#i need to yell about this with another person

[devilishchaos]

Shower | Lando Norris Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N and Lando have soft shower sex.

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration (don’t do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, swallowing, use of pet names

AN: domestic Lando, because I'm a sucker for domesticity <3. also..not me and yet another shower sex fic. also pt.2..am I back? I don't know, just wanted to write about Lando. enjoy x

Word Count: 2 517 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You had it coming for a while, you knew it in the back of your mind. And it’s not like you weren’t looking forward to it, but just that the urges, that were slowly growing stronger for Lando, inside of you took a backseat as real world deadlines threatened to overcome you.

Lando had been staying home a lot more than usual, and found himself with a rare two-week break between races, a welcome pause in the relentless pace of the Formula 1 calendar. After months of high-pressure performances and grueling travel schedules, the weariness has started to catch up with him, coupled with the need to be with you and make up for the lost time, due to his hectic schedule, caused him to not want to leave the house. 

Coming back from work every evening, you were greeted with the sight of him whipping up something simple but delicious for you to feast on, his eyes getting all crinkled up as a smile covered his face whenever he heard you yell “I'm home!”. He was playing the part of a perfect boyfriend to the T and you really couldn’t have been more thankful for everything that he was doing for you, even though you couldn’t always say it out loud. 

But behind his loving exterior was something he wasn’t really telling you, for fear of coming across as selfish when he could clearly see the amount of stress you were already in. You weren’t blind though and just like him, you too could see that he was in need of some affection and some attention, was in need of someone telling him he did well on the circuit and was still doing well at home, and you also knew you were that someone. 

You could feel it in his touch, lingering just a second longer than necessary, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your skin. You could feel it in his kisses, turning hot and fervent despite starting out as soft and gentle. You knew he needed it and you knew he wasn’t going to be explicit enough and say it out loud nor was he going to pressure you into doing something you didn’t have the energy to do. 

Yet upon hearing the slow pitter-patter of water as you came back home, you had found your feet leading you towards the bathroom, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of Lando taking a shower. The bathroom door unlocked as always, his steamy silhouette could be seen through the glass wall. You couldn’t tell what came over you in that moment, but before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving on their own, getting rid of your clothing piece by piece, until you were naked. 

Your hand came resting against the glass as you peeked inside, taking in the sight in front of you. Lando looks gorgeous, the water trickling down his body and hugging him at all the right places, his shoulders and hipbones, making you want to lick the wetness away. The sight alone is enough to make you press your legs closer together, a need growing inside of you as you take your time admiring the beauty that is your boyfriend. 

Lando had his head under the water, his wet curls sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, his mouth slightly parted to let the warm water hit his tongue as he was lost in thought. And to say that he was beyond surprised when he opened his eyes and found you on the other side of the glass, naked and looking nothing but breathtaking to him, would be an understatement. A groan escapes his lips under his breath as he stares at you, his eyes trailing down, taking in your completely naked body and swallowing thickly, a hunger rising in him, just looking at you.

That is, until a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting Lando’s as he calls you out. 

“Baby?” He murmurs, his voice sounding low as the water still hitting his face causes his words to come out muffled, but you could still hear that his tone was filled with need and anticipation. His left hand moves from where it was against the wall to press against the glass, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a silent conversation happening between you within just that moment, his eyes full of want, making his desire for you clear.

"I'm home" you say in a soft murmur.

“Yeah I can see that..” Lando mutters, his eyes still glued to you through the glass, his mouth going dry as his eyes rake you up and down, taking in every inch of you as if it was the first time he was seeing you like that. He was trying to focus hard on not letting his eyes linger between your legs, because the thought of it already has his brain short circuit.

“You want to join me in here?” He questions, his fingers tapping the glass lightly, giving a small smirk.

Lando can’t fight the grin that appears on his face as you nod, his mind already racing over what the two of you would do. He grabs the shower glass and pushes it open, his arms spreading out towards you as a silent invitation for you to come inside. He can’t wait to touch you again, to feel your skin against his, to hear your soft moans, but even amidst all of that he still has a tiny voice inside his head reminding him that you’re probably tired.

Lando closes the glass door back when you make your way inside, and all it takes is a couple of seconds for him to pull you into his chest against his wet, warm body, his strong arms wrapping around you gently. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he buries his face into your neck, the stress melting away from him just from having you close. His hands move up and down against your wet back, the water trickling between you.

He can tell what you’re planning and while it is something he’s been craving all these past days or weeks, now that you were right in front of him, he feels as if just having you so close to him is enough. And so he decides to show you, placing the softest of kisses to your crown as his grip tightens around your waist, the sensation making you lift your head up from his chest, a smile on your face. 

“You are so beautiful.” Lando whispers and that’s all you need to lose your footing. 

Before either of you can realize, your lips are moving in sync with his, a rhythm both familiar and new, being set up as you dance around your desires. You don’t know who started it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. All you can think of in that moment is the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you get lost in the love only he can give you. And it’s the same for Lando, his senses getting overwhelmed as he finds himself getting high on you, on the way you make him feel. You’re all he could ever want and more, and every time you touch him, it feels like you’re reminding him of the reason he’s alive. 

So he takes it in his stride, finally letting go of his fears and his worries, completely losing himself in you, in the love he feels for you. His hands roam all over your water-covered body, from your cheeks to your neck to your breasts and hips, and he takes his sweet time caressing and feeling every single one of them, just like you do too, your own hands lying pressed flat against his toned body. You touch him everywhere, letting your focus shift from his hair to his biceps to the round cheeks of his ass, and as you do so, you also find yourself pulling away from his lips, kissing down his body, crouching lower and lower till you’re on your knees in front of him. 

The sight makes something turn on inside of Lando’s brain, his hands making their way to your cheeks again. But this time, he’s just a little more assertive, pulling you closer to his crotch, because he can tell you already have eyes for his cock. 

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice hoarse already and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You can only nod at that, biting your lip as you lean in, placing a kiss to his tip. And from the sigh that escapes from Lando’s mouth at the small gesture, you know it’s just like the first time for him, over and over again. 

“Then suck on it, baby.” his voice calls out again, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

With that, your hands are quick to get wrapped around his shaft as you take him into your mouth, making him throw his head back in the slightest of pleasure. As your tongue begins to roll around his head, you make sure to savor the heavenly taste of his finest delicacy, your teeth grazing against his flesh as you decide to make up for the time and the rounds you’ve lost out on. 

His tip was already leaking, his body eagerly reacting to your touch, the anticipation building within him. He swallowed, his words caught in his throat, all he could do was let out a groan in response. His hips instinctively moved forward, pushing his cock further into your mouth, his body seeking more pleasure, more of you. He was powerless to the sensations coursing through him, every swipe of your tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he found himself whispering, his voice rough "I want you to swirl your tongue around the tip, take it into your mouth, then-" he whispered, his eyes flicking down to you, the intensity in his gaze burning with need "Push your tongue into the slit, please.” 

Lando's body tensed, a low groan escaping him as you did as he asked, his eyes falling shut, his face flushed, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back.

"Good girl," he groaned, his words husky, his voice filled with appreciation and a hint of dominance. 

Lando's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping him as your free hand found his balls. His body tensed, his fingers gripping your hair a little tighter, his hips instinctively pushing forward in a shallow thrust.

"That's right," he growled, his voice filled with need, his words a husky rasp as he tried to control himself, his body trembling. 

