#i spaced out for 3 hours and then THIS happened whoops

[roo-was-here-art]

I'll just leave this one up to viewer interpretation

[darylssunshine]

daryl x reader

“whoa hey, you’re bleeding.” reader maybe not realizing it until she looks down. falling into his arms and daryl callin for help. whump whump whumppp . set at the prison ?

Family

word count: 1.1k

a/n: finally getting into the swing of things with requests. hope you enjoy anon <3

~~~

The sounds of people yelling and the banging of chain link fences echoed throughout the prison courtyard. You jabbed your knife through yet another walker, grunting as you pushed it through its thick skull. You, along with everyone else in your small group, including Carl, had been at this for at least an hour now, but it was necessary to keep the prison safe. Still, the constant stabbing motion had your upper arm aching. Probably acid and bile rising up from your stomach, too.

“I got the last one!” Glenn called out from the middle of the formation, sticking his knife right in the middle of the walker’s eye. Audible sighs of relief could be heard from the group, along with a victory ‘whoop’ from Carl. Standing right beside you, Daryl was flicking the excess undead blood from his knife and his hands, wiping the rest on his pants. He shaked a stray hair out of his eye then wiped a hand down his face, sighing and sheathing his now blood-free knife. 

“Jesus. Glad that’s over. Can’t wait to do that again tomorrow.” He scoffed, leaning against the fence and stretching his overused right arm.

“I know, right? My arm is killing me. Gonna have to… ” You trailed off, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. You leaned your arm against the fence for support and lowered your head, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Daryl stopped leaning against the fence and took a cautious step forward towards you. “Hey, you okay?” 

You immediately snapped your gaze back up to the archer, desperately trying to seem like you had your shit together. “Yep. Yeah. I’m okay.” You placed your free hand on your hip to simulate normality. That’s when Daryl looked you up and down and his eyes suddenly went wide.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, hey! Yer bleedin’!!” He quickly stepped toward you, glancing down sporadically. 

You placed your hand on your stomach, discovering the right side was wet and sticky. It was, in fact, blood.

“Fuckin’ damn it.” You mumble, before going limp and falling into Daryl’s arms, him catching you by the armpits. 

His heart immediately started racing when he caught you and layed you carefully on the dying grass. The few that surrounded you stepped back to give you some space. He instantly got on his knees and inspected your injuries, praying to whatever deity was listening that you hadn’t gotten bit. After a string of mumbled expletives, he shouted, “I need some fuckin’ help over here!” To no one in particular, his frantic eyes never leaving your closed ones.

What he didn’t see happening behind him was Rick rushing to get Hershel, while Maggie and Glenn hurriedly grabbing a makeshift stretcher and bringing it to wear you laid. He quickly got to his feet and helped you onto the stretcher. He was by your side the entire time and throughout all of the noise and chaos, you could swear you could hear Daryl whispering, “They’re gonna be fine. They’re gonna be fine.”

—

You groggily opened your eyes and instantly felt a stinging on your right side. The events of the past hour flooded back, and you wince. You cautiously felt the area, and thankfully you felt a clean bandage.

Judging by the beige ceiling and the firm yet surprisingly comfortable mattress you were on, you had been placed in Hershel’s room. You slowly moved your head to the side, expecting to be met with an equally beige wallpaper, but to your surprise, you were met with a sleeping, hot headed, brunette, redneck.

He was spread out in a chair he had brought from the dining room. His head was lolled towards you, his hair in his eyes and snoring quite loud. You smiled, heart slightly skipping a beat at the thought of him not wanting to leave your side.

“Hey.” You rasped, cringing at your own voice. 

Daryl, being a naturally light sleeper, immediately blinked awake. It took a second for the fog of sleep to leave his brain, but it left fast when he realized that you were awake. That you were alive.

“Holy fuck. (Y/N.) Hey. How’re ya feelin’?” He rambled, scooting the chair closer to the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

“Like shit. But I’ll be fine.” You sighed in response. 

“Good.” Daryl said softly, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Hershel said you probably got scratched by a walker. That true?”

