#i dunno if these changes have been rolling out and other people have them already

[patrickblancos]

i hate layout changes why fix what isn’t broken

[onlinedolly]

A BOXER AND AN ARTIST

(title subject to change)

au where vi is a boxer and reader is an artist with a boyfriend

no cws i don’t think? maybe a little violence but mostly fluff/build up!

an: as always if you are under 18 please do not interact with my content or my account! this is loosely proof read as i have covid and im dying so bare with me. this will be multiple parts i would like so yay!

chapter one: a fight

this wasn’t your scene.

the room was loud, crowded with drunk people, as your friend drug you up to the front to get a good spot. you aren’t really sure how you ended up here. a hasty discussion about how you need to get out more and now you were on a bad side of town with your friend promising you you’ll have a good time.

“c’mon just give it a shot,” she whines, pulling at your arm.

“fighting? i dunno, i’m kind of ready to go.” you speak meekly, leaning into her to get away from the drunk couple next to you.

“it’s not like anyone gets really hurt,” she rolls her eyes, pulling you forward so your front and center, “ain’t all this shit fake anyway?”

you shrug, not really knowing the answer, as you take a look around. you stood up high, overlooking a large circular pit that sat empty for now. you felt nervous, a pit in the back of your throat you couldn’t quite swallow down. you should be at home studying, working on a painting, anything. this wasn’t your scene, you didn’t go out, and certainly not to places like this. what would your boyfriend think?

the crowd begins cheering loudly, you cover your ears to shield yourself from their screams as you watch the fighters come out. on one end is a large man with tattoos covering a majority of his body. he was built and tall and the thought of whoever had to fight him made you shake nervously. you look to the other end a see a woman. a bit bewildered at the sight, you lean forward, placing your hands against the edge of the pit as you look at her. her hair was slick black with red tips, tattoos covering the expanse of her back, and all you could wonder is how in the world she was going to beat this guy?

“i don’t feel comfortable watching this,” you mumble to your friend, she’s buzzing at the sight, all adrenaline as she watches the scene unfold.

“i told you it’s fake.” she rolls her eyes, leaning into you.

“doesn’t look fake.” you mumble again, crossing your arms over your chest.

-

vi wasn’t nervous, never been the type to be that. she was all confidence and cocky as she stepped into the ring. she overlooked the man and smirked, the same man she’d beat up in prison. this would be a breeze.

vi had a lot of anger sitting deep inside her chest, she could feel it bubbling up as she thinks of cait as she thinks of powder. and she’s ready to fight. she looks around the crowd, like she always does, and she thinks maybe she’s subconsciously looking for cait or for her sister. she doesn’t spot them in the crowd as she scans it, a bunch of faces blur together as they scream and chant different names. of course they wouldn’t be here, she thought. why would they?

vi cracks her knuckles as she gives the crowd one more look over, and that’s when she notices *you.* you looked timid and scared and she wondered if this was a place for you at all. you were dressed in a pretty pink outfit, leaned against the pit with fear radiating from you as she furrowed her brows in confusion. she was used to seeing all kind of people here, but those people were usually tough, covered in tattoos and piercings and holding drinks in their hand that had no doubt already worked their way into their system. but you looked sober and doe eyed as you watched the scene unfold in front of you and she couldn’t help but think about how your friend more then likely dragged you here. this didn’t look like your scene, you were clean cut, looked like you came from the good side of town as she shook her head and laughed a bit.

the bell goes off as the crowd cheers and vi is immediately zoned in, she can feel your eyes on her as she approaches the large man in front of her.

-

oh my god.

she was going to fight this man.

you were shaking at this point, as your friend yanks on your arm in excitement, you watch the woman walk up towards the man cocky as ever. and you can’t even blink before she’s laying a blow against his cheek sending him fumbling back. you gasp at the sudden blow, cheers fill the air as you stumble around in the crowd. you watch as she punches again, and again, and again not even letting the guy come close to getting a blow in. but finally he does, and you grimace as you swear you hear cracking echo against the pit walls.

“i thought you said this was fake,” you gasp out in horror, watching the scene unfold before you.

“thought it was.” your friend shrugs, watching in excitement.

-

vi wasn’t one to back down after one hit, not when she was so close to winning, she lands a blow into the guys gut relishing in the way he stumbles back before falling. all of her anger, against cait, against powder, bubbles to the surface as she fights. each blow full of suppressed anger and pure aggression and she wonders for a second if you’re still watching. all doe eyed and scared, she didn’t know why she was thinking that as her arm is raised in the air, claiming another victory under her belt.

-

you stare in disbelief at the fact that she just *won.* blinking a couple times before your friend is pulling at your arm again, rambling on about being quick so you can meet the winner.

“i don’t wanna do that, i wanna leave.” you pull back, resisting her tugs. but you had learned a long time ago how you’re friend was good about getting her way, so you don’t put up too much resistance as you follow her with an eye roll.

she drags you until your running down stairs, a group of girls also in tow behind you, fangirling over the woman who won. the woman who’s name was vi. vi? you pondered, could that be short for something? vivian? violet?

you didn’t have much time to think on that as your friend leads you through a set of grimy double doors, the girls behind you pushing you through until you all gathered at a entryway leading into what you assumed was the pit.

“i don’t think this a good idea,” you whispered, pulling on your friends sleeve, “these people are scary.” you say low enough that the group of girls behind you can’t hear.

“oh live a little, yeah? at least stay here so i can see her walk out.” she wraps an arm around you, locking you in place and you just stay there, waiting. it took about ten minutes before you saw people emerge from the entry way.

a large man first, all scruffy and built with a beard and a name tag that read “vander.” then next was *her*, same slick black hair and tattoos only now paired with a busted nose and bandages around her chest soaked in blood you could only presume wasn’t hers. she smirked at the crowd, and you could see this probably wasn’t anything new, as she chatted with a couple of girls like she knew them.

“you’re new.” she startled you as she spoke, eyes trained on you, your height making it so she had to angle herself down, “both of you.”

she kept looking at you as she addressed both of you standing there, your friend (oblivious as always) begins rattling off her name and how great vi did at the fight, and all vi could do was stare at you. she looked at you in a way that made you nervous, you shifted your weight between your feet.

“and what’s your name, cupcake?” she speaks out, looking you up and down.

you answer back shyly, feeling intimidated under her gaze.

“that’s cute.” she speaks out, placing a hand on her hip as she ignores the other group of girls as they pine for attention. you weren’t really sure why she was so locked in on you, never letting her eyes advert once and she keeps that same shit eating smirk plastered across her face. “ain’t see you here before, cupcake.”

“i dragged her out!” your friend interjects, squeezing you tightly into her side with her arm wrapped around you. “gotta get this one outta the house or away from the boyfriend once in a while, yknow?”

“boyfriend?” vi quips her eyebrow at that, looking at expectantly.

this all felt too much, you could’ve spent your night how you preferred it — alone. maybe painting, or studying, or video calling your boyfriend. not here on the wrong side of town talking to a woman who could kill you if she really tried. you nod your head, shyly again.

“and where is he tonight?” she spoke cockily, leaning forward a bit and it really put your height difference in perspective as you had to lean back to keep eye contact with her.

“oh he’s out of the country, big fancy art school out east.” your friend answers for you, matter of factly. your friend was more interested in talk to vi, so why couldn’t she redirect her attention to her? away from you? this all felt suffocating.

“art school, huh?” she laughed at that, and you didn’t know whether or not to feel offended. “how bout you? you an artist?”

“yeah.” you spoke out softly.

“interesting. well, i gotta go. but i’ll see you around cupcake, kay?” she leans up the ruffle your hair and you almost gasp at the contact, her hand is rough and the movement is hard as she messes your hair up. you can feel the women behind you seethe in jealously as vi walks away and you just remain there stunned at the conversation.

would you ever see her again? you really hoped you didn’t.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Hey Keith.”

Keith, who is not a twelve year old child, easily ignores Lance’s dramatic flop forward, arms hooked over the back of the couch. He glances out of the corner of his eye and finds Lance already looking at him. He grins when he notices Keith looking. Keith rolls his eyes, not even bothering to try and tamp down his own smile.

“Keith,” Lance says again.

“Mm,” Keith responds.

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment. Keith can hear his legs kicking. He’s so fucking — he’s so fucking. Ugh. Keith is going to — bite him, or something.

Lance hums, dark eyes tracing over the other people in the room. There’s something Keith can’t name in his expression, something sharp in those deep browns that Keith recognises; the look he gets when he lines up a perfect shot, when he stands grinning in the middle of the training room pointing his broadsword at Keith in challenge, when he leans in close, breaths heavy and teeth clamped lightly on the lobe of his ear. There’s amusement, there; mischief.

“Keith,” Lance says again, face schooled into something prim and serious — but his eyes don’t change. Keith hides a smile. “You need a boyfriend.”

Across the room, Shiro chokes. Pidge’s tablet clatters to the floor. Hunk’s jaw drops. Allura’s hand claps over her mouth. Coran, a notable outlier, watches them with a knowing smile.

Keith, suddenly, gets the game.

Like any of their planned missions, Keith plays along. He schools his face into something casual and unbothered, looking to the side with a shrug.

“Well, there’s this one guy I’m into.”

Some kind of deranged groaning noise eeks its way out of Shiro’s throat. Hunk appears to be praying for Lance’s soul. Keith is, suddenly, more amused than he’s ever been in his life.

“Oh?”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitches. Keith’s hand matches it, struck with the urge to press his thumb to his cupid’s bow.

“Mhm. He’s cute, but…very dumb.”

A strangled garb of a sentence comes from Pidge. She reaches out like she wants to pinch Lance’s mouth with secondhand mortification. The twitching of Lance’s mouth gets faster.

“No way!” he exclaims, comically surprised look on his face. “What’s his name?”

Coran snorts. Keith looks over at him, unable to hold back his smirk any longer.

“…Lance.”

Lance gasps. So does the rest of the room.

“He’s got the same name as me?” He presses his hand to his chest, a ridiculous caricature, now, mouth dropped exaggeratedly wide. “Nice!”

“For fuck’s sake!” Hunk curses. Shiro wheezes and falls to the floor. He twitches a little. Something must be going around. Coran laughs out loud.

Keith grins, wide and ridiculous and showing his teeth. Lance meets his smile, equally as unrestrained, and this isn’t how they talked about doing this but it’s a thousand times more fun and a million times funnier.

Keith looks away, making eye contact with Allura and winking. She looks at him like he has four heads.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “He’s real cute. Curly hair, big brown eyes. One of those pretty boys.”

Lance scoffs. “Bet he’s ditzy, then.”

“Oh, a little. I love him, though. He makes me laugh.”

Lance does some dorky little half flip move, rolling over the back of the couch and landing with his head sprawled on Keith’s lap, grinning up at him.

“Does he?”

Keith hums, reaching down to run his fingers over Lance’s cheekbones, tracing the bump of his nose. “Yep.”

“Ugh. He sounds like the worst. You have garbage taste.”

“I dunno. I really, really love him.” He leans in close. His hair flips into Lance’s face, making his nose wrinkle. Keith laughs. “He makes me happy.”

“What the fuck is going on,” Shiro croaks.

Pidge nods frantically. “We’re in a mirror realm, we gotta be, something’s not —”

“You should date me instead,” Lance says. There’s a question in his eyes; a challenge.

They say, are we ready?

And Keith responds by brushing the hair out of his face, cupping his cheeks, and kissing him.

“About time,” Coran says.

Keith smiles, and kisses him harder.

———

based on this post

[afewproblems]

Give me Steve, Eddie, and Robin at a bar on a Friday night.

They've had a few drinks, and a shot or two when a song comes on, and Steve immediately jumps to his feet with an, "Oh shit!!"

It's Madonna's Get Into the Groove and for a moment Robin and Eddie think Steve is in pain, that he hates the song as is going to ask the DJ to change it.

Except Steve waltzes onto the dance floor, right into the center.

There aren't too many others dancing, it's early still, barely nine in the evening but the spot lights are on and the DJ flicks on the multicolor strobe as Steve parks himself on the dance floor.

Robin laughs and wishes she had brought the disposable camera instead of leaving it in her junk drawer at home.

Eddie meanwhile rolls his eyes, and pretends not to notice the tightness of Steve's jeans or how the light catches the flecks of gold in his hair and eyes.

He's been attempting to hide his pathetic little crush for awhile now, complaining to Robin every chance he gets when Steve does something particularly charming or handsome.

She tells him, as sagely as she can muster, to grow a pair and do something about it already.

But how can he, Steve was, well, Steve...lovely caring, hot as hell, Steve.

What chance did Eddie have?

So he sits there, miserable, nursing his beer, letting his eyes trail after Steve while Robin giggles beside him.

They've never seen him dance, it's bar, they're drunk, the worst that could happen is he makes an ass out of himself and they all go home with a great new story to tell the party later.

God Robin really wishes she brought her camera with her.

But then Steve is moving and he's fluid, never missing a beat. It's some kind of choreography, intentional and practiced movements that wouldn't be out of place in a music video. Eddie and Robin look at each other because, what the fuck, where did this come from??

And people are cheering and whooping, strangers scattered here and there sitting off of the dance floor. There's a sense of comradery, like they're all witness to something and being allowed to share and indulge in this little impromptu performance, but all too soon the song is over and Steve heads back to his seat with a small round of applause and a blinding smile pulling at his flushed cheeks.

"Steve, what the fuck was that??" Robin blurts out before Steve can even sit. Eddie nods, a little dazed, beside her and tears at the paper label on his beer bottle, maybe if he can keep his hands occupied he can keep them to himself.

"What was what?" Steve breathes out as he hops onto the stool beside them, Robin in the middle.

Robin's mouth falls open as her face scrunches into something exasperated but fond, "What was--that! The dancing!"

"Oh, that," Steve huffs with a lazy smile, he leans his elbow on the sticky wood bar and waves at the bartender to signal for another gin and tonic, "I used to help Carol with her choreography for cheer".

Eddie pinches his thigh below the bartop and chews the inside of his cheek as the image of Steve in the Hawkins High cheer uniform begins to solidify in his minds eye, fuck.

Robin elbows Eddie without looking, somehow reading his mind, and throws her hands out, beckoning Steve to continue because that isn't nearly enough information.

"Yeah, she'd come up with routines and you know, they are meant to be done with more than one person, and I mean she and I were friends before Tommy so," he shrugs and smiles at the bartender as they pass him the drink, "I dunno, it was fun, and I remember that one the most".

"Plus," he says with a smirk, "Carol always said the best thing about dance is that you can tell who appreciates the performance and who appreciates the person doing it," he winks as Robin scoffs and calls him gross, but Steve isn't looking at Robin.

Eddie swallows as molten heat creeps up his neck and over his ears, the urge to hide his face, run for the door, melt into the floor, is immense.

But Steve doesn't move his gaze, he smiles softly at Eddie and winks again over Robin's head which she promptly drops into her hands.