As you pick up the pace, your surroundings fade away, the sound of the water acting as background music while you continue to give head to Lando, enjoying the effect you have on him. His hands guide you along, resting at your head, as your own take to worship his cock, your cheeks hollowed out to the max. Maybe it’s the lack of touch that he’s been forced to go through for the past weeks, or maybe it’s the way you seem so determined on bringing him to his knees, but Lando can’t seem to control the urge to cum right then and there, his body involuntarily thrusting his dick right down your throat and making you choke. 

“Go faster, please.” he groans, pretty sounds emanating from deep inside his chest as you oblige, going faster and harder as you begin deepthroating him. Countdown from ten in your head and that’s all you need to have him lose it, his seed seeping into your mouth as you lap every bit up. He tastes just as you remember or maybe even better because it’s been so long. As the last drops trickle down your throat, you let out a sigh of satisfaction, licking your lips before gripping his thighs to pull yourself back up. 

Your eyes meet his and you don’t miss the way he smiles at you, and you can’t help but ask, “Was I good?” and make him chuckle at your cuteness. 

“Incredible as always, love.” Lando says, leaning in to catch your lips in another kiss, his body weight pushing you flat against the glass wall. Maybe it’s you imagining things, but he somehow tastes even sweeter now, the aftertaste of his cum still fresh on your tongue as you make out with him once more. Parting your mouth open with his own tongue, he doesn’t leave a single spot untouched as his cock prods around your heat, silently seeking entrance. 

And you’re only too keen on granting him that, a whimper making its way out of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than closer. 

“I n- need you..” you whine, kissing him harder as you feel yourself grow more needy by the second. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend is a great listener, listening to your demand as he thrusts himself into you, penetrating into your pussy at long last. He feels so delicious like that, moving in and out of you as your thighs squeeze around his, your walls tightening around his length as he fills you up with himself. 

You’re a moaning, struggling mess within seconds, the water making everything foggy and slippery as he continues to thrust in you, massaging all the right places you didn’t even know existed inside of you up until you started dating. Every move of his hips, as they roll against yours, sends you into a frenzy, gibberish rolling off your tongue as he starts speeding up more and more. Your bodies mold into one as you claw at each other’s skin, wanting to be as close to the other as possible. You’re in bliss at that moment, the pent up stress from work and the sexual frustration finally coming to the fore and bursting like a bubble as you make love. 

He cums first, his cock still sensitive from your lip-service as his load fills you up to the brim, his thrusts not stopping as he leads you to your own orgasm. It feels like an eternity and like a single second at the same time, your sense of being completely distorted as you focus only on the pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he pumps into you one last time, making you ride out your climax in style and leaving you panting for air. 

As a new slew of moans racks through your body, he vows to drown them out in a kiss with his hands holding you in place. When he pulls away, the expression on his face is the most lovesick one you’ve ever seen. 

“Thank you.” is all he says, but it’s enough to fill your heart up with warmth as he pulls away, ready to dry you up and lead you to the bed for another round.

[artaxlivs]

I can't help myself - when art is this gorgeous, it needs a little story to go with it:

"Hey Stevie?" Eddie sing-songed as he crowded into Steve's personal space like a gremlin. He was always in Steve's space and Steve was starting to think it was on purpose. Like Eddie knew just how aware of him that Steve actually was. That every time Eddie's breath brushed against Steve's skin, Steve had to tense up to avoid a full body a shiver.

"Yes?" Steve asked warily, crossing his arms across his chest to keep himself from doing something that would give him away.

"How do you feel about Billy Joel?"

Stalling out from where he'd been hurriedly building a brick wall around his heart so Eddie wouldn't break it, Steve kind of sagged in confusion, "Huh?" Eddie waggled his eyebrows which didn't really help even if it was adorable so Steve clarified, "Like Piano Man? That Billy Joel?"

Standing up straight and pulling himself out of Steve's space, Eddie looked a little dumbfounded, and Steve would know because dumbfounded was his natural state of being around Eddie, "You like Piano Man?"

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes, "It's Piano Man." When Eddie's expression didn't change, Steve said, annoyed or exasperated - possibly both, "It's like you think I live under a rock."

Eddie grinned. Steve's attention was immediately focused. He knew that grin. That was Eddie's I've-got-something-up-my-sleeve grin. The one that had almost gotten them arrested by Hop last week when Eddie had convinced Steve to climb the fence at the high school to swim in the pool since he still couldn't swim in his own. That grin was dangerous.

Before Steve could ask though, Eddie flounced away, curls bouncing, hands flapping, sneakers squeaking as he skipped across the tile and out of Steve's front door. "Not a rock, just the other side of town!" He said as he spun in a circle. Then over his shoulder, he promised - or possibly threatened, "See you tonight, big boy!"

Corroded Coffin was just settling in on the little platform stage when Steve and Robin pushed through the small crowd at The Hideout and elbowed their way to the front. Robin actually looked like she belonged there with her hair teased and the Dio shirt she'd stolen from Eddie tucked into her high waisted jeans. Steve had just thrown on a clean polo shirt and spent too long on his hair. No one was going to believe it if he tried to fit in anyway.

"Hey all you fuckers!" Eddie yelled into the mic as he surveyed the crowd and adjusted his guitar across his body. He was wearing ripped jeans ad his battle vest with no shirt. Just his necklaces dangling in the smattering of chest hair there.

He let out a wild scream as Gareth knocked his drumsticks together to count them in.

God, Eddie was so sexy and so weird. Steve had no idea how those two things went together but they did and as it turned out, sexy and weird worked for him.

Halfway through the first song, Robin was screaming and jumping around with all the other metal heads but Steve just stood there. He was stuck still, watching Eddie lean back as he ripped through guitar solo before bending forward again and almost kissing the microphone as he pressed his mouth to it and sang lyrics that Steve couldn't even really decipher. It didn't matter though, the words. It was the presence. It was Eddie's whole persona, weird and sexy, silly and sweet, all somehow still coming across even through the terrible noise of heavy metal.

"Hopefully you'll all recognize this next one. I sullied it up a little for you guys but at it's core, it's still just a song about a boy," Eddie winked at Steve and something warm sort of uncoiled in his belly. He couldn't move, couldn't stop watching as Eddie's talented fingers danced across the chords and another screaming heavy metal song filled the air around Steve.

Uptown boy He's been living in his uptown world I bet he's never had a backstreet guy I bet his momma never told him why

Billy Joel, Eddie Munson style. It was loud and chaotic, an explosion of guitar solos and drums. But because Steve already knew the lyrics, he could actually understand the words. And the pronouns that had been changed.

"Holy shit! Stevie, is he singing to you?" Robin yelled, far too close to his ear. "Are you the Uptown Boy in this song?" She shook him by the shoulder but Steve couldn't look away from Eddie. Eddie, who hadn't looked away from Steve. Eventually she gave up, throwing her hands up and dancing away into the crowd.

He'll say I'm not so tough Just because I'm in love with an Uptown boy

Okay. Okay.

Tucking his hair behind his ear, Steve looked up at Eddie through his lashes. He pointed to his own chest and mouthed, "me?"

Letting go of his guitar, Eddie grabbed the mic in one hand and twirled a lock of his frizzy curls in the other. He pulled the mic close, lips hidden behind it and sang quietly, "You know I'm in love with an uptown boy, my uptown boy." When he pulled away from the mic, he tucked the lock of hair across his mouth shyly but Steve could still see his smile lines on one side.

Okay. Okay.

Steve stepped up close enough to the stage that the toes of his clean white sneakers touched it. The platform was about a foot higher than the floor and Eddie met him there, right at the edge, bare sweaty chest heaving with exertion.

