#i feel so tempted to just make another post about this shit and this time directly to twitter cuz man i need another outlet

[momentomori24]

Ever since I made that longass rant about soushin and general stupid fandom discourse I've been seeing even more tomfoolery on Twitter as some weird, backwards effect. Someone saying that most proshippers are pedophiles when "explaining" what proship means, another person qrt soushin gift art to shit on soushin shippers before insulting the recipient by calling them gross and saying that people deserve to feel like shit for ""shipping abuse"" and other BS as well. Also found an account basically just for hating on soushin and its shippers. Oh, and other people watering down the abusive nature of the ship again to defend it too. This fandom makes me so tired sometimes.

[feelingbat-ty]

This is inspired by @aflamboyanceofflamingos post about Tim choosing to publicly hate Robin as Tim Drake, cause to love or hate someone is the best way to hide a secret identity.

I started thinking about Tim coming into contact with his teammates as a civilian and Tim using this as an opportunity to take out all the grievances he has for his team in a way, that 1) Won't cause tension and fights. And 2) let him get away with being a petty arsehole, cause it's not like superheros can just go and beat up random civilians.

And well... my hand slipped.

--- You Can't Spell Spite Without Timothy Jackson Drake ---

The amount of times YJ comes across Tim Drake in the wild would be concerning if Tim didn't stalk them as often as his busy schedule allows (which turns out to be quite often). The Beta tube in the Batcave and another secret Beta tube in the bowls of Wayne enterprise's Francisco building allows Tim easy and direct access whenever he so desires.

And well, Tim never did grow out of his stalking phase.

It would be comical - if it wasn't maddening - how often they don't realise he's there. Most of the time he's stalking trailing a member of the team he's not trying to hide his presence, it wouldn't make sense for him to, not as Tim Drake.

The team have a tally board that sits in the common room, it's at 85.

85.

His team's situational awareness is absolutely appalling. 85, they've noticed him only 85 of the hundreds of times he's followed them around?

He complains to Dick about it, a lot. He's hoping Dick will give him some tips on how to beat situational awareness into his teammates thick skulls. He was the leader of the Titans, so he has to have something!

Dick - like the asshole he secretly is - just laughs at him.

He asks Cassie about it once. Why they don't find it concerning that they encounter Tim Drake: famous for being the civilian who 'beat Robin in a fight' every other week?

"I mean, You're usually right about these sorts of things, Rob. If you don't think Drakes an issue, then we trust you."

Tim can't figure out whether to feel warm and giddy at the fact that they apparently trust him, or to be annoyed at the fact that they follow after him like sheep. Not even doing their own research and recon (Cassie probably did. Kon and Bart? Yeah, hell would have a better chance at freezing over).

The first time was a coincidence. Tim had needed some space (from Bruce. From his deadlines. From his own mind...) and ended up wondering the streets of San Francisco with no real destination in mind.

An impulse turn led him onto the boardwalk and from there right to Superboy.

It was a bright and sunny day in Fran and Kon was glowing. Literally, because of the sun and figuratively from pride after he stopped a would-be pick pocket-er from pick pocketing an elderly lady.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, not when the team know of Tim Drake, know his face and all about how he hates Robin and makes it his whole personality. Not when the only thing that stops them putting Tim Drake on Baby Super villain watch is Tims general blasé attitude about, well... himself.

But is it oh, so tempting.

Especially because the month before, Kon had accidentally smashed Tim's favourite coffee mug in a series of event's (involving a yoga ball, shearing scissors, laser vision and a will from God himself) so convoluted that Tim was convinced it had been orchestrated for a solid week.

Was it a cheap mug from Kmart? Yes, but it's the principle of the matter!

As Tim’s left shoe impacts the side of Superboys face, a sense of manic glee overtakes him. Tim takes special care to seer this memory of Superboy getting hit in the head with Tim's shoe and the stupid face he makes as the ratty converse collides with his cheek, into his brain.

It's not much, but it's justice all the same for his once beloved mug.

Tim... might just be a tad sleep-deprived.

Superboy startles and lets out a frantic “Shit!” Assuming he’s being attacked by a surprise enemy (the kind that isn’t just civilians throwing shoes) he looks around, taking stock of his surroundings and looking for any immediate threats before glancing down at the shoe and visibly doing a double take.

His face is blank as he stares - undoubtably confused - at the shoe. A second later he's lifting his gaze, following the direction the show came from and staring right at Tim.

Tim, who (like an idiot) is still, for some reason, positioned how he was when he threw the shoe - arm outstretched and leg back to brace himself.

There is absolutely no way he wasn't the one who threw the shoe. If the stance didn't give it away, then him having one shoe (that shoe being a near identical ratty rad converse) probably did.

“What?” Superboy asks. He looks befuddled. A little amused, but mostly just confused. He's got a small, polite smile on his face that just reeks of Clark Kent's influence. Kon is obviously trying to model himself off of Superman - specifically Superman's polite and approachable "Grandma pinching worthy" vibe and not his fashion choices, since he's still got the leather jacket and sunglasses.

Tim makes a mental note to tell Kon that he has a really expressive face. Tim is literally reading all his emotions in 4K. They should probably work on that, it could be a liability in the field.

Tim briefly considers playing dumb and acting like it wasn’t him that threw the shoe, before dismissing that idea, Kon can be clueless at times, but he’s not a complete idiot.

So instead, he says, “that was a very open-ended question.”

And well, it was.

At the look Superboy gives him, he elaborates, “What, when said in that context, could mean literally anything! Like, ‘what was the purpose of that?’ ‘What’s your name, so I can in-prison you’ ‘What shoe size was that?’ Seriously, dude, be more specific!”

Superboy’s befuddlement takes a sudden nosedive to incredulity. “Okay, fine. Why did you throw a shoe at me?”

“Cause you work with Robin.” He says simply. He'd say 'justice' but then he'd sound like batman and like, thanks but no thanks.

“Cause I- what? You physically assaulted me with a shoe because I work on the same team as Robin?”

Tim, personally, thinks assault is a strong word to use for this situation, but he’s glad that at least some of his lessons on the proper terms and vocabulary are paying off.

He nods, cause that is indeed what he just did, he crosses his arms across his chest, and stares Superboy down.

Superboy who, looks like he’s regretting everything that led him to this moment. Tim relishes in that for just a little too long to be healthy. Probably.

Tim doesn’t really care. He told Kon (as Robin) that he’d regret breaking Tim’s favourite mug (accident or not, he's still not over it.) yeah, this might not be how either of them envisioned it, but Tim thinks this might just be better than beating Kon up as Robin in their next team training session. What better way to get someone back than to publicly humiliate them in front of all their peers? Shame he can't do that anymore.

Eh, who is he kidding? He’s still going to do that anyway.

“You’re only gonna throw one?” Superboy has a look on his face that’s similar to the one Bruce gets when he’s decided to give up and play along with the crazy. The one where he'll smile and nod, slowly inching out of the room, as Duke and Damian (There has truly never been a more terrifying duo) explain to him in vivid detail how they're going to use psychological warfare to make a shitty teacher at their school resign.

“Yes.” Why’d he throw both his shoes? He’d have no shoes!

“… Right. Why did you throw this one?”

All these questions!

“I like that one the least,” he shrugs, and it's true, the converse on his right foot has a little bi flag that Steph sewed into it back when they were dating. A throw pillow was the closest thing in reach at the time, so he sewed a little pan flag on it for her (he later did one on the breast pocket of one of her denim jackets).

“You are so freakin’ weird, dude! You throw a shoe at me! Because I work with Robin!”

Uh, yeah, we've already established that.

“How did you even get it off that fast!”

To be Honest, Tim is also surprised at how fast he was able to get his shoe off. One second he’s looking at Superboy the next he’s lobbing a shoe at his thick head.

Instead of saying any of that, Tim channels his inner Janet Drake, sticking his nose into the air and scoffing like Kon is the literal gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

Kon, - because he’s no longer Superboy, he’s too fired up to hold onto the mask - shakes his head. It’s mocking, when he says, “You must be really shitty at throwing a punch if you had to resort to throwing shoes.”

Tim shrugs, “Well, I woulda thrown a fist, but you’re not worth a fist.”

Kon is silent and doing an amazing impression of a blobfish.

Tim turns and struts away before Kon has the chance to come up with a rebuttal, or just decides to punch him in the face.

He’ll grab his shoe later, after Kon leaves.

The basted incinerated his shoe.

[velvetlilacsdaisies]

Shit at Feelings i

Part one

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x fem!marked one!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS!!, drinking, swearing, filler dialogue, not proofread v well. lmk if I missed anything

A/n: my first Emperyeon series fic!! Was supposed to be just a one part fic, but I got carried away. I also just wanted to write a self indulgent piece w dialogue amongst the group too 🥲 this is my first time in a while posting but I fr love Bodhi sm I needed to have something w him in it. I hope you enjoy!

༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻

You survived your first year, you defied the odds of what everyone else said about you. Not only defying those odds, but being one of the best in your year. Maybe Imogen and Xaden had played a crucial part, but most of the marked ones were surprised. You had been more quiet and reserved out of the group of kids for the high ranked officials, but that didn’t mean you were weak. You had proved that while being ruthless and cunning in your training. Your parents were Fen Riorson’s top battle strategist and healer after all.

In the gathering hall, everyone celebrated moving into their new ranks. While simultaneously saying goodbye to the third years they’ve grown to know. You were indulging in the alcoholic lemonade, and your fellow fourth wing with more than a few words tonight. You sat on the left side of Violet while Imogen sat on the right. Nadine and Sawyer next to Rhiannon across from you bickering playfully about something. You savoring your newfound will to live after the events at Resson.

The hall was sweltering in the summer evening heat, no amount of lesser magic had helped. Neither did the warmth you could feel from Ridoc beside you. Taking your jacket off, only being left in your tank top underneath.

“Damn Y/n,” whistled Ridoc. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your relics yet.” Everyone’s eyes went to you, and usually you would’ve been intimidated by all eyes on you. Tonight it didn’t faze you that much. Even noting the softened gaze in Nadine’s eyes, who had been skeptical of the kids of the rebellion at the beginning of the year.

Both sides of your collarbones are covered in intricate designs extending to shoulders making their way down to your biceps on both arms. You never tried to hide the relics, but you never took your jacket off or opted for a long sleeve, higher collared shirt when training in lessons.

You rolled your eyes at the male’s cheekiness and everyone gawking besides the few who knew what already laid beneath your jacket. “It’s not something I necessarily flaunt.”

“Obviously or we wouldn’t all be shocked here.” Sawyer snorted, sipping on his beverage.

“It’s so badass though.” Violet acted as if she hadn’t only seen it days prior.

“I had been fortunate in the placements of them. Since both of my parents were a part of Riorson’s regime.” You tried not to be bashful about it.

“Where’s your dragon relic?” Ridoc blurted as he looked at the design on your shoulders.

“Sheesh,” Rihannon reached over, flicking his ear. “You’re staring like you’ve never seen any relics before.”

Before you could give a response, something caught the youngest Sorrengail’s eye causing her to get up. “I’ll be back.” Violet stood up from the table, wobbling tipsily to the corner where you saw Xaden and Bodhi. The latter descended, seeing the silver haired girl approach them, offering a curt nod when they passed one another.

You gulped at how good Bodhi looked in his new third year jacket, even when it bore no difference to his second year uniform. You were just a sucker for Bodhi in a uniform admittedly. The mage lights illuminating his dark curls to a chocolate hue that tempted you to run your fingers through his hair.

Despite being close with Xaden, Imogen, and even Garrick—you kept your distance from the younger man for a year before he left for Basigath. When you were kids, you two had been close friends, maybe even inseparable. But when a rebellion happens, and you have increasingly become aware of how much your affection for him went so much deeper than being his friend—things become complicated.

When you were around him now it was the only time you felt truly timid. You could conquer the parapet, gauntlet, bond a dragon, kill venin and wyvern, but that man was your weakness. He had narrowly saved you and your dragon from a wyvern attack while back in Resson.

His cheek still dusted with a greenish yellow bruise, and jaw gashed with a healing cut. Unashamedly you thought it made him look so much more lethally handsome than he was. Gods you were resorting to a bumbling nervous lovesick puppy.

“Human women and their finicky hormones and emotions.” Your dragon, Cleasaí, chortled through your bond.

“Quiet, go eat sheep or something.” You slammed your mental shields up from her to the best of your ability while intoxicated.

Bodhi reached the table, already looking at you. His hazel eyes shimmered with curiosity as he scanned your exposed arms and collarbones. Either not used to lack of sleeves or was it the fact you unabashedly stared back for once. His mouth curled into a lazy smirk. You hoped he didn’t notice your already flushed warm cheeks redden under the mage lights, feeling a ghost of smirk on your own lips. The lavender lemonade made you feel bolder evidently as well.

“Mind if I squeeze in?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked on yours stil.

“I can move over—“ Imogen started moving closer to you, but he had already stepped over the bench to take a seat in between the two of you. “Or not.” She deadpanned. She had been one of the only ones that knew the complicated timeline between the two of you.

Your heart skipped a split second from the stare down between the both of you. Now feeling acutely aware of your posture and the swarm of what you could only compare to bees buzzing around in your stomach.

“Y/n,” he greeted casually, his voice a warm husky tone.

“Bodhi.” You tried to play cool, and take a sip of your frothy drink. Not only did you know he was looking at you, you could see Imogen in your peripheral, giving you a “what-the-fuck” look at the interaction. Ignoring the pink haired girl, you spoke up again. “Feel like a third year yet?”

“Eh, it won’t hit me until the new candidates get here.” He finally took his eyes off you as Ridoc offered him a bottle of ale. “Thanks man.” Bodhi’s side pressed up to you when leaned over to take the bottle.

His warmth doubled down into you, igniting the exposed skin where he pressed into you. Feeling his minty breath fan the side of your face, and the smell of cedar, patchouli, and musk invade your senses. You could feel his hard muscle flex through the layers of his clothing against your bicep. The storm that buzzed through your stomach turned into heat seeping into your core. Lovesick puppy or just desperate for male touch?

“I know I will be taking every advantage as a second year,” Nadine chimed in. “Finally being able to sleep in is priority number one!” She did a little celebratory dance in her seat. You snapped out the trance Bodhi left you in, and agreed with her.

“I’ll be savoring our newfound alone time too.” An extra hour in the morning, and weekends to actually do something more than chores or training. Maybe you can finally break out the sketch book that someone smuggled in for you during a supplies trip. You only found it on your bed with no note.

“Define alone time, Y/n.” Rihannon wagged her eyebrows at you. The group chuckled at the suggestive comment.

“Or will you use your newfound freedom to bring someone into your room finally?” Ridoc added, causing the group to laugh louder. If you weren’t red enough already, you had to be beet red now.

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” An inquisitive eyebrow raised at the shorter male from beside you. ‘Oohs’ rise from the group.

“Did you want to be number one, Ridoc?” Quinn giggled.

You felt both the male in question and Bodhi tense. The former blushing a deep scarlet in embarrassment and the latter wearing a neutral expression you couldn’t decipher.