"I'm surrounded by horny idiots," she grumbles but the words are muffled in the din of the bar and her own hands as Steve tips his head back to the dance floor and holds out his hand for Eddie to take.

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 3: Let's Have a Baby

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence and death (ofc), implied child loss Note: The much-awaited part 3 of The Captain! Thank you so much for all of your support! And don't y'all, Part 4 is brewing ;) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“Mohawk’s gettin’ particularly long, Johnny boy. When’s the last time you took any off the top?” Freyja asked, tugging at the end of a long strand at the back of his head.

“Dinnae dae that!” Soap whipped his head around and gave her a look of playful irritation. “If it weren’t for that wee barra in your belly I’d knock ya one, lass.”

“You wish, tough guy.”

“Just you wait, soon as y’return to full duty, we’ll have a square go, ye fuckin’ weapon.”

“I’ll block off my calendar.”

She and Soap had grown rather close since they all returned to England following the mission. As promised, Ghost spoke with Price, who convinced Kate to transfer her to the 141 permanently. While she was on desk duty for now, being on the same team would be tremendously helpful in keeping their schedules in sync. The couple could carpool to and from the base together, and John would do his best to keep them from being deployed at the same time.

Plus, she got to spend all her day with her friends and husband, which was a phenomenal change of pace from their previous setup. It was far less lonely being surrounded by the bustle of the busy base and having other friends to talk to besides Price.

They had a standing ‘play date’, as Price called it, every Friday night, where they watched movies, played board games, and ordered takeout. Board games usually ended in a heated exchange between her and whichever unlucky soul had crossed her (usually during Catan), her normally fiery temper heightened with each month of pregnancy that passed. There had been several instances of Ghost scooping her up in his arms and hauling her away to cool off before (any other) objects were lobbed at someone’s head.

One time, Freyja was in rare form when Gaz refused to trade for a material she desperately needed, and whipped a pointed dinner knife in his direction.

“What is with you guys and throwing bloody knives at me?!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air as Ghost dragged her off, screaming obscenities in various angry-sounding languages.

Soap jerked the blade out of the wall. “Dunno if I should be turned on or terrified,” he had said thoughtfully, turning it over in his hand. 

“BOTH, YOU SLIMY, CHEATING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Catan was banned for a few weeks after that incident, and Freyja gave Kyle the following day off as an apology, though he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

Freyja lowered herself into a chair on the other side of Soap’s desk and leaned her head on her fist, watching him do his paperwork. She’d already finished for the day but was waiting for her husband to fetch her and bring her home to prepare for another Friday with the boys.

“So, Captain, any big plans for this weekend?” Soap asked, still scribbling away at the stack of forms in front of him.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Nah. It’s our anniversary on Sunday. Have a routine visit tomorrow to see how the baby’s growing. Nothing crazy.”

“Anniversary?! You didn’t tell me that was comin’ up!”

Her eyes rolled with a chuckle. “Soap, we aren’t showy people. Never have been,” she started, adjusting to sit straighter after having slid down in the chair a bit. Her round belly had started to weigh down her body a few weeks back, and she was starting to feel the effects of back and neck pain. “We weren’t together for very long when we got engaged, if you’d even call it that. We got married a few days later, as soon as we got back to the UK. Didn’t want to waste time, given our line of work.”

Johnny laughed at this, tossing his pen into a mug he fashioned as a stationary holder. “Oh, I’d bet he just loved slappin’ his name after ‘Captain’, too,” he joked with a raised brow.

The image of a spinning circle on a computer came to mind because that was exactly what she was doing. Buffering, her mouth open slightly while she processed his comment. Her mind screamed at her to say something, anything, but nothing came out as she stared at the Sergeant.

He clearly picked up on her inner turmoil, because he asked, “What? What’d I say?”

Goddamn pregnancy brain. “Ah…Nothing. He didn’t like me taking his name, actually,” she mostly muttered, unable to find a way out of the conversation at this point. “He asked me not to change my name and I did it anyway.”

“I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Ghost want ya to change yer name?”

Freyja sighed as she rubbed a hand over the top of her bump, a recent habit for comfort. The baby hadn’t been particularly active that day, only offering a bit of shifting. “You’d have to ask him, John.”

She rarely called him John, so he knew the conversation was over on her part. “How’s your back?” Best to change the subject and move on. 

She was grateful for it. “Terrible. Even sitting here is bothering me.”

Soap lit up and he practically jumped to his feet. “I can do that thing I saw Ghost doin’ last week!” He was already in front of her before she could even answer.

He had been relentless ever since he caught their cute little private moment in the kitchen when she was supposed to be getting herself some fruit to snack on. Simon followed shortly after, offering to get her fruit bowl together for her so she could sit down again. Craving some semblance of independence, she instead offered to cut up her snack while her husband took some of the weight off her back.

“Walked myself right into that one. You just want an excuse to grope my belly.”

“Me? Never! M’offended that y’would say such a thing, Bonnie,” he feigned hurt feelings, pouting with his best puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, fine! Come’ere, I’ll show you,” she laughed, high up in her chest. Freyja pulled herself up with his hands and moved them to the more open space in his office. “Alright, so I’m gonna stand here—“ She turned to press her back against his chest and took his wrist in her hands. “—then you just wanna put your hands flat like this—“ She flattened his palms just under the swell of her stomach, by each point of her pelvis. “—and now you carefully pull up. Emphasis on carefully.”

She groaned at the sudden relief, her head falling back against Soap’s shoulder as he just barely lifted her stomach. 

“There w’are. Steamin’ Jesus, how’s such a wee thing so bloody heavy?”

“Yeah, now imagine carrying that around with your back twenty-four-seven.”

They stood silently for a minute, soaking in the relief from the lack of pressure on her disks. A small hand dragged across the underside of her stomach, pressing against Soap’s hand. His chest rumbled against her back, but he held steady.

“Will anyone be coming for a visit? When she’s born?” It was bold of him to bring up such a sensitive subject, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“No.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

“I have everyone I need right here, Johnny. Who else outside my husband would give my back a break and hold my giant belly?” She reached back to jokingly slap his cheek a few times.

“Where’s that husband o’ yours at? It’s gettin’ late.”

A soft knock on the open door had her turning her head. “I’m comin’, Jesus,” Ghost said, approaching with his hands in his pockets, t-shirt tight as ever. He took in her smiling form, intrigued by the scene in front of him. He smiled beneath his mask, eyes crinkling slightly. “How are my girls?”

Freyja flinched, a hand flying to her belly at the sharp kick. She sported an angry pout. “Ow! That hurt, you little–”

“Be nice. She can’t help that I’m her favorite.”

She pulled out of Soap’s hold, sad to lose the help on one hand, but thrilled to see Simon on the other. “You’re so obnoxious. I’m literally creating her organs and limbs, making sure she has ten fingers and toes, and I don’t get so much as a single hand or kick. But the second she hears your stupid voice, she’s suddenly an MMA fighter,” she complained, shoving at his shoulder. “Un-fucking-believable. I hate you.”

“Mmm, sure you do. How will I ever get back in your good graces?”

“I want Chinese tonight.”

“I think I can manage that.” Ghost bent down to gently, but briefly, touch his forehead to hers, one of their familiar gestures to refrain from more overt displays of affection on base. She would occasionally give him a peck over his skull mask, and they often shared passing touches, but neither partner was a huge fan of PDA. In the comfort of their own home, they were much more obvious, even around the other members of the team. Just not on base (save for a quick romp. Or two. Or– y’know what, never mind).

“Aw, lookit ya wee sook,” Soap cooed, nudging Ghost with his elbow as he walked past, gathering his things to head home.

She giggled and patted Simon’s pec. “He really is!”

Simon grumbled but guided Freyja to the door with a hand on her lower back. “If you lot keep talkin’ nonsense around me, I’ll pop a gasket.”

“It’s not nonsense, Simon. It’s a beautiful language. One that your people just so happened to smother into near extinction,” she sang, pursing her lips in a challenge as she looked up at him walking next to her.

“OOO, sick burn, lass!” Soap smacked their hands together, laughing heartily.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

~*~

Simon checked the time on his phone again with a deep sigh, shaking his head. He detested getting to work anything past ten minutes early, and it was currently five past six. Freyja had told him to go ahead and toss their baby bag in the car, which he had done ten minutes ago. He insisted they keep their ‘go-bag’ (her word, not his) with them, either in the car on errands or on base during the work week.

The area around their front door was littered with broken-down cardboard boxes from various toys and furniture from the nursery. The Task Force had turned out to be extremely generous uncles, to the point where the Rileys hardly had to buy anything. Johnny and Gaz were by far the worst listeners, continuing to purchase mountains of clothes long after Freyja and Ghost begged them to stop. Enough clothes that she would never have to wear the same outfit twice for the first year of her life.

Not even born yet and already spoiled rotten.

Her boots weren’t in the tray by the door, so she must have gotten to that part of her routine, at least. He pushed off the door frame in their entryway, making his way toward the living room. “Frey, what are you doin’? We’re already five minutes late��”

He cut himself off when he laid eyes on the sight in front of him – his wife, now 39 weeks pregnant, attempting to contort her body around her bump to lace up her boots. Simon allowed himself a moment to watch in amusement before clearing his throat and grabbing her attention. “Do you need help?” he asked, about to kneel in front of her.

She grunted and shook her head, then tried to smooth the mussed-up fly-aways that had started to poke up at the edges of her tied-back hair. “No, I can do this. I just did it on Friday.”

“Darling, that was three days ago. There’s no shame in askin’ for help–” He stopped again at the icy glare thrown his way, crossed his arms over his chest, and sat in the armchair across from her. “A’right, if you insist.” He had long noticed that she sometimes struggled to accept help with tasks she could normally complete on her own, if not for a protruding bump being in the way. He knew if she really needed help, she would ask.

This time, she propped the heel of her boot on the coffee table and attempted to stretch over her belly. She was proud of the strength and flexibility she had been able to maintain throughout her entire pregnancy, up until now. Not many people could say they could even see their feet this far into their pregnancy, let alone tie their shoes. After another minute of huffing and puffing, fingers just barely unable to graze the laces, she held her foot out to her watchful husband and sighed. “Fine,” she mumbled, crossed arms mimicking his.

He smiled softly under his mask, blue eyes twinkling with silent laughter as he slid to his knees at her feet, pressing the sole into his chest. “Thank you,” he praised, taking his time to focus on doing her shoes up at the tightness she liked to support her ankles, but allow breathing room at her calves. As he finished up the second foot, he heard a quiet sniffle and jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

Bloody hell, not the waterworks again…

He gently pushed her legs apart and settled between them, his gloved hands covering and rubbing her knees. “What’s wrong, love?”

Freyja wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then used the neckline of her t-shirt to swipe at her wet cheeks. “Nothing, I’m just annoyed. Feels like I can barely function on my own.”

“If I recall, you’re the one who insisted on working until she’s born.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she scoffed. 

Ghost pulled his mask up to his nose, just enough to steal a long, soft kiss from her, fingers still gripping her thighs. When they broke apart, he swooped down to press wet kisses on her belly. Freyja put the fabric back in place with deft fingers. “A’right, we sorted?” He smacked her thigh twice when she nodded and offered her hands to help her stand. “Good, you know how I am about bein’ late.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll be an early bird like her daddy.”

“Better than always being late like her mum.”

“Low blow, baby. Low blow.”

They made jabs at each other back and forth the entire ride to base (lovingly, of course) and during their walk to their offices, only pausing for the occasional passerby.

~*~

Kyle handed off a steaming mug of tea to Ghost, taking a small sip of his own as they watched the recruits spar with Soap. Most days, the three of them worked with the privates for a few hours, varying from marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, etcetera. Ghost tugged his mask up enough to enjoy his caffeine, the steam dampening the wrinkled fabric.

“How was your weekend, Ghost?”

He hid his subtle smirk behind the cup, the memory of their anniversary evening at the forefront of his mind. Ghost met Gaz’s gaze with a side eye, to which the Sergeant snorted with a throaty chuckle. Gaz fixed the brim of his hat lower to shade his eyes from the sun better. “Shouldn’t have asked,” he said, a bright, cheeky grin on his face. “Change the subject.”

Ghost thought back to that morning, snickering himself and cradling the mug with both hands. “Frey couldn’t tie her boots this morning.” He tried to hide his amusement, he really did. But both men burst into deep laughter, Gaz shamefully covering his eyes with his free hand as he imagined the Captain working around her stomach.

“Bloody hell, poor thing.” When they finally composed themselves, Kyle took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He sighed and placed his now empty mug on the ground, his hands now hanging onto the lip of his tactical vest. The Brit observed the training session, occasionally glancing over at Ghost to gauge his mood. Maybe he should mind his business, but Gaz also wanted to be a good friend to the Rileys. In the end, he decided to take the plunge. “I see it, y’know,” he said, choosing a careful tone.

Simon turned his head fully to shoot him a probing look, urging him to continue.

Gaz sighed to himself. In too deep, now. “Just something I’ve noticed. Seems like she’s done this before, s’all.”

Damn Kyle Garrick and his perceptiveness. How long had the Sergeant been sitting on that thought, watching and observing her mannerisms? Simon stood staring blankly at his companion, unblinking for too long. His heart clenched painfully, twisting and beating violently against his ribs. When his eyes did finally come back into focus, he covered his face again. “As you were, Sergeant,” he commanded, his tone stern and unyielding. Neither of them noticed the Scot break away from the recruits, reading a text from his phone.

“I don’t mean to pry, sir–”

“Lt?” Soap held the device up, brows knotted together. He didn’t make much of an effort to hide his emotions and was concerned. “Price needs ya, sir. Said he’s pretty sure yer wife’s been in labor for the last hour.”

The trio quickly appeared in her office, where she sat behind her desk, beads of sweat on her forehead as she typed away at her computer. John shrugged helplessly and then scratched at the stubble under his chin. About an hour into their daily morning meeting, where he brought her peppermint tea while they worked over files and potential recruits. They were mid-discussing her scheduled c-section when he noticed her breaths sporadically shake, or the muscles in her arms tightening for seemingly no reason. Price asked her if she was okay and was brushed off every time he prodded at her; when he finally had enough, he decided to call for reinforcements.

Freyja glared at the men, mainly aiming it at Price. “Traitor,” she growled, continuing to work through another contraction.

Simon tossed the keys to their car to Price, who swiftly snagged them out of the air and slipped behind them. In the meantime, he tucked his mask into the back pocket of his jeans, his slightly overgrown blonde hair and the top of his head sticking up. He sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at her as she attempted to ignore his presence. His foot slipped a little on the floor, and he found a small puddle trickling across the floor from the space under her chair. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, impossibly soft and gentle for a usually deep, gruff military man.

“No.” She was an accomplished sniper and a skilled linguist and had been deployed on hundreds of special missions, interrogations, and rescues during her military tenure. She, however, wasn’t very convincing when it came to lying to her husband, especially when another sharp pain rippled through her body, forcing her to flinch.