Reaching up, Steve grabbed the lapels of Eddie's battle vest and pulled him down, "Guess this makes you my downtown boy," and he kissed him. It was like something out of a movie. The music played on. The screams from the crowd behind him faded into the background. The loudest thing in the room was the echoing thud of Steve's own heart and the little whimper that Eddie let out when Steve slipped his tongue past Eddie's lips to lick inside his mouth.

When Steve pulled away, mouth curving up into a satisfied smile, Eddie made a little grunt of protest and pulled him back. He kissed Steve long enough that the tempo of the music changed and Eddie suddenly let go and shouted, "Oh shit! I'm the lead singer! I'm supposed to be singing!"

Grabbing Steve's collar, Eddie swooped back in and dropped one more quick kiss on Steve's lips and then he nearly knocked over the mic stand in his haste to get back to it.

Weird, sexy gremlin.

Sometimes you do have to stomp on your music taste to properly serenade your crush (the uptown girl boy)

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Can we get more hurt reader for Quinn to care for pretty please with 🍒s ontop?

I think it's about time I get the reader to a game, don't you?

Nothing could beat the energy of a sold out Canucks game.

Tonight was poised to be a tight game against the Atlantic Division's Toronto Maple Leafs and the hometown boys. You had made the plans weeks ago to attend the game, but none of your friends were available to go, so you were going solo. It hadn't been the first time sitting with no one to talk to in the stands, as there was always someone to strike up a conversation with, argue a wrong call over, or heckle one of the visiting players with. You wouldn't be without company that night.

Things had started off fast paced, with Quinn scoring the first puck mid-way through the opening period. It was always special getting to see him score in person, hearing the fans cheer for their beloved captain, and also with you being able to join them as just another fan. No one knew who you were; best as anyone else knew, you were just another girl in a Quinn Hughes jersey, and that was enough.

The players would take their positions back at center ice and Vancouver would lose the faceoff, and play would move into the Canucks' territory. Defensively, they seemed to be struggling to get a turnover and multiple shots would be deflected by Demko before the puck would get back to the neutral zone. However, it would get tipped and go up and out of play, with Toronto trying to return back to the offensive zone. You had been guilty of watching Quinn instead of where the puck was and that would be your downfall that night.

At first, you thought the guy sitting next to you had clocked you in the side of the head by accident. It wasn't after you heard a kid yell, "Get it! Get the puck! I want it!" that you were able to discern that you had missed the rogue puck sailing towards you and that had been what had your head spinning. That was your last, straightforward thought.

The rows behind you, who had seen the contact be made, gasped collectively and several reacted around you to make sure you were alright. Your ears were ringing, and you weren't quite sure where you were as you slumped forward and to the side, nearly slipping out of your seat. Everything was getting hazy and your vision was fading out. Your head had never hurt so bad in your life.

"Yeah, I need medical to section 116", you heard the usher radio in, your eyes slowly opening. Everything was too bright, too loud, and you were dizzy. There was a towel placed to the left side of your head and the throbbing felt like someone was hitting you with a hammer repeatedly. "Ma'am, try to stay still, please. We're going to get someone to help you."

You gritted your teeth against the sound of the packed arena and how it aggravated your brain, and you had to keep your eyes closed against the harsh lights above. All you wanted to do was slip away into sleep.

"We're going to help you up, okay? Are you good to stand?" A woman's voice asked you, feeling gentle pressure to your upper right arm. Slowly, you'd turn your face towards her and nod. "Okay, gently now. Go slow for me, okay? We're going to make sure you don't fall. "

You bit your lip as you made your way to the aisle, still holding the towel to your face. "Still doing alright?" She asked again once you were up and out of the seats. After you nodded, she'd change her hold to your left arm and slowly, you'd be escorted up the stairs as clapping would follow you as a sendoff.

"We have an ambulance coming around to take you to the hospital and get you checked out."

You couldn't focus on anything and just kind of mumbled at whatever it was she was saying, and since she and no one else around was frantic, you remained calm despite being told you were going to the hospital in an ambulance. Sure enough, you'd be strapped to the stretcher in the lobby, a neck brace fastened in place, and wheeled into the awaiting transport out front. Everyone was so kind to you, but there was one person you couldn't get off your mind. You hoped Quinn hadn't noticed it was you who had been hit by the puck, but if he had, you wished it wouldn't interfere with his playing for the remainder of the game.

- - -

It would be after the game clock ran out before you'd be done with your visit at the hospital.

You had a series of stitches above your left eye and a concussion, but otherwise you were fine. The Canucks had won the game which was a relief to you, because what kind of fan would you had been if you didn't feel like whatever you did --or had caused-- had directly affected the game? Wore the wrong jersey and they lost? Your fault. Changed your order from your usual pre-game selection and they lost? Also your fault, and yours alone. That was just the overly superstitious sports fan brain at work.

Once cleared to leave, you had called a girlfriend and told her what had happened and if she could take you back to Quinn's apartment. She had offered to stay with you until he came back, but you had managed to convince her that you wouldn't have to wait for too long before he was home. There was reluctance to leave you, after saying you had sustained a concussion, but you had apparently been persuasive enough and she would leave shortly after getting you settled on the sofa.

You were thankful for the darkness and the silence of his apartment. The hospital had been busy and terribly bright, so just a smaller arena atmosphere, and you had suffered for hours before finally getting to actually relax. Your phone was next to you but looking at the screen, even with the brightness down, shot through your head like a bullet. The light sensitivity had been incredible, yet you were told it was common and nothing to worry about. You wanted to message Quinn, but typing was impossible, so a voice-to-text message would have to do the trick.

Y|N: Hey baby I'm okay. Just got home from the hospital. If you didn't know I'm the girl who tried to catch the puck with her face. Ha ha, lucky me. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I'm fine. Love you. (11:55pm)

Quinn: I was hoping that wasn't you. :( I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm glad you're okay. I'll be home shortly. I love you more. (12:09am)

When Quinn got home you were still sitting on the sofa, an ice pack pressed against your browbone where the new stitches were. The lights in the kitchen were dimmed, as you had gotten up shortly after his text message and turned them on, so he wouldn't come home to a pitch black apartment. You didn't want to scare him by being a creep in the dark, just waiting for him to get in.

"Hey Quinny," you said, half asleep and leaning against the corner of the sectional.

"Hey," Quinn replied, voice soft and low as he wasted no time getting to your side. "How are you feeling?"

He'd sit down beside you and try to see just what had happened. You'd drop the ice pack to you lap, fingers cold after having to hold it for so long. "I'm tired."

Quinn frowned, tipping your chin to the side just slightly, "Looks like it got you pretty good, babe."

"Yeah, I was watching you...so I didn't see it coming," you breathed out ashamed.

"Now, what would you do that for?" He laughed, hoping to raise your spirits. "I didn't see it happen."

"I'm glad you didn't," you mumbled, returning the ice to your face, feeling it throb again. "I got blood all over my jersey, too."

He gave a weak smile, hoping you were trying to be sarcastically upset, seeing the stains for himself. "I'll get you a new one. I'm just glad you're okay. It could have been a lot worse." His voice was near a whisper at the end.

"I don't want a new jersey! That one is special, don't you remember?" You cried out with emotional hurt, growing more upset thinking about how quickly the night had spiraled.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said trying to keep you calm. "It's been a long time since that date, babe. I'm sorry I forgot it was (that) one. I'll take it with me and see if one of the equipment guys can clean it for me, okay? We'll get it taken care of. Now, can I get you anything?'