You averted his gaze from his and started picking your fingernails, a nervous habit you’ve had since you were a child. “It happened while we were dealing with that hoard. I didn’t wanna make a scene.” 

You heard him sigh deeply and didn’t speak for a moment. You turned your head back towards him, and he had his head in his hand, almost willing himself to speak. He looked up and his eyes looked redder and puffier than they were before. “Why th’ fuck would ya do tha’?”

You slowly sat up in a somewhat sitting position to better look him in the eyes. “We all have to protect this place, Daryl! This family! It’s something that most don’t have these days.”

“We coulda had one less person in th’ family if you’d told me about tha’ any later.” He motioned to your wound with a nod of his head.

“You guys can function without m-” You were cut off from your half-joking comment.

“I can’t, ‘kay?! I can’t. So shuddup. Don’t say tha’.” He suddenly raised his voice a little, making you shut your lips and look at him with your full attention.

“Look. I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt. I care about ya. Always have.” He gazed into your eyes with such a fondness you could’ve started crying right then and there. And you would’ve, if he didn’t look away from you in sudden embarrassment. “Yer the only one who keeps me sane ‘round here.”

You sniffed, chuckling to cover up the tightness growing in the back of your throat. “That why you stayed and kept me up with your snoring?”

“Shuddup.” He repeated, sounding exasperated, but you didn’t miss the slight smile on his face.

He then stood up, flexed his probably sore neck, and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. More heat blossomed onto your cheek at the sudden contact.

“Gonna go get Hershel now that yer awake.” He said softly before walking towards the door.

“Can you bring me dinner after pleeeeease?” You asked, your hands in a prayer motion and your eyelashes batting.

He turned around in the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

“Sure. ‘S a date.” He drawled, winked, then walked away like nothing happened.

Maybe you should have thanked that walker before you stabbed him.

[smittywing]

WIP Wednesday: Marriage 101 (Part 3)

It's been a DAY on my side, so enjoy some fic.

Earlier parts here: | 1 | 2 |

From last time...

“Okay, yeah,” Jason conceded. “I guess I’ll have to stop by for my mail now and then.”

“You’d better,” Tim told him. “If Gotham U sends you a ginormous envelope, you have exactly one hour to get over here and open it or I’m doing it for you.”

Jason dropped his head back and laughed. If Tim watched the ripple of his throat, well, he was married to the man. “Fair,” he allowed with a grin. “So, uh, see you around, I guess?”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “See you around.”

And that was that. 

$

Tim didn't tell anyone. He was aware that Jason had some kind of conversation with Alfred that resulted in a hell of a lot of side-eye, but no commentary. 

Patrol happened. School happened. The occasional global crisis happened. Tim saw Jason maybe three times. 

Then, the envelope came. 

ONE HOUR, he texted. 

Jason showed up on his motorcycle, in his civvies, in fourteen minutes. 

“Where were you?” Tim asked as Jason took the envelope out of his hands and tore the flap. 

“Close,” Jason answered and yanked out a sheaf of paper. “Holy shit.”

“You're in,” Tim said, so confident that it didn't need to be a question. 

“I’m in,” Jason breathed. 

“Yeah!” Tim grabbed Jason’s shoulders and shook him hard. “You’re in!”

“I'm in!” Jason whooped. He wrapped Tim in a bear hug that might have cracked a rib of a less sturdy person. It tipped him off his feet and he let Jason whip him around in a half circle before releasing him. “Wow.” Jason said, straightening awkwardly. He ran a hand through the front of his hair and then settled both hands on his hips. “I wasn’t sure this was actually going to work,” he admitted.

“I was,” Tim said confidently. “Want to see your room?”

“I have a room?” Jason asked, his eyes meeting Tim’s. “Of my very own?”

“Yeah, we’re that modern kind of married where we each have our own space,” Tim joked. “C’mon.” He led Jason upstairs to the third floor where four bedrooms filled the corners of the narrow townhouse.

It was the second best bedroom in the place, with an en suite bathroom and a pair of windows that led to a fire escape. The walls were painted a warm white but it was neither as big nor as elegant as one of Bruce’s penthouse rooms would have been. The king-sized bed had a blue comforter and the dresser and nightstands were cherry wood.

