

He makes you little cravings of animals

Especially wolves

Definitely his favorite earthly animal

He's touch starved

Please give him hugs and kisses

Really likes to hold your hand

His hands are rough and calloused after the years of being a golden guard and then his hobby of carving palisman

He likes to visit earth with you for small dates every now and then

Hunter held your hand gently as he led you through a forest on earth, hunter had been planning this small, somewhat simple date over the past month

Hunter had set up some fairy lights and a picnic deep in the woods, he had been quiet and mysterious the whole walk but soon spoke softly. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna kill you or anything" hunter joked

You laughed a bit but paused as you saw the at area "oh hunter.. this is beautiful "

Hunter smiled and helped you sit down "yea.. just like you" he said sweetly

He was sweet and romantic like this alot of the time

He's corny but it's relieving to know that he really cares for you

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Analysis: Cannery Row (Cultural References)

John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row (1945) opens with the following declaration:

“Cannery Row in Monterey California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream” (1).

Set in a fictionalized version of Cannery Row in Monterey, California, Steinbeck uses his cast of homeless people, drunks and prostitutes to express profound truths about humanity. 

Abacus (6): A counting device that was used before the creation of calculators.

Belles-lettres (64): A type of literary work, one that is usually expressed in essays, poetry and deals with intellectual subject matter.

Beret (123): A soft hat that has no bill and no brim. Often worn in the military.

Billings, Josh (61): The pen name for Henry Wheeler Shaw, a respected humorist of the 20th century.

Black Marigolds (171): A poem written by E. Powys Mathers.

Bloomer League (140): A baseball league that was comprised primarily of women that started during the early 1900’s.

Carborundum (90): Another name for silicon carbide, which is the sole chemical compound of carbon and silicon.

Chalmers (154): A type of car that was created and sold during the early 1900’s.

Chorea (144): An illness that causes involuntary movement in various parts of the body.

Collier’s (magazine) (139): Founded by Peter Collier, Collier’s Once a Week debuted in 1888 and went on to become one of America’s most popular magazines.

Count Basie (114): A prominent figure during the swing period of jazz, as well as a good example of big band style.

Dadaist (122): An artist or a writer who practiced Dada, a movement that rejected traditional art and contemporary culture.

Daisy Air Rifle (104): A brand of rifle created by the historic Daisy company.

Distemper (134): An infection in dogs that can be diagnosed through symptoms of a runny nose, poor appetite, and coughing.

“Fighting Bob” (111): A reference to Robert M. La Follette Sr. fight against Washington and other politicians who choose to enter WWI.

Ford Model T (61, 106): A truck built by Ford Motor Company.

The Great Depression (16): A result of the 1929 stock market crash, which left many Americans without money or jobs.

Great Fugue (163): A musical work by Beethoven.

Goiter (97): The enlargement of the thyroid gland.

Influenza (89): An infection more commonly known as the “flu.” It was responsible for claiming the lives of millions worldwide before effective vaccines were created to treat and prevent it.

Knights of Columbus (130): A Catholic organization that seeks to aid family members within the organization who are in financial need.

Knights Templar (130): A group of knights who originated in Jerusalem during the year of 1119. Though shrouded in mystery, the Knights Templar are believed to have protected the Holy Grail.

Laudanum (107): A mixture of opium and derivatives of alcohol.

Masonic Lodge (104): A meeting place for Freemasons or former Freemasons.

Mastoids (89): The skull bones that house the ear.

Mastoiditis (90): Mastoiditis occurs when an infection in the middle ear spreads to the mastoids and then causes an infection that produces fevers and headaches.

Monteverdi’s Hor ch’ el Ciel e la Terra (119): A song by the Italian musician Claudio Monteverdi, who lived in the 16th and 17th century.

Novena (88): A prayer that is said over a nine-day period that requests a special favor from God.

“Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915” (111): The 1915 Worlds Fair that was held in San Francisco, California.

Petrarch (119): A famous writer of the 14th century who is credited with being the founding father of Humanism.

Point Lobos (64): A state reserve on the central coast of California in Monterey County.

Prohibition (72): A move by the United States government to reduce the amount of alcohol consumed in the United States through limiting individuals and businesses who sold alcohol.

Purse Seiners (67): Fishing boats equipped to fish with a purse seine, a kind of fishing net.

“Remember the Maine” (111): The sinking of the U.S.S. Maine, which was the catalyst for the Spanish-American War.

Rimbaud (124): A 19th century French writer who is most remembered for his contribution to the symbolist movement.

Robert Louis Stevenson (61): A Scottish author who is most famous for works such as Treasure Island and The Black Arrow.

Saturnalia (112): The week of December 17th-23rd during which a feast was held by the Romans to celebrate their dedication Saturn’s temple.

Scarlatti (129): Last name of Giuseppe Domenico Scarlatti, an Italian harpsichordist born during the 17th century who later moved to Spain and continued to practice music there.

Sculpin (135): A kind of small fish.

St. Francis (of Assisi) (144): A saint in the Catholic church who is known for his great love for God, animals, and the sick.

Treasure Island (64): A book written by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Vaudeville (109): A form of American variety entertainment that marked the beginning of popular entertainment as a lucrative business.