You just shook your head.

"Why don't you go lay down? You've had a long day."

You wouldn't say anything to him, but instead, would get up and try to walk past him but he would stop you. His arm would block your path, his hand gripping your thigh gently. The way he looked at you conveyed his concern, while his words remained minimal. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing," you replied flatly, wishing he'd let you pass.

Your response prompted him to stand up. Now you wouldn't be going anywhere until he felt better about your situation. "Will you talk to me?"

"I don't want to talk, Quinn," you grumbled, your head pounding harder now that you weren't at rest.

Without a word, Quinn brought you into his arms. He knew how concussions could affect a person, how they could make you irritable and emotional out of nowhere. All he hoped was that a quiet moment would calm you down. He wasn't upset with you and your sudden attitude change; he knew how being hit with pucks felt and you hadn't been wearing the gear like he did. Not to mention you had been hit in the face.

"You're okay, baby. You just need to rest. I wasn't trying to order you around. And I'm sorry about the jersey thing."

Out of habit, you'd lay your head against him, but it would be those tender stitches that would make contact with his shoulder, causing you to pull back in pain.

"Ouch!" You hissed, fingers shielding the area.

"Careful, careful," he soothed, taking your face in his hands. When your hand fell away to your side, Quinn placed the most delicate kiss to your forehead, just above where your skin was split. His softness made your eyes close. You felt so touch starved all of a sudden, like you wanted to beg him for more. How had one kiss melted your sour mood away like that? You'd stand there like a statue, eyes still closed, feeling his warm hands cup your face.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, having expected a different reaction from you.

"No," you replied, opening your eyes to his face, "that just felt so nice."

Quinn would smile, relieved that you finally had one moment of comfort against everything else that had happened that night. He'd take all of your pain away from you if he knew how. If little angel kisses made you better, he'd take as much time as was needed to pepper ever inch of your skin with them.

"How about I get you ready for bed and make sure you get to sleep, hm?

"I can do it."

Quinn's thumbs caressed your cheeks, while he still remained holding your face, "Let me help you. I promise to be gentle."

Your eyes softened when you gave him an affirming nod. You hadn't wanted to bother him with anything after a game, but he was insisting and who were you to deny him wanting to do such sweet things for you?

"Come on, princess. Let's get this done so you can get some sleep."

His hands would fall from your face, to take one of yours and lead you down the hallway. Quinn's pace was slow and cautions even though there was nothing wrong with your ability to walk; he would never rush you a single step.

"I'm only going to turn on the vanity lights, okay? They shouldn't be as bright."

"Okay."

The Edison bulbs came to a glow over the mirror, casting a soft, golden hue to the bathroom. Your head felt plagued by the worst migraine you could remember, but you'd struggle through while Quinn did whatever he had in mind for you. He'd have you put your back to the counter and would lift you up, so you were sitting slightly above his eye level; your feet kicking gently as they dangled in front of the numerous drawers.

"What do I need to take your makeup off, baby?" He asked, hands resting on either side of your thighs.

"In the basket, under the sink, there is a pink package of wipes. Those are fine. The Micellar ones."

"Under the sink, okay," he said softly to himself, giving your leg a tap before looking under his sink for this particular basket, and sure enough, like you had said, he was able to find them. "Just one?"

"Mhm, just one," you said, hand out-stretched for the product but he wouldn't hand them over.

"No, sweetheart, I said I'd do this for you," he smiled, removing one of the large sheets. "Just tell me if I do something wrong."

His touch was so delicate as he worked around your eyes, paying special attention not to graze your stitches. The nurses had washed most of your face of blood and some makeup at the hospital, but you were happy to let Quinn finish the rest. He pressed the cloth to your eyelashes for a couple seconds before pulling away the difficult product from them. Had he been paying attention to you all this time? He seemed confident in his approach and you appreciated the caution he implied.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to do them right now," you told him, finally opening your eyes once he was done.

Quinn wondered if he had done something wrong to make you not want anything more from him, "Like what?"

"There's a whole routine, but I don't care enough right now. My head hurts," you said, frustrated, tossing the melting ice pack in the sink.

"Alright, sweetheart, it's whatever you want." He pressed forward for a kiss which you would give before Quinn would get you down off the counter. For some reason, each step you took felt like it rippled through your feet straight to your pounding skull. Thankfully his bed wasn't too far away now.

"I should have carried you," Quinn lamented, only after having you sit on the bed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. My legs work."

"I know they do, but anything to make things easier on you," he whispered, hands finding their place on your legs again. "Let's get you out of these clothes, okay?"

- - -

"I'll join you in a little bit. I'm going to put this in my backpack," he said, carefully folding the jersey. "But I've gotta get something to eat. I'm a little dizzy myself."

From the bed he had you carefully tucked into, you frowned hearing that he wasn't feeling to good himself. Now, you wanted to be the one to help him, but you knew there was no way that he was going to approve of you being out of bed, especially to wait on him.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" He asked you before fully leaving the room.

"I had something at noon."

"That's it?"

"Mhm, but I don't want anything. This headache kind of has me nauseous," you confessed, pulling the blankets up closer to your face.

You could faintly see him frown at your admission. "I can make you some tea. Would you like that?"

Smiling through the pain you'd nod, "Yes, please."

Unfortunately, you'd fall asleep before he could get back to you with the tea. He'd put it down on your nightstand and look at you for a moment. His lamp was still on so he could see you fully. You looked so delicate laying there aside from the deep bruising becoming more evident under your skin. He was so thankful you were okay, but vowed the next time you went to see him play, you'd be safely in a seat behind the net. He couldn't stand seeing you hurt like this again. Not if he could do anything about it.

[2demondogs]

Some HC abt what kind of texters RDR2 characters (you choose who) would be?

Would they be dry, dynamic, overly sensitive about Grammer, no Grammer at all??? I know this is kinda of silly. I hope you don't mind, lol

Omg no this is fun love it. I have a modern AU (IDK if I'll ever write anything for it bc I tried and felt silly) so I already have some ideas cooked up.

I accidentally wrote too many and had to restrain myself because it's 1:30am and I need to sleep.

Charles has autocorrect on and will not elaborate on typos. He texts in a tone that sounds like he wants you dead. He won't open a single link, song, etc. he is sent unless it's from Arthur or John because he dgaf otherwise.

Hosea uses speech to text not because he's old but because he cannot be bothered. Refuses audio messages. He has do not disturb on 24/7 and the only person on the exceptions list is Arthur. He has Dutch's number blocked. He'll respond instantly if it looks like you sent him gossip.

Sean texts every thought he has to whoever is online at the moment, gets into phases where he sends a thousand audio messages. He answers in 4 seconds flat, day or night. Lowercase and usually brainrot infested.

Dutch uses no punctuation unless it's an exclamation mark, which indicates he's yelling at you. He sends people recipes and news articles with no context. Uses capitals one day, lowercase the next. Will text you questions like "How was your relationship with your father?" at ten in the morning. At least he actually wants to know, I guess?

John uses :3 and >:3 as his only emoticons and texts in lowercase. But like, in the way where you get the feeling that at any moment the next message might be your full address. Answers in minutes unless someone's seeking emotional support, which he will ignore until he feels bad enough to answer.

Sadie also texts in all lowercase with old-school emoticons like :-) and :P, in a way where you suspect the next message might be your social security number. One time it was, but she was deadass telling the truth about guessing it on the first try. Insane aura.