“The closet has a false back for your suits and the wifi password is on the desk,” he said. There was a laptop on the desk, too, a low-end Wayne Tech one appropriate for a college student with a pre-loaded search history and secure messaging platforms hidden in a second operating system.

“Pretty sweet base,” Jason commented. “This mine?” he asked, tapping the computer.

“Already loaded with everything college student Jason Peterson could need,” Tim told him, “and a few extras.”

“Nice. Mind if I leave a few books up here?”

“What, no, you can leave yourself if you want,” Tim said. “I’m all by myself here and you’re supposed to be my husband, so you know, move in already.”

“Yeah, but.” Jason looked thoughtful. “It’s nice and close to campus. You don’t mind a roommate? For real?”

“For real,” Tim swore. “I mean, also it would look weird if you didn’t have some stuff here, right?”

“Right,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll bring some stuff ‘round. So does this place have a kitchen?”

$

Since he wasn’t living on campus, Tim hadn’t planned to attend any of the freshman orientation events. This wasn’t high school. His plan was to get in, ace his classes, score his degree, and move on to Wayne Enterprises full-time. 

He had not accounted for Jason’s plan.

“The English department is having a sundae party,” Jason said, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. It was a good lean, the kind that made his shoulders look extra big and his waist look extra narrow. “Come with me in case I don’t know anyone.”

“Of course you don’t know anyone,” Tim said, looking up from his case file. “It’s freshman orientation. The whole point is to meet people you don’t know.”

“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of wingman?” Jason asked. “C’mon. It’s ice cream. And toppings. You’re not going to get a better offer today.”

Jason had a point.

$

Banana Karenina. James and the Giant Peaches & Cream. One Flew Over the Coco’s Nut.

“They don’t have neapolitan,” Jason complained, studying the long table of thematic flavors. 

“No one could come up with a good pun,” said one of the grad students standing behind the table with a scoop. “Skor and Peace?”

Jason shook his head. “I’ll go with the Crazy Rum Raisin,” he decided.

Tim edged down the table looking for something…else. He wasn’t sure what but he was staying far away from the Grape Gatsby float, which was vanilla ice cream floating in a vat of grape soda. He paused in front of something called, The Coffet.

“Is this coffee?” he asked. 

“What book is that?” Jason asked, leaning up behind him.

“The Prophet!” the grad student said, already scooping out a serving for Tim. “By Khalil Gibran! Get it!?”

Tim did not get it.

But he did want coffee ice cream. 

“That’s a stretch, my dude,” Jason said, but Tim was already making off with his cup to top it with hot fudge.

With Tim as his wingman (or emotional support sidekick, Tim figured), Jason met some of the grad students and talked about the different classes they were assisting. Tim ate his ice cream and nodded at appropriate points. He was a tiny bit antsy about the reading he had to do for the first day of classes but he was a fast reader and watching Jason talk about the female authors in the 1800s was pretty amazing. After his dish of The Coff-et, he got a scoop of something called Parable of the (Elder)Flower and sprawled under a tree next to Jason who had withdrawn to try Banana Karenina.

“I’m surprised you wanted to come to this stuff,” Tim admitted. “I thought you would find it…” Tim considered the right word. “Frivolous.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Jason agreed. He tilted his head to the side and ate a spoonful of ice cream. “But it’s nice, pretending I’m a real boy sometimes, you know?”

Tim snuck a peek over at Jason’s face. Jason was smiling a little and he looked young and - 

Jason was only two years older than Tim. It was easy to forget that sometimes when he was acting like an edgelord hatched from a Lazarus Pit. Tim had been a precocious kid, but he’d been a kid, with school and chores, and hobbies, even if those hobbies had included stalking Batman and Robin. Jason’s hobbies had included stealing tires so he could eat and dying at the hands of the Joker.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “It is.”

$

“You have actual food in your refrigerator,” Stephanie accused. 

“Ooh,” Tim said, abandoning the radio receiver he was dismantling and going to peer over her shoulder. “Anything good?”