“White Sale” (103): A sale either of household goods, or when a store drastically reduces their prices for a short period of time.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[raatart]

a complete boycott list in alphabetical order

a complete list of companies / brands / franchises to boycott in support of palestine that i have been working on putting together for a while now.

remember to support your local businesses

stand with palestine against genocide

(Food & Beverages)

A

Activia

Acqua Panna

Akmina

Absolute Vodka

Algida

A&W

Aquafina

Alpro

Actimel

B

Burger King

Baskin Robbins

Ben & Jerry's

Bugles

Betty Crocker

Badoit

Becel

C

Coca Cola

Costa Coffee

Cadbury

Cheerios

Cheetos

Campbells

Calve

Cappy

Chiquita

D

Dominos

Dasani

Dunkin' Donuts

Doritos

Dr Pepper

Danone

Dolcela

Damla

Dogadan

E

Evian

Eden

F

Fanta

Frito-lay

Fruit by the Foot Roll Ups

Falim

Fresca

G

Gatorade

Greggs

H

Hardees

Haagen Dazs

Heinz Ketchup

Hershey's

Hard Rock Cafe

Heinz

I

Innocent

Israeli Fruits & Vegetables

J

Jacob's

Jaffa

K

KitKat

KFC

Kbueno

Kraft Mac & Cheese

Kellogg's

Kraft

L

Lipton

Lays

M

McDonald's

Mars

Marks & Spencers

Maggi

Marila

Monster

Mountain Dew

Mehadrin

Minute Maid

Milk Bar

M&M's

Magnum Ice Cream

Milka Chocolates

N

Nestle

Nestle Cereals

Nescafe

Nesquik

Nespresso

Nido

Nutella

Nature Valley

Nestle Milo

Nestle Carnation

Nestle Coffee Mate

Nestle Nestum

Nimbooz

Nestea

O

Orea

Original Shredded Wheat

P

Papa John's

Pepsi

Pringles

Pizza Hut

Perrier

Pillsbury

Popeyes

Pretty a Manager

Pure Life

Powerade

Popup Bagels

Q

Quality Street

Quaker

R

Redbull

Ruffles

S

Starbucks

Subway

Smartwater

Sweetgreen

Snickers

Sprite

Sabra

Sunkist

Strauss

Smarties

S.pellegrino

Schweppes

Sana

Sirma

Sara Lee

T

Toblerone

Tang

Twix

Tesco

Tropicana

U

V

Vittle

Volvic

W

Wall's

Walmart

Walkers

Wrigley's

X

Y

Z

7Up

(Clothing)

A

America Eagle

Adidas

Alo

Adina Eden Jewelry

B

C

Converse

Calvin Klein

Cat

Castro

D

Drew

Diesel

E

F

G

Good American

GAP

H

H&M

I

J

K

Kamili

L

Levi's

Lumberjack

M

Mango

N

Nike

O

Oasis

P

Puma

Q

R

River Island

S

Skims

Skinny Dip

St. Mark

Style Nadia

T

Timberland

U

V

Victoria's Secret

Vakko

W

We Wore That

Wyeth

X

Y

Z

Zara

(Beauty)

A

Aveda

Amika

Avon

Aussie

Aveeno

Always

Aesop

Ahava

B

Bobbi Brown

Blistex

Bath & Body Works

Britney Spears Fragrance

Becca

Biotherm

Beauty Blender

C

Clinique

Covergirl

Colgate

Calgon

Camay

CeraVe

Christina Aguilera Perfumes

Clean & Clear

Crest

CND

Cacharel

D

Dr. Jart+

Dove

Dettol

Darphin Paris

Dark & Lovely

E

Essie

Elidor

F

Fenty Beauty

Fair & Lovely

G

Garnier

Gillette

Glam Glow

H

Honest Beauty

Haci Sakir

Herbal Essences

Head & Shoulders

Hugo Boss

I

J

Jo Malone

Johnson & Johnsom

K

Kerastase

Kiehl's

Kylie Cosmetics

Kylie Skin

Kotex

L

L'Oreal

Lacome

La Roche-Posey

Lifebuoy

Lux

Lubiderm

M

Maybelline

MAC

Moroccan Oil

Maui

Matrix

Max Factor

N

Nyx

Neutrogena

Nivea

Nature's Beauty

Niely

O

Olay

Origins

Orkid

Oral-B

Oax

P

Pepsodent

Pantene

Q

R

Revlon

Rimmel

Rexona

Rhode

S

Summer Fridays

Schick

Smashbox

Sephora

Sensodyne

Skinceuticals

Skin Better Science

T

The Body Shop

Too Faced Cosmetics

The Ordinary

Tom Ford Beauty

Tampax

Takami

U

Urban Decay

Ulta Beauty

V

Vichy

Vaseline

Veet

W

X

Y

Yes to

Yuesai

Z

(Luxury)

A

B

C

Chanel

D

E

Estee Lauder

F

G

Georgio Armani

H

I

J

K

L

LVMH

Louis Vuitton

La Mer

Lavs

Le Labo

M

Mugler

Maison Margiela

N

O

P

Prada

Q

R

Raplh Lauren

S

T

Tiffany & Co.