“Sounds like you’re keeping watch of me.” You teased playfully. The flushed male who usually was never at loss for words was now stammering trying to deny it. “It’s okay, maybe one day I’ll take your consideration if I’m ever bored enough.”

“Not what I meant.” Ridoc put his hands over his face groaning. You finally let out a laugh from his reaction, you couldn’t help getting the slight joy of teasing him. He always got the joy of doing it to everyone else. It seemed the rest of the group was enjoying teasing the man just as much too. Everyone besides Bodhi, who had a slight scowl on his face until Imogen whispered something to him.

༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻

By the end of the night, everyone was just about ready for bed drunkenly chatting and giggling at one another. You had consumed two more tall glasses of lavender lemonade. Most of the group now were clamoring around getting clumsy and incoherent. While you were trying to stay sane while remaining seated next to the guy you’ve always had undeniable feelings for. Overly aware of every little action he did at the table throughout the night. From him laughing to the way he gripped the bottle of his alcohol. Lovesick puppy.

You had stood at the exit of the hall up to the dormitories with Ridoc and Rhiannon. Both have to hold each other up as they bid you goodnight.

“Y/n,” Ridoc hiccupped. “I wasn’t serious about earlier, but if you’re—“ hiccup “serious I can be—“ another hiccup “serious.” You did everything you could not laugh out loud knowing it was the alcohol talking.

“She wasn’t.” Bodhi came up next to you, giving him a glare. You shot him a look, not used to such a serious or broody version of the man you grew up with. Him always being the friendlier one out of Xaden, Garrick, and himself. “Goodnight you two.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened in a shocking delight. “I knew there was something between the two of you!” She squealed, like he bared his soul with a couple words.

“There is—“ you go to correct her, but the tall male beside you cuts you off.

“Goodnight Cadet Matthias.” He had an authoritative tone that made your knees buckle. Or was that the alcohol? His muscular arm wrapped around your waist as he noticed your unsteadiness, and you felt that same sensation you felt earlier when you leaned into him for support.

Your two fellow second years gave the both of you looks before clumsily walking away, leaving you alone with the male holding you up. Your heart is now hammering as he starts to lead you away.

“Let’s get some air.” Bodhi motioned his head to the courtyard as he effortlessly led your stumbling form outside. You wanted to scoff at his proposition. Your new bed and pajamas were calling your name.

A few cadets and lieutenants lingered around the expansive yards, but he quietly led you to an alcove that brought you to a secluded spot where no one could see the two of you.

You leaned up against the stone wall, letting the summer breeze cool your skin. Carefully observing the tawny skinned man from beside you. He took out a small rolled paper and a match, lighting the roll and the sweet smell of churam filled your nose. You weren’t allowed to smoke, and you knew if you were caught you two would be expelled and possibly executed at this point.

“What are you doing?” You hissed as he took a drag, watching him let the smoke leave his mouth and inhale through his nose. There goes that damn buzzing feeling in the pit of your stomach again.

“Relax this is our smoking spot, Y/n/n, no one comes around here.” He reassured you once he exhaled the smoke again. You rolled your eyes staring at the mage light that flickered on the wall. After a lengthy pause, you glanced back at him.

“What makes you think I wasn’t serious?” You questioned, crossing your arms around yourself.

“You know these are the most words you’ve spoken to me in months? Maybe even years?” He ignored your question.

You opened your mouth, before closing it again. You couldn’t admit it was because of your harbored feelings. Not now. Because he was right, you hadn’t talked for quite some time. It didn’t feel right nor did you want to omit that confession.

“Well you were here for an entire year and I was back home so yeah it’s been a year since we talked.” So you played oblivious with him.

He scoffed, “you’ve hardly spoken to me since you’ve gotten here.”

“You just seemed so busy—“

“Cut the shit, please.” He pleaded, now anxiously dragging the joint.

As he brought it away from his lips after a couple puffs, you stole it from him. Your fingers brushing slightly as you grab the small rolled herb. The small touch warrants an electrifying feeling between your fingers. Quickly brushing the thought of if he felt it too, you took a hit of the herb. Letting the sweet smoke seep into your lungs and haze the self awareness and guilt that filled you.

You didn’t want to let him in, truthfully. You’ve already witnessed too many losses during the succession and your first year alone at Basigath. It was when your parents had been executed when you started slipping away from him. You let the stereotypical crush trope hide deep down what you felt, how afraid you were. It would hurt to know, if you finally got the balls to admit everything you’ve felt, and something happened to him or you. It already almost did once, the regret and shame still kept a hold of you for the last few days.

You could now see the disappointment in his eyes. “You’ve always been quiet and reserved, but with me? That’s never been you.” You took another deep inhale of the herb.

“Could you blame me if I was scared?” Your hands slightly shook as you handed the joint back to him. Your eyes were earnest as you looked at him.

He shook his head, running hand through his hair. “You're scared? Fuck, Y/n I almost watched you die. And you know what ran through my head thinking ‘this could be it’?” He took one last smoke, throwing the remaining part of the joint on the ground, stomping it out into the cobblestone. “That the last fucking year spent with you was speaking through a chain of command or small talk bullshit when you weren’t running the opposite if I was near you for too long.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you could feel the tears burn the edges of your eyes. That electric current you felt in your stomach only a few moments ago had solidified into a brick. Then ascended into a wall that crushed you with an iron force with his words.

You two had only briefly talked while in Aretia after what happened.

You had tended to your dragon most of the time while waiting for Violet to heal. Your green clubtail had a poorly injured claw from a wyvern, and despite her persistence it would heal, you were nervous that it would draw too many questions back at Basigath. Xaden agreed and saw Brennan to help mend some of the wound once Violet was stable. You were not able to leave her side while the stranger tended to her. She was already furious that someone besides you had to touch her.

You wanted to talk to him more after that, everything had happened so fast though. Then you went back to avoiding him.

“You’re right.” You mumbled, picking at the edge of your nails. “I’m so sorry, Bo.” Your lip trembled, and the first tear slipped from your eye.

He sighed, sounding defeated. “Gods, I don’t want to be right.” He gently grabbed your elbow, wrapping your smaller frame in his arms. “I want you to stop icing me out, Y/n.”

He ran a hand through your hair, his chin resting on top of your head as you sniffled tears silently running down your cheeks. He had every right to be upset with you, but here he was comforting you. This had always been the Bodhi you knew, how he was before the height of the rebellion. Whereas you had turned cold, letting your cowardice and stubbornness control your emotions—for what you thought was for good reason.

“I know,” you stifled against his jacket. Finally wrapping your arms around him. His grip tightened, and you were overwhelmed by the sense of comfort. You hated what this man did for you and to you.

“I shouldn’t have had this conversation tonight.” He admitted. “I should have waited until we were both sober.” He let you go, and you wished you were still wrapped in his muscular arms. A cold seeping into you that wasn’t due to weather.

You shook your head, a sad smile on your lips. “I would have run.”

“And I wouldn’t have had the courage to bring it up.” A dry chuckle echoed through the quiet alcove.

“We’re riders and we’re—“

“Shit at feelings?” He mused as he watched you tug your jacket on. You wiped some stray tears from your cheeks with your sleeve.

“I was gonna say pansies, but that works.” You sniffled, as a toothy grin finally appeared on his face.

“Should we get to bed and do this all over again tomorrow?” He offered his arm. You raised an eyebrow at him, was he sane? “I mean the drinking part, not the arguing. I enjoyed hearing more than a word out of you tonight though. So I can resort to arguing if needed.” He nudged you slightly.

You rolled your eyes teasingly, “no promises.”

༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! I am open to feedback as well as requests too! 💕🫶

[mswritergirl02]

Pure Paranoia 

Summary: Y/n smokes for the first time and gets too high

->Reader Advisory: This story involves themes related to marijuana use. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to or uncomfortable with such content.

A/N : This is my very first post ! I’m excited to see where this account goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n sat on the edge of Riah's couch, her fingers nervously tapping against her thigh as she watched her friends pass around a joint. The sweet scent of marijuana filled the air, swirling around her like a seductive dance, tempting her to join in.

Riah noticed Y/n's hesitation and leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Come on, Y/n, don't be such a goody-two-shoes. Just one hit won't hurt."

 Zela nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"Yeah, you've gotta try it at least once! It's not like you're doing anything wrong."

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing with uncertainty. She had always been the innocent one of the group, never straying too far from her comfort zone. The thought of smoking weed for the first time sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.

"I don't know, guys. I've never smoked marijuana before," Y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Riah rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "You can call it weed, Y/n come on, Live a little! You're always so uptight."

Zela chimed in, her voice gentle but persuasive. "It's not a big deal, Y/n. Just take a puff and see how you feel. You might like it."

With a shaky breath, Y/n reached out and accepted the joint, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. The smoke burned her throat, making her cough and sputter as she tried to inhale.

"Easy there, girl," Riah teased, patting her back as she handed her a soda can.

Five hits later Y/n found herself sipping on that same can, trying to calm her racing heart as the effects of the weed began to take hold.

At first, it was just a pleasant buzz, a feeling of warmth and relaxation washing over her like a gentle wave. But as the minutes ticked by, Y/n's world began to spin out of control. 

The room seemed to warp and distort around her, the colors bleeding together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and sound.

“Hey, have I told you about that guy I met last weekend?"

Zela's interest was piqued, and she turned to Riah with a grin. 

"No, spill the tea! What's his deal?"

Riah chuckled, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "Well, his name is Alex, and let me tell you, he's got some serious charm. We hit it off right away."

Zela's eyes widened in excitement. "Ooh, sounds promising. What's he like?"

Riah's smile widened, her cheeks flushing with color. "He's funny, for one thing. And he's got this way of looking at you that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room."

Zela nudged Riah playfully, a teasing grin on her face. "Sounds like someone's got a crush."

Riah's cheeks grew even redder, but she couldn't suppress the grin that spread across her face. "Maybe I do. But don't tell anyone, okay? I want to see where this goes first."

Zela winked, her smile knowing. "Your secret's safe with me. Just remember to play it cool, okay? You don't want to scare him off."

Y/n tried hard to focus on the conversation swirling around her, but the words seemed to slip through her fingers like grains of sand. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she struggled to keep her composure. She felt as if every part of her body was twitching. 

How does anyone enjoy this?

"Y/n, are you okay?" Riah's voice cut through the fog of Y/n's mind, filled with concern.

Shit speak you haven’t said anything in 10 minutes

Y/n nodded, her mouth dry as cotton as she tried to form words. Taking another sip of her soda she mumbled, "I'm fine, just...just a little lightheaded."

Oh god, I feel nauseous. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n's heart raced with panic as she sat in the backseat of her friend's car, the effects of the weed controlling her mind. What would she tell Harry? Would he notice? With his friends over, the thought of facing their judgment sent a shiver down her spine.

Of course, he’s going to know your high anyone in their right mind could see you’re tripping fucking balls. 

God, I wish Riah would roll up her window I’m freezing.

As they pulled up to her apartment building, Y/n plastered on a fake smile and told her friends goodbye, trying to hide the turmoil raging inside her. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. 

She dragged her now heavy feet up the stairs and pulled out her keychain trying to unlock the front door to her and Harry’s shared apartment but instead, her tangled keychain slipped from her trembling fingers and fell to the floor.

"Fuck," she cursed under her breath, pushing her now knotted hair from her face bending down to pick them up.

Why the fuck are there so many keys on this thing. I should really take some off... I don't even use half of these keys.

She finally managed to grasp the key and insert it into the lock, but her mind was so clouded with panic that she struggled to turn it.

Inside, Harry and his friends exchanged curious glances as they heard the commotion outside the door. 

Why won’t this fucking door op-

Before Harry could get up to investigate, the door swung open and Y/n stumbled inside, her hair messy and her bloodshot red eyes wide with panic.

As she entered, Harry's gaze met hers, and she saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. His raised eyebrow didn't escape her notice, sending a shiver of unease down her spine.

Act normal. Act fucking normal.

"Hey," she stammered, her voice barely audible as she tried to break the suffocating silence. She couldn’t help but feel as though all of their eyes were staring into her soul.

They know

Harry's expression softened slightly, but she could still see the worry etched into his features. "Welcome home love, you alright?," he questioned gently, his gentle british accent a soothing presence amidst the tension.

Y/n forced a smile, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, just had a bit of trouble with my keys," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze as she shuffled past him and his friends.

Harry frowned, but before he could press further, his friends' curious stares reminded him of their presence. Clearing his throat, he turned to face them with a forced grin. "Alright, lads, back to business. Who's up for another round of—"

But Y/n's voice cut through his words, her stomach growling loudly as she caught sight of the pizza box sitting on the kitchen table. Her mouth watered at the delicious aroma 

"Pizza?" she blurted out, her eyes widening with hunger as she made a beeline for the box.

Harry's friends exchanged amused glances, their lips quirking up in smirks as they watched Y/n's eager reaction. 

Harry chuckled, "Saved you a slice, pineapple ya favorite ," he said, his voice warm with affection. "Thought you might be hungry."

Y/n's eyes lit up with gratitude as she grabbed a slice, her fingers trembling slightly as she took a bite. The taste exploded on her tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body as she savored every delicious bite.

"Thanks, Harry," she said between bites, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized how crazy she must look.

Soon she didn’t care as her taste buds were sent into a frenzy of delight. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Fuck I could die happy right now 

Y/n couldn’t help but let out a soft moan of pleasure as pineapple juice filled her mouth and the second the sound escaped her lips, her eyes widened in horror, realizing she had made that sound out loud. She glanced around the room, and spotted Lucas, Harry's friend, standing in the kitchen, his gaze fixed on her.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with panic as she struggled to come up with an excuse.

Harry's warm laughter filled the air. "Enjoying the pizza, are we?" he teased, his voice filled with affection as he shot her a playful wink.

Lucas's voice cut through the air like a knife. "You look fucking stoned, Y/n," he exclaimed, a smirk playing on his lips.

By now y/n’s entire face was bright red with embarrassment as she averted her gaze, her heart racing with panic. Feeling the weight of Harry's curious gaze boring into her.

She rubbed her now sweaty hands on her jeans, once again struggling to find the right words to defend herself. "I-I'm fine," she insisted, her voice trembling slightly.

Just take a seat Y/n. 

Listening to her thoughts y/n made her way to take a seat, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as now all eyes were actually on her.

Matt's eyes widened as she sat down . Her body carrying the heavy skunk like scent everywhere she went. "Dear God, Y/n, you smell like weed," he blurted out, his voice filled with disbelief.

Y/n's heart sank as she looked up, meeting Harry's curious gaze once again. She felt herself sinking deeper into the couch as if her body was not her own and someone else was controlling it.

"Love, you do smell like weed," Harry stated softly, as he placed a hand on her thigh. To be completely honest Harry knew Y/n was high from the moment she walked in. He could tell just by the way her eyes looked back at him. Of course he’d never accuse her of it.

Say something everyone is staring at you

 She was screaming at herself to open her mouth and speak but she simply couldn’t.

Sensing something was wrong with his usually calm girlfriend Harry made an announcement, "It's getting late, I'm a little tired”, his voice breaking the tension in the room.