“Somehow it makes me feel better that you don’t even know what kind of food you have,” Steph said. “I think those are deviled eggs?” 

“Oh, yeah, get them, and some of the spinach dip,” Tim advised. 

“There’s spinach dip? With actual spinach?”

“There’s chips on the top of the fridge.” Tim pried a transistor loose and said, “I told you Jason was staying here, right? For school?”

“Yeah, for school, and for cooking you amazing shit,” Steph said. “Speaking of, did you get your schedule?”

“Got it this morning,” Tim said, sliding a whole deviled egg into his mouth and meeting Steph’s fist-bump.

By “this morning” he meant the early hours of the previous day, hacking into the registrar’s office and rearranging his classes into a more ideal schedule as he munched on some post-patrol cereal and ran an upgrade on his phone. For the most part, he had received the engineering classes he had selected earlier in the summer, skipping over the courses he had taken while he was in high school. However, Gotham U had freshman requirements and one of them was an English class. Technically, Tim had tested out of that but it occurred to him that Jason would not have tested out of anything. So, he had hacked into Jason Peterson’s registration and committed to memory the course and section numbers of the two literature classes Jason had picked. One of them fit nicely in his schedule. It would be good to have a class with Jason. 

For…reasons.

$

Reasons he couldn’t necessarily remember when he slid into that particular class thirty seconds before the bell.  Jason was sitting in the front row, dwarfing the kids sitting around him, and holding court on the works of Jane Austen.

“Tim!” he waved. Tim made it a policy never to sit in the front row because it was too obvious when he inevitably had to skip out of class for crime fighting, but he slipped into a seat in the row behind Jason, which worked out because Jason was sitting sideways in his seat. “Guys, this is my husband, Tim,” he told the others.

Tim widened his eyes at Jason. He hadn’t expected they’d be introducing themselves as a married couple to the other students. Or to the professors. Jason widened his eyes in response and then *winked* at Tim. 

“This is Greg, Daniel, and Rebecca,” he introduced his - Jason had *friends* already? “They’re in my Classical Lit class that met yesterday. Greg, Daniel, and Rebecca murmured hellos to Tim, who murmured something back but was saved from further socialization by the arrival of the professor. 

She was a tall woman with pale hair swept back in a French twist and pince nez glasses perched on her nose, who introduced herself as Professor Worthington. She seemed a little formal compared to professors in Tim’s advanced engineering class, but Tim assumed riding herd on a required freshman English course did that to a person.

“When I call your name,” she instructed, “answer with your hometown and your favorite author.”

What. Tim didn’t have a favorite author. At least he didn’t think he did. He tried to remember reading for fun but that was something that happened pre-Robin. Next, he scanned back for required school reading and what was the least tedious to read. 

“Timothy Drake?”

“Uh. I’m from Gotham and uh, my favorite author is - “  Crap on a stick. “Sun Tzu?”

“Interesting choice,” Professor Worthington said skeptically. She squinted through her glasses at Tim for a moment. “Are you a chess player, Mr. Drake?”

“When I have time,” he said. He so rarely did have time, but yes, he saw the connection. He let out the breath he’d been holding as quietly as possible. Sun Tzu was a good choice. He’d only written one book, it was short, and Tim had read it. 

Professor Worthington nodded and moved on. There were about a hundred and twenty students in the class so it took her a while to get to Jason. Long enough for about a dozen Austens, a few Orwells, some Bronte’s, a handful of Vonneguts, and one Stephen King, which earned that student a general snicker.

“The best novels are those we can engage with,” Professor Worthington said mildly in his defense.  “Jason Peterson.”

“Gotham born and bred,” Jason said. “And Mary Oliver.”

“Mary Oliver,” Professor Worthington said thoughtfully. “The Night Traveler?”

“Wild Geese,” Jason countered.

Tim, who had never heard of Mary Oliver, tried to Google her work on his laptop without moving his hands very much. He had seen Jason read Austen and Bronte, was she in that era?

“‘You do not have to be good,” Jason said and wow this was poetry. His voice was deep and mellow and curled around the words in a way Tim had never heard. “You do not have to walk on your knees; for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body; love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile, the world goes on.’”