Tom Ford

Tommy Hilfiger

U

V

Valentino

W

X

Y

Yves Saint Laurent

Z

(Tech & Entertainment)

A

Aol

Amazon

AirBnB

Apple

B

BBC

Buxton

Barbie

Booking.com

C

CNN

D

Disney+

Dell

E

Energizer

F

Ford

Fiverr

G

Galaxy

H

HP

Hyundai

Hulu

I

IBM

Intel

J

K

L

Lego

M

Motorola

Movenpick

Mattel

Microsoft

N

National Geographic

Nokia

Netflix

O

Oracle

Oxi

P

Philips

Q

R

Rolls Royce

S

Siemens

Sodastream

T

Toys R Us

U

V

Volvo

Valvoline

W

Wix

X

Y

Z

(Other)

A

Axa

Ariel

Aero

Ambi Pur

Airwick

Aroma

AVC

Amway

Ace Hardware

Andrex

American Express

B

Bounty

Black & Decker

Bonux

Bref

Braun

Benadryl

Band-aid

Barclays

Blue Cross Blue Shield

Better Help

C

Caltex

Chevron

Culligan

Citi Bank

Chicco

Cravola

Clearblue

Capital One

D

Dash

Drynites

Dosmestos

Doona

E

Expedia

F

Finish

Febreeze

Fixodent

Fairy

G

Goop

Gerber

Gys

H

HSBC

Huggies

Hayat

I

Imodium

J

JCB

K

Kimberly-Clark

Kleenex

L

Lion

Little Swimmers

Lenor

M

Mr Muscle

Minidou

Monsanto

N

Nicorette

O

Omo

P

Pampers

Purina Felix

Payoneer

Palmolive

Protex

Pull-ups

P&G

Prima

Pril

Paramount Pictures

Q

R

Rejoice

Rinso

Rogaine

S

Signal

Sensus

Sudafed

T

Tide

U

Unilever

Us Cellular

V

Vim

Vanish

Vicks

W

X

Y

Yumus

Z

(Places)

A

B

C

D

Disney

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z

(People)

A

Ashley Tisdale

Amy Schumer

Andy Beshear

B

Bono

Ben Savage

Bella Thorne

Beyonce

C

Chris Evans

Claire Holt

Ciara

Chris Rock

Chris Pine

D

Demi Lovato

Dwayne Johnson

DJ Khaled

E

Eva Longoria

F

G

Gal Gadot

H

I

Ian Somerhalder

J

Jamie Lee Curtis

James Maslow

Justin Bieber

Jennifer Aniston

Jaclyn Hill

Jack Harlow

Jordan Peele

Joseph Quinn

Jack Black

K

Kylie Jenner

Kim Kardashian

Kris Jenner

Kerry Washington

Katie Perry

Karlie Kloss

Khloe Kardashian

Kat Graham

Kendall Jenner

Kourtney Kardashian

L

Lebron James

Lana Condor

Lana Del Rey

M

Millie Bobby Brown

Malala

Mindy Kaling

Mark Hamill

Madonna

N

NFL

Nina Dobrev

Natalie Portman

Nabela

Nicole Richie

Noah Schnapp

O

Octovia Spencer

P

Perez Hilton

Paul Wesley

Phoebe Tonkin

Pia Mia

P!nk

Q

R

Ronaldinho

Rihanna

S

Sofia Richie

Shaquir O'neal

Selena Gomez

T

Tara Strong

Taika Waititi

Taylor Swift

Tyler Perry

U

Usher

U2

V

Vanessa Hudgens

Viola Davis

W

X

Y

Z

[squwhims]

Joker Out Members Ranked on Their Ability To Aid Someone Bringing a Ring To Mordor

Very niche ranking, but I was cleaning out my google account and remembered that I made a google slide titled, "The List: Fictional Men Who Make Me Kick My Lil Feet Up & Giggle"...number one man on that list being Samwise Gamgee. In that, I made a compare and contrast section and one of the slides is ranking the fictional men on how good they would be at making the journey to Mordor.

Obviously, these guys here are not fictional, so take this with nuance since I am pulling these opinions out of my butt, but I love it when people post their thoughts on Joker Out as (blank), so I will too!

Number One: Nace

Nace definitely has it in him to get someone through this type of situation. This ranking is not based on "physically could he get you to and from Mordor" (because the whole premise of this trip is that a man under 120cm managed to do it), but I do think Nace's strength would be an added bonus. I think that Nace has the best emotional capabilities for this quest. Out of everyone in the band, I feel like he is the most grounded and down to earth member. I think he would have the patience to deal with the emotional toll of the quest, like, it would be difficult to get through, but I feel like he has a very persevering spirit and would be able to survive off of memories of the things he loves back home, and he'd always try his hardest not to make the situation worse with negativity. He's got humility and I don't think he would judge someone for breaking down on the quest. I have no lived proof of him being a safe man, but he seems very safe, you could trust him to guard you while you sleep. He would stay loyal through the whole trek to Mordor and he would tell wonderful stories at the campfire that comfort you and remind you of where you started.

Number Two: Jure

Now, this ranking is based more on "could he physically get you to and from Mordor" because although he doesn't capture the pure-of-heart, patience, down to earth, loyalty that Sam represents, by god...he would plop you down on his motorbike and the trip would take no more than a week. I raised myself the question, "how would he handle the emotional toll though?" and I raise myself the answer: I don't think you'd have time to dwell on the fear and homesickness and dread. I think Jure would be a busy-body on the quest. I think he'd be foraging, cooking, cleaning all the gear, putting unknown plants into his pipe and smoking it just to see what happens, and he'd be climbing EVERYTHING. I simply don't think there would be space in his quest to feel anything. Closer and closer to the doom of Mordor he would be speeding things up. He has the least amount of apparent Sam-like qualities, but this ranking is not called "Joker Out members ranked on their Sam-like qualities", this is based purely on COULD HE GET YOU THERE IN ONE PIECE?! Jure could simply walk into Mordor and that is enough.