Oh thank god.

Y/n felt a twinge of relief as Harry and his friends began cleaning up. Not bothering to help Y/n found herself lost in a trance, staring at the video game on the screen. The vibrant colors and lifelike characters captivated her, momentarily distracting her from the chaos swirling inside her mind.

So pretty 

Y/n's thoughts of the video game were interrupted by the sound of Harry closing the door behind his departing friends. 

Just tell him for fucks sake

With a rush of adrenaline, Y/n blurted out the truth she had been trying to conceal.

"I-I'm high," she confessed, her voice wavering as she looked up at Harry, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Harry's lips curved into a knowing smirk as he met her gaze. "I'm very aware, love," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Look at you, growing up."

Y/n's heart fluttered at his teasing tone, but her panic quickly resurfaced as she struggled to explain the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.

"I-I don't know what's happening," she admitted, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "I feel like... like I'm not in control."

“One minute I’m happy and the next I’m sucked into a deep black hole”

Harry's expression softened with understanding as he moved closer, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. "It's okay, Y/n," he murmured, his voice soothing to her frazzled nerves. "You're just having a bad trip. I've been there before."

Y/n buried her face in Harry's chest, trying to steady her racing heart. The smell of his cologne filled her nose and she felt a sense of relief wash over her, knowing that Harry was there to support her through the storm.

Harry lounged back on the couch, placing Y/n’s head in his lap. With a playful gleam in his eyes, he started telling stories of his most embarrassing high moments. Y/n leaning in, eager to hear, soon they were both laughing uncontrollably.

While drawing circles on her back Harry shared one ridiculous story after another, including the one where he thought he saw a UFO, and Y/n couldn't help but snort. Each story made her laugh harder, tears of amusement rolling down her cheeks.

"I can't believe you did that!" Y/n gasped between giggles, wiping away tears as she looked at Harry with admiration. The panic that had gripped her earlier seemed like a distant memory and a sense of peace wash over her. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the shared laughter and connection between them.

Masterlist

[joshusten]

kiss and make up

In which Honey wants a makeover and Guy gladly helps. (lots of kisses, fluff, makeover time!!!)

2.7k+ words [ao3 will be added when im not lazy lmao] [masterlist]

[CW and notes: typical guy innuendoes, honey doesn't know how to do makeup and they get a lil insecure about that fact, that being said i'm not really a makeup expert too LMAO, theres also lots of grammar mistakes probably ;--; and since like, makeup styles and visuals vary between people i tried to make it as vague and gender neutral as possible but idk if i really achieved that so keep that in mind and please let me know if i should change some wordings etc. ! oh and lmk about typos too hehe tysm!]

thank you so so much to my dearest friend @slushiepizza !! this wip is literally a year long and they've been a HUGE HUGE (x1000) help to me finishing (and convincing to post) this fic!! this fic's also inspired by fanart they made before and this yt short from that one anthony padilla interview. also yes theres a lil 2024 hbs guy AAAND jin (his gamer friend in that second hoodie video i think) reference too lmao HAHAHAH hope you enjoy!! :D "Ugh! Why can't I fucking–" 

“Piece of—!”

“Fuck!”

Another frustrated groan cuts Honey off. For the past few minutes, Guy had been hearing his partner's muffled frustrations from their room all the way to their humble kitchenette and he was seriously starting to get worried about what could possibly be troubling their usually well-composed lover.

He quickly turned off the stove, wiping his hands on the piercingly hot pink apron with the words "Please Do More than Kiss the Chef" embroidered on its body (a joke gift, courtesy of Rosa being his Secret Santa last year, that Guy legitimately used in his every day, much to his friend’s amusement). Fortunately, the lunch he was making was done by the time he decided to check up on them (and, really, it was just a simple one-pot pasta recipe he stumbled on Tiktok at 3 AM.)

Guy haphazardly hung the apron by a chair nearby—future Guy can worry about all of the mess later—and made his way to the hallway that led to their small shared bedroom.

He gently knocked a little melody on the door,  announcing his presence through the painted wood. "Honey?”

A thump was heard, as if something suddenly dropped out of surprise, followed by a faint “Shit!”

The man knocked again, this time with a furrowed brow.

“Honey dearest? Lover of mine? Is someone botherin’ you? Need to kick someone’s ass?” He joked, clearing his throat afterward for a more sincere tone. “But for real, do you need any help there, baby?”

The silence that followed almost tempted Guy to ask again before a loud sigh came from the other side.

"Yeah…It's unlocked. You can come in..." 

They almost sounded embarrassed. A little shy even. The man couldn’t help but grin at how comfortable Honey had become showing him their more vulnerable sides throughout their time together. 

Guy opened the door slowly to reveal their usual semi-tidy bedroom save for the mess that seemed only to be contained around Honey, whose head was currently hanging low in shame. Alarms went off in his mind once he processed the potential severity of the situation with how distressed his partner looked.

He rushed to where Honey sat, in front of the vanity where a variety of make-up products were strewn across the dark oak wood. Upon closer inspection, he could see that—

Oh. Uhm. This was interesting.

His partner’s frustrated face seemed to be an amalgamation of different cosmetics that looked like they were hastily smeared on and rubbed off multiple times. 

Patchy foundation, unblended blush, shaky eyeliner. 

Guy can practically feel the heat coming off their tinted face, furrowing their brows and averting their glare to the side.

“Look, I know what this looks like but—" Honey was never able to finish their sentence as a very, very poor attempt of stifled giggles reached their burning ears. Oh my god, he's never gonna let them live this down, is he? 

“Guy.”

“Wh-whaaaat? N-no, you look f-fine Honey! Pfft–” A snort interrupted the man's words of reassurance. 

“Guy, stop laughing, you asshole!” They groaned, sending a flurry of light slaps to Guy's shoulders, snickering along to indicate that they weren’t actually mad at him because, yeah, they did look a little silly (and his laugh was too damn cute to distract them from their predicament) but that still didn't make them any less self-conscious about it.

“I-I–OW! I don’t know what you mean, baby!”

Honey crossed their arms and made a face, looking away in a pretend-but-not-really sulk. 

“Fine, so I’m horrible at makeup ha-ha! Pack it up, jackass!”

To that, their boyfriend's laughter slowly died down, leaving him with a soft, sympathetic smile. 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! C’mere,” He apologized, beckoning them to come closer to which Honey begrudgingly complied. His smile brightened, pressing numerous quick kisses against his partner’s grumpy face, pulling away with a string of giddy giggles.

“Ew, I got your foundation on my lips.”

“Serves you right,” Honey huffed, unable to hold in a chuckle as they saw the faint splotches of the coating in their skin color on their boyfriend’s stubbled chin and pouted lips.

“So, uh, mind telling me what actually happened over here? ‘Cuz, Honey, you’re as pretty as a painting…given that it’s a painting my baby cousin can do, which I’m assuming isn’t what you were going for?” Guy asked, his full attention to his partner's make-up Frankenstein of a face.

The embarrassment rushed back to Honey tenfold but they masked it up with a shrug that looked timid regardless. “I dunno…there’s this event in the evening with my company and I just…wanted to try something new with my look. I-it's stupid. I started a lot earlier because I knew I’d need some time to learn but…I just can't get the hang of it!”

Sure, they know make-up isn’t all that easy to do but managing to tremendously fuck up something as seemingly simple as putting color on their face despite the amount of tutorials they’ve watched was just embarrassing to admit (especially to someone they’ve grown to care about what he thinks of them). They braced themself for more mocking laughter yet the teasing never came. Instead, they heard an excited gasp.

"Oh, I can do your makeup for you!"

…What?

"Uhm– I– You–?"

Guy picked up the wiped near Honey and started pulling a few from the already-opened plastic pack. The subtle clean scent of aloe vera wafted into their nostrils.

"I can do your make-up!" The man repeated happily, oblivious to Honey's quizzical stare. He gently grabbed their chin with one hand while the other one held the cleanser-soaked napkin inches closer to their cheek before he stopped and gazed into their eyes, "Can I?"

"Uh…Y-yeah. Sure." They felt their breath hitch at the sudden intimacy of the distance between them.

Guy beamed at that and started removing the product on their face but the confused expression never leaves it. He discarded the used wipes in the trash can under the vanity table and started sifting through their shopping spree's worth of cosmetics.

“I suggest you buy micellar water or cleansers instead of those wipes. They do a better job!”

“Uh, Guy?”

"Oh, you got this one! Yeah, I really like their formula, it doesn't feel too heavy on the skin. Well at least on my skin. Let me know if it doesn't feel comfy and–"

"Guy…"

"Woah, you got your shade just right with this one! Ah, but I think this brand oxidizes so the color might change–"

"Guy."

"Ooh, I haven’t seen this product before! Is this newly released or—”

"Guy!” Honey exclaimed, finally capturing their boyfriend’s ever-so-dwindling attention. “Babe. How…I mean, not that I'm doubting your skills or anything but–" 

By this time, Guy had already cleaned all of the makeup off from his partner and was now left with the face he was more used to seeing (and admiring).

"It's just…I've never seen you wear makeup. At all. Besides Halloween, I guess?”

The man simply grinned at that and continued rummaging through the cases of eyeshadows and face creams. “If you must know, a performer was moi!” 

“Oh, trust me, I'm familiar with your theatrics.”

“I’m just gonna pretend you meant that as a compliment,” He huffed, averting his gaze to the products that lay between them both. “Anyway, I did a lot of shows back then and, well, with constantly getting your face painted on, you pick up a few techniques, y'know? I even get to do my own makeup!”

The click and clatter of glass and plastic fills the room as Guy carefully examines each container with the same look he gets when he proofreads a revision of a script he made. It was almost weird to see how his eyes scanned the text of the labels and his habit of biting the inside of his cheek while focusing on the context other than the familiar blue light of his laptop.

“Got interested, asked my friends, then watched a few vids. I got to…’secretly borrow’ some of my mom's makeup to test out some looks.” The image of a teenage Guy experimenting with makeup much like what Honey was doing a while ago tickled their mind.

“But eh, college got in the way and I never really got the time to play around with some flashier makeup styles between delivering greasy ass pizzas and delivering exquisite screenplays that excite the mind and bewitch the heart.”

He held up a circular blush pot near a dumbfounded Honey. His eyes squinted with focus until he finally determined the blush matched their skin tone just fine. 

“Anyway, let's get some moisturizer to prep that cute face of yours!”

After Honey described what they wanted for their look, scrolled through Pinterest to get some inspiration, and watched a few more tutorials, the pair eventually got started with the process.

Guy put on an even layer of foundation, and concealer that he tried his best to match their skin, added contour, eyeshadow and blush according to the style they had requested, and painstakingly drew on some eyeliner (“Because everybody looks hotter with eyeliner!”). He had even let them try a few brush strokes of their own to get the feel of it.

Honey, on the other hand, felt like they were going to explode from the attention they’d been getting from him. Granted, they were no stranger to his affections yet something about the way he was so close—to the point where they could feel the warmth emanating from him, where the way his breath ghosts their neck made them tremble—it was a whole different experience.

The man added some finishing details to Honey’s face before announcing the final step: lipstick.

“Hm, let’s try these colors. Maybe it’s more your style.” He brought up a few plastic tubes with one hand closer to them, awaiting their input on his selection.

“Have you tried these brands before?”

“Uh, not really…I don’t think I’ve actually tried the liquid ones or the twisty ones. What’s the difference anyway? They both color your lips, right?”

Guy laughed at the sheer creativity of the nickname his partner had appointed to the lipsticks in his hand.  “Ah well, I’m glad you asked, Honey!”

He twisted up the matte tube and swiped the creamy formula on his lips, smacking them to spread it evenly. The color on his lips only emphasizes the smirk it formed, amused by the hitched breath Honey lets out as he gently cradled their face and brought it closer to his.

“Solid lipstick doesn't last long. See?” 

He demonstrated this by pressing his mouth on the back of his hand a few times to reveal pigmented marks against his skin. The man even gestured toward his face to show that the tint of the lipstick had significantly faded.

“Huh.” 

Honey was definitely studying his lips, alright. It formed into the same old smile they never got tired of, this time with its edges slightly smeared from what he had done moments ago. They were so entranced that they didn't even notice Guy reaching for a clear tube, this time twisting it to reveal an application wand with a different hue of the lipstick before, quickly applying it on his lightened lips.

“While liquid lipstick—” His quip breaks Honey’s lip-centered daydream and with a sudden movement, Guy pressed his colored lips gently against Honey's bare ones,  the latter letting out a quiet squeak that made the man eagerly press down harder. He slowly pulled away, close enough to have just an inch of space between their mouths.

“...Is kissproof!” 

He was right. Honey could see that Guy’s lips still looked the same with no sign of smudging or transferring of the product. Not that the efficiency of the lipstick is what’s on the forefront of their mind at the moment.

“O-oh,” their voice cracked rather pathetically but Guy only let out a laugh, holding up the twisted-up tube of the lipstick he first used near the other’s visibly quivering lips.

“Hm…now that I see it, I think the shade on the ‘twisty one’ fits your look better. Let’s use that!” 

A wide-eyed Honey simply nodded in response.

—

“...And then here’s your make-up bag, just in case you need to retouch! So, what do ya think? Stunning? Iconic? Gorgeous? Oh, oh! Pulchritudinous? Ehh?”

Honey turned to the vanity mirror for the first time in a while and gaped in the reflection. 

“It's…” They raised their hand, opting to feel their face before deciding otherwise as they realized it might waste all of their boyfriend’s hard work. Honey racked in every corner of their brain for a word to encompass the awe they’re in right now, wishing they had even just a fraction of Guy’s mind to express it in words. 

But for now, they’re just Honey—who isn’t particularly known for their expertise in saying what they mean and they settle for the answer they weren’t satisfied with at all.

“It’s pretty.” 

The person staring back at them looked so different yet still the same. It felt like looking at themselves from a different perspective. Pretty was hardly an adequate descriptor for what they were looking at but it’s all they could think about in their dazed state (the way their partner beamed at their compliment told them he didn’t mind).

“You’re the pretty one, hon! With or without make-up! I mean, c’mon! Look at that smile!”

That earned a wider smile from Honey with Guy giddily matching it.

“I’d have to thank my handsome make-up artist for that. He did such a wonderful job after all.” 

“How do you suppose you’ll do that then, Honey?”

This time, Honey was the one to surprise their lover with a kiss.

BONUS SCENE:

“Do you really have to go?” Guy whined though he already knew the answer. That didn’t stop him from snaking a hand around Honey’s waist, who was just leaving through the door of their shared apartment.

“Yes, Guy. I really have to, especially with how long you’ve been painting on my face, there’s a possibility I might get late,” they explained, giving him an apologetic look despite the scolding tone of their voice. 

“Well, who can blame me when my Honey’s looking absolutely ravishing,” He pulls Honey closer with his usual goofy smile, though this time they notice a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Besides, just a while ago it seems like you wanted your face to be painted with something else, ehh—mmph!”

Honey had cut him off by pressing their lips tenderly against his once more, eliciting a relaxed sigh from him. They pulled back to see a pouty expression plastered on Guy’s face.