“Wanna try that again?”

Her eyes watered uncontrollably, her lip trembling as she tried to keep herself together. The notion didn’t last long, and her head shook from side to side.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Hm.” Simon turned her chair with his shin until she faced him. As he suspected, dark wetness was creeping up the fabric of her jeans. “We should get going then, yeah?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as she grabbed his hand in a fierce grip.

“Simon–” The woman choked on her tears, panic starting to claw its way up her stomach and wrenching her tight throat. “The OB’s out of the country,” she whimpered, barely a whisper.

“I know. Seems that she’s taken after her old man, like y’said,” he offered in an attempt to give her some comedic relief in her state. Simon could see the panic attack set in, and while he knew he couldn’t stop it, he could at least lessen its effects some.

“I was kidding.”

He smiled softly at her and squeezed her palm, drawing soothing circles with his thumb. “Don’t think she’s quite old enough for sarcasm, there, sweetheart.” He got down to his knees in front of her, sitting back on his heels, just under eye level now instead of towering over her. A familiar position for them as of late. “Looks like we’re doin’ this the old-fashioned way.”

She started crying hysterically now, nearly crushing his hand and cradling her belly. “Simon…I–”

“I know.”

It was as if their audience had completely disappeared, leaving just the two of them for what should be a private moment. But Soap and Gaz were still pressed to the wall by the door. In the months they had become close friends with Simon’s wife, she was almost always composed, her moments of hormonal rage the only outlier they witnessed. They’d never seen her such a panicked, blubbering mess, but Gaz had an idea he knew what it was about, even without specifics. For that reason, he chose to keep his distance and advised Soap to do the same with a tap to the shoulder.

“This–This isn’t the plan. I wanted…they’re supposed to take her out. I don’t want to push again.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to.”

“Can’t we just–” A gasp cut her off, her features pinching together in pain while she rode out yet another contraction.

“No. We can’t.”

“I can’t do this again, Simon! I can’t!” Her chest heaved and she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Panic attacks had become more frequent during her pregnancy. There had been about five or six instances where an odd feeling or uncomfortable pain had anxiety washing over her, sending her into a spiral until they could get to an emergency room or OB, snapping at them to ‘just fucking check, for fuck’s sake’. This was definitely one of the worst. All of her meticulous planning, down to every nitty-gritty detail to ensure she didn’t have an episode went right out the window because a certain impatient Riley was eager to make her exit and simultaneous entrance to the world.

The world was collapsing around her, dark and suffocating. The cold pit dragged her back to what seemed like another life, where she lay curled up in a hospital bed, sick and hot and in the worst agony she would ever experience. Her bones burned and ached, struggling to sit still yet unable to move at the same time. Price’s phantom touch ghosted up and down her bare back in that place, brushed her sticky hair off her forehead, pressed a cold towel to her neck as violent sobs and forced, unnatural contractions tore through her—

She blinked when different, gloved hands slipped under her hair, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the material as he cradled her face. Her fingers slipped down to dig into his tattooed wrist. “You can, and you will. Take a breath,” he took a deep breath, guiding her through the exercise. He held the air in his chest before letting it out in a slow exhale, which she mimicked. Ghost summoned Gaz over and rose, pulling her up with him. “Good girl. Can you walk?”

When she nodded, Kyle slipped into the space beside her, offering his forearm for support. She knew Simon could have handled her himself, but it warmed her heart to see him leaning on their friends. John had been a great support system when Simon deployed on his own, but having so many hands to hold made her feel loved and understood.

“A’right then, let’s have a baby, yeah?”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @lethalchiralium, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[alphajocklover]

So I just finished my 3rd year exams at university (hopefully I did well enough to make it into a 4th year and go for an Master's of science) and as soon as I get out near the crowd to celebrate a guy bumps into me and I broke my phone. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind until I saw he was pretty built, he must be on some university team for something. He felt awful apparently and he gave me his old phone as an apology. It came with this InstaJock app thing on it. I dunno what it is but I kinda wanna load it up...

Another instance of a jock giving someone a phone with InstaJock already downloaded on it. Another instance of someone doing something with InstaJock that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s unprofessional to say something like this, but this is driving me crazy. Why would a jock give away their phone? If they wanted to turn you into a jock like them, they’d just send you the app! If they wanted to give you a new phone for real, they’d have wiped it before giving it to you. I guess it's possible they forgot, but InstaJock is super important to the users that get transformed into jocks. Even with how stupid jocks can be, I doubt they’d forget about the app that literally changed their life. So… why?

I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier Instajock posts that someone has been messing with people using this app. Using it in unconventional ways to mess with people, spreading false information about the app, and even making knock offs of the transformative app. My first thought was that it had to be The Master. Not the Doctor Who villain, to those who get that reference, but someone I introduced to you all in a recent post. He’s the creator of Instajock and the mastermind behind my Uncle’s transformation and kidnapping. He’s an incredibly powerful figure in the Transformation Community, even more than I’ve told you. Most people who know about transformations are scared to mention him, even other TF Reporters are, and most powerful people or groups who work with transformation either do business with him or stay out of his way. But… I don’t think he’s the one behind this. He likes to mess with people, play with his victims like whoever is behind this, but if he wanted to do that he could just add features to the actual InstaJock app. He had no reason to do things in such a roundabout way. Which makes me think… it’s someone else.

Whoever is doing this has an intimate knowledge of the app, so It has to be someone involved with InstaJock, someone besides The Master. Maybe someone who works for him? Even he couldn’t have programmed the entire app on his own and added in the magical elements without help. Plus he isn’t one for upkeep, so he’s probably having someone else run the site for him. They also have to be someone with a lot of nerve to mess with The Master, maybe someone who they’ve hurt personally. On top of all of that it’d also have to be someone the jocks would listen to. Maybe someone who worked on InstaJock that The Master fired, a former employee?

I can’t be sure of who's behind this yet, but I do know that whatever they’re trying to do with you isn’t good. When you press that app, you won’t just be turned into a jock like a regular InstaJock user. It has to be something… special. Something that would benefit, or would at least interest the person behind this. Maybe you’ll turn into a copy of the jock who gave you the phone, become their perfect twin? Maybe something else will happen entirely. I can’t be sure.

If it’s not too late, send me the phone immediately. I can put it somewhere safe, and I might be able to protect you from whoever's doing this. If it is too late… Well I hope you enjoy whatever happened. Being transformed against your will sucks, but being a jock can be fun, even if it isn’t your choice.

**3 stories in one day, all InstaJock? I must be on a roll! I hope you guys liked this one! There are still more mysteries and more transformations to discover! Stay tuned!**

[bbrissonn]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰 - 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡

☆⋆｡°‧★ in which dahlia's friend force her out of the house to go to a hockey, leading to a night of small glances and smiles ☆⋆｡°‧★ will smith x dahlia monroe ☆⋆｡°‧★ wc: 1.3k ☆⋆｡°‧★ au masterlist

‎‧₊˚✧[ OCTOBER 13, 2023 ]✧˚₊‧

"hurry up, will you?" dahlia's friend, violette sighed from the door of their dorm. it was opening at conte forum, and somehow dahlia's friend group had convinced her to go to the game.

"vi, the game starts in an hour, calm down. we have plenty of time."

"plenty of time? girl, everyone and their moms are trying to go to this game. apparently the team this year is gonna be really good."

"people have been saying this every year forever now, and they haven't won for like ten years or something."

"but this year is gonna be different, trust me. they got all these players coming, cute players." violette said, wiggling her eyebrows at her best friend. dahlia's eyes rolled to the back of her head. the last thing that was on her mind right now was boys, cute or not, it didn't matter. she was finally in college, ready to have the best four years of her lives, and she was not going to let some douchebag hockey player ruin that for her.

"i don't care if they're cute or not, vi. athletes are assholes, and you know that." the monroe girl said, referring to their junior year of high school when violette got her heart broken by a basketball player, and then a soccer player. it was a though year.

"doesn't mean you can't enjoy looking at them. i got us seats right behind their bench to!" the girl squealed as the two exited their dorm room.

when they got to the forum, there was an extremely long line to get in. violette had been coming to games her whole life with her dad, and she had never seen one this long before.

"jeez, all this just to watch sweaty man run after a rubber disk..." dahlia whispered as the two waited in line.

"hot sweaty man, they're skating and it's called a puck."

"that's in a shape of a disk and made of rubber."

soon enough, the two girls made it in, with twenty minutes to spare before the start. warmups were almost done when the two girls got to their seats. there was only a handful of players on the other team still on the ice, and about ten eagles.

"why're they just standing there and talking? are they gossiping?" dahlia gasped, confused as to why a trio of eagles were just standing at the blue line across from them.

"i dunno, maybe." her best friend shrugged, not really paying attention to them. but for some reason, dahlia's eyes stayed glued to them. they were laughing and shoving each other a bit, each playing with a puck. as the clock neared the last minute of warm ups, the boys slowly started making their way to their changing room.

as they approached the bench, dahlia made eye contact with one of them. he had blonde hair poking out the side of his helmet and a wide smile on his face as he laughed. the girl hated to admit it, but he looked good. his smile was truly beautiful and contagious.

the two held eye contact until the boy disappeared past her vision. their eye contact didn't go unnoticed from her best friend, nor his friends.

"girl, what was that?" violette asked with a smirk on her face. dahlia's cheeks during a deep shade of red, her eyes looking down at her lap.

"what're you talking about?"

"don't act stupid, you know exactly what i'm talking. that little eye contact you just with will fucking smith."

"who?"

"will smith, pretty much everyone knows who he is. well expect you of course." violette teased, making dahlia roll her eyes slightly.

"whatever. it lasted like two seconds-"

"more like ten. a little more and his head was about to leave his body so he could keep staring at you."

"you're being dramatic, vi."

"i can hear the wedding bells already." violette giggle, making her best friend slightly shove her. the two didn't talk about it for the rest of night, but violette biting her tongue every time will came back to the bench and stared at her best friend.

all though dahlia would never admit it, the boy caught her attention. his soft smile, his little blond curls, and his intoxicating laugh that could be heard every once in a while. every time he was on the ice, her eyes would always move towards him, even if he didn't have the puck. there was just something about him that drew her towards him, and she hated it.

the eagles ended up winning 4-2 against long island, will getting an assist on the game winning goal. the boy wasn't shy to send a small wink towards the girl right before he disappeared for the last time down the tunnel.

dahlia hated how she could feel her cheeks burning, not even wanting to know how red she was. violette couldn't help but laugh when she saw the look on her best friend's face. her eyes wide with a shy smile.

"girl, what do you have to say now?"

"shut up." dahlia mumbled, her cheeks turning even a deeper shade of red, something the girl couldn't think was possible. the girl waisted no time getting up from her seat and leaving the forum, violette hot on her trail.

the black hair girl seemed to only have one thing to talk about on their way home. will smith. dahlia had never wanted to duck tape someone's mouth shut so badly before. sure the two made eye contact and exchanged smiled lots of times during their game, but it didn't mean anything. dahlia was going to wake up the same person she was this morning, and she would probably never even see him around campus.

violette wasn't the only who noticed all the same looks shared between the two 18 years old. will's linemates were quick to jump on his back when they got back to the locker.

"well that was fun." one of the senior said as everyone started undressing from their equipment, the celebrations done with.

"smitty had a lot of fun, that's for sure." ryan laughed from across the room, making the centerman look at him with confused eyes.

"what do you mean?" will asked in a confused voice. gabe started chuckling as everyone else was just as confused as the boy in question.

"we saw those little looks, buddy."

"what looks?" one of the sophomore asked.

"willy's got a little girlfriend." gabe said, looking at ryan as the two started laughing. the two boys couldn't contain their laughter as will's cheek turned a deep shade of pink, making others in the room start laughing as well.

"shut up."

"don't worry, bud, she was staring at you just as much." ryan added through his laughter.

it was safe to say that will had never gotten undressed and showered so quickly before. it was like all his teammates could talk about was this mystery girl who's name he didn't even know. he was tucked into bed far before gabe had even started making his way home.

"i have french with her friend. i could try to hook you guys up if you want." gabe said once he had made it into his bed and hour after his roommate.

"don't. you guys are making this such a big deal when it really isn't. we made eye contact a couple of times, that's all. i don't even know her name." will mumbled as he turned on his side, facing the wall.

"whatever you want, man. you guys would look good together, just so you know."

the room was silent after that, neither of the two boys saying anything, and slowly drifting off to sleep. meanwhile, across campus, dahlia was laying in her bed, her eyes wide open as the night replayed in her head over and over again.

the boy intrigued her, there was no denying that, but the chances of them ever seeing each other again were slim to none. and there was no way she was going to another hockey game just to see him, it was one of the most boring she had ever watched.

at least that's what she kept telling herself...

[scorpioriesling]

Too Hot To Handle - Episode 4

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Characters featured: Reader, Feyre, Morrigan, Gwyn, Elain, Emerie, Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Eris, Tarquin, Rhysand, Helion, Azriel, & Tamlin

Warning(s): Nothing real crazy.

SR’s Note: Wine? Check. Cozy blanket? Check. Dog on my lap? Check. Alright... *cracks knuckles* let's get to it, then! Tags: @velarisdusk @lilah-asteria @starlightazriel @panther-girl-124

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Anybody have a makeup wipe?"

Elain's hand reaches out, towelette in hand from the makeup mirror beside you. You take it from her, meeting her apologetic stare.

"Thanks," you mutter, and wipe at the gentle fallout of your eyeshadow beneath your eyes. From your other side, Feyre sighs, gazing at your reflection in your mirror from her seat. She sounds as dejected as you feel right about now.

"Damn, mami!" Morrigan's rich voice fills the bathroom, and you glance toward the doorway as she strides in, clad in the skimpiest of red bikinis as she raises her martini glass above her head. "No wonder Lucien has been sweating it out all day, huh!" She flashes you an only-joking, award winning smile as she strides over to you, many of the other girls engrossed in their own conversations to take in the one unfolding before them.

"No, Mor, he's been sweating it out because Rhys has been keeping him pre-occupied at the outdoor gym all day," Feyre says, her brows furrowing slightly as Mor leans over your shoulder to inspect her own makeup in your mirror. You shoot Feyre a thankful glance.

"Has he seen this number yet?" Mor's fingers hook under the strap of your simple black dress, her brows wiggling as she stares at you in the mirror. You roll your eyes.

"No, no he hasn't." You say with a say. "I actually haven't seen him... all day..." you shrug sorrowfully. After learning last night that you were chosen by the newcomer for the date tonight, Lucien had been acting strange.

"Oh my," Elain sighs from your side. "He might be... upset." She says thoughtfully. Feyre and Mor turn their heads to her, seemingly just realizing she was a part of this conversation too.

"I mean, I'd be pretty pissed if someone with a name like Azriel was trying to bag my lady," Mor says. You unscrew your mascara, opening your eyes wide to apply it to your lashes. "He sounds sexy as hell already."