Number Three: Bojan

This was a real toss up, because on one hand I feel like he has quite a bit of persevering, mental strength, he is a bit of a silly goose and would be a hoot to travel with...but on the other hand I feel like he is leaning closer to the Frodo side of the spectrum deep down. The quest would start off with high sprits, you know, he'd be leaving home with a smile on his face and pep in his step. He'd be so excited to see the elves and the world and meet new people...but then one bad thing would happen at the start of the second quarter of the quest and he would begin to crack. Gandalf/other mentor figure in this hypothetical situation would die and that would be his breaking point. Working through the emotional toll of the trek would be HARD. Physically, I think he could do it...but mentally...idk man. The guy already gets panic attacks on the regular and I don't think he would be of any help to someone who needed to dispose of a ring in the fires of Mount Doom. Maybe that would be beneficial to the team because he'd be down in the dumps with you despite the fact that YOU are carrying the weight of the world around YOUR neck. So idk, we're all in this together? I'm sure he'd have good moments. He would definitely try his best to stay positive.

Number Four: Jan

Too Frodo coded to aid someone on their quest to Mordor. I'm not saying this to wimpify Jan, because physically, I do think he would be capable— really, the quest is just a long walk in the woods, so I feel like he would start the quest off doing fine. Sight-seeing with a cane in his hand: delightful. It would be a very quiet quest, but he'd be present. However, I feel like the pressure of getting to Mordor would be weighing on him the whole time. I don't think he is built to carry that much weight in his heart all alone. The fate of the world resting on his shoulders? He's gotta get his buddy across the world and through countless dangers? Doesn't know if either of them will survive? Once you start, there is no going back? Yeah, no. I don't think Jan is built to play the Sam role on this quest. He is Frodo. Someone is gonna need to be there to pick him up when he falls face-first into a bog due to lack of will to live and cut him free from spiderwebs and shit.

Number Five: Kris

Gonna be honest, I don't think Kris would have went on this quest. If Gandalf told him he had to go with Frodo I think that Kris would have said no. He has assessed all the potential dangers of the quest, he doesn't have anything to prove, he doesn't even really like Frodo that much; he would say no to going. Of course, it is mandatory that he goes and he gets forced into going. I think that Kris would have a good time with the elves, his brothers and sisters in height. Yeah, he'd have a great time with them. You'd be on your deathbed getting healed after being stabbed and Kris would be getting philosophical with the elves, learning archery and shit. He'd be feeling pretty good after that and more at ease going on the quest, but I don't think he would really care about you. Like he doesn't want you to die (because that would mean that now he'd need to hold onto the ring) but he decided a long time ago that he is working through his emotions on his own, and you are working on yours alone. Not a bad quest buddy if you are stoic. This sounds really mean, I don't mean to be mean!! He'd make a really great Legolas!

[babylon-littlespace]

Sleep Token members as caregivers!

Caregiver headcanons for all 4 Sleep Token members are below!

Please remember this is all fiction and based on the personas they perform on stage!

caregiver divider by @/aquazero

Vessel -

Always makes sure his little is well rested, fed and hydrated

Very into naps with his little, his bed is layered in cozy blankets and piles of the softest pillows he could find

Also has matching pajamas with his little

Certainly the clingiest of the four

Comforting caregiver, always offers snuggles when his littles sad although he understands if they need space

Always has Band-Aids and such on him in case of booboos

II -

The strictest of them

Follows routine and rules very much but is the absolute best with rewards when his littles been good

Goes out of his way to put in extra effort to make healthy but yummy snacks

The best at managing big emotions in a little body in a serious way and calming his little down

Usually the go to caregiver with a sick little

III -

"The fun one"

He's always down to get properly involved in his littles activities, drawing, crafting, dress-up- You name it. He doesn't mind if he makes a mess or gets grubby during it too.

Has gone out dressed as a pretty princess because of his little at least once if not several times

He's not the best with genuinely dealing with emotions but he always makes everything all better in the end, usually with treats or such

Sometimes feels as if he isn't good enough as a caregiver, his littles smile tends to fix that issue though

IV -

A very relaxed caregiver

He likes to involve his little on whatever he's doing, whether it be work or personal hobbies

Will let his little try out his guitar as long as they're careful! He trusts them though

Encourages independent play very similar to parallel play, he just likes quality time

Sometimes struggles to get into the caregiver headspace, definitely the newest out of everyone but he overcomes it

[leahsfiction]

PALISADE 20: In Their Fear Pt. 1 (00:22:21–00:29:57)

“Well, the good news is that it’s still 3 Grip, which means that—”

“Yeah.”

“—we will have a chance to take care of this.”

“Jack? Take it away.”

Something bad is in the air. Bilat crafts teeter in the sky like anxious flies. The distant sound of heavy ships taking off in great black columns of launch smoke. Everything seems too bright. The day is too warm. The headache sits on your forehead and on your temples.

In Carhaix, someone drops a tray of wine glasses. Pleasure yachts and private transit gather at the closed Portcullis Gate, and as it opens vanish into distant Principality space, passing ship after ship of settlers as they pour into the Palisade System.

In the early afternoon, the sun dims, and a red band of light appears around the middle of it, like a bauble wrapped in a ribbon, or a horrible mirror of the Diadem. It’s dim enough to look at directly, but it still hurts your eyes. There is a whine in the air. Every couple of hours there is a rumble of radiation static, and a corona jets from the surface of the sun.