Arthur doesn't reply for so long you genuinely have to search the local obits for his name. He has everyone except the one person not annoying him that week muted (usually Hosea). He hates using his phone unless it's watching reels. He texts while he drives. He types with one pointer finger.

Javier types fast but sends an audio message if he's really angry or happy. He will text on one platform while spamming reels or whatever on another. Oh and then once that four hours of constant texting is over, he doesn't respond again for four business days. Sometimes he doesn't even answer calls. Like dude... where the fuck are you?

Micah only sends audio messages. Especially to Dutch, who loves it and only sends audio messages back. The only actual text messages he's sent are extremely pointed songs he tells people reminded him of them and then when you listen to it it's clearly not a compliment. Only texts via number because his texts got him banned off most social media.

[rorasjournal]

Comfort in shadows | Azriel

lil short azriel fluff to start off my journey on tumblr hehe

pairing: azriel x reader

synopsis: y/n is stressed out about her responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can soothe her anxiety

word count: 819

warnings: none really, maybe some light man handling

~

The balls of my knuckles turn white as my grip on the terrace rails tighten while I stare out at the night swept view of velaris laid out in the distance, anxiety plaguing my mind. I've been trying to distract myself from all the thoughts gushing around for the past hour, but nothing has been working.

There's just too much going on right now, too much that I feel the need to deal with all on my own, and I'm fucking tired.

Whispering shadows cling to my skin, dancing along my body before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a familiar chest.

"It's cold out here," Azriel mutters, tucking his face into the crook of my neck and pressing a soft kiss there. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against his shoulder.

"I know."

"So why are you out here?"

When I don't reply, Azriel spins me around, sandwiching me between the rail and his body and forcing our gazes to meet. "What is it?"

I don't want to talk about any of it, especially not to Azriel. He's always so calm and collected, dealing with his responsibilities with so much grace and without complaint. I don't know how to be like that. "Nothing."

He lowers his face to mine, our noses brushing together and pulling the air from my lungs as he whispers, "I thought we were done with the lies."

"I'm not lying," I insist, ultimately webbing myself up in more deception regardless of the fact that Azriel clearly sees straight through me. He doesn't even need to use his shadows to figure me out.

A breath passes through his nose before he scoops me up, dangling me over his shoulder and walking inside while I yell out in detest.

"Put me down, asshole!"

"Gladly," he says, flipping me so my back hits the mattress of our bed. He's on top of me in a flash, his mouth attached to my neck as he sucks on my sensitive skin. My breathe hitches in my throat, a hand instinctively reaching to his head and threading my fingers through his dark hair. "What's going on?" he asks again, mumbling the words against my neck as he continues his work.

So that's what he's doing. Azriel is turning my mind to mush so he can get an admission out of me. Slick bastard.

Smart bastard though.

"I just—" I'm not sure if I'm struggling to get the words out because I don't want to say it out loud, or because his tongue is running up the base of my neck. "I'm stressed out, I don't know. Rhys wants me dealing with the Autumn Court and Beron is just such an asshole, I don't know how to handle all of this at once."

Pulling away, Azriel looks at me with furrowed brows. "Why was that so difficult for you to tell me?"

I turn my cheek against the mattress to avert my gaze, but Azriel grips my jaw, forcing me back.

What is with him and male-handling me today?

"Can you not see how it would be embarrassing admitting that I'm overwhelmed to the spymaster, the shadow singer who always keeps his head level, who always knows what's going on and how to deal with it?"

With a sigh, Azriel sits up, grabbing one of my hands to urge me up as well.

"I think you of all people should know that I've lost my cool a few number of times.”

“Yeah, a few," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "That's a few hundred less than me."

The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Y/n."

"Azriel."

That just makes his smile grow. "You know it's okay to ask for help, right?" he whispers, tenderly tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear as I lean away. "Especially from me."

"But that's my point, I shouldn't need to ask for help. I should be able to deal with this on my own like everyone else does."

"There's not one person in this court that hasn't needed assistance from the others at one point or another, and I'm pretty damn sure you should know that considering it's usually you that's doing the assisting." He chuckles. "You don't even realise you're doing it, do you."

I sigh, leaning over and resting my forehead on his chest as he drapes an arm across my shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"You're the strongest person I know, that's not going to change just because Beron is pulling your strings."

"I wish you didn't always sound so wise, it makes it hard for me to not listen to your advice."

His chest rumbles as he laughs quietly. He completely scoops me up into his arms, dragging me onto his lap as he whispers, "I will always be that reassuring voice in your ear."

[antimonyandthyme]

1k; teto/carlos

They don’t fight.

Well. They do, but they fight about things like, who ate the last tangerine, and who gets to drive today, and who left the towel on the floor, snapping and sore at each other for five minutes at most, and then going back to talking like nothing ever happened. So it’s a shock to the system when it’s this bad.

Unlucky race number fifty-something, he’s lost count. Outside and in his head it’s lashing rain. Teto says, “Don’t go out,” and Carlos says, “I’m going to go out.”

He goes out on his bike, and predictably crashes so badly he has to lay on the wet, cold ground for ten minutes to catch his breath and lament everything and everyone in a way he hasn’t done since he was a kid pushed off a track. Funny how he can keep his eyes wide open, staring up at the breaking sky. Then, because there’s nothing else to do, he picks himself up and limps back on shaky legs, an old, beaten dog taken out by something far larger and meaner than he is.

Teto gets one good look at his skinned knees, skinned shins, skinned palms, and starts yelling, purple-red in the face like all of Carlos’s wounds are a personal affront to him.

“Be nicer to me I’m bleeding,” Carlos grits out, when all he means is, Please don’t be angry at me.

They stomp off into separate rooms and it takes Carlos three tries to admit that bandaging his own palms when both palms are scraped is a task too colossal to surmount.

“He worries about you,” Gigi says.

Carlos must look too much like a kicked puppy now for Gigi to step in and help, when it was abundantly clear Gigi had been on Teto’s side since the start of this whole debacle. Heaviness set in his brow when Carlos had insisted on going out, as if a bike ride in a storm could fix anything worth fixing. Carlos worries them all, with his impulses and his tantrums and his body, too soft by half.  

“He’s bad at it,” Carlos says.

“He’s trying,” Gigi says tartly, pulling the bandage tight and making Carlos wince.

Unsurprising that Teto’s loyalty inspires loyalty in return. A shining knight in splendid armour, with the way he rides out so often to Carlos’s defense. Body always half-turned toward the rest of the world, angled to catch a stray bullet meant for Carlos. Flesh is flesh, and anything sharp passes through Teto to carve Carlos up anyway. That doesn’t stop Teto from trying.

“Maybe I don’t want him to be good at it,” Carlos says. “The worrying.”

Gigi gives him a look, like he’s a child. “Then go tell him that.”

He hates being the first one to apologize, because it’s something that’s been stamped out of him for a long time now. Carlos shifts from one foot to another outside of Teto’s room. What he hates worse is the idea that Teto will never speak to him again, even though he knows down to the marrow of his bones he’s being dramatic, that their return policies when it comes to each other have long elapsed.

When he knocks, Teto answers so violent and fast Carlos gets all warm thinking about it, Teto waiting behind that door for Carlos to come.

“All I know how to do is make trouble.”

“All I know how to do is bark,” Teto says. Carlos doesn’t remember a time in which they haven’t been able to meet each other in the eyes, and it’s a chest melting relief, knowing that hasn’t changed.  

“I don’t need anything else,” Carlos says.