“Fuck. Y-you’re enjoying that stunt way too much, it’s not fair!”

“I wasn’t the one that started it!”

“Fine, whatever!” Guy lamented loudly, complete with his hand clutching overdramatically on his chest. “Be like that, go to your party, then! See if I care!”

Honey just rolled their eyes with a smile. “One last goodbye kiss?” 

And how could he ever say no to that?

So after a quick peck on Guy’s cheek (maybe two or three more), Honey finally made their way out the door, leaving him a bit lightheaded than before. 

Despite his lovesick state, he was quick to make his way over to the couch and started setting up his game console connected to their T.V. Since his Honey would be out for most of the night, he decided to invite a friend over to play video games and kill some time.

Knock, knock. Ah, speak of the devil. “Jin! Come in, man!”

Guy swung the door open to reveal a man his age, carrying a paper bag full of chips on one arm and a game controller on the other. He set down the snacks on the second-hand coffee table before settling himself on the couch his friend was sitting on. 

“Sorry for being a little late, just had to do a few things. So, what game are we…Oh.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” “Dude. I think you should look at a mirror.” --

yes jin like one of guys friends that he plays with in that one hoodie video. with no voice line or anything at all. that jin. LMAO

anyway i rlly hope u enjoy this :")) i honestly dont think its my best work LMAO but eh! im here 2 have fun man,,, and this probably would be my last fic (atleast in a while but aughh idk if i'll be active again here HAHAJHAD) so yeah!! hope u liked it tysm have a good night/day!!

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Ok two things, because I’ve decided that since I’m starting to actually use tumblr and not just be lurking and that means that per the contract, I must address some things that I was really tempted to before. I apologize that it’s all gonna be on posts you made a While ago.

One, that post you made about the Batfam from the original timeline finding out Tim was dead. That killed me. Like I have been thinking about that for months. I still have a screenshot in my camera roll of the last line.

Two, the poll you made? of flipping heads or tales? Devastating. On one hand I live for the angst, but on the other I am so glad that we didn’t have Jason yelling at Tim for the pie. I would have simply been destroyed. I don’t know if I would have recovered. Ever since learning that was even an option I’ve been distraught.

Anyway just wanted to tell you how much I love the fic. It makes me what to bite them, but I’m scared I’ll give them rabies. I have fully reread it about 4 times now not including the passive reads. I feel like the words are ingrained into my soul. At some point I saw one of your post talking about how you have laid hints in the story I have been trying to actually absorb the words into my skin and blood stream. So who knows. Maybe at some point I’ll have a theory on what’s going on. But I am not very smart so i won’t hold my breath about it.

<3333333

Congratulations on using tumblr more!! Join the collective :D And no worries!! if anything I ADORE talking about older posts, the new takes, recontectualized shit etc.

The Jason with a shovel thing is actually something I nabbed from a friend @ihavenotsleptindays based on their fic i've been viciously obsessing over here because my god the implications were too fucking good and so so on brand I couldn't resist the brainrot.

I tend to do polls when im like "Yeah I think I know what I want but im not sure" because then watching the direction swing one way or another, I truly learn if I really WAS indecisive or if I was like "NO I WANT THIS ONE" and for heads and tails?? While Jason deserves a good yell- i'm happy how it turned out.

Again thank you so so much <33 And oh yeah, there are LOTS of things scattered throughout each of the chapters. One way ill contextualize it is theres an entire closet of Chekovs guns, some that have already been fired and just the powder and casing remain, others who i've yet to even load.

If you do have a theory id LOVE to hear it!! Feel free to ask/comment/dm but of course depending on the medium will vary how much I may or may not confirm/allude :)

[munsonsduchess]

Monster Smash

summary: you meet eddie at a house party and the night takes an unexpected turn warnings: underage drinking, recreational drug use (weed), face sitting, oral (f receiving), semi public sex (eddie and the reader are in a room at a frat house during a party) w/c: 977 a/n: surprise bitch! another halloween fic! honestly with the amount of ghostface content on tiktok these days it was kind of inevitable we'd end up here, i was originally just going to post the other halloween fic but this one wouldn't leave me alone

It was Halloween and you were having the worst time. You didn’t know anyone at this party your roommate had dragged you to, citing that you needed to get out more, the drinks were shit, the music was shit, honestly you were tempted to just sneak out the back door of this frat house and claim you’d met somebody if your roommate asked the next day. 

You sighed and took another drink from your lukewarm beer and pulled at the hem of the black dress you were wearing. Usually you didn’t feel self conscious in the things you picked for yourself but being, less petite, than some of your peers and wearing something your roommate had picked out so you could both wear matching costumes (you got to be the bad witch) in a room full of obnoxious frat bros made you feel slightly … less confident than normal. 

You were about to cut and run when a guy appeared in front of you wearing a Ghostface Costume,

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“The Exorcist, 1973. A masterpiece in horror cinema” you responded without thinking. You hadn’t actually expected anyone to talk to you, after being basically ignored all night

“That’s, yeah that’s a really good pick” the guy pulled his mask off and you found yourself looking into the face of the local weed guy, Eddie Munson. 

Everyone you knew, yourself included, bought their weed from Eddie. His stuff was guaranteed to be the best and not laced with anything it shouldn’t be,

“It’s the line from the homeless guy in the subway ‘can you help an old altar boy father’ and then later on when they’re in Regan’s bedroom and she says the same thing in the same voice. Chills. Literal chills” 

“Such a good movie. They don’t make movies like that anymore, y’know? Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Rosemary’s Baby” 

“Have you seen X? Or Pearl? They have the same kinda vibes but are totally modern movies” 

“I’ve seen X. Massive Texas Chainsaw vibes” 

“Right!” 

You ended up finding a quiet corner with Eddie where the two of you could talk about horror movies for the rest of the evening. You’d honestly never really found anyone who loved horror the way you did so it was amazing to be able to vibe with someone like this. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The party raged on into the wee hours and by now both you and Eddie were feeling the effects of the beer and few joints you’d shared. You were feeling pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the attention of an attractive man, even if it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

“It’s so cool that you’re into horror, most people get freaked out or maybe enjoy those like conjuring movies”

“Ugh. The Warrens are the absolute worst, by all accounts they just scam people and then use their stories to write books and make more money” you gestured widely around the room, “how fucked is that?”

“Totally fucked” Eddie agreed 

“You know I almost didn’t come tonight but my roommate kinda forced me to” 

“Remind me to send your roommate a fruit basket or something as thanks then” Eddie said, “cause this is definitely a way better night than I thought it was gonna be”

“It’s so cool to meet a friend tonight” you agreed, “but aren’t you like ‘working’ the party?” 

Eddie laughed and you had to admit you loved the sound. You wondered if he would want to still be friends after the party was over,

“You’re cute. I mean sure it’s great talking like this but honestly, I saw you standing on your own and seriously couldn’t understand why cause just the sight of you in that dress had all the blood in my body run south. I mean, the fact that you’re awesome on top of being drop dead hot is a bonus”

Your brain short circuited for a moment and you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing,

“So, you wanna get a room?” 

“Absolutely I do”

Eddie smirked wickedly at you before helping you off the couch and pulling you behind him to the main staircase and along a corridor to an empty room. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Sit on my face, come on” Eddie grinned at you, taking one of your hands and pulling you towards the bed. 

You followed the tug and threw one leg over the bed and balanced on your knees. Before you could even try to think about how much weight to bear down you felt Eddie grab your hips and pull you down onto his face forcefully. 

There was no way you could focus on anything but the way Eddie licked into you hungrily. His hands on your hips dug into the flesh there and you threw your head back with the intense feelings, moaning loudly. 

“Oh my god Eddie”

Beneath you Eddie made a muffled noise which you assumed was positive since he didn’t stop what he was doing for even a moment. 

You wondered briefly how he could breathe but the thought left your mind as quickly as it had arrived when Eddie’s nose brushed against your clit and you saw stars. 

Eddie continued to suck and lick you through your orgasm and the aftershocks, the oversensitivity made you want to pull away but Eddie held you firm coaxing yet another orgasm from you until your legs began to shake. Only then did he allow you to pull away and catch your breath,

“Holy shit” you panted, trying to regain some of your self control,

“That’s only the warm up act baby. It’s just you and me and no one is gonna hear you when you scream my name as loud as you want to” 

This was definitely a way better night than you’d thought it would be when your roommate forced you out tonight. 

After all what was Halloween without a few screams?

[niningtori]

see me | chapter two: closer

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after another failed relationship, you're ready to accept your fate as hopeless. choi beomgyu has other plans, though. or, beomgyu's your best friend's little brother and he's tired of you treating him like a kid.

genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending, best friend's brother au

word count: 2-3k-ish

notes: as promised, here is chapter two :) i realize most people are actually waiting for chapter three of to know him is to love him, but somebody wanted to read this and i already had it written!! it also made me so happy that someone was interested in the first fic i posted on here 😭 i'm still working on chapter 3 of tkhitlm, but i will be bouncing back and forth between that and see me (which is how i like to write, don't worry). also, feedback is appreciated :,)

after an intervention with jia, you decide you're not going to forgive donghyun for his infidelity. it's tempting to just listen to him and move forward with your relationship, but you decide to put your dignity first and break up with him once and for all. for that, beomgyu is more grateful than you'll ever know.

jia suggests going on a trip with her and her boyfriend, yijun. you decisively reject her under the claim that you're unwilling to be the third wheel, but jia, ever the mastermind, placates you by inviting beomgyu. you're immediately a lot more willing than before. sure, you'd still be an extra wheel, but you could do so with company. you and beomgyu are friends — almost like family. the idea of going on a trip with them is exponentially more appealing when you know he'll be there with you. he could, in theory, bring one of the many girls who are always hanging off of him, but he's been more lowkey lately for reasons unknown to you.

the trip in question is to the closest beach. yijun has a beach house (you often joke about how she hit the jackpot with him) and you're finally ready to unwind and forget about your shitty reality. beomgyu is uncharacteristically quiet for the entire drive there, but you don't push because you assume he's not in the mood for you to. you plan on asking him about it when you get a moment alone, though.

the house has three bedrooms and you're beyond thankful. you'd feel awful if you had to share a room with jia just so you wouldn't have to room with beomgyu. you begin to imagine what would have happened if donghyun had come instead, but you shake off the thought as fast as you possibly can, though it lingers in the back of your mind.

jia and yijun are on the first level while you and beomgyu are on the second. you stare up the long staircase and sigh at the thought of having to heave your suitcase up there after such a tiring drive. then, as if reading your mind, beomgyu grabs your suitcase along with his and lugs them up the stairs without saying a word. you grin and comment on his chivalry and strength. the tips of his ears turn pink, but they are (thankfully) hidden under his long hair.

jia and yijun invite you to the beach, but you decide you're too tired and would rather stay in for the time being. you decide to take a quick nap, or at least you try to, but end up waking up so disoriented you briefly can't recall where you are and why. when you regain your senses and check your phone, you realize you've been out for at least 4 hours and the sky is already darkening. so much for an eventful first day.

with a grimace, you make your way down the stairs and to the living room, half expecting jia to make fun of you, but the only person you see is beomgyu. he's sitting there, posture relaxed while he fiddles with his phone. when you call out to him, he immediately drops it onto the floor.

"shit!" he exclaims.

"sorry, i didn't know i'd freak you out this bad," you remark sheepishly.

"it's okay," he says clearing his throat awkwardly. "how are you? did you sleep okay?"

"i woke up literally not knowing who i was. that's how good i slept." you both laugh at this and he shakes his head.

"hey, where are jia and yijun?" you ask.

"they're at the beach."

"still?"

"still."

"why didn't you go with them?" you question lightly with a tilt of your head.

"i dunno, just didn't feel like it," he lies with a cough. he just really didn't wanna leave you here alone, and if he could spend some one-on-one time with you, all the better.

"well, i'm hungry. do you want to get dinner together?" you assumed jia and yijun were probably out to eat on their own.

"do you mean going out?"

you steal a glance at the mirror hanging above the couch and catch a glimpse of your drool encrusted mouth and bedhead. going out? no fucking way.

"i was thinking of just ordering chinese food?"

"sounds good to me."

when the food arrives, you make beomgyu go out to get it, arguing that you look like shit. he says you look fine and you roll your eyes at this. you took a four hour nap and you'll be damned if it doesn't show. if it was anyone else, you may have been embarrassed about your appearance, but it's just beomgyu. he certainly doesn't care about what you look like.

in between bites of your noodles, you laugh at beomgyu's storytelling. he's not being as quiet as before and he's talking about an unspecified friend's antics with two new situationships, only to find out he's been fucking two so-called best friends simultaneously. you groan at the revelation and cover your face in secondhand embarrassment. he doesn't spare any of the finer details and you're kicking your feet at the awkwardness.

he's acting normal more or less, but you can't help but notice how hesitant he seems at certain points. you're still set on asking him what's wrong, so after you're done laughing and reacting to his enthralling story, you find a quiet moment.

"beomie?"

"what is it?" he asks, smile still present from your infectious laughter.

"are you alright?" immediately, his smile drops and is replaced by a light frown.

"yeah... why wouldn't i be?"

"it just feels like you're not 100% here, is everything okay?" leave it to you to notice the almost imperceptible changes within him. even his own sister doesn't seem to notice how off he's felt lately, but his heart soars at how much you've been evidently paying attention.

"actually, i—" the front door swings open and jia comes in with yijun in tow.

"jesus, did you just wake up?" she asks, unimpressed with your current appearance.

"more or less," you grin. beomgyu can't help but grin too, but his smile falters when he realizes the conversation you two were having was cut short and he's unsure of when you two will be alone again.

"we brought you guys some food, but i guess we didn't need to," she says, eyeing the chinese food messily sitting on the coffee table.

"really? you're the best," you answer.

beomgyu thinks he gives his thanks too, but he honestly can't tell if he said it aloud or not. he's so disappointed because he felt like you two were finally getting somewhere, but he supposes he'll have time to talk to you again during the trip. he just hopes jia and yijun take a hint and fuck off for awhile sometime soon.

they don't. actually, it feels like jia is more glued to you than usual, which could be due in part to the heartbreak you've just borne, but he still can't help but feel indignant. he wants to tell her to kick rocks, but he can't — that would raise too much suspicion. so he sits patiently, like he always has, and waits.

in the meantime, the rest of his crew is blowing up his phone — coaching him on how to make subtle moves on you. sometimes, he stands behind you and grabs things you can't reach on your own, which seems innocuous enough, but he feels so close you can feel his breath on your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. other times, he gently touches your shoulder or knee when redirecting your attention. these harmless gestures are meaningless to you, but you have no idea how much courage it takes him to make these moves. you and beomgyu have touched each other before, so it's not like you question a single thing he does. in fact, you've hugged him, even, but that was only ever once and never again. you don't like to relive that memory for reasons unrelated to him, but he remembers everything.