The animals respond in fear. Birds rise, suddenly alarmed, from the trees, or cower silently in crowded branches. Rabbits and foxes freeze, dumb, in the middle of walkways. Ants rise en masse from cracks in the walls. Rivers seem to run slow, with an algaed stink.

Some of the spies know nothing and continue as usual, keeping their mouths shut, answering questions curtly, bargaining limitedly for clemency. When others see the quality of light in the room change, and the demeanour of the people around them alter—why do the calls to Gucci Garantine keep getting dropped? What was that scream of Nidean engines overhead?—they change their tune quickly. They start making specific bargains. Get me off-world. Get me through the Portcullis Gate and I will tell you anything you want. Or they close their mouths, defiant, eyes up. Millennium Break. You do not know the sharpness of the dagger on which you walk.

Of course this is unproportional, they think. What a waste. We’re in a good place. We know the identity of Hexagon. So they made some gains in the Bontive Valley. So they fucked us up on the Isle of the Broken Key. Small beer. We are the most powerful empire in the galaxy. The blood is in the grip. But the Stargrave, these pissant revolutionaries, are gonna get this whole thing blown up.

Or: they let something slip in their fear. The Stargrave has gone mad. She was on the edge and you fucked it. They say the BIS boss went to stay with her, try and calm her down. They say she makes her staff practice dying. They say she got wind that you were trying to come for her and fled, it only made this malady worse, this is the end of the world.

When the message comes to you—secondhand, of course, the Cause council has seen this first—it shows in grainy low-resolution the pinched face of an aide-de-camp as she turns the camera on. Then she tilts it nauseatingly, the view dips, and we see the only remaining right angle of a small ruined building. It seems to be surrounded by trees. The roof came away long ago; just two brick walls stand, forming the corner in which the Stargrave stands.

She is a blonde woman in her late fifties, maybe her mid sixties. She wears full military regalia. On her right arm, from her hand up to her shoulder, is clamped an unwieldy metal device, somewhere between a leg brace and a trigger mechanism. A leather strap, almost like the bit of a horse’s bridle, with eight buttons on it, crosses the palm of her right hand which faces towards the camera. Beneath the device you can almost see that her right sleeve has been rolled up to the shoulder, or cut neatly, and two IV needles run from its metal armature: one into her upper arm, and one just above her wrist. Her face is very pale; her lips white, pressed tightly together; dull light from the armed sun. She opens her mouth: silent for a second, lips parted. Then the man standing to her right—another aide-de-camp, carrying an assault rifle—speaks.

“Terrorists of Millennium Break. As a result of recent assaults on sovereign holdings in the Bontive Valley and the central transit network of this planet, as well as targeted assaults on her office, the Stargrave has been left with no choice but to arm the stellar combustors entrusted to her in holy power for the preservation of the Divine Principality.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“She has instructed me, in her wisdom, to communicate to you that any attempt to approach the Brecheliant Forest or the stellar combustor units, covertly or otherwise, as well as any attempt on Stargrave Elcessor’s life or liberty, will be met with—will be met with an immediate detonation. Resulting in the destruction of the planet Palisade, the sector designated the Twilight Mirage, and the twenty-three systems within the nearest achievable firebreak.”

“I have also been instructed to inform you that any attempt to seek a loophole, magical or mundane, or otherwise circumvent the terms of this message, will also result in an immediate detonation. The stellar combustors will remain armed until August Righteousness of Jade Kill; Véronique and the Divine Fealty of Rose River; Captain Skelton Knaggs of Carmine Bight; Saint Decario Dicario of Violet Cove; Jesset City of Gray Pond; and Gucci Garantine of Blue Channel turn themselves in to the Bilateral Intercession at the nearest checkpoint. This message will be rebroadcast throughout the Palisade System on the hour and at the half-hour.”

There is a long moment of silence. Then the Stargrave nods imperceptibly; then the aide behind the camera turns it off.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)

“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” 

Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can. 

But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality. 

“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in. 

“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”

And he’s right. 

You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved. 

Punishment, you convince yourself. 

Comfort, your better mind argues.

Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense. 

Even though he does.

“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”

And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive. 

“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”

You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.

And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down. 

But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.

Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself. 

“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will. 

Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights. 

Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite. 

Again— he likes being held down.

And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.

This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.

He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild. 

Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same: 

You always have an ulterior motive.

“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.

Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.

And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either. 

You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square. 

He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.

His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.

“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon. 

Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this. 

“Crap, that felt so fucking good.” 

Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it. 

But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling. 

This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.

But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:

“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

Oh god.

The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea. 

He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.

But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!

But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.

When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it. 

Because it’s fucking electric. 

…

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips. 

It was good. It was a good kiss. 

Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss. 

And he fucking noticed.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’

But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.

Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. 

But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried). 

“...One more?”

You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.

There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.

But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.

“I’m just messing with you.”

And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling. 

The feeling is relief. 

Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder. 

Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.

You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.

“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”

“Aww, don’t say that…”

His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet. 

“I know I will.”

…Fucking brat. 

Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.

But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?

And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:

“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan. 

…

I won’t.

⭑⭑⭑

The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too. 

…But for who? 

A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.

He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?

But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches. 

…Huh. 

That’s weird.

Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded. 

He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder. 

…What the fuck?

It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it. 

Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!

Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?

But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops. 

And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.

Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.

A mark of your own.

“ ...Shit.”