“Good, because otherwise you’re shit out of luck.”

Teto reels Carlos in and kisses him, so familiar yet all-encompassing that Carlos begins to crumple. The steady hand on the back of Carlos’s neck holds him up, some supernatural force more powerful than gravity, giving him just enough strength to make it to the bed.

He hits the covers skinned knees first, and makes certain to emit the most pathetic moan of pain.

“Idiot,” Teto says affectionately, reaching down to arrange Carlos just how he likes him, on his back, loose and easy. Carlos makes grabby hands at him.

So that’s not entirely true. There was a time they couldn’t meet each other in the eye, when they were both more stupid and reckless and hungry with each other than they can bear to be now. The sex wasn’t good, and when you’re that age, all sex is supposed to be good. It didn’t make sense. But what actually frightened Carlos was how Teto looked down, looked past him, and Carlos couldn’t figure out what to do with himself when the endless horizon suddenly became a blackhole.

Teto’s mouth is on him, and Carlos is content to lie there and be kissed. It’s all they do nowadays, having gone past rough and too careful to reach this comfortable middle ground. Carlos knows better than to think in forevers, after everything that’s happened, but it’s possible he would like to kiss Teto for the rest of his life. And let himself be kissed by Teto for the rest of his life.

“Gigi bandage you up?”

Carlos nods. “Couldn’t do it myself.”

Teto hums, smug and satisfied. Carlos lets him have this one, leaving the scoreboard between them to continue collecting dust. He tilts his head, an invitation Teto doesn’t need, and Teto licks back into his mouth, hand tangling in Carlos’s hair. Messing it up to match the rest of him, skinned knees and all.

Bastard, Carlos thinks fondly, and tangles his own in Teto’s in return.

It’s hard to describe the taste of Teto, the unique, constant taste of Teto. If Carlos doesn’t know any better, he’d say it tastes of himself.

[morphean42]

And here it is! My personal timeline of the entirety of The Marvin Trilogy. I have more notes in my doc about particulars of Marvin’s life, but you’ll just have to read my fic to learn those… which… I will update soon. I swear. Don’t come at me.

@alebanana we were talking about timelines so I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, I’d love to see your ideas and compare!

If anyone has questions or comments please tell me I need to talk about this with people!!

Timeline below the cut

-June, 1941– Mother and Father graduate high school

-November, 1941– Mother and Father get married

-April, 1942– Father gets drafted and soon after sent away

-February 21st, 1943– Marvin is born

-December 8th, 1943– Trina is born

-July 1944– Father returns

-1945– Mendel is born

-1948– Charlotte is born

-October 27th, 1949– Whizzer is born

-1952– Cordelia is born

-Feburary 21st, 1957– Marvin turns 14 (How Marvin Eats His Breakfast, Marvin’s Giddy Seizures, The Rape of Miss Goldberg)

-November 4th, 1957– Marvin is cast as Columbus (My High School Sweetheart, Set Those Sails)

-March 17th, 1958– Marvin acts in the show (How America Got Its Name)

-May 20th, 1960– Sweetheart wants to have sex with Marvin (I Swear I Won’t Ever Again Pt. 2)

-June 14th, 1961– Marvin graduates high school (High School Ladies at Five O’Clock)

-February 3rd, 1965– Marvin and Trina meet (Love Me For What I Am)

-March 29th, 1965– Marvin and Trina begin to date

-June 14th, 1965– Marvin graduates college with a bachelors in history or some shit

-June 14th, 1966– Trina graduates college with bachelors in teaching

-February 14th, 1968– Jason is conceived (Nausea Before The Game)

-April 25th, 1968– Marvin and Trina learn she’s pregnant and Marvin proposes (My Chance To Survive The Night)

-July 8th, 1968– Marvin and Trina get married (I Am Wearing A Hat, Wedding Song, 3 Seconds, Wedding Song Pt. 2, How The Body Falls Apart)

-October 16th, 1968– Jason is born

-June 24th, 1970– Jason is a fitful sleeper like his father (I Can’t Sleep, Helluva Day)

-December 20th, 1974– Marvin thinks about his family while with Mendel (I Swear Won’t Ever Again Pt. One)

-November 3rd, 1976– Marvin sees Mendel and reveals the truth (I Have A Family)

-November 3rd, 1976– After therapy, Marvin walks in front of a gay bar and debates going inside. Whizzer sees him and brings him home (Marvin’s Giddy Seizure Pt. Two, I Swear I Won’t Ever Again Pt. Three, Marvin Takes A Victory Shower)

-August 7th, 1977– Marvin is off sleeping with some rando (Your Lips and Me)

-November 5th, 1978– Marvin and Whizzer sleep together again after accidentally getting family photos from him (I Feel Him Slipping Away)

-December 8th, 1978– Marvin and Whizzer ‘get together’. Marvin views their relationship from their first encounter, Whizzer from here, creating the nine/ten month thing (Whizzer Going Down, Another Sleepless Night)

-July 6-7th, 1979– Whizzer and Marvin have sex and Trina comes home, Marvin comes up with the excuse of Whizzer staying over for Shabbat. The whole gang goes to shul, then go back home for dinner sans Mendel (Four Jews In A Room Bitching)

-July 7th, 1979– Trina catches Marvin and Whizzer, (Goodnight No Hard Feelings, A Breakfast Over Sugar, Packin’ Up, Been A Helluva Day)

-????????— In Trousers The Dream

-August 26th, 1979– First dinner together after the separation (A Tight-Knit Family)

-August 31st, 1979– Trina starts seeing Mendel (Love is Blind)

-September 3rd, 1979– Marvin and Whizzer are living together in a new apartment, not the one Marvin stayed with Whizzer in when he first left Trina (Thrill of First Love)

-September 13th- 27th, 1979– Marvin sees Mendel (Marvin At The Psychiatrist)

-October 7th, 1979– Jason being Jason during family dinner, which Whizzer is supposed to be making at the Whizzvin apartment. Trina and Jason go over (Jason brings chess obviously) and Marvin meets them there after work. Whizzer hasn’t made dinner, Trina and Jason go home, Marvin yells at Whizzer for not being home (My Father’s a Homo, Everyone Tells Jason To See A Psychiatrist, This Had Better Come To A Stop)

-October 8th, 1979– Trina and Marvin both go in to Mendel early, Whizzer is in the waiting room (This Had Better Come To A Stop)

-October 9th 1979– Trina cooking dinner for Jason and herself (I’m Breaking Down, Please Come To My House)

-October 15th - November 19th, 1979– Jason’s therapy sessions with Mendel (Jason’s Therapy)

-November 25th, 1979– Mendel has joined family dinners before now, Marvin and Whizzer arrive to eat, they see Mendel propose to Trina (A Marriage Proposal)

-November 25th, 1979– After Mendel leaves that night, Trina ponders a lot on what saying yes would mean (Trina’s Song, March of the Falsettos, Trina’s Song Reprise)

-November 29th, 1979– Marvin goes to Mendel for the final therapy session (A Tight-Knit Family Reprise)

-Buy a dog in here somewhere

-December 14th, 1979– Marvin and Whizzer just had a nice anniversary, then they break up (The Chess Game)

-December 14th, 1979– Whizzer packs up his suitcase and gets a call from Jason– no one has picked him up from school. Whizzer gets him and brings him to Trina and Mendel’s new house which they are currently moving into (Making A Home (first night of Chanukah), The Games I Play)