-

being with doyoon was everything you ever hoped love could be. it was patient, it was kind, and it was unbreakable, at least to you. you didn't want to be naive, but after a few months, you already knew you wanted to marry him.

you always felt a little lost. the reason why you even went to college in the first place was mostly because you didn't want to be home anymore, not because of some grand plan for yourself and for your life. doyoon was the exact opposite. he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it, but you loved him for that. he seemed so determined and sure of himself, everything you weren't. being with him made you want to be better. actually, being with him made you better. sure, you still weren't 100% sure what you were doing, but you knew you wanted more. whatever happened, you knew he'd be there to help you figure it out. or that's what you used to think, at least.

for three years, you tried to measure up to him. you wanted to become someone worthy of him to the point where you abandoned a lot of who you used to be. good riddance to bad rubbish, you thought. no need for tears spilled over the loss of someone you didn't even like. jia would worry, though. she said you weren't acting like yourself because you were wound so tight you were no longer the easygoing person you always had been. you were hard on yourself to the point of tears at times, wanting so desperately to be someone doyoon could be proud of, but you fell short every time.

when you didn't get promotions and the internship you wanted, doyoon would always comfort you, but you knew he was disappointed. not with the fact that you failed, but just in you. he said you needed to apply yourself more, so you did. he said you had more potential than you even knew and he didn't want you to settle for anything less, but one day you couldn't help but ask "what if this is all i can do?!"

he was silent for a moment, seriously contemplating your question. you felt an unparalleled sense of dread while you waited for him to answer. why didn't he know his answer? why wasn't it "then i'll love you anyway"? why, why, why? eventually, he replied, and your dread was met with despair.

"then i can't be with you."

he said more after that. something about wanting different things, something about needing to find someone more compatible, something about needing to grow with someone instead of watching them wither. the last one in particular hurt the most. you had tried so, so hard to be someone you wanted to be around, but it was never enough. you felt like everything you did had been pointless and the person you had become was a façade. a really strong person wouldn't crumble the way you did. a really strong person wouldn't cling to his shirt and beg him to see the good in you, and you knew that, but you did it anyway.

when he inevitably left you as you sobbed alone, you wanted to see jia immediately, but she was home for the holidays. you tried calling on your drive over, but it went straight to voicemail. do not disturb, a nasty little feature. she must have been asleep. still, you drove over like a madman and paused several times when you couldn't see through your tears.

when you arrived at the choi's house, you knocked rapidly on the door — basically pounding on it. you sighed in relief when the door opened and you expected to see her face on the other side. what you didn't foresee was her little brother answering instead.

"what's wrong?!" he shouted in concern, taking in your pitiful frame. to this day you don't know why, but you took the 19-year-old beomgyu in your arms and released your sobs onto his chest. maybe you just needed somebody, anybody, to hold onto. and he let you. he pulled you in even closer and shut the door behind you. he shushed you as he gently rubbed circles into your shaking back and let you cry.

when you finally calmed down enough to talk, your voice was still choked and heavy with emotion.

"it's doyoon, h-he doesn't want me anymore. he said he can't be with me because i'm not — because i can't be good enough for him. he said we want different things, but we don't. i'm trying! can't he see that i'm trying?! can you see that i'm trying?!" you asked, not even really making sense, but beomgyu seemed to understand perfectly.

he knew jia had expressed concern for you and your relationship. she said you weren't acting like yourself anymore. she didn't mention that you would have meltdowns over not achieving what you felt you were supposed to achieve, but beomgyu overheard her consoling you more than once. he wanted to grab the phone from her and talk to you himself, but what could he say? that he saw you, the real you? that he could understand how you felt? that he always understood how you felt?

he couldn't before, but there you were, asking him the questions he always wanted you to ask. he wouldn't miss that chance.

"of course i can," he said softly. "of course i can. anyone can see it, and if they can't, they just don't know you." not like i know you.

"then — then why? why can't he understand me?" you seemed so lost he wished he could find the right words to soothe you. it felt like if he just said the right thing, maybe it would click for you that you just had the wrong person. maybe it would click for you that he could be the right person.

"because he's not the right person for you. the right person would never make you doubt yourself. the right person should make you want to be better on your own terms, not theirs. the right person would accept you just as you are even when you want to be something more."

you couldn't help but scoff at this.

"and who is the right person for me? who would want me the way i am right now?" you didn't mean to sound frustrated, but you were racking your brain trying to figure this shit out yourself too.

"i... i don't know." coward, he thought. "but i know he's out there. there's someone out there who really wants the best for you, but will never make you feel small while you're still trying to figure out what that looks like."

"i just want to know when that will be," you cried, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. he almost took a chance to wipe your tears, but he opted to push your hair back behind your ears instead.

"it will be soon, just wait. don't cry. it's okay, don't cry."

you can't recall how long you cried after that, in spite of beomgyu's sincere pleas. after you were all cried out, you put your head on his shoulder and he tried not to visibly stiffen.

"thank you. you know, beomie, this might be weird to say, but i've always felt that you're like..." he gulped and hoped to god you didn't hear it. was this it?

"that you're like a little brother to me, honestly." he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. "i really hope that's not weird, but i really do love you. you're such a good friend to me." he felt like he had been kicked in the stomach, actually.

"any time. i mean it. i love you, too." the sentiment was a little different, but he was still glad to say it.

[massivechestplate]

Is anyone else tired over recent events? Not in a sleepy way, but in that bone-deep depression way?

Bit of a long post about the general Gacha game-sphere. Needed to get this off of my chest, might as well scream into the void.

I ask this as someone who flirts between these gacha games out of boredom mostly. They're free, they're phone, they got Story, and I'm not spending a cent on them personally, so that's why I play them.

But every fucking day it seems we got another controversy. Bad VA this, fired an artist that, White_Pharaoh.png being handed out like fucking candy on Halloween lately.

And then we discuss on how Its Bad, and we all know Its Bad, people discuss on what to do, Boycott, torch the franchise and run, stay and try to fix it, ignore it because it's been your Comfort Media for the past 3 years, all that stuff. And it's hard. And a lot of those choices always feel half-assed.

I've been around a bit, I've seen it. I was around when Fate Grand Order had LB7, Wandjina, and all the other shit on 2023 JP hit, and there was talk, some talked but stayed, others left but chose to still engage with Type-Moon works, some might've left completely but I never heard of them.

I was around when Project Moon fired Vellmori, and there was betrayal, some deciding to leave, others staying because Project Moon wormed into their hearts and they decided to stay even knowing what was happening. Knowing what it was now built on and where the lines were drawn.

And I'm here now in the midst of the Hoyoverse shittery round 2, I don't think I need to speak at length on that. We've all seen it.

And all the time every potential choice to take feels half-assed?

Do you leave, abandoning the franchise as if leaving without fighting to improve something makes you good, preserving your own morality at the cost of never making anything better? The lack of evil substituting for substantial good?

Do you boycott? If so is it purely not spending money or not even logging in? Does it even make a difference? After all, when do these oversea companies really listen to anyone outside their country of origin? Is it enough to stop on that one specific game and still buy other works, or do you condemn the whole?

Do you continue on as normal, to indulge in the media? To continue what brings you joy and comfort? Is criticizing and acknowledging the faults enough or just lipservice?

Are we arrogant to impose our values on others, hating foreign companies not conforming to our beliefs? Or is this completely reasonable, every scathing speech and point completely justified and never bordering on some level of sinophobia?

And just... it's hard. Hard enough trying to be a Good Person normally but here? In this space? Part of it feels natural and some action is necessary for the Good of Everything, the other part feels like a big fuss over something ultimately small and meaningless.

And it hurts. You give out pieces of yourself to these stories, let it become a part of you, then become forced to tear it out of your heart just to be Good. And when I say that I don't mean in that internet point "I'm a good person way" but the way of being Good with yourself, proving only to yourself.

And it doesn't help that plenty of us have devolved into humanity's good old passtime of tribalism, mockery, and a lack of empathy for The Other. Everyone's been taking the piss out of the other gacha players for the stuff their games pull as if their own games haven't done the same. Some of it might be in good nature, over exaggerated and self-deprecating, a joke or criticism, but its honestly become indistinguishable from genuine malice and contempt.

And...

I'm tired.

Tired of seeing this. Tired of dealing with it. Tired of wondering what to do, what's the best choice, what choice even is there.

Part of me is honestly tempted to just not care. To accept that I'm a bad person by playing these games and going through with it anyways because I'm so tired and cynical that hedonistic indulgence just becomes more worth it than trying to be good. At most accept a Gacha-game that's a 'Lesser Evil' compared to another, if that even counts.

Because it hurts. Because you let these stories change you, touch you, let them into your heart, and then have to tear it out with your own two hands and pretend it doesn't hurt. And you can't feel like you can mourn what you lost, because someone will come in and start raving about how it's dumb you even cared to begin with.

I've seen arguments for every option, from people I don't respect and people I do, strangers and prominent community figures. I've warred with the argument of "Morally Pure Media doesn't exist, don't beat yourself up over it" and wonder just how absolute that statement should be.

And I don't know.

And all I want is to go to sleep, and wake up and have it magically be better.

[avonne-writes]

Happy birthday! I just wanted to tell you that you're the best fan fiction writer I've come across in 20+ years ♥️

Can I ask for the [coffee] prompt? Gale manages to get hold of some coffee beans in the stalag and makes a cup of real coffee for John. Even better if he has to hide it from all the other inmates ☺️

My dear, this has been in my inbox for months, waiting for me to finally get to it! I'm sorry that it took me this long, especially because this was an original prompt. Thank you so much for your sweet message, I appreciate it so much! 🩷❤️ The drabble I'm posting below is part of a longer fic which will be posted on AO3 when it’s finished. It’s set in my a/b/o au (core idea here, drabble here).

The last fading rays of summer warmth are pushed away by the deepening chill of the night when the sun sets. It’s only September, but the walls of their prison seem to grow colder with each night, and the barbed wire fence looks taller every miserable morning. How long can a bird stay alive with its wings clipped, locked inside a cage that only lets it see the light, never feel it? And is it life at all?

It's been almost a year, and there's no end in sight. Only the mindless, final darkness, the one that beckons Bucky persistently every time the pains of his body and soul grow too heavy to bear without howling. If he and Gale hadn't bonded before their capture, he would've given in to that call already.

But they had, so here Bucky is. Still hungry, still cold, curled up in his bunk because Gale fussed the whole night and pushed him away every time Bucky touched him. Not even his own mate wants Bucky anymore.

“John.” He hears Gale's voice, quiet and warm, close to his ear as Gale leans over him. A hand shakes Bucky's shoulder, then slides down to his elbow in a caress. “The weather is so nice outside.”

“So what?” Bucky grunts, fed up with the morning sunshine that streams in through the flimsy curtains. How dare it tempt him with joy when he can’t even take a breath deep enough to remember freedom.

Gale shakes him again. His scent is so sweet that if Bucky closes his eyes, he can imagine that this is just another morning at Thorpe, and his mate is in a good mood. “Come, walk with me.”

Illusion shattered, Bucky shrugs Gale's grip off. “I'm not your dog.”

There's a pause, then a sigh. Gale squeezes Bucky's arm, then Bucky hears the thud of his boots as he walks away. The door opens and closes with a click.

“You should get it together, man. You're still mates, are you not?” Jefferson's voice rings from behind him, and it pisses Bucky off. What fucking business of his is it if he and Gale are still mates or not? He shouldn't say shit about things he doesn’t understand.

His irritation is enough fire to make Bucky turn around and rise from the bed, but Jefferson is already halfway out the door, scoffing at him, and Bucky isn’t quite angry enough to chase after him. He growls and drops into a chair at their small table, dealing a pack of cards to play imaginary poker against himself. From the corner of his eye, he notices the stares Crank and DeMarco shoot him, but they also go out after a few minutes, leaving him blessedly alone in silence.

For a while, it feels good. Time is beyond his perception, has been for who knows how long now. It's just one of those things that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He plays and loses against himself, always loses, then just drops the cards and stares at the strip of light crawling across the wooden floorboards. Guilt starts to tickle at the corners of his eyes and throbs at his temples like a headache. He didn’t mean to be so rude to Gale, but last night left him in a mood even worse than usual. He should probably find the strength to go out, join the others and apologize to him. Touch the mark on Gale’s neck if he's still willing to let him. 

Bucky's just about to push himself to his feet when the door swings open and Gale comes back inside. He looks frazzled and pale as a sheet, although it's hard to tell if that's the general effect of the stalag or something new. He puts his hands on his hips and paces around a bit, shooting Bucky quick glances as if gearing himself up to speak.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“Nothing.” Gale licks his lips, then stills for a moment before he walks over to the table with confident steps, all of that sudden unsettled energy swallowed up by his self-control. Maybe, he’s nervous that Bucky will gnash his teeth at him like a feral animal again. When he sits down and meets Bucky's eyes, Bucky sighs.

“Look.” Bucky starts, leaning forward and holding his hand out. He leaves it there even though Gale doesn’t take it. “I'm sorry for this morning. Didn’t mean to lash out like that.”

Gale considers him for a beat of silence, then nods, somber. “Apology accepted.”

He glances down at his lap, then pulls something out of the pocket of his trousers. When he looks at Bucky again, his eyes are soft and loving like they used to be before they learned how fragile the good things in life are. “Do you know what day it is?”

Bucky puffs his cheeks out, his eyebrows quirking up in a way that clearly amuses Gale. “Haven't a clue, doll. I'm wearing my Sunday best though, just in case.”

Gale huffs, shaking his head with a fond twist to his mouth. Something about the movement makes him wince, but he composes himself quickly. “It’s the 8th, John.”

Oh.

A dull pain starts in Bucky's chest and radiates out into the rest of his body. He can’t believe he forgot. He can’t believe that this moment came. The first time he spends 8 September as a prisoner of war, instead of laughing and celebrating with the love of his life.

Gale puts the small package he pulled out of pocket on the table between them. “I couldn’t get you any whiskey.” He says with wry humor that pulls a joyless smile out of Bucky. “But I got you this.”

When Bucky opens the package, the scent of ground coffee hits him like the sweet promise of heaven. It’s the real stuff, he can tell instantly, not the sand and ash concoction they mix up for them on most days. If they brew this, one sip of it will give Bucky enough life for a week. Oh, just the mere thought of its taste, the faint memories still not overwritten by the bland, permeating monotone of the stalag… 

The grin pulling at Bucky’s lips isn’t tainted by manic delusions for once. It’s purely happy, devoid of the shadows that have been haunting Bucky's mind lately, and it seems to make Gale flush in an echo of joy. This small bag of coffee must have cost Gale a lot of rations, but it’s such a perfect gift that Bucky doesn’t have the heart to ruin it by asking to know its price. 

"Happy birthday." Gale says with a small smile, but when Bucky reaches for his hand, he flinches.

It's a telltale reaction that they both know well. Bucky pauses, breathes in deep, takes stock of Gale's wide pupils and the clamminess of his fingers when he touches them. There’s sweat gathering at Gale’s hairline and his cheeks look blotchy. Bucky sees him pulling his other hand back into the sleeve of his fraying sweater, one of the few comforts he has in this wretched place. The gesture makes Bucky's chest go tight.

"Are you in heat?”