⭑⭑⭑

[thestobingirlie]

Somewhat tangentially related to that other ask but I wish fandom would just acknowledge that Eddie is also bully in his own right and just because he's antagonist towards jocks doesn't mean they deserve it by virtue of being jocks (no matter how much fandom likes to pretend it's warranted because Eddie is bullied himself- this is nowhere near canon and I'd go so far as to say it goes against canon if we're basing it off of Eddie's own behavior) and beyond all that; like the other asker and yourself said Eddie isn't just antagonizing jocks! He openly scorns band kids, geeks and pretty much everyone that isn't his specific brand of nerd which is not about academics so much as nerdy interest like fantasy and "non-conformist" music.

I put that in quotations because Eddie is actually probably the one that buys into the whole high school hierarchy spiel more than any other character on the show; by setting himself up as such an anti-establishment non conformist (all within the high school setting mind you we see nothing to make me believe his ideals go beyond that setting and it makes sense to me considering he's a Peter Pan archetype stuck in a state of arrested development- but I digress) because he sets himself up in such a way that his entire persona is built off of the abject refusal to adhere to societal expectations he's by and large helping to perpetuate them. He's cosplaying this attitude more than living by it because the societal norms still very much dictate how he views himself and how he approaches others.

Ironically Steve is the real deal in this regard by shucking what others expect from him and living his own life the way he wants it divorced from the excepted norms he used to let dictate him as late as mid s3 while changing the things he didn't like about himself behaviorally while still retaining his core personality and interests without the need to revise himself fully.

But because he doesn't have an alt style or interests that go against the mainstream, fandom refuses to see him in this light. He also doesn't let his new friends change his own interests nor expect them to change theirs for him.

I guess this rant makes me sound like I don't like Eddie but I do! I think fandom Eddie is entirely separate from canon Eddie however, to the point where his only recognizable qualities are his interests and aesthetic. Fandom really seems to martyr him in that regard and fully drink his kool-aid which is hilarious because it's largely performative with no substance lmao (even the "woe is me hunt the freak huh 🥺" falls flat narratively when a whole ass dead girl was found in his home).

I think the duplicitous nature of his personality and his hypocrisy (while still fully being a good guy! If you ignore the whole uh selling hard core drugs to a 17/18 year old girl who clearly never did them before thing) I think it's this dual nature and slightly shady actions while still having a caring heart and good intentions is what makes him a good character and we don't get to see that hardly ever with the way a laaaarge portion of fandom worships at his freak alter.

god, beautifully written. i agree with every single point. honestly, you anons just know how to word exactly what i’m feeling.

yes! eddie pretends like he rejects societal ideals, but he just reinforces them to the next generation. he’s built his life on being the freak, he plays it up to get attention, and to rile up his classmates. i honestly think eddie won’t know who he is post high school. which is, like you said, ironically the way the fandom tries to portray steve. but we see that he’s much more secure in himself and his life than eddie. does he have everything figured out? of course not, he’s 18!! but he knows a hell of a lot more than eddie.

but because he isn’t a nerdy outcast, the fandom would have us believe that he actually hates his life and who he is, and secretly doesn’t want to be a jock. fanon steve is honestly way more like canon eddie than i think the fandom wants to admit.

(and yeah, chrissy is found dead in his home. people aren’t just witch hunting eddie for no reason lmao)

all this is what makes canon eddie an actual interesting character!!! and the fact he (and steve) are entirely stripped of these characteristics is one of the reasons that i just can’t vibe with the fandoms rendition of steddie.

[nihildenial]

Collared Papacy: sub!Papa Nihil x dom!Sister Imperator PWP one-shot

Summary: Just a slice of a typical 1970s evening without the boys in the Imperator-Emeritus household.

MF 18+

word count: 1, 790

smut below cut!

***"Sister" refers to a clergy title, not a blood relation

Contrary to the emerald color that makes up most of her wardrobe, her favorite color was actually red. Not that horrid bright red that flashes from firetrucks and stop lights, but the saturated deep crimson showcased in the wine staining the corner of her lips.

Her glass was nearly empty and she savored the last long sip in the warmth by their living room’s roaring fireplace. 

Her heels were jostled by a sudden shift beneath her crossed ankles. “Stay still,” She scolds, using one of her red stiletto heels to press against the visible rib muscles of her footrest. It elicits a sweet moan of distress from her captive. 

She grows warm with the delicious noise, aided by the aphrodisiac qualities of her wine.

“Sister, please,” The man pleads from his submissive pose. His shoulder-length raven hair has fallen from its low ponytail to hang around his face. Nihil’s energetic performances as Ghost frontman were paying off by the tensed physique her green eyes roamed over.

His pale skin glistened in the dancing firelight, clammy from the strain of holding himself up on his hands and knees next to the constant heat. He was a marble statue crafted by Satan himself, just for her. He was perfect even when he was acting like a desperate whore. 

“I’ve been so good for hours now, can’t we take a break? I’ll refill your glass,” Nihil hasn’t used his safe word, so she ignores the request. 

More wine would be nice, but they would have to open a new bottle…and she’s comfortable with the lingering warmth of the fire. It would be a shame to break the moment. “You have been good so far, but I remember what you did to get into this position and I don’t feel you’ve made it up to me yet.”

“Sister!” His arms are beginning to tremble from strain. “Bernadette-”

Her fingers wrap around the leather leash that lies limply in her lap and tugs. “What was that?”

A throaty gasp is ripped from Nihil’s throat. “Bernadette,“ He moans her name.