"Well, I don't even know him yet," you clip. "And, yeah, maybe his name makes him sound suave, but... I really, really like Lucien, guys. I don't know if one date with a new guy is going to change that." You shrug, moving to work on your other eye. "And besides, I'm not Lucien's "lady", I mean, not officially, anyway."

"So, you're not a couple?" Elain asks. Feyre leans forward, peering at her around you.

"I think what she means is, we've only been here a little while, usually people become official after they leave the retreat," she explains, looking up at you. "Right?"

"I dunno," Morrigan drawls. "He seems pretty attached to me."

You blush slightly at her words, realizing just how close you and Lucien had gotten. Spending so much time together, getting to know one another, and you hadn't even cost the group money yet!

But, now you were being whisked away to a beachside picnic with another male.

"Is he really your type though?" Elain prods, and Mor looks at her quizzically. You continue with your makeup.

"I mean, not typically, no," You reason. "But, that doesn't really matter now, I mean... I met him, I like him. It's not something that really bothers me."

At some point, you hadn't realized Elain stood up until Morrigan plopped down in the chair she had been sitting in. You only took a few more minutes to fuss over your hair, remembering Lucien's request not to look "too good" from last night. He said it with a light heart, but you could tell from his avoidance today that he was uncomfortable. Elain was right, he probably was upset.

"Good evening, ladies."

Every head turns to the light up cone, responding simultaneously with one another.

"Good evening, Y/N. Are you ready for your date with Azriel tonight?" Lana asks. You feel multiple eyes on you -- all the girl groups in their respective huddles as they finished getting ready for dinner.

You gulp. "Um, yes."

"Good. Please make your way to the beach, everything is set up already, and the new member is ready to meet you."

Feyre and Mor walk you out, reassuring you everything will be fine. You look between them, hoping to convey that everything is in fact not fine.

"If you see Lucien... just tell him it'll be alright, please?" Feyre places a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze.

"You can tell him when you return," she says, winking at you. Mor brushes your hair back one last time before you wave to your friends, walking across the concrete path toward the beach. You spotted Eris and Helion in the pool, but glancing toward the gym -- it was dark.

Where was he?

You didn't have time now to find out.

Continuing toward the beach, your adrenaline started flowing when the dusty white sand invaded the flats of the cute Tory Burch sandals you were wearing. Your speed slowed, and you looked out at the dusk filled sky, the calming sound of waves lapping at the shore.

That's when you spotted it.

Well, him, rather.

And, oh boy... did Lana do you dirty.

･ﾟ: *

"Hello," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you'd hoped. You almost thought he didn't hear you at first, but he turns to fully face you, a wide smile spanning across his face as he sees you approaching.

"Hello there, gorgeous," he stands, extending a hand to you. You politely take it, and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of it with his... very, soft lips.

"Please," he motions, guiding you to the blanket laid out on the soft ground. He only lets go when you've sat, taking in the array of fruits, cheeses, and wine laid before you.

"My name is Azriel," he says, and you meet his gaze. You smile, hating the tiny bit of excitement in your stomach at the tenor of his voice.

"Very nice to meet you, Azriel," you say, and he chuckles. "I'm Y/N."

"My name sounds lovely on your lips," he says, and you blush. How did Lana know you had a history with men just like this? The smooth-talking, dark-haired, handsome kind...

"You're quite adorable, you have to know that," he continues, reaching for the wine before you as well as the bottle opener.

"Isn't that why you picked me for the date?" You lull, trying to keep up with his level of suave. Mor was right... this would be harder than you thought.

"Oh, without a doubt," he says, shaking his head as he screws the metal into the cork. Clad in a loose, navy silk button down, you can see the way his biceps flex as he works against the bottle's tight hole.

....Gods, don't even go there.

"Well, what drew you to this retreat?" You ask, trying to keep your tone even. You smoothed out the stretchy fabric of your mini dress as the cork came out with a soft pop.

"I saw the application out for a mid-season arrival," he begins, making to grab both wine glasses and balance them between his fingers in one hand. You gulp nervously, watching the clear liquid flow into the glasses as his long digits held the bases securely.

"...and, I haven't had much luck with women in the past, so I figured why not try it out this way?" He continues. He hands your glass to you, a tiny tingle passing through you as your fingers brush his for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, taking a swig from the glass before looking at him once more.

"You? Have had trouble, with women?" You ask. He shrugs, tipping his glass back and swallowing hard. You unashamedly watch the apple of his throat bob with the action, and bite your lip nervously.

"You're surprised?" He asks, holding the glass lazily as his arm drapes over his knee. He scans the plates, finding a cheese cube and popping it into his mouth.

"I mean... yeah, I guess so. You're... well, I mean you're really attractive, so I just kind of figured..." You trail off, not really sure what to say. He chews slowly, peering at you with his beautiful hazel eyes sidelong.

You grab a cracker, nibbling on it to avoid getting too caught up.

"I'll take the compliment from the pretty girl," he chuckles, and your cheeks flush again. "But, I can't say I'm surprised that someone has already coupled up with you." He says, grabbing an apple slice this time.

"I mean," you swallow your cracker, and take another sip of your wine. "We're in couples, but, nothing is really like, official yet-" You say, reaching for another Ritz and stuffing it into your mouth to avoid saying something you'd regret.

"Oh? So, you're not really... tied-down, is it?" He asks seductively, and you cough, nearly choking on the dry cracker you're praying works itself down your esophagus. He laughs, and you can't help but enjoy the lovely sound.

"I... no, I, uh... what I meant, is, the guy I'm in a relationship with, we're not like... labelled, or anything..." You explain, gulping down more wine. You begin to feel a light buzz -- how much wine did he put in these glasses?

"So... it would be alright if we took advantage of the rule-free conditions on this date, then?" He asks, suddenly a bit closer than before. His natural oak scent fills the air, his hand resting casually atop yours on the blanket. You gaze up into his hazelhalf-lidded eyes, the last remnants of daylight highlighting the various colors in them. He's so close... you can spot every freckle on his cheeks... his hair is practically tickling your forehead...

He reaches to take your wine glass from you, and though the thought was there, both of your hands glance toward it when some sloshes out at the contact and runs down the side of the glass, dribbling onto his fingers.

He chuckles, setting it down behind him. "Little sticky, but, I can overlook it." He smiles genuinely.

Suddenly, a memory flashes through your mind. The boat taking off on the first day; the lovely embrace of those strong hands around you when you stumbled; the gorgeous smile, handsome male that was there from the start, already making you laugh from the second you'd laid your eyes on him.

He was yours. He was your sticky fingers. Not Azriel.

You return to the present, your hand lightly splaying across Azriel's smooth chest, slightly exposed from the few undone buttons of his shirt. He halts his forward inching, his hand tucking your hair behind your ear stopping mid-motion.

"Azriel, I... can't."

His eyes search yours, the only sounds coming from the waves crashing against the moonlit-shore. The small beach lanterns have kicked on, illuminating the space, creating the perfect date for two under the stars.

But, this wasn't who you wanted to share it with.

"Alright," he says after a few silent moments, a look of defeat crossing his face at your rejection. He moves back, his hand retreating from yours, as he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean... I tried, right?" He grins lopsided at you, and you smile warmly at him once more, taking his hand in yours.

"I'm flattered that you chose me," you say, eyes roaming over his handsome face once more. "I truly, didn't think I'd be picked. This was a very nice date, and a nice night that I spent meeting you," you continue. He chews on his lip, his eyes still raking over you and closing softly when you lean in.

You press a small kiss to his smooth cheek. "But, I think you're meant for someone else, maybe you'll meet them when we get back. And, I think I'm meant for someone else too."

･ﾟ: *

Walking back from your date with Azriel was quite pleasant, actually. He asked you about what brought you to the retreat, and you indulged him in a little preview of what to expect when he got to the villa. He seemed excited, especially at the mention of a few of the single girls still looking for someone.

What was not so pleasant, was seeing the group divided when you got back.

Around the firepit, you passed the group of guys first. You felt safe meeting the eyes of Rhysand, Tarquin, Helion even -- but looking around, your eyes never met the heterochromial pair that you'd adored so much.

"Hey guys," you say, and Rhysand stands to greet you with an embrace.

"Hey!" He says cheerfully, others standing to greet the newcomer. Azriel looks from person to person, sticking his hand out and introducing himself with a smile.

"Where's-" You begin, and Rhys lets you go to look at you directly.

"I honestly, have not seen him since the gym earlier. He skipped dinner," he says, hands up in surrender. Your face falls, and Rhys only smiles lightly at you.

"So, I take it the date didn't change anything?" He asks, and you shake your head. You watch his eyes as they linger just over your shoulder, and he jerks his chin to the cabana across the pool deck behind you.

"He'll turn up, but, I think the girls are waiting on a "full report" or somethin'... that's what Feyre was saying earlier anyways." You nod silently, chewing on your lip before meeting Azriel's eye.

"You good if I leave you to fend for yourself?" You joke half-heartedly, and Cassian claps the newest villa member on the shoulder.

"Oh, he'll fit in just fine. Go on, I'm sure the other ladies are waiting to talk with you!" Cassian smiles, and you return it, stopping only when Rhys catches your shoulder before you walk off.

"Hey," he says calmly. "...take a deep breath, okay?" You do, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as you realize how uptight you'd been all day.

"Everything will be fine, I'm sure he'll come back around later, alright?" He winks, and you grin at him hopefully before making way toward the girls.

･ﾟ: *

"Was he kind?"

"Did he try to kiss you?"

"Is he really that handsome up close?"

The rapid fire questions from all of the girls was starting to feel more like a cross-examination, and less like a recap of your date with Azriel.

"Guyssss, guys, chillax," Mor drawls, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Giving me a damn headache, I can only imagine being Y/N right now." She squeezes her eyes shut, and you take a deep breath.

"Listen, guys, the date was lovely, and yes, he truly is handsome," you say, meeting all of their intrigued gazes. "...but he just isn't the one for me, I was just thinking of Lucien, and that wasn't fair to do to Azriel. Maybe he will meet one of you and just, know." You shrug, getting a few awws from the girls.

"Did he say who he was sharing a bed with tonight?" Gwyn asks quietly, and you meet her turquoise irises with a look of realization. You hadn't even thought about that aspect yet.

"No," you respond, and make to stand. Looking around, not all of the girls were actually here.

"I really need to find Lucien, do you guys know... where...?" You trail off, a few of the girls shaking their heads. You sigh, waving your goodbye to the group and making way toward the bedroom inside. Feyre follows you in, and sits on the bed you and Lucien share. She toys nervously with the end of her braid, chewing on the inside of her lip. You're slipping into more comfortable clothing when you halt, noticing her shift in behavior.

"What's... going on?" You ask timidly. Feyre fidgets on the matress, looking everywhere but you. She stands, walking over to look in the bathroom, closets, everywhere before sitting close on the bed with you again.

"Y/N... I need to tell you about something I heard today." She says, her crystal eyes wide in seriousness. You cross your legs beside her, prepared to listen.

"I... I heard Elain today. At dinner." She stammers. You nod for her to continue, and she starts picking at her braid again.

"She was... talking to Amren, I don't think she knew I could hear her, but she was... she was saying she was going to move in on Lucien. Tonight." Your eyes grow wide in fear, and Feyre rests a hand over yours.

"Now, we both know Lucien, I don't think he'd simply-"

"Feyre, I need to find him. Now."

You spring up from the bed, slipping on your Birkenstocks before making for the door. Feyre follows you, and you run past the group of girls still at the cabana. Feyre stops chasing after you when she reaches them.

You recieve many confused shouts, a few of the guys staring from the other side of the pool. You run, as fast as you can, around every corner of the villa, looking past every bush. Where would she have taken him?

You round the final corner, a little too quickly and the edge of your rubber show catches on the tiled wall, sending you flying toward the ground. You cry out, your knees hitting the pavement as you skid forward, the palms of your hands screaming in pain at the impact. You turn your head to the side, blinking back tears as your gaze comes back into focus.

That's when you see it.

Lucien, the male you'd ached for all day. He was there, right before you -- holding Elain against the wall, his hands pinning hers beside her head. You look between the two of them, and Elain meets your eye, smiling cruelly at you before giggling and biting her lip, Lucien's face so close to hers.

He finally catches sight of you in a heap on the ground, the tears running down your cheek as you gawk at the scene before you silently. Immediately dropping her hands, he rushes over to you.

"Oh my Gods, Y/N-"

"Don't," you bite out. He rears back, a pained look on his usually so joyous face. "You... just, don't touch me." You glare at him, and his eyes lower painfully.

"Y/N... it's not what it looks like, I swear-"

"It was, exactly, what it looked like," Elain strides over, smirking as she looks down at you. You stare hatefully up at her, and she only shrugs, stepping over you and making her way back to the villa.

"My bed will be empty later!" she calls over her shoulder. Your eyes focus on the ground before you, small drops staining the concrete wet with your tears.

After a few long silent moments, Lucien clears his throat. "Y/N, you have to trust me, it really wasn't-"

"Wasn't what, Lucien? You holding another girl in a private alley against a wall, inches from breaking a rule with her when you're already with me?" You ask, another stream falling down your cheek. He kneels beside you, and you back up a few inches.

"Y/N, I promise I was just trying to get her off of me, she wouldn't stop; all night, she's been on and on about how you told her I'm not even your type, and we..." he huffs, his brow furrowing. "She said you told her we weren't actually a couple."

You scoff. "Oh don't turn this back on me, right now. Why would you believe any of that, Lucien? Have you ever, ever seen me talk to that girl anyway?" You ask, and he sits back on his hands, thinking quietly for a moment.

"No. No, I guess not-"

"So what. She overheard me before the date earlier saying that yes, you're not my typical type." Hurt flashes in his eyes, and he looks down. "I don't care, Lucien -- I like you, a lot." Your voice cracks on the last word, and he sits up straight, placing his hand on your knee.

"Y/N..."

"Well, I did, anyway," you sniff, wiping your nose with the sweatshirt sleeve closed around your fist. "Until I saw you pinning another girl against the wall." You shake your head.

"I promise it wasn't like that..."

"Whatever. Most relationships don't actually make it out of places like these, anyways." You scoff, and Lucien stands, grabbing your wrists and tugging you up with him. You stand, his eyes boring into yours as his hands wrap strongly around the small of your back.

"Y/N, please don't talk like that... I want to make it out of here with you, truly!" He pleads, and for a moment you just might believe him. "I promise, what you saw tonight was me attempting to remove a handsy female from me," he continues, holding you close to his chest. His familiar scent brings you comfort in a way that has your eyes welling up with tears again, and his hand cradles the back of your head, petting it lovingly.

"I promise you, the only female I want, is you." He says, and you pull back to meet his eyes again, a fresh wave of tears free-falling down your cheeks at the sight of him, being so open and honest before you.