The muscles around Gale's jaw clench. He doesn’t need to say a word. The look in his eyes tells Bucky everything.

“Shit.” Bucky says, his voice like a ghost’s. Departing his body as dread creeps down his throat, cold and slimy fear around his heart. His brain, the last to admit defeat, still tries to deny it. It's impossible. God can’t curse them with this now. Their fate can’t be this cruel. “But you haven't had one in a year.”

“I know.” Gale's nostrils flare.

“But -”

“You know I've run out of the goddamn pills.” He snaps, harsh and aggressive in a way he wouldn’t be in his right mind.

There's no denying it any longer. It can't be just a cold or the bitterness of captivity. They have to face this here, now, and somehow make it through.

Bucky lowers his voice placatingly. “I know, Buck, I know.” He squeezes Gale's hand. It’s a relief when Gale squeezes back. “But that was six months ago.”

Tucked inside his sleeve, Gale’s fingers clench around the fabric. His eyes stare at his boots, and he looks so frail and small that Bucky has to look away to compose himself. They're both at the end of their ropes.

“Better weather, more food…” Gale mutters, pulling his shoulders up in a helpless gesture. “I guess my body figured it was enough.”

Bucky strokes the back of Gale's hand with his thumb, feels Gale’s racing pulse at his wrist. “We're gonna get through this.”

Gale nods, but he stares at the far wall. After a moment, Bucky realizes that he’s holding his breath, as if to keep himself forcefully calm and grounded. 

“Promise me -” He starts quietly. “- that if the guards find out, you won’t get yourself killed.”

Bucky's chest tightens. He hears the fear Gale is stomping down on with all his iron willpower. “I can’t.”

Bucky’s hand is yanked forward so suddenly and with such force that Bucky hisses. Gale fists his other hand in Bucky's shirt and snarls at him from an inch away. “Promise.”

The nasty, instinctual part of Bucky aches to fight, to force Gale to back down using his alpha nature to his advantage. But, even with all the things chipping at his sanity, Bucky doesn’t want to do that to him. It wouldn’t work anyway. Not with Gale, especially not when he's in heat.

“They won't find out.” He tells Gale, cupping his scarred cheek and giving him a firm look. “I promise I'll keep you safe.”

The scent in the air turns cloyingly sweet as gratitude washes over Gale, but then he shudders, and the sweetness turns into sour fear. Gale lets go of Bucky's shirt and stands up, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. When he speaks, the calm tone of his voice is frightening. 

“Don’t worry about me, John. Whatever happens, I can take it.”

[earthry]

How to Tempt Your Papas (Headcanons)

How to get your papas home early, inspired by this post (also mentioned in Copia's section).

sfw mostly, a little spicy imagery in some parts, gn!reader

Primo

Primo has such a soft spot for you. All you really have to do is send him some really sappy message telling him that he makes you so happy and you love him very much and he just melts.

He’ll send an equally long message about how he feels the same, how he loves you without requisite and that you make him want to be a better man every day of his life. That’s your hook and line. 

For the sinker, send him a selfie of you in one of his sweaters all cozy in bed with a empty space beside you with a text saying ‘I miss you so much, I’m so cold and lonely without you :(‘ no matter how cheesy you think it is, it will capture good ol’ peepaw’s heart.

He’ll go ‘Oh no :( I left my dearest all alone, how could I? Shall I come home early tonight, amore mio?’ And voilà he’s home in less than half a hour. Mission successful. 

Secondo

You’d think if you send nudes it’ll rile him up enough to come home and have his wicked wiles with you but no. This man is shameless. He’ll get off right then and there to your picture and send one back of his handiwork with a promise to absolutely ruin you later for trying to tempt him. 

The first time you do this you learn that while it is a good motivator, it does not get him home any faster. Kind of backfires because when he sends you a well-framed shot of himself in hand entirely spent and messy, you're the one getting all hot and bothered now.

What really gets him home quickly is your home cooking. Make any authentic dish (especially with his mom’s recipe) and mans will be home in less than 20 minutes because that shit is fire when it’s hot out the oven.

He knows if he waits it’ll either get soggy or cold and he hates re-heating food. If you make his favorite he’ll be back in even less time.

Terzo

Where nudes don’t bring Secondo back, it’ll send Terzo packing for home. He’ll be back so fast you barely have time to put your phone down. He is so enthusiastic and most times it feels like he just can’t get enough of you.

Sure, he could wait until he’s done with his work to go home to you, glance at his phone every so often to motivate himself to finish quicker, but where’s the fun in that? His tesoro’s ready for him and who is he to keep them waiting?

He’ll dump his work onto some poor unsuspecting sibling of sin or ghoul and be out the door in seconds.

While it's very effective, you should be prepared to follow through with this man

Alright. For my ace-spectrum lovelies and those who feel uncomfortable with the idea of sex, I love you and you are so valid. Your method of choice will be Italian Soap Operas.

Every night before bed you'll watch a few episodes of a soap opera together, following along and commenting on outrageous choices or acting and pointing this out to each other.

Tell him if he doesn't come home, you're gonna start it without him. If that doesn't seem to get his butt moving, send another text ten minutes later saying 'do you want spoilers' or 'i did not expect that to pan out this way' or something about the episode coming up and he will respond with keysmashes and be on the way in no time.

Copia

Rat photos. Send him cute photos of his rats and he will cave and want to go home.

He’s a hard worker so sometimes he pulls all nighters and then just stays in the office for the whole next day as well. To lure him back to make sure he’s taking care of himself and getting food and sleep, make pancakes.

Make some for you and him and then tiny pancakes for the rats and take a picture. Tell him they’re waiting on him to eat together! They’re starving! But they really wanna wait for their papa to have breakfast together. Copia is home in minutes. 

You can also send vaguely threatening (but not really) texts with a blurry photo of his beloved rats (like this post that I love very much) with a text saying “come home or she/he gets it”. He’s not worried that you’ll actually do anything to his babies, but he’ll still want to come home faster because fuck that’s really cute and funny of you.

[punderdome]

The Fine Print

Ok, so this is the first of many things for me: this is my first fic, this is my first time writing romance (no I do not count whatever weird smut I tried to write at 13) , and I've literally never posted on Tumblr, so you're going to have to just help smooth the edges a little. I would love any amount of help, but here is my first chapter and it's a good thing it's SFW

Major edit: The exposition (Chapter 1) should read a little bit differently now and a lot clearer. Huge thanks to @bitethedevil, @a-true-neutral, and @mslanna for help with tons of different things like writing structure, POV, and tumblr in general. I was able to start many of their corrections for Chapter 2, but I went back and gave another round of polish for Chapter 1.

Read on AO3: [Chapter 1]

Synopsis:

Rapidly running out of options, Tav signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the Elder Brain and save her love from his eventual ruin. She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it. Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Chapter 1: The Devil's Den

The Devil’s Den.   She had met with Raphael many times before but was never filled with this much dread.  He was some sort of evil cambion bard, verbose but not foreboding, versed in iambic pentameter not ill-omen.  He was rhymes and lullabies, cherries and sulfur.  He seemed like he should be a character in a play whispering out his dastardly plans to the audience while standing on stage right.

The desperation of the Illithid voice in her mind raged and howled as she walked across the balcony to the ornate door carved with the likeness of a devil.  The rage shivered down every vertebra one after the other, demanding to be heard.  She refused it.

“What are we doing here?” Gale demanded.  “You can’t honestly want to make a deal with the devil.”

Tav eased him gently, running her hand down the Karsite scar on his chest.  “He helped Astarion understand the Rite, he might have other information at a price we’re willing to pay.”  She knew what he wanted the last time they visited: the Crown of Karsus.  Gale’s latest obsession.

“You know what he wants,” Gale pounced.  “He wants the Crown.”

“And my Prince requires rescue.” Lae’zel reminded him firmly.  “The perfumed trickster inside will provide us the means to rescue him for only a small price.”

Gale’s jaw clenched firmly.  Ascension.   She knew Gale thought that would solve all their problems.  In his mind they would be together for eternity, wanting for nothing, infinite in power.  Gale had dreamed of what Goddess that Tav would become.  At night, when they lay together, he told her of his imaginings of her as the Goddess of Regrowth.  The Goddess of Winter.  The Goddess of Snow.  She was all of these goddesses, currently residing in flesh in his mind, and he wanted her to pick one.  He would trace the path of her white scales on her human form and regale her with stories of how much they would shine when she was with him in Elysium.

“This deal will only spell trouble for all of us,” Gale countered.  “You will save your people from the Grand Design only to doom them further.”  Tav could feel the pinpricks of the Emperor’s eager agreement to her paramour, but she did not care to remind him mentally that he never gave a shit about Lae’zel’s people or any of them at all.

Raphael’s prior deal had been tempting.  They would gain the tools needed to defeat an Elder Brain and would finally be free from the looming dread.  The Grand Design would be over.  Raphael even promised to throw in a lavish dinner at the House of Hope at the conclusion of their adventure, allowing her band of mighty heroes to celebrate their victory in style.

Gale couldn’t ascend.  Gale couldn’t have that power.

Gale couldn’t leave her.

She took a quick look behind her and saw the panic on his face.  He was trying to hide it behind a mild scowl and his glorious beard.  Tav knew Tara hated that beard, but she melted every time the lips within went to her neck and the bristles tickled.  He quickly shook his head in warning not to knock at the door.

Tav didn’t want to lie to Gale, but she knew the terrible row they would have if she told him the truth.  She had come to read Raphael’s deal, and likely, sign.  Their terrible predicament would have a path to resolution.  A path to redemption , Raphael had called it.  Forceful eviction of their other tenant.   She had purposely left Wyll and Karlach back at camp, knowing how disapproving they would be of what was about to occur.  She wanted to have left Gale back as well, but he forcefully demanded that wherever his beloved went, so he too would go.  So, she reluctantly agreed to drag him along to a meeting that would break his heart and destroy his dreams.  The dread pooled deeply in her abdomen.  This was the only way to be free of the tadpole - or it was the only way that relieved the guilt at her lack of faith.

Lae’zel stood proud, eager for her to knock on the door and grant her the path to Prince Orpheus’s freedom.  When Tav hesitated, she urged her on.  Enter.  Go.

Tav could feel the sweat on her palms.  She took a deep breath and whispered silently to herself.  You know Infernal.  He won’t be able to trick you with hidden loopholes.  She researched Cania and Hellfire magic at the university, though sorceresses were often not accepted in academic circles.  Her research was about to be put into practical use, though she wished the stakes weren't so high.

Gale’s face had drifted from furious into stony.  His rage had hidden but not extinguished behind his eyes.  He knew they were there about the Crown, despite whatever story she tried to tell him. 

Tav ignored his gaze and placed three firm knocks on the door.

She had to do it.  Gale would just have to deal with the consequences.

“Come in,” the deep voice purred from behind the door.  Tav opened it and entered.

“Ah, my most cherished client.” Raphael’s face was smug.  He was wearing his human guise and gave a grand gesture of welcoming with a smile.  “Please, please, come partake of the Devil’s Den where we have no shortage of sins to enjoy.”

Raphael strode to his desk, crossing his legs as he lounged in an ornate chair behind it.  He gestured again to three ornate chairs opposite him.  Tav seated herself in the center, but both Gale and Lae’zel elected to stand.

“Now tell me,” he purred.  “What can I do for my most favored client?”  He cocked a brow and leaned back, relaxing into the silence.

Tav wasn’t going to be put on the back foot so early into a negotiation.  She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands.  “I thought you always claimed to be a good host.”  Raphael’s eyes narrowed before widening again with a smirk.  He snapped and a bottle of wine appeared with four goblets.  He waved and a mage hand poured and served each glass.  Tav took hers but the the mage hand had to leave the other two in front of Gale and Lae'zel.  Tav and Raphael each took sips from their own goblets, but the ones before the other two were left deliberately untouched.

“I imagine you are not just the famished coming to feast, but there is a reason you have come knocking at my door.” Raphael countered, now that his abilities as host could not be challenged.

“We have come to deal,” Lae’zel finished for her.  “We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer.”  Raphael’s brow lifted quickly and his smug smirk brightened.  Tav stiffened, and she thought she could audibly hear Gale turn to her in betrayal and anger.  What she had wanted to hide from him was now completely out in the open.  She was going to accept the devil's deal.  Tav tilted her head slightly to Gale and saw his face completely red and his hands shaking.  His eyes were forced closed.  Tav winced at how much this must be hurting him.

“Aha!” Raphael exclaimed triumphantly.  “Are you now?” His voice held a cocky musicality.  He always knew they would come knocking at his door, and as much as it hurt to admit it, he was always right.

“Yes, Devil.  We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer," Lae'zel repeated, becoming more annoyed and impatient at Raphael's lazy interactions.

Raphael turned to Tav directly, still holding her goblet and asked again.  “You are the only one with whom I wish to make a deal.  Are you here to make a deal with me?”  Smugness radiated off of him.  Tav paused, and Lae’zel gave her a look that was surely going to result in Gith expletives if Tav wasn’t forthcoming.

She swallowed and refused to look back at Gale who was likely trying to summon multiple Scorching Rays into the back of her skull.

“Yes, Raphael, I am here to make a deal for the Orphic Hammer.”  Tav spoke plainly, knowing that any attempts at subterfuge would result in a much more complicated contract to read when the actual signing came.

Gale immediately stiffened, and she knew she there was no way to deny that she had lied to him on several occasions.  She knew him well enough to understand that his fears were contorting and consolidating into a verbose rage that probably would require a dictionary the morning hence.  He stormed out of the Devil’s Den to return to camp without another word spoken between them.  Tav hadn’t wanted him to be here for this, and she felt a heavy pang of sadness that he had decided to join.

“My Little Mouse,” Raphael started, the excitement in his voice palpable.  “Then I believe we should get started with the contract I prepared.”  He snapped his fingers and a pitch black piece of parchment appeared in his hands.  Even in his human guise, his grin widened and his eyes glowed.  Tav felt like she could feel flickers of his cambion gaze break through his glamor.  He handed her a document aglow with the fiery runes of an Infernal contract.

“I had this prepared for you, in hopes you would return.”  Raphael rolled up the scroll and passed it to her.  She unfurled it, starting to read the runes within.  The infernal script danced in front of her as she tried to parse its meaning, but this wasn’t her first time reading and translating Infernal language.  She rolled it out fully over the desk to get a better scope of what legalese awaited her.  Raphael leaned over, amused at her reading.  Her fingers traced firmly over the runes, reviewing the translations.

“Do you require assistance?” Raphael taunted.  He leaned back in his chair again, waiting for a reply.

“No.”  She didn’t need his help.  He would have demanded additional clauses if she agreed to any additional services.  Raphael would never do anything for free.  The devil always received what was owed to him.

Lae’zel was waiting eagerly but impatiently.  Her armored boot tapped against the wood floors of the Devil’s Den.  Tap. Tap. Tap. Orpheus. Tap. That energy seemed to radiate from her impatience.