“Do I need to gag you like a bitch, too?” She warns when he continues to plead for release. “Why can’t you shut up?”

Sister Imperator uses the leash to lift the raven haired man’s neck. He’s smirking up at her, mismatched green and white eyes delirious with lust. “Such a whore. You’ve been on your hands and knees and you’re acting like you’ve been on my strap?”

His head bobs and she realizes that he’s been a little shit just to get his mouth filled. The same beautiful mouth that has given them the opportunity to live in this cozy TransyLvAnian home between tours.

“Please, Sister, I’ve been so good,” He tries again.

He’s been okay. She caught him with his hands up some girl’s mini-skirt behind the bar table and since she dragged him home by the ear, he’s been her footstool.

It’s been a few hours. And the brunette Nihil was fingering was exactly the type she’d go after herself.

Imperator removes her feet from his back.

He immediately begins to sit up but she tsks. “I didn’t say you could move.”

Nihil freezes and gets back on his hands. He stays still while she stands and brings her empty bottle and glass to the sink. She takes her time removing her diamond earrings and the various pins holding up her long blonde hair. It unfurls down her back, releasing the pressure of the elaborate hairstyle from her scalp.

She moves back to the low sofa and turns so her back is towards the still-kneeling man. “Unzip,” She orders, firm but fond.

Nihil’s body creaks as he sits up and back on his heels. He holds her long hair away from the zipper until he undoes the mini-dress. His hands guide the dress upwards until her fingers meet the hem, and drag it off her body.

“So lovely, Sister…” He relishes the sculpted legs that go on for miles under his hands. The diamond-patterned tights hug her ass wonderfully and disappear into her expensive stilettoes. A glance up and he sees her nimble hands undoing the hooks of her bra.

“I wear this dress all the time,” She turns and he wants to sob at the visible slick dampening the front of her thong.

He could dive into her core right now and forget how sore his joints are. “Still just a beautiful as the first time I saw it.”

Sister Imperator relaxes against the couch again. She lifts a heeled foot and Nihil is dreading if she’s going to make him pose more.

“Shoes off,” She says instead.

The raven haired man eagerly takes each shoe off and places them orderly by the edge of the shag rug.

“Good boy. Tights.”

Nihil shivers. His fingers hook into the elastic waistband and pulls down the lacey tights down her thighs, under her ass, and down past her ankles.

She flips her long hair over the back of the couch and spreads her legs. She grins at how his eyes are glued to her panties. Her thong was definitely not wide enough to fully cover her when she was open like this. “Okay, you can have your reward now.”

He doesn’t even need to move her panties to the side that much; the black cotton stretches so that it rolls up and out of the way. He mouths at her outer lips and watches her expression as he takes off her thong. Now free, he buries his head between her legs with excitement.

Her sharp acrylics scratch at his scalp, prompting more shivers. “More,” She says, voice close to a moan.

Nihil lifts her hips to surround his head and presses his nose into her clit, and tongue further into her folds. He lifts her hips to sit on his shoulders and fully sinks into her core. He could die happy here.

She’s always so appreciative of his efforts even when it comes after a punishment. All the other girls he’s been with (except for Elizabeth, Lucifer rest her soul) haven’t had this connection moment while he was servicing them.

He could never be docile and sweet for them like he could for Bernadette.

“Such a good boy for me,” She moans.

Nihil smirks against her fluttering walls. She’s close by how wet she’s gotten. He pulls away to take a gulp down some air and see how he’s affected her.

Sister Imperator’s green eyes are blazing with lust. The heavy black eyeshadow of her typical look is smudged at the edges. Her nails are grasping at his shoulders the pull him up. “I think I’ve forgiven you."

His hand is immediately searching the couch cushions for their stray bottle of coconut oil. She finds it first; she was practically sitting on it. Handing it over, Nihil uses it to slick up his cock.

They fuck so often now that she’s still pretty loose from their tryst after the concert and before barhopping with their Ghouls. Still, he makes sure the scrunch between her perfect blonde eyebrows isn’t from unpleasant pain.

One of the things he loves about Bernadette (but he’ll never say it out loud) is that she’s infertile and they can fuck without any concern for childbearing. (Not that it stopped him from going after Elizabeth, Emilia, or Ravenna, which resulted in the three menace boys currently at the drive-in theater with the Ghouls).

Sliding into Bernadette was like coming home. She opened up so nicely around him, always perfect smooth so he could see the light freckles on her hips. And she kept a taut grip on his collar. The combination of asphyxiation and stillness forced him to use his lower back to fuck into her.

To her, Nihil is hottest when he’s being impaled by her, but the way he’s so eager to please her makes this experience just as sweet. She uses the leash bend him over her and make him hover just out of reach of her lips.

“Tell me what you did wrong today,” Imperator says as firm as she can when seven inches is rocking inside her cunt.

He shakes his head. His overgrown black shag moves like a cute Labrador retriever getting out of a puddle. “Can’t…”

She digs her black painted nails into his cheek and yanks his head up until they can lock eyes. He’s right where she wants him.

Nihil can’t resist her, so he looks at her lips instead.

She lets the pressure on his leash dissipate.

“No,nonono-no,” He whines. He tries to grab for the black leather but she holds it aloft.

“If you don’t tell me then I take the leash off.”

Nihil’s hips haven’t stopped, even though he’s so close it’s not enough without the delicious pressure on his throat. “I-I need-“

She slaps him, making sure it smears the already beading papal paint.