"I know how it looked, Y/N... and I'm sorry I avoided you all day, I just... I really struggled knowing you were going on a date with someone who could just, take you right from me," he chokes out, his eyes lining with silver. You reach your hand up, wiping the corner of his eye and allowing your fingers to lightly trail down his cheek. You knew you were in deep -- you'd been so good, doing everything by the books and trying your best with Lucien this whole time.

But right now, you didn't really give a fuck what the rule books told you to do.

"No one is taking me from you." You say confidently, and his hand slides to cup your cheek. "Not tonight, not..." He pulls you so close, backing you up a few inches until your back meets the wall of the villa, his hard chest pushing into yours.

"Good. I really, really don't think I could let you go." He whispers. You pull him closest, closing the gap between the two of you in a passion-filled kiss. You sighed, tasting the lovely delicacy that was Lucien, all Lucien — body against yours, lips devouring you like you were his last meal. Heavily breathing, his hands roaming down your back, gripping your ass and lifting you up -- so much, you wrap your legs around his torso, groaning as he pushed you against the tile. His teeth toyed with your lower lip, halting just to slip his tongue in, battling for dominance with yours as he continued to relish in your delicious taste. His hands ran over your curves, respectfully staying above your clothes. Gods, how you wished they were off...

He pulls back, gasping for breath with you as your hands cling to the toned muscles of his back. He stares as you intently, every emotion and feeling flowing between the two of you as fresh as the tear trails down your cheeks. Then, he smiles at you, grinning and chuckling in the most handsome way.

"What?" You ask, your own smile failing to be surpressed. His hands hold your waist as his eyes scan your face.

"I... I've been waiting for that, since... that day, on the boat." He says, smiling at the memory. "I knew then, that I'd do anything just to get to know you, and..." he kisses the bridge of your nose. "Well, thank Gods I did."

You blush at his words, unhooking your legs from him and making to stand once more. His hands hold your face as you continue to hold him close to you.

"You mean... you thought about our first kiss?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes. Now its his turn to blush.

"Yeah, yeah, sticky fingers, I did." You chuckle, kissing his cheek. His fingers slide through your hair, all the emotion in your heart not able to be conveyed in this moment through words alone.

"I bet it was exactly like this, wasn't it?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "Me in my cutest outfit... only a sweatshirt and sport shorts would do, right?" You laugh, and he chuckles before kissing the top of your head.

"You know I wouldn't have it any other way."

･ﾟ: *

[versegm]

Coming out of my self-imposed tumblr ban cuz this is the third post I see along the lines of "man we gotta jump ship" so here are some other ways to be social/do fandom/ect. I'm not gonna call them "tumblr alternatives" because I won't lie to you these are gonna be very different experiences from tumblr. But if you use tumblr as a way to meet new people/post your thoughts/do fandom/keep up with folks, then maybe one of these is worth looking into.

COHOST

I don't use Cohost so idk if it's good or not, but all the people who use it tell me it's A Whole Lot Like Tumblr. Got pretty mixed reviews on this one, people seem to either love it or hate it, either way you could check it out it's free.

PILLOWFORT

My main bitch, so I can actually talk about it.

Pros:

Lots of cool privacy features

Porn is allowed

Website has been consistently getting updates and listening to the userbase

No ads because it's user-funded

Cons:

Being user-funded means the website is frequently struggling with money

NEOCITIES

This one isn't really a social media, it's a host for websites.

Pros:

You can do whatever the fuck you want here

Cons:

You have to code it all yourself

If you didn't immediately skip this rolling your eyes, here are some ressources to get a blog running with minimum efforts, and a cool zine to figure out what to put on your blog.

FANLISTING

Ye Old internet way to find new peeps in your fandom. It's a list of fans. I'm listing thefanlisting.org here because it's the biggest hub of fanlistings out there, but there are plenty that aren't listed so if you've got a topic dear to your heart it might be worth googling up "[fandom/ship/character] fanlisting" and see what turns up.

Pros:

It's literally just adding your name to a list of fans. Low spoon effort.

Cons:

If you want to talk to any of the people on the fanlisting you have to actually manually contact them via email or website or whatever they provided for contact. High social anxiety effort.

Anyways that's all I got chief. You probably already heard of half of those and the other half might have made you go "hey wtf that's not at all what I use tumblr for why would I need these" and the answer is it's not my problem. I discovered these when looking for ways for me personally to do social media so if you do social media differently sorry I can't help ya. But hey maybe you'll discover something new who knows.

Preemptive answers to things I am sure will clog my notifications for years to come:

None of these are like tumblr! Look bestie this is like the fifth time people consider abandoning tumblr at this point you have to make your peace with the fact that there is no other website like this one.

The websites you mentioned are nearly empty there's no one in my community here! Bro if you want a website with lots of people you don't need me listing off where you can go you already know where people are going (aka: Bluesky) If you're so scared to be alone then invite your buddies to move there together so you can chat together idk. Be the change you want to be in the world.

I'm not gonna use these. Then you've got my blessing to not use these. I assure you you don't need to reblog this post just to tell me you won't use these. I don't care.

Anyways. Peace. Dunno how many people this is gonna be useful to, but if you wanted to branch out of the usual reddit/bluesky/twitter, hopefully this will help.

Bunch of pillowfort invite codes under the cut since I got a bunch. Sorry I got no cohost as I said I don't use that one.

[xxfaggatronxx]

A bit of angst warning ‼️

I want Ghoap content but in an angsty, healing way after Johnny got shot, but…

Realistically.

I want the journey of Johnny waking up only to find his speech stuttered and hearing practically gone, Simon desperate to communicate, Johnny taking it in stride, if he can’t use his mouth, he’ll use his hands.

Learning BSL like he was born for it, and if he gets a little too animated, he reverts back to military hand signals. Simple words change until he can mutter or speak a little more, but he can’t fully recover. It hurts Simon the most that he can’t call into their house and have Johnny come tumbling out of their room like an overeager puppy to greet them.

Months of therapy and yet Soap can only mutter stuttered, soft words. It takes three years before Soap grunts one morning “Bonn-ie yoo a-wa—ke?”

Simon shoots up and Johnny looks surprised too, but he just grins and signs sadly ‘*Dunno if I can do that again soon, love,*’ Simon nods, and its only a few days later when he finds out Johnny was practicing his name, a stuttered “Si-mo—n,” as Johnny smiles and Simon tears up. ‘*I told you I would practice,*’ he signs.

I want the doctor to ask him to wriggle the toes in his left leg, and have the description of his face falling and Simon’s eyes widen some more: more problems to deal with, to live with, to overcome. Johnny refusing to have his left leg removed, the right one already in a brace from a previous injury. Simon pleads him to at least get a wheelchair, and he does.

Stuttered, scratchy, raspy cackles as he uses his arms to race through the hallways, pushing the wheels to see how fast and far he can go… until Simon races after him, a smiling yet scolding tone as they wheels Johnny back to his hospital room, even athoughs he pouts and his hands fly up in messy signs.

“Runnin’ from me, Johnny?”

‘*Wouldn’t have to if let leave*’ The Scot’s fingers a blur.

A few weeks later crutches become the more permanent option, and Soap limps around with a big grin on his face, acting like a cat as he bats at Gaz’s ankles with the end of a crutch. Teasingly taps Simon’s ass with the end of the pole until the Lieutenant, smiling and teasing, threatens to take them away.

He knocks Price’s papers off the table, getting a scowl, and then a small chuckle from the older man who mutters: ‘Gettin’ too good at using those, considered a weapon in your hands, MacTavish,”

I want Johnny waking up…. Different. Same Johnny, thank god, remembers them, but he forgot things. Some important things. What was he doing in the train tunnel?

‘On a mission’ Johnny scrawls with shaking hands

What was the goal of the mission? Johnny pauses and thinks, but the doctor shushes him, and leaves Johnny and Simon alone. Two weeks later, Johnny signs ‘Who’ and the sign for a question. Gaz is sitting with him, Price too. Simon was out getting lunch.

“Who what, mate?” Gaz asks, confused.

‘Who’ Johnny gives a questioning look, then makes the sign a moment later. Price frowns with Gaz, and Johnny looks frustrated, signing ‘who’ a couple more times, and pointing to his head.

“Oh… who shot you?” Price is quiet when Gaz speaks. Johnny nods, then does the sign. It was painful, reminding Johnny of Makarov. He had also forgotten who Laswell, Graves, and a few other people in his life were. He had even forgot that Price was his boss, had forgotten he had tattoos, forgotten he had been called ‘Soap’ once. He remembered serving, but not much else on the SAS track. He never really got his memory back, but he remembered the little things.

He even remembered Simon liked baby’s breath flowers. Johnny being wheeled past a window and making a loud ‘AH!’ Noise, waving his hand to get Simon’s attention as he clumsily pointed with a smile to the flowers outside. ‘*Your favorite*’ Johnny smiled, making Simon’s heart flutter.

And who cares if it’s five years down the line? When Johnny shows up to the award ceremony to promote Simon to Captain. He rolls in through the front doors, in a kilt and suit top. He stops his chair by the door, and Simon’s heart clenched: using the chair meant Johnny was having a really bad day with his legs.

And then he stands. No crutches, no wheels. Grinning as he limps up to Simon, their mouth open as their boyfriend limps forwards, and pins the new rank to his chest, smoothing his hand over their suit to wipe off the dust, then, wobbling, Johnny sinks to one knee, and speaks.

“Would-ould you ma-ke me the happ-iest m-man in the world-ld, and be my per-menen-t partner…,” Johnny paused and smiled, wobbling in his knee with happiness in his eyes, meeting Simon’s wide, disbelieving ones. “Simon…. Riley,” no stutter.

He really had been practicing.

[real-jaune-isms]

By Any Other Name

Usopp: Hmmm... well I don't know...

Zoro: The hell are you doing staring at our wanted posters?

Usopp: Just trying to get some creativity flowing. We get these nicknames and epithets from the Marines or other folks we cross, but some of them just don't feel right, you know what I mean?

Zoro: I guess I do, yeah. I've been a pirate longer than I was a bounty hunter, and they still call me 'Pirate Hunter' Zoro.

Usopp: Right. And I like the authority to it, but it puts way too much attention on my poor head to call me God Usopp.

Zoro: Hmph~ So you're trying to think of better names in the hopes we can start getting the word out ourselves and pray it catches on?

Usopp: Exactly! Want to help?

Zoro: Eh, why the hell not? So we start with Luffy?

Usopp: We would, but if we changed his from Straw Hat Luffy then we'd need to worry about changing our whole crew identity and symbol. What would it even be changed to?

Zoro: I dunno... 'Rubberman' Luffy? He's got that new form that's white hot like the sun or something, but the Sun pirates are already taken. 'Sun God' Luffy would be way too grand for him anyway.

Usopp: Yeah I think that one is best left alone. What about you? If 'Pirate Hunter' is out, what do you want the headlines to call you? 'Three Sword' Zoro?

Zoro: Yeah that seems pretty dead on. Might be getting a little ahead of myself, but pretty soon it'll be 'World's Strongest Swordsman' Zoro.

Usopp: *rolls his eyes* Riiiight. I'm sure Sanji would say you deserve 'Mosshead' Zoro or something like that.

Zoro: I bet he would, and I'd be all too happy to tell people he goes by 'Pervert Cook' Sanji. He might actually prefer it to his crappy family name though...

Usopp: Yeah. 'Black Leg' Sanji isn't too bad, but he's been doing his whole flaming legs thing for so long, I feel like that should get the attention now.

Zoro: Then he's 'Flame Leg' now, easy.

Usopp: Alright smarty swords, if it's so effortless then you come up with the rest of them. How about Nami?

Zoro: 'Thunder Witch'.

Usopp: Me?

Zoro: 'Sniper King', embrace the old persona now that you've proven you have the skills.

Usopp: Wow! That's actually really gratifying, thank you. Alright, Chopper.

Zoro: 'Monster Doctor'.

Usopp: Ah, points out both of his strong suits, I like it. Robin?

Zoro: Hmph. 'Bookworm'~

Usopp: Are you kidding me? With everything she can do, you'd give her a nickname for how much she reads??

Zoro: Ugh... 'Flower of Knowledge' then?

Usopp: That sounds like something Sanji might call her, not exactly intimidating to the rest of the world.

Zoro: Fine. 'Demon of the Void Century'.

Usopp: Ooh, now that's a good one. Franky?

Zoro: 'Walking Battleship'.

Usopp: Nice, sounds powerful. Brook?

Zoro: 'Bonesman' would be too on the nose, huh?

Usopp: Not that he has a nose, yohohoho~ ...Sorry, I couldn't resist doing a little impression. But nah, funny as it is, it's probably not a good name for the wanted posters.

Zoro: I dunno then, 'Soul King' is a good name on its own, maybe 'Rattling Swordsman'?

Usopp: Yeah, that could work if we needed an alternative. What about Jinbei? 'Knight of the Sea' and 'First Son of the Sea' are pretty damn good epithets.

Zoro: They are. Maybe 'Tide of Liberation' or something.

Usopp: That's pretty poetic, I like it. Alright, guess I'm satisfied, thanks for the help, Zoro!

*he gets up and leaves*

Zoro: *picking up Robin's poster with a half smile* Heh... maybe I should call her bookworm, it's kinda cute for her. Better than 'Demon Child'... that one sure as hell doesn't fit her beauty. Really, she's more of an angel... 'Brilliant Angel' Nico Robin.

Robin: Consider me swooning, 'Stunning Samurai' Roronoa Zoro~

Zoro: The hell?? How long have you been standing there?

Robin: Since 'Thunder Witch'. *closes the door to the room* Now let's have a little talk about what you like calling me~...

[fastfur07]

It's Not Fresh

Finally getting back into fic writing? Maybe? I dragged this out of my drafts after someone's encouragement, so please enjoy.

Salmon.id pred, unwilling prey.

Of all things, why did they have to get a charger?

The Inkling had been excited to start their first shift at Grizzco. Mowing down Salmonids seemed simple enough, especially with a team to fall back on, but their assigned weapon was already draining their confidence.

Salmonids began slithering up onto the shore, and the employee hesitantly took aim. It was only the beginning of the first wave, but they were already overwhelmed. They didn’t know what to aim at, and what if some of the little ones snuck up on them while they were distracted? Their coworkers fanned out onto the exposed ground, not noticing a little squid climbing up to the highest point, too far from the action to be useful, but safe.

Could they snipe something at this distance? They caught sight of a Steelhead menacing one of their coworkers, but their shot fell short. The same happened when a Snatcher carried off some eggs. Dejectedly the squid looked back at the egg basket: the team wasn't going to make quota without their contribution.

They were going to have to face their fears. The employee took a deep breath, trying to convince themself that it wasn’t that stressful, and their coworkers would help them if they got in trouble. Mustering all their courage, the squid shuffled forward and prepared to step off the tower.