Tav blinked and took a deep breath, hoping Raphael wouldn’t notice the momentary lapse of focus.  His brow raised slightly, before he relaxed again, appearing disinterested.  The language was intentionally complex, written to confuse rather than educate.  She took her time and traced each rune.  She occasionally sipped at her goblet while ruminating on the meaning held within the runes.  They were sharp and jagged and angular - nothing like her Common language writing which was looping and gentle.  As with all Infernal text, the true meaning was held deeply within.

Raphael’s smile widened as she persisted.  His Mouse was a clever one.

“Shall I translate?” Raphael taunted.  They both knew that he had to be honest in their dealings, but every moment of weakness would set her back some sort of irrational and irritating demand of his.

“Raphael, I am only taking my time.” Tav breathed in and out deeply, internally trying to regain some sense of control over the accursed document while remaining calm in front of the accursed devil.  The distracting foot taps from her Githyanki colleague were not helping.

“Of course, my dearest Mouse, we have all the time of the Hells.”  Raphael sat back and continued to drink his wine.  He studied her with uncomfortable concentration as she continued to read.

“Crown for Hammer… Unable to invade mortal realms…” Tav started to roughly translate aloud as she read her contract.  Raphael raised an eyebrow but didn’t say another word as her monologue continued. “Soul collateral… Tavara Aureum.”  Tav looked him straight in the eye, though she was numb from so much horrible legal writing.  “Why just my soul?”

Raphael checked his nails uninterested in her question.  “Why would I want the others?”

“Are they safe from you if I fail?” Tav responded nervously.  The Little Mouse was fatigued and nervous, and Raphael found this state delightful.

“Would you like them to be collateral, my darling?” he responded again, still uninterested in her concerns.

“No,” Tav responded firmly.  Lae’zel gave an affectionate and approving noise, though it seemed more like a tut than a hum.

“Very well.”  Raphael finished falsely examining his nails and continued to watch his favorite client read.  She paused at the bottom of a page on some sort of footnote referencing an appendix.  Oh Gods, how many appendices did he include?

“Something wrong?” Raphael challenged.  The Mouse bit.

“No,” Tav fought back.  She thought back to all of her wizard colleagues who disregarded her because of her innate sorceress gifts of winter and storms.  Ignorant sorceresses could not study Hellfire.  Dragon Children were too spoiled to be able to truly understand Hellfire.  Raphael clearly believed in the same fashion that Little Mousies could not understand his writing.

There was one clause that caused a multitude of rereadings.  She had a hard time deciphering it and didn’t know its meaning.  “Pater….” she almost tried to sound it out, the rest of the word huddled in her chest, locked in ice.  “Pater…” she repeated again.  It was part of a line, a subclause for Raphael’s duties to her.  He had agreed to protect her something something pater something.

Tav could do this by herself, and she definitely didn't want his help.  He was not going to translate, and he was not going to read it to her like she was a child. 

Raphael watched her intently.  Lae’zel’s foot tapped impatiently.

“Give me the quill, I’m ready to sign,” she declared triumphantly.

Wordlessly and with an unreadable expression, Raphael handed her a quill and ink.  Lae’zel’s eyes burned through her as she signed the contract.  The resident devil clasped his hands in joy before snapping and handing Lae’zel the Orphic Hammer.

“Thank you,” Tav deadpanned, fatigued and still frightened of Gale’s reaction.

“Thank you, Devil.” Lae’zel didn’t bother waiting for a response before heading back to camp.  She was out of earshot before Raphael responded to her.  Delight was a new look on his face that she had never seen before.

“You are most welcome, my Lady.”

*****

When she returned to Gale at camp, he was hiding: fuming in his tent.  Tav approached him, hoping she could lure him forth so they could speak.

“Gale, please come out.  I want to talk,” she pleaded quietly, so the entire camp couldn’t hear her.

“You didn’t want to talk before, and I certainly don’t want to talk now,”  He bit back angrily.  She paused, sadness biting at her and a horrible feeling of tension lay beneath her sternum.

“Please, Gale.  Please talk to me.”  Her voice became lower, and before she realized it, she was softly begging him to leave his tent or welcome her inside.

The reply became short and stiff.  “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Gale…” she took a sharp breath.  “I did it for you.”

Incensed, he sharply stood up and ripped the tent flap open to stare at her in the face.  Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and her look pleading.  Mocking, he raised his voice so everyone could hear him.  “For me?  You threw away everything that I wanted and dreamed of.  You discarded all of my gifts and all of my ambitions for what ?” His voice was now a shout, emphasizing his final question.  All of her companions in the camp turned to stare at the two of them.

“Prince Orpheus!” Tav could hear Lae’zel call from behind her.  Gale’s face became red and angry.  He was obviously not expecting a third party to intrude.

“My love,” Tav pleaded, her voice missing the any confidence she might have had at her negotiations with the devil.  The confident, competent front she wore meeting with Raphael had eroded, leaving behind only a weak vulnerability.  Tears continued to fall, freezing on her cheekbones when they hit patches of scales.

“Do not call me your love.  I gave, and I promised.  You took, and you keep taking.  You stole godhood from us, Tav.  We could have been together for eternity.”

“Gale, Mystra would have ended you.  I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“Why will I never be good enough for you?” Gale challenged.  He prodded his finger at her, which lightly struck the sensitive patch of scales on her chest that mirrored his own scar from the Orb of Karsus.

“You were always more than enough…” Tav continued to cry, but her pleas went unheard.  Gale’s face became red again and he turned away quickly.

“I will help you defeat the Elder Brain, but then I never want to see you again, Tavara Aureum.”  He threw his hands up in a grand gesture of exasperation.  “I’ve wasted too much of my energies on you.  We will get rid of these tadpoles, and then that’s the end of us.”

“Gale… Waterdeep…” Tav started to wail.  Some sort of dam inside her broke, her magic swirled angry and chaotic.  Her fingers crusted with ice that she could no longer control.  

“When all of this is over, I am going back to Waterdeep.  You are not coming with me.” 

Gale retreated back into his tent, closing the flap with an unmistakable huff.  Tav slowly retreated back into her tent, gingerly closed the flap, and lay motionless on her side for some time.  Long after the darkness was heavy in the sky, she continued to cry hail on her pillow.

[hornyhornyhimbos]

Goofy Sex with Steve Harrington Headcanons

look how cocky he is, lil bitch

warnings and tags: MINORS DNI (18+) AFAB!Reader, oral both!receiving, protected PIV sex, mentions of ass eating i'm sorry, Steve refers to his 🍌 as "Little Steve" because i think it's funny, queefing, accidental cum swallowing, explicit language, references to marijuana use in the past, S3 Steve bc I said so, Steve is a sarcastic ass but what's new, transition-y bits are in red

Author's Notes: I feel like we as a society don't talk enough about goofy and silly sex with Steve Harrington so that's what this is, hope y'all enjoy 🤩

inspired by this post by @parkermunson <3

What sparks the whole thing wasn't even inherently sexual. Steve had taken the rest of the day off from work due to "aches and pains" and called you over on the premise of having a lazy day and cuddling.

You're watching cartoons, nothing inherently sexual happening. And then... the characters end up in a compromising position.

"Hey, what do you think sex would be like in that position?" he asks. Facepalm, you respond. "Hey, you wanna find out?" he asks. "Aren't you experiencing aches and pains?" you ask.

He glances down, then back up at you. When you don't catch his drift, he does it again. When you still don't get it, he says, "OK maybe I wasn't the one who was experiencing said aches and pains... it might've been Little Steve."

You cut your eyes at him and threaten to leave, but he meets you with a puckered-out bottom lip and a, "Pwease? For Wittle Steve?"

Somehow, the two of you end up making out on the couch for a little while. Tongues and lips graze against each other when all of a sudden, Steve pulls away.

"Babe, what-" "AH-CHOO!" Steve is a loud sneezer but that's a headcanon for another time

The two of you can't help but giggle, but you go back to it anyway, continuing to kiss as he begins to lead you from the couch to his bedroom.

BLAM!!!!

You're scared Steve might've broken a bone from how hard he hit his arm on one of his mother's decorative tables, but Steve insists he's alright. "I'm fine, but fuck my mother and all her damn end tables."

Luckily, you make it to his bedroom in one piece. You start to lie back on the bed, but Steve stops you, an almost devious grin plastered to his lips. "Have you ever thought about riding my face instead of my dick?"

You're sure he's meant to say it seriously, but the tone he used sounded so sarcastic, you almost thought it was a joke. Still, who are you to deprive your boyfriend even if he is being a little shit?

That's how you ended up grasping the bed posts, his nose nuzzled against your clit, his tongue hitting all the right places.

"Finally, something's going right," you thought to yourself.

Suddenly, Steve's moving his hands to your hips, hoisting you away from his lips and gasping. "Sorry," he managed to say, "couldn't breathe in that position."

So, you move on to something more fun for him: giving him head.

His hand slides down your cheek as your beneath him, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"I bet a U.S.S Butterscotch isn't the only ice cream you wanna lick."

The room is silent as you both process his words. Eventually he says, "Yeah, I'm gonna pretend I didn't say that."

You've barely got his Scoops' uniform shorts pulled down before his dick springs into action, slapping you hard on the chin. You laugh as you take it in your hands, ready to proceed with the task at hand.

"Told you Little Steve was needy today."

You're tempted to leave again, but his dick looks so nice, you can't just say no. Next thing you know, he's sliding his dick into your mouth, moaning louder than he ever had before.

He's barely a third of the way in and you're barely licking the vein when he just releases, sending so much cum down your throat you nearly choke.

His eyes bulge as he runs over to the bathroom, making a cup of water and sprinting back over to you, his cock waving about. The sight only had you choking harder.

After a couple minutes of catching your breath and washing down his seed, you finally feel up to doing what you'd been in his bedroom for all along.

He grabs a condom from the bedside table, jokingly lifting it to his mouth. "You think I could make balloon animals with one of these?"

"Steve that is SO unsanitary."

"Look, my mouth's already been where this is going anyway, right?"

Despite his last sarcastic comment, you soon find yourself laid back on his mattress, his dick sinking into you. His hands are clasped around yours, he's trailing kisses from your boobs to your neck to the shell of your ear. The moment feels happy, close, intimate.

When all of a sudden... you queef.

At first, you're mortified, until Steve just continues pounding into you, letting out low, rumbly laughs from deep within his chest.

But finally, after all the ups and downs of this afternoon, you cum for the first time and it's pure bliss as he follows soon after.

He lies down beside you, a hand raking its way through your now sweat-matted hair. The moment is peaceful and quiet and overall, just feels like bliss.

"Isn't it funny how vaginas can make noises like that?" he says out of nowhere.

You roll your eyes, slapping him hard on the chest. "It's not funny!"

"I'm sorry, did you hear the same noise I did?"

You pout, sticking your tongue out at him. "Yeah well, at least it didn't make the same smell it does when your ass makes noises like that."

He slaps your buttcheek hard, a chuckle nearly escaping his lips as he watches it jiggle. "Says the one who's asked if she could eat my ass before."

You grab one of his pillows covering your face in embarrassment. "OK, that was one time and it was Eddie's fault." "How was that Eddie's fault?" "He gave me the weed in the first place."

He slaps your butt again. "Oh, don't blame the weed for amplifying your cravings for my ass."

Soon enough, the conversation has turned into a fit of giggles from both parties. You watch intently as his eyes scrunch closed with laughter, admiring the cute lines that form by his eyes.

He notices that you've gone silent, and gives you a soft smile.

"So... I'll be here all week, you know."

☆ taglist: @liberhoe @writer-in-theory @esoltis280

[suusoh]

Something something Johan slowly warming up to sex because of the implications of entering you something something bodies merging something something the last frontier of physical intimacy even if it doesn’t do much for him physically initially.

Words are not my forte but like before he figures out he enjoys putting his pp in you it might appeal to him just for the connotations of “entering” the person he loves/wants to possess. And then maybe he figures out he enjoys the physical sensation as well.

I imagine this slow progression from your post about the reader getting horny to him losing his shit about getting horny then once he’s done freaking out he still hates the fact that he’s horny. But the unexpected erections allow a very small little idea about fucking you, which he ignores for a while. But then the idea of that makes him consider the act of penetration and the implications, maybe reading/consuming content about it which describes its appeal. And little by little romanticizing it not in the normal way someone would, but in the “i have access to every part of you, every crevice” “this is as close as we can physically get” way idk if you get what i mean but. While the horror of being horny doesn’t go away, he gets a little bit, slowly, tempted to try it.

Looking at it not through the lens of pleasure, but his weird little tendency to blur the lines between himself and the people he loves which he (obviously) already does in terms of identity, but wow with you (and the power of his new dick-hardening ability haha kill me) he can do it physically. It’s not the same as the “we’re literally the same person” thing but there’s smth there idkkk i can’t describe my thoughts well. Anyway that way he can justify consider the act without admitting the extent of his humanity or stuff.

uh-huh! Once he gets over his somewhat aversion to it, and once he's accepted his attraction with you mentally, emotionally, sexually, and finally— physical manifestations of those attractions (as much as he loathes the fact that he's experiencing it) he'd still be interested, with feeling this for the first time with you. I think after a loooooooooooooonnnggg long long long while of finally getting over his view, he'd just let his sexual frustration boil over and finally go to you and be like "please help me with this condition of mine". (said condition just being his pp going hard, but johan treats it like it's some disease lmao).

I think a part of him is like still reeling and hating himself for letting himself get this like.... low?? I don't want to say low but like, it's like definitely a fall from grace from his perfect, non-human, "untouchable being" state.

But another part is overwhelmed and overheating and melting in the inside from just how... how good this feels. It feels so good, too good. it makes him feel... real again for some reason. Like everything around him, your body, the air, the room, the whole world is suddenly so tangible, and it's like he's seeing how beautiful you are to him all over again, and shit he should be thankful— wait why is he feeling thankful? whatever, he is thankful that he's here with you and you're here with him and he's doing this human experience with you, and holy shit holy shit holy shitshit shit shit is it supposed to feel this good? God.... if this is what being human feels like, he doesn't think he could ever return to being a nameless monster again.

[phoenix761fics]

Getting Mouthy

Much longer ago than I care to think about at this point, I hit 400 followers on my main blog and decided to celebrate by taking smut requests. I wrote three and posted one before the huge ass block that shut me down for years settled in for real. She's not active anymore, but the lovely lovely kitkat-589 requested Murphy MacManus and dirty talk. I held off on posting in the hope I could finish a few more pieces and make it a proper event, but finally setting it loose sounds like a much better idea.

Pairing: Murphy x reader

Summary: Murphy isn't the only one in trouble when he runs his mouth

Word count: 1100ish

Tags: language, teasing, dirty talk, Murphy MacManus is a little shit

The crowd at McGinty's was loud and rowdy, but Murphy leaned in closer so she wouldn't miss a word. "Ye look fuckin amazing," he whispered, smiling as she giggled at the way his breath tickled her skin.

"I barely cleaned up after work," she argued as she gave him a playful shove back over onto his own barstool.

"Ye cleaned up just fine, love," Connor assured her on Murphy's other side. He winked at her as he tapped ash off the end of his cigarette and leaned against the bar. "Ye know ye always look lovely ta us. Now, this fucker, on the other hand…" He jabbed an elbow into Murphy's ribs, and Murphy smacked him over the back of the head in retaliation.