He keens, head hung in the direction of her blow. That was his last warning. “I was-oh, touching…o-one of the dancers.”

Imperator arches her back and meets his thrust, “And?”

“I didn’t ah-ask for your permission, f….first,” His cheeks are blazing red through the white stage makeup.

“Good boy.” She loops the leash around her knuckles and watches as Nihil’s thrusts immediately become frenzied.

Both of them are sweating with the heat of desire and the fireplace alight. His hands are clammy and slip when he tries to move her hips up. So his one hand cups her ass and other presses down on the tiny layer of fat above her pubic bone.

She hisses at him, “Not there!”

He flinches but recovers to move a hand to her breasts to make up for it. “Sorry,” He moans.

“My good boy…” Imperator finally lets him sink their mouths together.

She increases the pressure of the leash and he’s cumming inside her with a breathy gasp. She’s not quite there and keeps the pressure so he’ll keep thrusting. He’ll stay hard as long as he’s inside her. It’s what makes him such a whore.

His left hand shakily moves to her clit to rub it until she’s gasping out her own orgasm.

“Shit,” Nihil whimpers. She’s so tight and wet from their orgasms that he feels a larger than normal aftershock of pleasure.

Thank Lucifer that she can’t get pregnant, Nihil tells himself when she lets him pull away; because he’s rearing for round two already.

Thank Lucifer that he’s a dumbass, Imperator tells herself as she thinks of the positive used pregnancy test in her purse. She'll deal with that later.

On the contrary, they have two hours before the boys and Ghouls come back home; the perfect amount of time for three more rounds.

[appleinyoureye]

JJBA p.2 │ The Tongue of My Love Takes Many Forms

Summary: love language headcanons! what they have to offer and how to make their knees weak!

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Characters: Giorno Giovanna, Mista Guido, Narancia Ghirga, Trish Una

Word Count: 787

Type: headcanons

part one

Giorno

Giving: words of affirmation, gift giving

Giorno is a master with words. He knows what, when and in which way should he tell you to make your day brighter. With a soft smile and reassuring glance, he tells you a compliment or two when you need it the most, and it makes you feel like the most special person on the whole freakin’ planet. Very often you don't hear these sentences directly from him – Giorno usually sends you a butterfly with a message spreaded on its wings, or a puppy that has your favorite snack tied to its collar. He is not afraid to use his stand to make the one he loves feel even more adored.

Receiving: physical touch, words of affirmation

Gio often drifts away with his thoughts, his mind busy with developing new plans and ideas. It may be tiring for his smart brain, and nothing helps him in these moments like your soft touch, grounding him to reality again. Your fingers brushing his cheek and catching his jaw, sweet words leaving your mouth are always enough. Whenever you see him struggling with anything, catch his hand in yours and watch the sparkles dance in his precious eyes.

Mista

Giving: words of affirmation, physical touch

My favorite boy, baby boo, the love of my life is all about adoring his loved one. He makes sure that you know your worth, and that your insecurities poof! go away. Mista is always, always telling you how good you look, how smart you are, how amazing you do things, and, uhh, how perfect you are! And be ready for a lot of hugs and kisses! He has to maintain physical contact with you almost all of the time. Brushing your hair every morning, tracing small circles with his thumb on your skin in public places, and hugging and spinning you after a long time apart. That’s how Mista shows he’s in love with you.

Receiving: physical touch, acts of service

Okay, I think we can all agree that this boy way too often gets his cute ass into trouble. Always somehow surviving, he comes to you vulnerable with scratches, cuts and all sorts of wounds. And your duty is to help him. Gently caress his body with a cotton swab, wrap the damaged skin in bandages, put cute band-aids on his face, massage sore spots. Just pamper him like a baby! He knows he can do it all by himself, but your hands just do the magic, you know?

Narancia

Giving: acts of service, gift giving

Sometimes you think that your boo has two left hands, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Narancia makes you breakfast, but always burns one side of a pancake or makes the scrambled eggs way too dry. He cleans your desk, but accidentally throws away an important document (don’t worry, later he’ll duck in the trash can so he can find it!). He wants to make it up for his clumsiness by giving you all sorts of trinkets! He’s like a magpie. Anything that looks like something you may like (or is sparkly) he gets for you because I can’t say that he buys everything…

Receiving: words of affirmation, gift giving

He’s your good boy, your cutie-patootie, your boo-boo-bae-bee. Tell him that. Praise him. Narancia needs it, and you know it! Remind him how much he means to you. How brilliant his ideas are, even though sometimes they make no sense! Just appreciate his efforts, and I can promise you, that you will see his imaginary tail wagging. And if you tell him how much he means to you, and then give you something to eat? Sheesh! The boy may even cry from happiness.  

Trish

Giving: quality time, words of affirmation

She’s not the best at showing it, but Trish cares for you. She surely does. That is why she suggests that you should take her more on dates! Like, c’mon, how could you not think that Trish wants to spend more time with you you to take her on yet another date this weekend? That she deserves it? Pfft! You can still make it up to her by watching a movie marathon with her. And if you notice her hints, she may even praise you! 

Receiving: gift giving

Okay, now, I sure hope you know what to do with her. Give her gifts that she deserves! Trish feels the most loved when she’s appreciated. She may give the vibes of a gold digger, but it’s totally not that. Trish is reassured of your feelings when you put an effort when choosing a gift she may like, when she gets something she’s told you once and you still remembered! It’s the thought behind the gift that counts the most, plus, who doesn’t like pretty things?