They were interrupted by a frying pan colliding with their head.

Slipping on ink, their head throbbing, the Inkling scrambled to sit up. They were staring at the scaly underbelly of a Cohock. Their gaze floated upward to see it staring back, eyes bulging and bloodshot. Some kind of grin formed on its misshapen mouth. The employee instinctively shrank into squid form and tried to swim away, but found themself scooped into the pan and lifted out of their ink.

Terrified as they were, the squid was unable to change back and defend themself. The Cohock dragged its tongue across its crooked teeth, before its maw gaped open. The employee only had a split second to realise what the Salmonid was planning before they slid out of the pan and fell, sliding across its slimy tongue and being forced down its throat with a wet gulp.

Finally regaining their powers of speech, the employee screamed and thrashed as they were shoved deeper into the darkness, enemy ink stinging all over them and a fishy stench overpowering them. Their coworkers were too far away to help them; why hadn’t they just gone with everyone else? Trying to keep from bursting into tears, they squeezed their eyes shut and waited for the inevitable as a disgusting belch rumbled around them.

Two weeks later

"Hey, check this out."

Leaning over to peer at the screen of a sea-cucumber phone, our Inkling was not prepared to have a terrifying memory resurface. They were looking at a crisp, level, award-winning-quality photo of a Grizzco employee's boots sticking out of the mouth of a Goldie, which looked surprised, but ultimately pleased, as it swallowed the rest of them. Two employees were in the background: one was getting on with business as usual, unfazed, while the other actually looked enthusiastic about their coworker being devoured. 

"... What the shell?"

"I dunno, everyone's been sharing these kinds of photos lately. Look." The Octoling holding the phone scrolled down, revealing photo after photo of employees allowing themselves to be eaten. One was diving from a Fish Stick into the gullet of a Maws, another had a Chum latched onto their head, and a third was in swim form being fought over by two Smallfry. There was a long silence as the two examined the photos, before the Octoling spoke again.

"...It's honestly kinda-"

"Being eaten alive is not fresh."

"I wasn't going to say that," the Octoling stressed. It's kinda, uh… impressive? To set it up and take the photo. I mean, the likes are rolling in. People must really like this stuff."

"How long have you been seeing it for?" the squid ventured.

"About two weeks," the Octoling replied.

The Inkling got up and gave a parting gesture, heading for the lobby exit. It was just a coincidence. It had to be. Employees probably got eaten by Salmonids all the time. It couldn't have anything to do with their own "incident", right? The question kept haunting them, and eventually they concluded that the only way to answer it was to investigate the trend - but with no leads, all they could do was ask around.

The Inkling asked everyone they saw, in the lobby, around the shops, even in matches, but couldn't find any real information. All anyone said, when they had any idea, was that they had seen those kinds of photos all over the Internet, but couldn’t identify the people behind them. It was only after a while that the Inkling accepted the fact they had subconsciously been trying to avoid: they were going to have to go back to Grizzco.

Unfortunately, they couldn't muster the courage to ask anyone while they were waiting for the shift to start, preoccupied as they were. They also couldn't say anything in the helicopter, nor in any of the three waves, where they continued vicariously participating, but remembered to stay with the group this time. Then, as the clock ran down and the final wave ended in a success, the Inkling finally took a deep breath and prepared to get their coworkers' attention. 

They were interrupted by a wail from overhead.

"Horrorboros? Oh, this is gonna be gold!" someone said. "If we can get up to that thing's mouth, we'll be famous."

"Who has Inkjet?"

Our Inkling didn't even have to look to know they had Inkjet.

In only a few seconds, the squid was in position at the highest point on the map, waiting for the King Salmonid to launch a bomb and leave its mouth open to fly in. They couldn't believe it - they'd had the perfect opportunity to talk to the people who were posting the photos, and now they were about to be the subject of one! But they had to do it, or they wouldn't be told anything.

The Horrorboros loomed closer, its bomb almost primed, and turned toward the trembling Inkling, who could barely maintain their balance, much less their composure. They heard their coworkers hurriedly preparing for the shot, and looked down. Everything seemed to be going to plan, but why were they staring back up with such an urgent expression? The Inkling looked back at the gigantic Salmonid just in time to see it launch its bomb straight at them, and sprang into action. 

They didn't remember exactly how it went; when they returned to the ground they weren’t sure if they had been revived or simply recalled from using Inkjet. They definitely remembered their boots skidding along the slick tongue of the Salmonid, and the sharpness of its jagged teeth, and the plume of its rancid breath, and the endless depth of its pulsing throat, but everything else was a blur.

Whatever had happened, the squid felt strangely calm, at least calm enough to keep up appearances while they returned to the foyer and the photo was uploaded. They had to agree it was a masterpiece: if you zoomed in a little, you could clearly see their resolute, almost heroic expression, along with how tightly they were gripping onto the Inkjet's handles. 

"Wow, this is really blowing up!" remarked the photographer, showing their phone around. "Oh, I almost forgot to tag you! What's your handle?"

"Oh, I'm not on social media," the Inkling smiled. "In fact, I was wondering how this trend even got started."

"Oh, you don't know?" another coworker chimed in. "Couple of weeks ago, someone got eaten by a Cohock while doing a shift. They didn’t even get splatted, they kind of just… sat in there, until the rest of their team took it out. They seemed really scared, but everyone else was like 'Yo, that's sick! Way to stick it to the man, huh?' So we all started taking these photos, and it became this kind of protest against Grizzco. Although, now that I think of it, it must have been kind of traumatic for that first person."

"Yeah," the squid replied with a fake laugh, "sucks to be them."

The end

[roseofithaca]

Minific request filled for @idiotwithanipad , featuring her OC Amy (brief cameo of my own OC Silver).

Emotional hurt/comfort, Humphrey POV, featuring Robin. Hope it’s what you were after, hun.

The front reception desk was one of the better spots to be dumped at, Humphrey had quickly realised since the hotel had opened. It was the best place to people watch most of the guests, get a good look above shoe-level at the new faces coming in, and he always got the best gossip between the staff muttering about people while thinking there was no one in earshot. It also gave him a good view of the computer and he would be the first to spot whenever Alison’s name was added to a future booking.

It would get a bit boring, usually during lunch and especially after eleven when they’d lock up for the night. But lately he’d been forgotten there less often after their most recently added member of their dead family.

Strange. He usually spotted those large boots thumping down the stairs in the corner of his vision by now. He’d seen all the others pass him at least once or twice, he’d watched Kitty rush excitedly to the aerobics club, he’d had a quick gossip with Fanny about some drama that had happened between a rich couple and the man’s mistress the night before and he’d seen Thomas swoon over his latest infatuation, a bellhop girl with hair very similar to Isabelle’s and Alison’s.

No Amy yet? Maybe she didn’t feel like leaving her room today, whichever empty one she had claimed for the night.

“‘Ey! Hey, Robin!” He called when he saw the caveman walking through the wall, stretching his neck and rubbing his joints, probably having just come out of Zumba. “You seen Amy today?”

“Stompy?” His oldest friend replied; “No.”

“Was she with you guys in the room last night?”

‘The Room’ was technically Kitty’s room, as she always had first dibs on the bed and had been named after her, but had become a sort of common room for all of them, especially as it Alison’s usual room. Kitty had made it clear they were all welcome to sleep over, though most of them crashed on the sofa or the floor.

“No. Pat invite her for Music Club but she say she no come, wanted quiet, so we not get pushy.” A thoughtful look came over Robin’s face; “She seem quiet already. Odd because she laugh with me just couple hour before when we watch guy get mad his club stuck in ground and he get all red face.”

“You dunno why her mood changed then?”

Robin shook his head; “Me assumed she tired?”

“The girl is ninety percent caffeine! She’s hardly ever tired. Unless she’s crashed out…” It wasn’t as if the girl was incapable of sleep, his head had laid in her arms during some sleepover nights, “I’d like to just check on her. I mean even if it’s just to make sure she hasn’t…y’know. Whoosh, and all that.” Not that he wouldn’t be thrilled for her, but given that she’d been the most to spend much time with him lately, he would miss her. “Can you sniff her out or something?”

“Me not hound!” He replied, offended, then flared his nostrils; “Wait…can pick up of trail of icky demon drink.”

“Monster.”

“That what I said!”

Humphrey rolled his eyes as Robin lifted him up off the desk and followed his nose to hopefully find where Amy had disappeared to. He grew concerned when Robin started to head towards the gardens rather than upstairs.

“None of you saw her leave a room?” He asked.

“Many rooms, many guests, can’t keep track of all, especially when we walk through walls!” The great furball defended; “Big nosy head watch all who come and go, you not see either.”

True, but he’d assumed she’d come down the other staircase, the same one where Annie had met her yeasty end all those years ago.

Venturing out onto the golf course, they dodged a few balls swung across their path before they reached the wood. Humphrey grew more curious as to what she would be doing all the way out here on her own, almost at the boarder.

Finally, he spots that familiar black hoodie on a figure sat beside what appeared to be a small mound next to a collapsed old grotto. A gap in the trees above allowed a beam of sunlight to enter down and rest atop the mound, where unseen to any living eyes lay the body of a young woman in early two thousands alternate clothing and a fringe of pink hair against the black. A contented smile remained on her face as she slept, a necklace with a five-pointed star resting atop her clavicle.

Amy was sat in the dirt with her knees to her chest, her back against the natural resting place of the sleeping Neo-Pagan ghost.

“Hey, Poppet. Everything all right?” Humphrey ventured.

The girl sprang up in surprise. They hadn’t exactly crept up on her, but it wasn’t as if ghosts footsteps made a sound.

“How did you find me?” She asked, sniffling and rubbing her face with the bulky sleeve of her hoodie.

Had she been crying?

“You easier to track than deer with giant hole in belly.” Robin said, “Remind me to teach you to hide that.”

Humphrey wasn’t sure ghost odours were something that could be covered up. Or maybe Robin made a conscious effort to smell that way.

“Did you just wanna come visit Silver? You know she only wakes a few days a month on the full moon, right?” He asked, gently.

“Yeah, Moonah only waxing, still got fortnight.”

“I know that! Just…wanted to be near her for a moment, that’s all.” Amy scuffled her heavy boot against the ground, “No offence to the rest of you but she’s the closest thing I have to a mate, you know. A girl mate.”

“You and her mates? Oh, me not know, congrat-.”

“NO! Not like that! Just friends. I just needed someone to talk to who gets me, you know. About things I’m not comfortable talking to men about. Kinda hoped that even if she’s asleep she can still hear me a little and would want me to rant to her.”

Humphrey could respect that, though he felt a little guilty that there were things she didn’t felt comfortable confiding to him about. That shouldn’t sting all that much, he had known the girl less than six months, but he couldn’t help but feel oddly protective of her.

“You don’t wanna talk to Kitty or…?” The other female option sounded unlikely before he’d even said her name.

“Kitty’s sweet but she’s really naïve. Can’t really talk to her about any….difficult stuff. She still thinks babies are made by pressing ears together. As for Lady B, she’d probably say it was my fault for showing too much ankle or something.”

“What your fault?” Asked Robin.

Amy’s lips pinched together as if she’d been caught out.

“N-nothing.” Her hand reached up to adjust the now defunct headphones permanently attached to her head.

He exchanged a look with Robin. They might not have much women’s intuition but they had eyes. There was something a lot more introverted about the way Amy was acting, in everything from her body language to not making eye contact with them.

“Amy, sweetheart, did something happen?” He asked, cautiously.

“No! Like what?” She snapped back like a defensive animal.

“Someone…say bad thing or…try bad touch?” Robin asked, awkwardly; “Was it Julian? Because me had words with him already, if he say more disgusting thing then me will rip his-.”

“Stop! Stop! Julian didn’t do or say anything to me.” She got to her feet before them; “He’s actually been on good behaviour lately. Though he did say hashtag-me-too in the wrong context the other day. But at least he’s trying.”

“Someone else though?”

That the young woman didn’t deny, just continued to rub her arms and look away.

“Other ghost?” Robin asked, “Thomas not always take no for-.”

“Not Thomas either. Or Captain or Pat or even the Spa ghosts.”

She sat atop one of the fallen logs, turning her eyes back to her sleeping friend.

Humphrey and Robin shared a look before taking a seat beside her, Humphrey still held in Robin’s lap.

“A living then? Wasn’t a guy who brings a load of dogs with him?”

“They my friends. The dogs, not the guy, he sucks.” Clarified Robin.

“I know who you mean and not that guy. You don’t know him. He booked in yesterday, him and his wife.” Amy began to explain, “He used to live down the street from my house growing up. When I’d walk to school, he’d always be out in his front garden, working on something. It started with him just telling me to have a good day, not work too hard, all that stuff…Thought he was just being friendly. Mum and his wife were good friends.”

Already Humphrey didn’t like the direction this was heading in. He wished he had his body so he could put an arm around the girl.

“Then, when I began Secondary, he started giving me compliments…first on my hair, then my bag, then my…my skirt. It made me really uncomfortable when he kept saying I was ‘maturing nicely’. I started wearing trousers instead and he said it was a shame for me to hide such a…’great set of pins’. I told Mum and she just said that he was an old fashioned guy and I shouldn’t take it the wrong way.” She squirmed in her seat, “S’my fault. I should have just asked him to not say things like that.”

“Shouldn’t need asking. Why grown man care what young girl look like? Especially when he have wife, monogamy being scam or no. It his fault.” Robin defended.

“He’s right, Poppet.” Humphrey assured; “He didn’t…do anything else, did he?”

She gulped, looking down at her hands.

“One time my mum asked me to go round and fetch a strimmer that his wife had narrowed. She weren’t home but he was…I said I was happy to wait outside while he fetched it but he insisted I come in.” She explained, voice shaking; “He said I could sit in his garden if I wanted, take my hoodie off, get a tan because I was ‘far too pale’. I kept saying I had to get back home to do my homework. I refused to sit, refused to accept anything to drink.”

Sensible girl, he thought.

“Getting fed up I think, he went and got the strimmer and handed it to me. Then he stroked his fingers over my leggings and picked at the hole there. I stepped back and he was laughing like ‘Oh sorry, just wanted to see how they felt! You should get that rip stitched up.’” She shuddered, as if he were there right now with his filthy hand on her, “I took the strimmer and ran back home, told Mum I was gonna walk the longer way around to school and didn’t wanna be near him again.”

“You told her what happened?”

Amy nodded; “Think she had a word with his wife. They moved house within a few months. She must have divorced him because the wife he came with today was a different woman.”

Humphrey cleared his throat and looked Robin, gesturing with his eyebrows. Having been able to form something of their own language whenever he was headless over the past four hundred years, Robin got the hint and passed Humphrey into Amy’s arms.

She seemed hesitant at first, then wrapped her arms around him, hugging him to her belly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you today.” She mumbled, voice breaking.

“That’s all right, poppet. You were clearly going through something. I’m sorry you didn’t think we’d be much help. I know we’re just blokes but we do care about you and wanna listen when you’re upset.”