-December 14th, 1979– Marvin comes home from wherever he went and finds the wedding invitation, he goes to Mendel’s house and blows a fuse (Marvin Hits Trina, I Never Wanted To Love You)

-December 14th, 1979– Father son bonding (Father to Son)

-May 27th (at eight), 1980– Mendel and Trina get married

-March 10th, 1981– Mendel and family yapping because he can (Falsettoland)

-March 19th, 1981– Sunday night, Trina coming to pick Jason up, then everyone starts arguing about the bar mitzvah… as always (Year of the Child)

-April 4th, 1981– Jason’s first baseball game (Miracle of Judaism, The Baseball Game)

-April 14th, 1981– Whole cast doing their things (A Day In Falsettoland)

-April 26th, 1981– Whizzer hasn’t moved in with Marvin yet, but they’re much happier this time around. Of course, everyone is still fighting about the bar mitzvah (Round Tables, Square Tables, Everyone Hates His Parents)

-June 11th, 1981– Whizzer has long since moved in with Marvin, and they are literally sleeping together (What More Can I Say)

-July 5th, 1981– Charlotte reads the CDC and New York Times articles published on July 3rd (Something Bad Is Happening)

-August 24th, 1981– Whizzer and Marvin play racquetball before going to pick up Jason. They never get to Trina’s to pick up Jason (More Racquetball)

-August 24th, 1981– Trina goes to the hospital (Holding To The Ground)

-September 28th, 1981– Everyone comes to visit Whizzer, who is getting worse. They lie to him (Days Like This)

-September 28th, 1981– Jason talks to his mom (Cancelling the Bar Mitzvah)

-September 29th, 1981– In the hospital (Unlikely Lovers)

-October 6th, 1981– In the hospital, Jason is visiting Whizzer while Marvin talks to Charlotte. Neither of them admit they heard the other (Another Miracle of Judaism, Something Bad is Happening Reprise)

-October 16th, 1981– Whizzer knows he can’t keep holding on (You Gotta Die Sometime)

-October 16-17th, 1981– Jason turns 13 and Whizzer dies (Jason’s bar mitzvah, What Would I Do)

-October 18-25th, 1981– Shiva (Falsettoland reprise)

-ALTERNATIVELY October 20th, 1982– Grave unveiling, Marvin is noticeably sicker (Falsettoland reprise)

-December 28th 1983– Marvin dies at 3:09 in the afternoon

[simonisferal]

BED CHEM! (1)

chapter one: the over-dick-around thing

“i swear another bug just went under my sock.” hu tao grumbles as she bends over and reaches to her legs, pulling up her thin white socks. they were already dirty due to the mud and leaves that had stuck themselves to her while walking on the plain’s trail.

xiangling, although having the same problem, laughs. ”sucks to suck.” she retorts right before tripping on a twig, stumbling and almost knocking the random flowers xiao was picking out with his hands. both you and hu tao clasp your hands over your mouths to stop your guaranteed laughter.

he stops abruptly and frowned, looking back. ”hey, quit it before i start beating you three with a stick.”

your jaw drops. with outreached arms, you yell, ”what did i do?!”

xiao, with a small smile on his face, looks back at his flowers. “you’re an idiot.” he tied them with a small blade of grass and places them in his coat pocket. “you’re also not following the dress code. it’s casual, not the Met Gala.”

both hu tao and xiangling looked at you. you were dressed for an interview—which you had later—rather than a hangout. “i’m not gonna have time to go home and change, dude.”

”not my problem. you’re still an idiot.” he shrugs. he and the other two girls continue trenching through the vines and forest’s path, ignoring your face of disbelief.

you growl and mutter underneath your breath, slowly following them. “end yourself.”

- ☆

the plains were a beautiful color of blue and white; the glaze lilies still had dew from the early morning and shone through the tall blades of orange. the mountains were rigid and the invisible snow above the summit made the noonish atmosphere angelic. the wooden bridge that led you to the plains was a bit… terrifying to say the least.

“‘tao..!” your hands were latched to the bridge’s roped rail and your knees buckled underneath you. “i swear on everything i love, if you don’t stop rocking this bitch back and forth, i will throw you off the bridge like in Squid Game!” xiangling and xiao, alongside zhongli who was waiting for a while, were already on the other side of the bridge.

hu tao had her hands on the railing, rocking the bridge’s deck with her feet in an unsteady momentum. the brown haired girl had a mischievous grin on her face as she taunted. “come and get me then!” she chimed and you groaned.

finally, someone sighed. “stop it, hu tao.”

xiao—your lord and savior!

like a switch being flipped, hu tao stopped her psychological assault on you with her frown present like a sad dog’s ears pressed down. her hands undid themselves on the rope and she pouted, “aw man.” she turned to walk away and you let out a sigh of relief.

‘thank god…’

you took slow steps on the bridge. you made sure to maintain eye contact with the girl, observing her and making sure she wouldn’t suddenly go back on the bridge and start toying with you again. she would’ve if zhongli didn’t have a killer grip on her shoulder; sometimes you forget he’s almost twice your age and somehow retired. weird.

xiangling patted your back when you took a step on the grass rather than the wooden deck. “yo, you didn’t die! glassmaker who?” she joked. you would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t beating so fast.

zhongli let go of hu tao, a simple smile on his face, before turning around and beginning to walk away—probably to the location of the picnic. hu tao eyed him, still, before following him with a skip every now and then. xiangling soon left after and xiao and you treaded on their heels, silent.

“so,” xiao starts. he was fiddling with his hands in his left pant pocket, a habit he has when he’s thinking of something personal. “are you serious about that job?” he sounded authoritative but in reality, he was probably just concerned.

you hum. “yeah!” continuing to walk by him, away from the others (even though they’re like… three meters away from you) and just surrounded by nature, it felt nice. “i need something in my schedule; it’s sad waking up and just seeing nothing on the paper but birthdays.”

“you could just freeload off of me, you know.” he emphasized the ‘could’, like if you could reject him for decades and he’d still let you with a simple ‘please’. both of his hands sink further into his pockets. xiao had a frown plastered on his lips, a thin line that tilted down. “i can…” he shrugs, looking away and a faint color on his ears, “support the both of us.”

you look at him.

huh?

“i’m trying to pay you back too, you know.” you frown.

you definitely didn’t say what he’d think you would—xiao didn’t even think you’d respond. maybe you said the wrong thing because he deflated a bit.

”…great. thanks.”

- ☆

it was already 4:05p.m. when zhongli called it a day, wanting to relax at home with his bearded dragon; xiangling needed xiao to drive her back to work and hu tao… had ‘hu-tao’ things to do.

you five skipped the bridge going back and away from the plains, concerned that a silly prankster would spark up a new (or reoccurring) trick and make someone late. the path was clear but rocky and someone tripped on a pebble every now and then.

you and xaingling played soccer with a blob-looking rock before something dawned on you.

”hey,” you called out to xiao who was on his phone. “what time is it?”

he looks back at you, then his phone, then back at you. “4:07.”

ah shit. you pause in your tracks, your feet ignoring the pass xaingling gave you with the makeshift soccer-rock. you did the math in your head; ‘the bus comes at 4:10, which means you’d have to be at the stop in less than three minutes—you can make it in 136 seconds if you run…’

”it’s 4:08 now.”

yeah, you’re cooked.

- 𓆟

childe, for a moment, almost wanted to go to work. he had a weird sense of exhilaration thinking about it. maybe keqing finally refilled the cereal bar!

he paused, in the middle of the shreet, his finger on his chin as he continued to think. maybe shenhe had put a curse on him. seems more likely.

actually—now that tartaglia thinks about it, ganyu told him that a new model was coming soon.

huh. weird.

he feels… funny.