"Just fine," the dark-haired twin scoffed. "Fuckin jackass. Ye're a lot more than 'just fine.' Ye're the finest fuckin thing I've clapped eyes on, an that's a fact."

"How drunk are you, Murph?" she asked with a smile.

"Not even close." He finished off his beer and Doc replaced it without a word, but he hardly noticed, focused as he was on the woman beside him. "So...fuckin...beautiful," he said, and he leaned forward to bury his fingers in her hair and pull her close for a long kiss. She melted into it with a sigh before he drew away again and added, "If we weren't at this fuckin bar, I'd already have ye outta those clothes an beggin me ta fuck ye."

"Murphy!" The admonishment was in a sharp whisper, but her pleased smile belied her reprimand.

"Aye," he went on, "it's true. Been hard for ye since ye walked in here."

"Ssh!" She glanced at Doc, the closest potential eavesdropper, but he had already moved down the bar. "What if someone hears you talking like that?"

"Fuck em. What if we sneak off ta the bathroom an lock the door, an I eat yer pussy til ye're moanin my name? Ye think they'll hear us then?"

She made frantic shushing gestures with her hands, her expression caught between scandalized and aroused.

Murphy edged his barstool closer to hers and wrapped an arm around her, and she was tempted to take him up on his offer by the way he bent his head to her neck and kissed, bit, and sucked at her skin. "Christ, love," he murmured, "the things I wanna do to ye…"

"Lord's name, Murphy," she reminded him. She glanced over at Connor, watching them from his place on Murphy's other side, and he merely shrugged at her with a look that said he'd be in his twin's place already if Murphy hadn't beaten him to it.

"Not ta worry, lass, there's always confession." Murphy's hand slid under her shirt, palm warm against her soft skin as he moved to the small of her back and drew her closer. "An speakin a which," he added softly, "I need ta confess…" His mouth moved up along her neck until he could whisper directly into her ear, "I haven't stopped thinkin about how fuckin good it feels when ye come on my cock since the last time I had ye."

"Murph, that was last night."

"Aye, an I've been thinkin about it ever since."

"You need a hobby."

"Shaggin the livin daylights outta ye is my hobby."

"You need another hobby."

He had all but pulled her into his lap, and she braced with a hand against the bar as he leaned in for a kiss, lips and tongue still tasting of Guinness. "If no one was watchin…" he murmured.

"They are," she reminded him, though she couldn't say if she really cared anymore.

"I'd strip ye bare a little at a time," he went on, "and taste every inch of ye as I did, until I could get ta that beautiful pussy…"

She felt dizzy just listening to him and imagining him doing everything he was saying, or maybe Connor as well, because he still hadn't taken his eyes off her and Murphy.

"I'd tease ye open with my tongue," Murphy continued, pausing to kiss her again and run the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, "then I'd get a proper taste of ye, an ye'd be so sweet I couldn't help but devour ye."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shifted slightly on the barstool. God, she was wet…

"I'd suck yer clit until ye squirmed, and fuck ye with my fingers, but I wouldn't let ye come right away."

"Why not?" she asked. She probably knew the answer, but the way he was talking, he might as well say that, too.

"I'd get ye close," he answered, lifting his hand to trace her mouth with the tip of his thumb. "As close as I dared, over an over again until ye're ready ta rip me fuckin lungs out for teasing ye."

She nodded and bit her lip as she tried to ignore the needy ache in her cunt. "Yeah?"

"Aye. An just when ye couldn't take anymore, ye know what I'd do?"

He was killing her… "What would you do?"

He leaned in closer, his eyes piercing into her. "I'd get the fuck outta my clothes as fast as I fuckin could, an I'd ask ye…"

"Yeah?"

That gaze was so intense…

"I'd ask ye, between me an Connor, who do ye think has the bigger cock?"

Connor burst out laughing.

She stared at Murphy, rattled by the conversation and blindsided by the sudden turn, then she turned back to the bar. "Doc!" she called. "Murphy needs to close his tab!"

"What?" Murphy asked, brow furrowed. "What the fuck for?"

"Because," she answered as she looked him over, "you and I are going to get out of here and go home, and I'm going to wind you up and drive you batshit fucking crazy, then leave you hanging until you've had a taste of your own medicine."

"I've warned ye, Murph," Connor chimed in from the stool next door, "ye keep teasing the lass the way ye do, it'll bite ye in the arse."

Murphy glanced between his brother and their lover, his stunned expression nearly comical.

She leaned in and combed her fingers into his hair to pull him close enough to whisper in his ear, "You still want a taste of my pussy, right?"

He swallowed audibly, and she could have laughed at how quickly the tables had turned. "Aye," he answered, "I do."

"Well, then." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and slowly walked away. "You better come get it."

Murphy only hesitated another moment before he paid his tab and hurried after her to leave Connor sitting at the bar, watching after them and shaking his head. He'd give them some time alone before he headed home. She deserved her revenge, and Murphy had earned some payback.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Daisy & Mavis?

Or maybe Sir Handel & Peter Sam?

Ooooh, Sir Handel and Peter Sam have a fascinating dynamic. However, I don't really have much to say that others haven't already said, and probably said better. To the degree that I'm tempted to talk about their Trauma Responses, I have another ask about Sir Handel & Skarloey, so I think I'll fold these thoughts into that post.

So, Daisy and Mavis — love 'em — only wish they got more screen time!

("Screen" time. Do they ever have a significant interaction in the television series? I really want to be told if they do.)

Actually they only have one page in RWS where they exchange a word. But it's such a good page. Posting it here for the uninitiated:

Look at this mess. Look at this absolutely perfect bitchfest. There are a total of zero brain cells in this conversation. Venting to your work bestie and and letting loose your inner mean girl. A classic RWS dynamic! It's just the diesel (& the female) version of the Thomas and Percy relationship: They make each other worse.

But, they need each other.

But, they make each other worse...!

Despite their lack of screentime following this, you cannot convince me that these two don't remain peas in a pod, just like 1 and 6 after 6 is transferred to the branch line.

I do think it's rather sad that Mavis is holed up in the quarry. :( There's a real bummer of a line when she appears in a later Christopher story...

"Besides, she sometimes finds it dull up at the Quarry with no one to talk to but trucks." I know it's realistic, but I want better for her. LET 👏 HER 👏 OUT 👏

Once smartphones became a thing, I like to imagine that they videocalled from the quarry to the carriage shed every night. (Annie, Clarabel, and Henrietta are very understanding about this when the call lasts half an hour. If ever the workers try to indulge Daisy and Mavis with a longer call, however, the coaches start murmuring...)

One great thing about this convo is that it's the first time I feel like I'm really, genuinely looking at lasting steam/diesel coexistence on Sodor's 'big railway.' Coz this is a target Awdry has been trying to hit for at least a dozen books now, yeah? Due mostly to his publishers' pressures, he's been trying to have beloved diesel characters while keeping his 1920-cosplay steam railway too, and this is where I think he finally hits the target. Daisy's first appearance was hamstrung because the turning point where she changes her haughty new-engine attitude and where the others accept her despite all the shit she's already pulled is off-screen, we're just told "they're friends now" and have to be all "right. sure." Probably because he got negative feedback on his Daisy hash, Awdry played it suuuuper safe with BoCo and Bear — less so Bear, but that's another post; for now I will just say that in contrast to Daisy they are presented as very clean-as-a-whistle, and their acceptance by the railway is made so much of that it doesn't feel natural, they both feel like one-offs. But then, ahhh. Now we've got Mavis, and Awdry has the bright idea to let her talk to Daisy, and BANG. Now we're here. This doesn't feel Informed, or starch-and-stiff, or tokenistic. You read this and you're like oh, yeah. Even the sleepiest branch line on this railway is now part dieselised. They're acting like characters! Everybody is acting like squabbling coworkers! It's like sinking at last into a warm relaxing soak. Ahhhhh. Here's the good stuff.

Because they don't need to be Representatives of dieselkind? They can just kinda suck for a moment, without being villains? When TVS subs out Daisy for Diesel, it automatically gives this conversation a sinister air. He's the devil on Mavis's shoulder. But in the original, there's nothing sinister here; it's homey. They're just venting to each other. Their behavior is kinda crappy, but also very normal and recognisable. New work besties fr. They are both three drinks in.

Daisy: He said what to you? Omg babe. I cannot believe that old garden shed said that to youuu.

Mavis: Right?????

Daisy: raising a glass Anything steam engines do, we diesels can do BETTER!

Mavis: hauling herself a bit unsteadily to her feet so that her gesticulation can be its most dramatic and sweeping You are RIGHT and you should SAY IT!

(Narrator: mildly ... Daisy was not right and, being probably the most specialised and least versatile engine then on her railway, she definitely should not have been saying it.)

(Above: The quintessential moment. Mavis & Daisy are commiserating/carping, and Annie & Clarabel are trying so hard to not hear their shit.)

Now, I've always had a question here...

Did Toby really say that only steam engines can shunt trucks?

The text indicates only that he was annoyed that she kept re-arranging things, they had a tiff, she rejected his input and left.

Then again, the text doesn't reveal that Percy calls Mavis's shunting "a ---- ------ ------ mess!", so, y'know. We get the minimum detail necessary in these stories. ;)

We never see Toby express any such sentiment about diesel engines. I'm inclined to think he never said this — and I suspect we're not supposed to believe he said this, only that Mavis is in stroppy teen mode and exaggerating and embellishing her grievances to the point where she's straight-up making shit up.

Still, I'm not sure. Usually in the RWS if a character is lying they are slyly or explicitly called out for it in the nearby text and this time the claim is just... sitting here.

Ultimately, I don't think he ever said that to her, but (considering how salty everyone on the Ffarquhar line can get: some have quicker fuses than others but they're all so provoke-able) I don't think Mavis just made this up completely. If she were making up stories from whole cloth, that would be... well, that would be 'Devious' Diesel behavior! I suspect, however, that Toby and Percy (comparing notes on her shunting) are at least thinking it, or have said it to each other, and Mavis has picked up on these vibes. All of which would be incredibly realistic.

Anyway, I bring this up because the answer does color my read of this conversation a little. If Mavis is completely making up attitudes that Toby never dreamed of having, and Daisy just eats it up and eggs her on, that makes this conversation somehow even 10x messier (and somehow I'm still rooting for their friendship). If this is a sentiment that is real or implied when Mavis or Daisy annoy the other Ffarquhar engines (and they can both be annoying, no question) then the bond between these two characters, with their very different personalities, just becomes even more 'understandable.'

Anyway, about those differences. Mainly, Daisy is ultimately very conventional. (This reminds me I have a nearly-finished essay about Daisy lying around somewhere. For now...) Mavis is the original, creative one, the mover-and-shaker. All Daisy's initial behaviors, as Hazel observed recently, are things we've seen from proud new engines before! She wants lots of attention, she boasts, she tries her damnedest to get out of work that she thinks is beneath her. What Mavis wants is to improve things, to have more responsibility, to get to stretch her wheels. Furthermore, Daisy by nature is keen to avoid work that's too heavy (she's a railcar with limited pulling power, so, you know, understandable); Mavis doesn't mind work — she just doesn't like being told how to do it, and she doesn't like being bored!

A point where they can be contrasted is in how they accept Toby's help and friendship at the end of their initial... "arcs." (All right, Daisy's "arc" is ended so clumsily that you can barely call it that, but you get me.) I'm not saying Mavis is devious or calculating, but for her Toby's offer of friendship is just as important as a pathway to her getting out of the quarry sometimes as it is for his forgiveness. It is her ticket out. For Daisy, Toby's offer of friendship was important because she wants friends, now she's making a friend yay!! — and I think that was pretty much it. Daisy just wants positive attention; that's what all her 'modern and right-up-to-date' stuff was about, but that failed to get her the positive attention she wanted and it turned out that being a team player did, so she had little trouble re-orienting herself. She resisted the pressure of everyone on the platform for her first train because she clung to the memory of her friend the fitter, but I don't think she's one to resist peer pressure in general, and as time passed and the Ffarquhar line residents became her peers, it was completely inevitable that she start to conform to their ways.

So (although, again, annoyingly — we aren't shown) I reckon that Daisy panicked after Percy's accident when she realized that she would be in trouble too (all right, someone probably had to point it out to her). And so for the first time she pitches in and does some hard work. Toby can't help but own "you did well to get all your half cleared, Daisy" and Daisy's entire system lights up because compliment, baby!!! That's all she ever wanted. She's Toby's man now (so to speak).

I can also easily imagine that, in trying to get adjusted to Mavis, Toby remembered how thing went last time. He must have tried from the first to tell himself, through slightly gritted teeth, "Just find something to compliment the new engine on, just anything. Helps build trust." But he was stymied twice over. 1) She keeps re-arranging the trucks in some crazy-ass unapproved way and he can't find ANYTHING nice to say! 2) It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Mavis wouldn't have been satisfied with just some friendly attention. Mavis wants to do. shit.

Mavis is bright — possibly has little common sense, but she's bright. I do wonder sometimes if her shunting arrangements are actually bad, or if they're just different and Toby and Percy can't adjust. (The text does own that due to the siding arrangements it's inefficient to put the trucks where Toby expects them. She probably does optimize things — from her point of view, anyhow.) Either way, though, here is an active and creative mind at work. Plus, her ploy to slo-o-owly expand her pathway down the line in "Toby's Tightrope" shows long-term planning, which is hardly something we've ever seen any vehicle do! So yeah, she's well above-average bright for an engine.

Hilariously, in Their Own Scene she is easily impressed by Daisy's lofty confidence (another classic RWS dynamic — it's giving Duncan staring amazed at James's boasting), but she's also super young, hasn't been Toby-fied yet, and in short I expect that as the years go by Mavis is likely to see Daisy as less of a role model and more of a crony/partner-in-crime. Daisy might instigate things sometimes — but she needs Mavis and Mavis's bright ideas before she really makes much headway! And I expect Mavis is often the instigator anyway. In her literary-device role of Second Coming of Thomas (Dieselised Flavour), she probably continues to want all sorts of things that engines aren't supposed to pine for (silly stick-in-the-muds!) Daisy is quite content to grumble but put up. Mavis will find a way to make stuff happen.

(Which is the only explanation we're going to get for how Mavis is at large on every quarry and some not-remotely-a-quarry sets on the island, come TVS!)

That was a light rap on the TVS there, but not a very hard knock; at least TVS insisted (in spite of all logic) on using her character for stuff. Christopher lets me down, personally, by finding so little for Mavis to do — and never having her and Daisy interact! I want more of this shit so badly.

However, in the Author's Note of Thomas Comes Home, Daisy apparently has a bee in her bonnet about fans who think the series has no female engines and is like 'me and Mavis tho!!!!!!' Which... I like seeing Daisy mention Mavis. That's all. It assures me that they’re still a duo (although I prefer Wilbert's interpretation that they bond over being The Two Diesels On This Line vs. Christopher's implication that their bond is being The Two Girls On This Line).