Robin grunted in agreement and reached to put his paw around her shoulder, squeezing it a little.

“What is strimmer?”

“That thing they use to cut the grass, the big stick with the spinning blades.” Humphrey tried to explain.

“Oh. Should have used to cut off his balls.” He said, jovially; “But guess might not be best decision. Stompy very brave not letting him touch and telling mother truth. Otherwise might have gotten worse.” He tried to praise her.

Amy ran her hands through Humphrey’s hair.

“He might have just harassed some other poor girl in their new neighbourhood.” She said, as if it had been playing on her mind for a long while.

“Fingers crossed he’s never taken it that far. There’s nothing more that could be done, much as I think we’d all prefer blokes like him to have their hands cut off and be castrated.” He reassured.

“Hmm. That eerily close to punishment for touching girls without consent in my tribe. We throw genitals onto fire as sacrifice to Earth Mother.”

“Guess you savages were more enlightened than us lot in some ways.” Humphrey chuckled.

Amy clearly wasn’t in the mood for jokes, her face creasing after having revealed something so personal.

“There, there, Poppet, you’re all right now, you’re safe with us. You don’t have to go anywhere near him while he’s there.” He comforted.

Robin gently tugged her close to curl against his furs, she brought her knees up a little, almost cocooning her body around Humphrey as she shed a few tears. Humphrey could understand why Silver would probably be better equipped to talk to about this, the stoner Wiccan would probably be fuelled with enough rage to cast some sort of curse upon the bastard, or make him choke on the scent of sage.

“Thanks, guys. For listening…” Amy mumbled after a while, thumb stroking against Humphrey’s cheek.

“Not problem. You sure you no want me to try give him shock? Maybe burst his lamp when he try to read at night?” Robin offered, smiling with his chin atop her head.

Amy managed a small laugh; “Thanks but, don’t want any risk of him dying and staying here with us. Think he’s just here for the weekend.”

“We can stay and camp out here with you if you wanna stay near Silver?” It would be far better than being left anywhere alone.

“No…You’re right, she can’t wake up, so it’s pointless. She wouldn’t want me moping out here like he’d forced me to be away from my home.”

Home. It was the first time Humphrey had heard the girl call it that. It made his estranged heart feel warm.

Robin released the girl and jumped to his feet, like he’d suddenly had an idea.

“Think me go find Julian. We can make plan for guy with bad hands.” He said, mischievously.

“Robin, I said I didn’t-.”

“No, no shocky shocky, me promise.” The caveman assured; “But maybe we annoy him by ruining his golf game and making drink spill in lap. Will not share Amy story, just say that he asshole. Julian never need much excuse. Little bit of karma, yes?”

“Oh let him, Poppet, he just wants to do something to feel better after what you just told us.” Humphrey whispered from her arms.

He know because he felt exactly the same, unfortunately he lacked any ability to haunt, or else he’d also be on his way to make the man’s stay here a misery until he got fed up and decided to leave early.

Amy smiled and nodded, dismissing the caveman who jogged off in both excitement but also a thirst for vengeance.

“Listen, love,” Humphrey said, seriously, “It really isn’t any of your fault, what he did or said to you. You know that right?”

She shrugged; “I guess but…doesn’t take any of it away. Nearly forgot it till I saw him again and it all came back.”

“I know. Trust me, even though we’re the dead ones, we still manage to get haunted as much as livings. You don’t have to rush back there, we can go for a walk around the woods and to the boarder if you want? You can tell me more about those music bands you were into, that you miss playing on that ear armour of yours.”

The fact that he referred to them as that always amused her.

“But you have no idea who I’m on about when I mention them!” She laughed.

“Doesn’t matter. Still more interesting than listening to Cap talk about that time he won a game of Risk.”

He was happy to see a slight glow reappear on Amy’s cheeks as she stood. She wished a brief goodbye to the sleeping Silver, promising to come back on the full moon, before slowly walking away, telling Humphrey about the first concert she ever went to. In return he told her about the time he went to watch one of Shakespear’s plays performed for the first time at the Globe, which he fell asleep during.

They barely made it out of the woods before a bumbling shape moved across from them and they both let out a cry of surprise before recognising who it was.

“Oh, where the ‘ell have you been? It’s been a week!” He chided his own corpse; “Amy, sweetheart, do you mind?”

Amy leaned up on her tiptoes and placed his head upon the stump.

He clicked his neck, feeling it connect like a loose hinge. He grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

“Ah, thank you! If I hadn’t needed to come find you out here, I might not have come across him for who knows how long.” He smiled.

Amy then surprised him further by throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his torso, hands clinging to his robes. This time he was able to truly feel his heart swell at the contact. He put his arms around her, one hand patting her head. He couldn’t explain the connection he felt to the girl, despite the hundreds of generations that separated them, despite not having a clue about half the things she talked to him about. Even in her darker moments, she had a way of lighting up his existence.

[asteriaspirit]

Braving Time

“It was very brave what you did,” Asteria says with a sigh as she leans into the bookshelf to her right. The rag she's been using to wipe down the now vacant shelf is thrown unceremoniously over her shoulder and her golden eyes squint up at the much taller man working beside her. “Stupid, but brave.”

“I am a stupid, brave wolf,” ShiaJox replies with a chuckle before squatting down to the lowest shelf and beginning to pull the books from their neat row. He winces and attempts to cover it by turning his head to his shoulder and coughing.

Asteria rolls her eyes.

“I told you that if you weren't feeling better, you didn't have to come in.”

“I'm feeling fine--”

“You're lying to my face.”

ShiaJox sighs and glances up at her, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling with mirth. “I'm all healed up. So I'm fine.”

“Healed in body doesn't mean healed elsewhere, you know.”

“Well, I'm healed where it matters.”

There's no stopping the smirk that kicks up the corners of Asteria's mouth, but she turns away before it fully develops. With a sigh, she reaches for her rag and begins to wipe.

“Does that happen often?” ShiaJox asks while lifting an armful of books into the cart that they shared between them. The bottom was filled with them and the top carried all of Asteria's cleaning products. The scents of lavender and vanilla invaded his nostrils with every breath. Better than bleach and pinesol, of course.

“Does what happen often?” she asks, but she keeps her eyes on the shelf and her hand busy. He catches the tenseness in her shoulders, but this was something he needed to know.

“Do people come in here and start trouble with you?”

“Not anymore,” Asteria says with a jerk of her shoulders. Her lips press into a thin line before she opens her mouth, closes it, sighs, and tries again. “They used to, in the beginning, but it hasn't been a problem in a long while.”

“In the beginning?”

“I've been here for a while,” she says with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “Time is...very different here. Like, earth's time was already different, but there's something to the Valley as well. Time is...both slower and faster than the rest of the world.”

ShiaJox's brows knit in confusion as he slowly stands up to his full height. His arms cross over his chest and his body turns toward her, his intention to engage her in conversation obvious.

“I haven't felt any different since I got here.”

“And you won't,” Asteria tells him while moving sideways down the aisle, the cart bumping into her hip before rolling and bumping into him. He ignores it. “It's subtle. But, you've...been here for a while. Don't you wanna leave?”

ShiaJox snorts. “Why would I wanna leave? It's nice here; calm, quiet, the people are pretty nice, outside of that incident--”

“When we first met, ShiaJox, you had come to hunt me down, remove me and then leave. Do you remember that?”

He frowns again and gives a short, jerky nod of his head. “Yeah.”

“And now you want to stay. The hunt is over, I'm not going anywhere, and whoever hired you, well, you haven't heard from them.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows and nods a second time, his confusion still palatable.

“But you're talking about staying when you had other contracts, other investigations, and a whole life stretching out ahead of you.”

“Plans change, Steri--”

“Do they? Or does the valley want you to think that you changed your mind and that it's better to stay here?” she asks while turning to stare at him, her gaze an unflinching burn of amber and stardust.

He can't answer her and his sputtering, the way his teeth click together as he closes his mouth, tells her all she needs to know. She chuckles and returns her attention to her shelves.

“I don't think it's dangerous, whatever the magic is, but it's strong. I also don't know why it'd want people to stay here, unless it needed their energy.”

“What is it?”

Asteria shrugs and leans forward on her tip toes to reach the shelf above the one she was wiping down.

“Dunno. I don't think it's a...thing. But if it is, it's been very rude by not saying hello after all this time.”

ShiaJox snorts and shakes his head before returning to picking books off the lower shelves and placing them in the cart between them.

“I've heard you can go crazy trying to talk to C'thulu, you know.”

“Naaaah,” Asteria replies with a grin, her slightly elongated canines catching his attention. “As long as you mind your manners, cosmic horrors are great conversationalists.”

“Steri, I can save you from a dagger through the back or maybe even a bullet. C'thulu is a little out of my range.”

The pair of them chuckle before lapsing into companionable silence, the threads of their conversation still weaving through their respective minds.

[squeeneyart]

Curses Ch. 6

AO3

So now what?

Jon looks for answers.

The sun was away and gone as Jon paced around the clearing, eyes flitting to and from Martin as if by simply looking he would gain insight into his predicament. Pity it wasn’t so.

Martin sat by the fire and munched on his final meal for that go-around. Tomorrow he would reach the crossroads,the cycle would begin anew, and he would swear this time to savor and save the dried meats. Within two days he would cave from the doldrums of bread and cheese, but it was a nice thought.

“What are you doing?” Martin asked, tearing a chunk of break away. 

Jon did not pause his stride. “Thinking.”

“You can think while eating something?” Martin offered. “Look, there isn’t much to think about. I made someone mad and now I’m trapped until… I dunno, they decide I’m not? Until I find a way out? But I’m not starving, I’m not dead. Just stuck.”

From the other side of the clearing, Jon gave him a pointed look. “Just stuck.”

“For now!” Martin said. “But I’ll sort it out. Find the right apology or a way around their terms.”

Jon rolled his eyes and plopped himself down on the opposite side of the fire, wings flared and staring. If they found anything, it only caused Jon more irritation. “You’re not acting like someone who’s been cursed for a year.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No, but-”

“How would you know, then?” Martin took a large bite of cheese for emphasis.

“It’s my business to know.” Jon visibly bristled, the fuzz of his undershirt (if that’s what it was) standing on end. “And I can take a guess at my own response in your place. You’re acting as if it’s a minor inconvenience.”

“I’ve had plenty of time to bemoan my horrible fate without a witness, thanks.”

With dropped wings and a downturned mouth, Jon looked away. Not with shame, Martin thought. Certainly not shame. After a minute of Martin’s chewing as the only sound between them, Jon said, “Yes. Well. I’m sure it’s been… difficult.”

“... Yeah,” Martin replied, looking away. “But you get used to it.”

“And you haven’t told anyone?”

“Oh, no, I did at first.”

Jon started. “Really?”

“I mean, yeah, I was a bit panicked!” Martin laughed. “Not many pass through this way so it was just a couple of people, the ones who didn’t want to travel alone. They said they’d ask around, probably to avoid the awkwardness of saying ‘sorry, can’t help you there!’. Doubt they knew anyone with that sort of power.”

“What changed?”

“It became clear that bringing it up wasn’t getting me anywhere, and at least one person thought I could pass the curse on, which I can’t. Led enough people out of this place to know that.” Martin muttered that last part with some bitterness. “If I’m going to travel with someone I’d rather it be, you know, pleasant. While it lasts.”

When he didn’t receive an immediate reply, Martin resumed his meal. From the other side of the fire Jon sat in uncomfortable, fidgety silence.

Internally, Martin mourned what could have been a pleasant night between friendly acquaintances. When did telling people about his problems ever grant him anything but awkwardness and pity? No one who stumbled upon him by accident was going to break the curse.

Jon certainly wasn’t. The hope had wriggled its way into Martin’s head, but luckily he’d tempered it quite handily by reminding himself that the favor of a fae was not to be asked after. As it so happened this wasn’t a master magician before him, not in the way Martin needed. Maybe he would be in a few decades when Martin was the barest wisp of smoke in his long-reaching memory, an entry in a catalogue of names missing their context. A what without a who or a why.

He shouldn’t be thinking about the length of a life. 

Jon was staring at him again. “You didn’t say anything to me about it,” said Jon accusingly.

“Hm?” Martin said, hearing him perfectly.

“You should have told me you were already cursed.”

“When? While you were still threatening me?” 

It wasn’t a slap to the face, but Jon flinched. “I- I told you I wouldn’t! Several days ago, in fact! With what I am, you could have-”

Martin leaned back on his hands. “Well, even if I asked, you wouldn’t have been able to help, right? You said so yourself.” 

“You couldn’t have known before th- a-and I wouldn’t go so far as that,” Jon said, dropping into the defensive. “While I’m not an expert, that doesn’t make me powerless. I’m perfectly capable of finding the truth of things, and thus a solution if there’s one to be known.” 

The doubt must’ve been plain on Martin’s face as Jon continued hastily, “When I referenced my lack of ability, you must understand I was putting you at ease. With time it would be no issue at all to break your curse, I’m sure.”

“How much time?” Martin asked, voice reaching up high and skeptical.

Jon paused, looking down in concentration. “I’ll have to sleep on it. Something may come to me in the night if I beckon it.”

“Okay… I won’t stop you from trying-”

“It wouldn’t be in your power to do so.”

“...Sure?” Martin stared down at his paltry meal. “But to make myself clear, this isn’t an obligation and I’m not asking you to do anything.”

“Yes, yes, there will be no binding between us once you are freed from the curse,” Jon said, though his tone was flippant and irritable. “Consider this my official statement that I have no interest in personal retribution, supernatural favors, or bindings of obligation should I do anything for you of my free will.”

A small flare of expectation grew bright in his chest at the word ‘once’, but Martin grimaced. “Can you say that ahead of time? Does it work that way?”

“It does because I said so.” Jon crossed his arms. “Of the two of us, I would know.”

“Fine! Fine, I will take you at your word.” He wouldn’t be asking for any favors. Still, it was a gesture that had Martin looking away to the treeline rather than meeting any of those eyes. “Thank you?”

Jon squinted at him. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“I don’t know! Thank you for offering to help?” Martin ran a hand through his hair, finally giving up on keeping any of it tied back for the night. “Seems more legitimate than other offers I’ve gotten, so… thanks.”

Tapping his fingers on the ground, Jon asked, “Quite. Now, is there anything you’ve already tried so I don’t waste my time?”

It might all be a waste, but Martin wasn’t about to look a gift moth in the mouth. “Can’t go backwards, can’t wait it out, already tried going down the path the tiny house sat, among many other directions. I always end up at my next campsite no matter where I go to sleep, which I always do, so I can’t outrun whatever path I’m on or let time pass in one place… Apologizing out loud hasn’t done much good. I was once desperate enough to consider doing something with my blood, but-”

“I would highly advise against that-”

“-But I figured it was a bad idea and honestly didn’t fit the curse itself?” Martin continued. “Otherwise I haven’t had many ideas. A woman gave me a necklace of garlic flowers once, but I think she gave those away for everything. I wore it anyway since it couldn’t hurt?”