You're broke. Like really broke. So what better way to earn money at the only place that accepted you in all of Liyue? The interview can't be that bad, even if you bump into some guy on your way there. A modelling agency shouldn't be too hard with your looks. The pay's good and the other staff are lovely (and attractive)--only one teensy, tiny, little problem. So is your manager, Tartaglia.

taglist: @trulyylee, @wateredfay, @sl-vega, @035814, @certaindreampost, @pwushizz, @wraithisd3adinside, @lulumallow, @keikole, @boxdisappeared, @thegalaxyisunfolding, @bunnychiffon

i was trying to make y/n lowkey…. extra! i think i did it idk

the bridge scene is like the one in shrek 😣 hu tao and y/n play around like children but they’re always cool with each other at the end

the hangout wasn’t that important…. so i skipped over it. uhm.

childe lore coming soon 😍

masterlist / prev / next

[bbearthyy]

B!TCH IM A MOTHER

Yah i’m back with another TWD blurb. this has plot at least. sorta. anyways no TW cause i don’t think it’s necessary but if anyone finds something i might need to put a warning for lemme know. this is first person POV tho. it was kinda hard to write in an x reader format.

{•_•}

am i a mother? absolutely i am. have i given birth to any children? well…no.

i’m not even completely sure when it started.

maybe it was at the farm. when i was fussing at daryl about taking care of himself and accepting help.

“dammit daryl when are you going to accept the fact that we care about you?! i get it, okay? seriously i do. better than anyone. it’s hard to accept love when you’ve never felt it before. but i, along with the rest of the group, don’t want you on your own anymore. please, just let us help you.” daryl just stared at me silently for a while, trying desperately to ignore the tears in his eyes. i couldn’t tell if the tears were from my words or because i yelled at him, in front of the entire group no less. but he didn’t take too long to respond. a mumbled “yes, mama,” fell from his lips, before he was walking to his separate camp to bring his belongings inside with the rest of us.

or maybe it was after the fact, when we were on the road after the barn fell.

when we had found a small river and the women were cleaning ourselves and i insisted the men let me fix their hair. glenn laughed with a mumbled, “sorry, mom,” when he splashed me with the water. i gave him a harsh flick on the back of his ear, “don’t do it again, glenn.”

or maybe it was before all of that, when we had first formed our group.

“merle dixon if you scare these children like that again i swear i’ll beat you black and blue!” the redneck knew better than to bother the children, yet he’d snuck up on them today, jumping out from behind a tree and roaring at them. he just chuckled at my comment, as if he couldn’t take me seriously. “what are you, my mother?” but his laughter quickly faded when he saw the look on my face, ducking his head and walking away silently.

anyways, whenever it began, i didn’t really mind it. the word didn’t hold any serious meaning behind it, simply used in a joking manner. until it was serious. until we were in the prison and carl came running into my cell crying every time he had a nightmare, when he would sob so hard he couldn’t breathe and i’d just shush him and hold him, rocking gently side to side. when he started mumbling “goodnight mama” or “love you mama” or “sweet dreams mama” before falling unconscious. when he’d say, “thanks mom,” when i brushed his hair every morning or when i helped him with words he didn’t know while reading or consoled him after an argument with his dad.

when i’d clean daryl’s injuries every time he got hurt on a run. and in the quiet solitude of my cell he’d let a couple silent tears fall from how gently i took care of him. and when i’d kiss his forehead and send him on his way after, he’d wipe his tears and whisper a barely audible, “thanks ma,” on his way out.

and when the people of woodbury joined the prison and carl was given the job of introducing everyone to our group. and not a single soul could remember my name, but they knew that i was mom or mama or whatever mother figure they needed me to be.

and when nights got too quiet and rick couldn’t handle the weight of the world on his shoulders, and i’d walk into his cell and he’d fall to his knees in front of me. he’d press his face into my stomach while he cried, and i’d run my fingers through his hair and whisper soft reassurances. and through his tears he’d cry, “i just can’t do it mama, it’s too much.” and i’d rock him too, and praise him gently, the same soft way i cared for his son.

and when the prison fell and the group met back together at terminus. and i was in a train cart with people i knew and people i didn’t. and when the introductions came to an end and all heads turned to me. and i was quiet for a moment until carl pointed and said “that’s mama. everyone calls her that. don’t ask her name ‘cause she’ll tell you a fake one since um b’cause she doesn’t know you.” and those that did know me nodded in agreement.

and maybe i did care, maybe the weight of the word pressed heavy on my chest because i knew i couldn’t have children of my own. but i had plenty of people to care for anyways. i had my own family. and i was a mama. whether they were mine or not.

[letgomaggie]

okay here’s the thing. that’s standing out very loudly to me in the OS2 x BBS x ATOTS episodes. So we remember the happy face-sad face decor that Pran’s dorm was infused with? And the meta analysis that it all been about choice, about choosing happiness, about choosing joy for yourself, about learning to look at things in a new way (through each other’s eyes and therefore GROWING) right? Happiness and sadness are two sides of the same face! They co-exist! But you can choose -- you can choose to see the happy in the small things, you can choose to let yourself feel the joy you do feel. It’s in how Pran takes those sticky notes out and LOOKS and thinks and then chooses, purposefully, to place it happy side up. It’s in how Pran came out and chose to change his door knob card to the happy side. 

RIGHT OKAY SO. In Pat and Pran’s shared home, we see so much of natural light (like literal natural light filtering in and brightening up the space when their dorms were naturally dark and again, light was a choice aka artificial light) and we see framed pictures of them together (previously their dorms had very few pictures and we see the shared pictures come in as cork board collages or set up on string aka temporary. framed pictures are permanent, THERE). What else do we see? When Pat goes to open the door for Pa and Ink, the back of the door that faces the house, the home, has only smiley faces on it. Multiple, and permanent (i think one of them is screwed in if i’m not mistaken). 

The smiley faces are for them, and only them. Behind closed doors, they are happy. They are naturally happy. They made the repeated choice to choose happiness and now they’re sticking with it. They’re now happy by default. It started with choices, but happiness comes naturally to them now. 

(It’s also about opening their home up to people, because the happiness is private and it for the inside of their home. Only if you enter the house will the door shut behind you, and then you will become part of the happiness. And only their most trusted seem to have such access to their home - Ink, Pa, Wai. (I’m guessing Korn as well, even though we don’t see him inside their home.) They are choosing to share their happiness as well!) 

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[aliusfrater]

related to nick's post. you can't even make this stuff up

[elephantlovemedleys]

absolutely stilll losing my damn mind

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[quatregats]

I did kind of enjoy the first chapter of Parkinson's Hornblower "biography" because it offered some things that I had either been wondering about or which I thought were delightful little headcanons, but I have to say that since then it has just been making me hate Hornblower an unbelievable amount and/or occasionally go he would not fucking say that

[solar-halos]

i really wanna write a fic where finnick gets so overwhelmed with everything in the capitol and annie is being really insistent on helping him through it after he gets home but since she doesn’t fully understand it on a personal level she just ends up overwhelming him even more and he just snaps at her. like that sounds interesting to me cos in canon they’re just depicted being so lovey dovey and it would be cool to deviate from that without taking away how intensely they do love each other but at the same time. i cannot write it. it always ends in annie lashing out at him even harder and i just don’t think that would really work for them i really think that might just be a deal breaker idk