#got this instead

[kytsos]

hot women,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

[indimlights]

SRAM changing the story already on day 2 was not on my plans but I'm here for it 100%

[forever-eternal]

Ar there any Florida stories of him being chaotic? Or just anything in general

When you try to write chaos but it turns into something else 🙃

Idk what to call this

———————————————————————

Ian Jones has always been more of a wild child than the other kids his parents raised.

Not in the sense that he misbehaved or made trouble, no no— more in the sense that he did things with little thought, made jokes and got dirty. Always came home with a new bump, bruise, or scrape.

Of course, he can behave when his parents want him to, he’d hate to upset them, but the 100 years he believed his Papi was dead and stoutly avoided his Mami had locked some of those polite behaviors behind thick walls.

He causes trouble for everyone around him, acted out to get attention he craved from the older States, the Grandpa’s, because he could no longer get it from his parents.

But…Gov…

“Florida, put that away.” The burning match in his hand was put out with two fingers closing around the flickering flame, “You can burn down his shed later.”

The man’s presence was familiar, but impossible.

“Get off the chandelier, you heathen child.” Crossed arms and steady grey eyes, looking up at him.

His self-destructive, arrogant behavior began to turn once more to the playfulness from his youth in the man’s presence.

Florida had assumed, like many others, that Gov was a new personification meant to replace DC.

Several States, starting from Minnesota and ending at young Hawai’i, called the man their dad. That quickly ended the ‘New Personification’ line of thought, but then came the question: who is Gov?

The magical mishap with Loui’s book answered that, and they were all made aware that Gov was Congress. He was their father, he was the boy the OG’s raised.

He wasn’t dead.

And Florida was conflicted.

He had missed his Papi, had missed being Ian Jones and not just Florida.

But his Papi must have left for a reason.

…

Florida may not be the smartest, but even he knows not to look a gator in the mouth on this one.

“Papi! I’m gonna try and shoot the hurricane out on the coast!” He calls out, slinging his shotgun across his back as he makes his way down the hall.

“That’s nice, son.” The man answers from his desk, focused entirely on his paperwork, and Ian grins.

He waits…

The screech of an office chair across the floor, pounding footsteps, a door being thrown open upstairs, his Papi’s voice booming through the house—

“IAN JONES—!” He ‘pop!’s out with an echoing cackle.

[ceaselessbasher]

I swear to god one of these days were going to see a video of Amaury Guichon and he's going to be making some wings and they are going to look dope as hell, the detail of each feather will be breathtaking, he'll spray paint them to perfection, but as the video goes on, he's not building any sort of winged creature, just the wings. And then there's a human-sized harness (also made of chocolate, somehow, he can do it). And he's attaching the wings to the harness. And he's putting the harness on and he demonstrates how he can flap the wings. And then he'll be off. Out the window and up and up and up. And we'll be looking at the livestream (it's a livestream now) and we'll scream "No, Amaury, the sun! It's going to melt the wings!". But he knows this already. And he is free.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the thing about Professor Utonium is he didn't accidentally create 3 daughters, he purposely created 3 daughters who accidentally have superpowers. the sugar, spice, and everything nice was intentional, only Chemical X was an accident

this guy became a girl dad on purpose and I am so proud of him for achieving his dream!

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

god i love my friends. shout out to people who love their friends. this is a post for friend lovers

[mapletine]

i just know he’s on that switch 12 hours a day

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[akiretv]

cracking jokes in the cold

[evercelle]

some favorite moments from orv read :)c

[chloesimaginationthings]

The day FNAF Charlie Emily was shut out..

[applestruda]

Sorry, we'll have to put you on hold

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

no more fan-ta-sizing about it! everything's already changed~

[sclappin]

Man whose definition of "monster" is extremely flexible.

[valtsv]

my favorite fucked up character concept is probably "what if a butterfly came out of its chrysalis too early"