Martin closely examined Jon’s face for any signs this wasn’t the case. The fae shook his head. “Useless in most cases. You’re better off not smelling like anything if possible, but I suppose some would find the stench… irritating. Could repel or attract all sorts of things.”

“Very helpful.” Martin snorted. “Tossed it weeks ago, so it doesn’t matter anymore. Any other great wisdom?”

Jon’s tone held a warning but with little anger. “Be nice to those who offer you help without expecting a return.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin said, though with little worry. “I don’t generally forget my manners unless a fae curse is involved.”

“If you keep on like that you’ll be cursed within a fortnight,” Jon deadpanned, but he must’ve seen the nausea on Martin’s face as he put his hands up in a calming gesture. “It was a joke. Curses like yours aren’t commonplace.”

“Just my luck then,” Martin sighed, resting a hand on his palm. “Being nice didn’t really stop me from getting into this mess, though, did it? I apologized as much as I could, was polite, but they were probably going to curse me no matter what.”

“Could be they sensed your insincerity.”

“How can I be sincere when-”

“Or they don’t care how much someone capitulates.”

Martin clamped his mouth shut, glaring out into the dark trees. What was he meant to do, then? What was the secret here? What was the one rule no one shared with him? What was he supposed to-

“It can help, though. With some people.” Jon scratched at his jaw. “Your kindness has not gone unappreciated.”

I was under threat of a curse, he could have said, almost said. No matter how accurate the statement, it didn't mean a damned thing to the tightness in his throat or the budding headache behind his eyes. But he didn’t have much at all to replace the sentiment. 

It’s easier to travel with someone who tolerates you.

Why make a trip unpleasant?

You looked miserable, I couldn’t just-

“I mean… we’re both trying to get out of here, right?” Martin said, shoving the other words back down his throat. “I get you out of the rain, you let me eat something other than incredibly hard cheese for the first time in months-”

“You really held off for that long?”

Laughing, Martin replied, “I think we’ve established that I don’t know anything about the inner workings of this place! I’m not gonna grow a second head for the sake of variety.”

“I’m sure the squirrels here were born that way.” Jon picked at some grass. “Probably.”

“Can you ask that tonight as well? Which foods to unmake me and which to make me fly?” Waving his hand in a flapping motion, he led Jon’s gaze to the night sky. “Can’t say I’ve been able to try that route.”

“A large bird, then. Steal some eggs and get carried away for your theft.” Jon’s eyes remained on the stars. 

“Don’t think I won’t,” Martin said, packing away what little food he had left. He preferred to have something for breakfast before the end of the road. “Maybe it’ll drop me outside this place and give me a kick in the rear as a goodbye.”

Jon’s mouth quirked, but it was clear a thought had stolen his attention, or perhaps the stars. Brow furrowed, a steady twitch in his right hand. A quick word would probably break his concentration, but what if…? 

It wasn’t good to set expectations too high. Much like everything else, he didn’t know the way his travelling companion worked, so Martin began to settle down for the night, as silent as he could make himself, with the knowledge that soon he would be miles away. In the right direction, he could only hope.

As sleep came to him on that warm evening, Jon’s eyes left the heavens and glanced down. Dark, bright, and searching, they gave away nothing of what they found. 

He dreamt of sap leaking from his ear.

--

Where was he to start?

A curse. An elusive curse-bringer. A man with an ever-changing orbit of secrets, shifting in shape and size so as to obscure things further. 

He’d been fooled, though not out of malice. Martin’s curse had been hidden, yes, behind the curtain of mundane secrets held by anyone born to a world with other people. Jon might’ve felt hurt by the mistrust had he not been given a feast of information to chew on and another answer to chase. But suspicion, were it to raise its head, he would not dismiss so easily again.

Still, the man fast asleep on the other side of the dwindling fire had accepted Jon’s help after a number of qualifiers. He supposed for mortals simply swearing not to lay a curse was too narrow a promise. Whether Martin slept well was difficult to say from the view of a broad back, but Jon hoped his offer to assist was reassuring. He meant what he said, after all. He certainly meant to try.

A twisting worry gripped his stomach and he shook away the rambling thoughts. He’d made it over the transition. The seasons turned forward on their axis, holding up the world with their spokes. It was coming upon his time as the land shook off its frozen bindings, and though the knowledge he sought was missing, it wouldn’t be for long. The transition into power always felt stuttering and unfamiliar, cold dew drops holding down his wings like stones. It was time to shake off the remnants of winter and look.

Unfortunately, his staring contest with the stars was not going well. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing some external power to bring the knowledge to him, knowing that wasn’t the way of things. Clearly his senses weren’t attuned to finding the cure to a curse. So much intent involved, so much emotionality. He was no stranger to either, but he wasn’t going to pluck that information out of the universe. 

Smaller, then. He removed his hands and pushed himself to his feet. In sleep Martin shifted onto his back, hand reaching gently for something before falling limp at his side. 

Walking to the clearing’s edge, Jon muttered, “Where are they now?”

From afar, a glint of light. With a frown he stalked in its direction, not bothering to use his wings with so many low-lying branches. The light shivered, blinking in and out of sight, but always in the same place when it returned.

Slightly louder, he said, “Where can I find the person responsible for this curse?”

“Anything more specific?” The light flashed into his eyes and he stumbled, catching himself on a bough. 

Stifling a groan, Jon grumbled, “I don’t recall asking you.”

“And yet I’m the only one here. Are you sure you’re not just talking to yourself?” From the dark, a long figure slinked and curled its way into his line of sight. A smile, broad and careless, shined impossibly in the starlight. The lure reflected back at him in their pointed fingers. “I’m hurt. You know I love to help where I can.”

“By luring me into the dark?” Jon asked, brushing off his knee. 

“The mortal sleeps fitfully. I didn’t want to be rude. Besides, I don’t need his dull additions to the conversation.” A scratchy laugh, with too much wheezing for how little mirth it held. 

Jon glared at the small mirror in the being’s hand and cursed himself for being so foolish. “Are you here to waste my time?”

The mirror disappeared into their pocket. “Are you not going to ask my name?”

He had the option to turn around at any time. Unfortunately, the fae before him knew his vices. “...Fine. What is your name today?”

“Michael. For now. A rather silly man gave it to me, and I quite like its consonants.” Heavy exaggeration on gave, as if Jon needed the hint. “Any other questions? You seemed to have quite a few on behalf of your… guide, I suppose he is? Embarrassing.”

With clenched teeth, Jon left the ground and approached Michael’s twisting lines. “Your advice brought me through this place without all of the facts. Was I meant to be lost? Were you hoping I’d need your help to leave?”

“Of course not. I knew you’d find a way, though I supposed it would take longer. Maybe mid-summer. Consider it a learning experience in the unknown and unknowable. Though that’s a moot point now.” A sigh escaped them, the timbre of a dusty attic. “I thought of tossing him back deep into the forest, let him run around without a path for a while, but I’m afraid he’s bound too tightly by his little curse. Bad luck.”

Jon frowned, landing with hands on his hips. Disappointment sank into his stomach despite knowing better. “So you are here to waste my time. Typical.”

“I didn’t say I was powerless.” Walking (moving? gliding?) in a semicircle, Michael leaned over Jon’s shoulder from behind. The proximity made Jon’s eyes itch. “I can’t lift a curse, but you wanted to know the location of the one responsible. Luckily, I’ve already sent you on the right path. You’re welcome.”

Spinning on his heels, Jon demanded, “Thornsbury?”

Michael dropped a long, heavy hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You wanted somewhere with knowledge, your precious sustenance. Go forward, strengthen yourself, and what you seek will come to you. That will mean leaving your guide to this place a while longer, but he’s resigned, patient, realistic. An adult, even, by their standards.”

The jagged shapes of Michael’s hand poked and snagged on Jon’s shirt. “Let me guess. You can’t say more.” He shrugged off the hand, smoothing the fibers down.

“Even if I had more to share, you know I’m not one to spoil a mystery.” Waving tendrils of hair brushed against Jon’s cheek. “And it’s impolite to rush through a meal someone else has provided. You’ll upset your stomach.”

Enough of this. Jon stepped away, pinning his gaze on the lanky figure. “What is this place to you, Michael?”

“So you look for a different snack. Greed all the way down.” A frown in the dark, a tsk-tsk under his skin. “Relaxation. Variety. Satiation. Pathways that wind without my needing to lift a finger, and when I do they still find ways to surprise me. Good enough for you, scavenger?”

Some small irritation gave way to satisfaction. Jon relaxed his shoulders. “I’m out here in the middle of nowhere because of your promises. You’ve expounded on our right to feed on others enough times.”

“Does he offer a good meal?” Michael said, the curl of a smile in their voice scratching inside Jon’s ear. 

“What?” Jon asked, eyes narrowed. 

There was a rush of movement and sharp fingers spun him round, his eyes barely able to focus on the dot of firelight in the distance. The pull to follow each repeated point tore his focus to pieces. It was too far to see the figure he knew to be on the ground, his unlucky guide, but on the edge of Jon’s perception were the unknowns of the curse, true north on a compass.

“Did you pull it out of him?”

Jon blinked hard, willing his eyes to focus. “No. No, I… I-I don’t think so? I was persistent in my questioning, yes, but he was- he didn’t want me to think that he disliked my presence. That’s all.” That Jon was nearly salivating by the time he demanded the truth was inconsequential. 

He continued. “And if I did, it was for the best. How can I help if I don’t know what’s going on?”

“Oh, I agree,” Michael said. Jon was not comforted but remained silent. “We do what we must to feed. We do what we must to make the changes we wish to see. I’m sure this guide of yours would be appropriately grateful for the intervention.”

“I didn’t-”

The light ahead came into focus. The hands slipped away. Jon knew then that he was alone, and something in his stomach turned sour. 

“I did not force anything out of him. I asked a question, and he answered. I asked a question, and he answered.”

The night held no confirmations. The woods around him were empty save for the insects. He walked to the light, feeling the tug of instinct that had foolishly led him into those woods, and hoped it wasn’t one final trick.

However long it had been, Jon returned to the campsite to find Martin’s turnings and tossings all but calmed. Jon took his place on the other side of the fire, poking it with a stick to keep it alive a bit longer. It wasn’t for a particular purpose. The night was warm, pleasant, and the starlight was more than enough for him to see by in this small open space. 

It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for, but on what basis did he hope for more? 

Martin had given all he could about the curse. There were no secrets between them in that regard, and Jon knew this to be true. Was Michael behind all of this? Was that the purpose of sewing doubt, to play with them both before spiriting Martin away to be consumed on the endless road?

No, that wasn’t right. Martin had grown accustomed to his route. No jerking around to different paths, no pulling the rug out from under him as he tried to guide others through. The path was the same, always. Not Michael’s particular style of confusion. Their target was not Martin but Jon, and only in the way he always had been: easily riled, easy to lead around, Jon thought with some embarrassment. His guide, for now at least, was simply something with which to tease him.

He didn’t like it, but it would do. And if Michael did develop an interest in Martin as a victim, then… everyone had to eat. Who was he to interfere?

[chrissturnsfav]

rapper!chris making singer!reader using a vibrator in public… i think i’m kinda horny today sorry

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris decides to have some fun with singer!reader at dinner

chris had won the dumbass deal.

the deal was that if he finished his single and got it ready to drop by the weekend, you'd let him use a vibrator on you at dinner.

and he fucking won. of course he did. he always does.

"see this?" he smirks, holding up a little remote controller as he backs up from the edge of his bed where you're sat, the vibrator deep inside your pussy as you pull your dress back down below your thighs.

"if you let that bratty attitude come out..." chris taunts, holding the controller up with an evil smirk, "this is what's gonna happen." he presses one of the buttons.

a shriek leaves your lips, your hands clenching around the sheets of his bed. your legs are shaking, your eyes screwed shut. a chuckle leaves his lips as he stands in front of you with that same fucking smirk.

and now, in the restaurant, the soft glow of chandeliers overhead bathing the room in a warm, inviting light, you know you're in for a rude awakening.

you're annoyed. annoyed with yourself that you even agreed to this, annoyed with chris for talking you into this ridiculous deal. and what makes you the most irritated is that there's absolutely no going back now.

chris is sat across from you, unable to wipe that goddamn smirk off his lips as his eyes scan the menu. his pupils swirling with anticipation flit up to you, and for once he can't wait for that attitude of yours to slip out.

"what're y'gonna get?" he asks, folding his menu back up.

your eyes flit up from your own menu, chewing on the inside of your cheek, your expression annoyed. "dunno," you mumble, looking back down at the fancy menu.

you can feel chris' eyes narrow at you, the smirk growing on his lips, "dunno?" he repeats, snickering, "already sassin' me 'n we ain't even been here for ten minutes."

you don't reply, your attitude getting the best of you. you keep your eyes on your menu, eyes flickering over the various expensive dishes.

but they squeeze shut when the vibrator begins sending waves of intense pleasure through your entire body, making you gasp sharply. the noise of clinking silverware and voices turns into a blur around you, mixing in with a laugh from chris as you squeeze your trembling thighs together.

"so sensitive," he taunts, you can hear the smirk on his mouth. "gonna tell me what your gettin' now?"

"u-uh..." you stutter, your voice almost a moan. your fingers are sinking into your thighs as you keep them crossed tight. "i-i..."

"c'monnn," chris groans with a roll of his eyes, "speak up ma," he says condescendingly.

"s-steak," you pant out, biting your bottom lip so hard you're sure it may bleed.

"uh-huh," chris nods, smirking wickedly at you, "what kinda steak?"

a sharp moan escapes your lips as the vibrations course through your body, your thighs trembling more viciously than they were a few seconds ago.

"shh," chris snickers, ignoring the unavoidable twitching of his cock beneath his jeans as he looks around at other people in the restaurant, "we're in public, remember?"

you nod, your mouth agape as you breathe heavy, your eyes still pinched shut. the pleasure gets more intense, your toes curling in your heels, your moans threatening to spill from your lips.

"oh ma," chris chuckles darkly, leaning back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head. his tongue prods the inside of his cheek as he watches your expression change, watches your pretty lips struggle to keep quiet. "feels so good y'can't even answer me, huh?"

"p-please," you manage to gasp out, barely coherent. your hands are digging into the sides of your chair, your thighs crossed tightly across each other. "i-i can't...t-too...much..."

chris laughs again, shaking his head as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. "nah, y'lost the deal baby," he speaks through a smirk as he leans closer to your face from across the table.

your eyes flit open half lidded, vision blurry, the sight of his face turning you on even more as the vibrator continues to send waves of intense pleasure through your body. "gonna keep you on your toes alllll night, ain't lettin' you cum from some dumbass toy, want you to cum when i fuck you later."

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses

@chrissturnsfav ™