“And you’re Mr. Drake’s husband,” Professor Worthington said dryly. “Interesting pairing, you two.”’

She moved on but Tim felt the words of the poem, in Jason’s voice, jammed up in his head.  He kicked the back of Jason’s chair and mouthed, “That was great,” when Jason turned around.

Jason flushed across the bridge of his nose and the highest part of his cheeks, summer freckles popping into view. “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” he hissed in return.

Tim shook his head no. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. This was too perfect, too precious, to share.

$

[souperbloom]

deffo need some subtle sub!luke in my life - maybe y/n and the guys are all talking about sex lives & one of them slips out that luke once mentioned wanting y/n to be in control because it was usually the other way round, so later on they give it a go!

nothing too extreme, just y/n making decisions, praising luke & being on top etc

you don’t even want to know the sound that came out if my mouth when i got this notification.

(if u requested this reveal yourself.) (im joking.) (maybe.)

enjoy <3

————————

secrets, secrets. [L.H.]

🖤 boyfriend!luke

after what seems to be a secret revealed, you and your boyfriend Luke try something new in the bedroom.

a/n: FIRST LUKE SMUT WOOOO. i wrote most of this while listening to classical music which i just think is so silly and on brand for me. i also had a last minute epiphany and changed the title whoops.

CONTENT WARNINGS: references to weed/smoking, angst if you squint, sub!luke (duh), pet names, praise kink, oral (m!receiving), orgasm denial, protected sex.

WORDCOUNT: 5.7k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You hadn’t checked the clock for what seemed to be hours.

The guys and yourself had been wrapped up in a heated discussion sitting in a circle in Calum’s living room, all stoned on your own accord.

The conversation had been flowing since the moment you all sat in your respective places, turning from lighthearted banter into something much more vulgar than you were used to. You all hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, which meant there was a lot of ‘catching up’ to be had.

But you weren’t quite sure how the simple conversation of ‘how have you been?’ morphed into something along the lines of: ‘have you ever had a dirty dream about me?’

"You’re lying! I can see it in your eyes!" An eager Michael shouts across the room at his dear friend, and your boyfriend, Luke. You watch the entire ordeal unfold perched atop Luke’s restless thigh.

He tries to hide a measly smile, as Michael has caught his bluff.

"Okay, fine… It was one time. Nothin’ to fuckin’ write home about."

"How does that even happen?" Calum, baffled, rubs his hand on his chin.

"It means he thinks about ya’ before he goes t’sleep," says Ashton confidently, motioning towards Luke with a cheeky grin.

"No! That’s not— no."

"Luke, c’mon. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m sure we’ve all had some pretty fucked up dreams about each other." Michael tries his hand at consoling your boyfriend, whose cheeks were now glowing red.

"I’m not embarrassed. You just— you forced it out of me. A man’s allowed to have secrets, y’know."

Secrets.

It always came back to telling secrets.

You’d like to think that you had a pretty open and honest relationship with your boyfriend, as well as his best friends.

But there were still some things about them that you didn’t know.

And you were afraid you were about to find them out.

"Speakin’ of secrets…" Ashton begins, adjusting his posture to rest his elbows on his knees, "…I’ve got one."

Bingo.

"Go ahead. This is a safe space," you say teasingly, trying not to acknowledge the fact that you had been so high for the majority of this conversation that you had completely forgotten to speak.

"Ashton’s got a seeecreeeet." Calum teases Ashton in a singsongy tone, but Ashton’s face was reading more serious than anything. He clears his throat before speaking his mind.

"Call me crazy, but takin’ on the submissive role in bed has gotta be one of the greatest things on Earth. And if ya’ haven’t tried it, then you’re not livin’ right."

You quirk your brow, and take a look at the rest of the room. Each of the guys’ faces were contorted into a different stage of grief.

Michael was amused, clearly. His eyes were wide and glassy like he had just witnessed one of the Seven Wonders. Calum’s jaw was practically touching the floor, trying to bite back a smile that was so obviously hard to hide.

And then, there was Luke.

He wasn’t making a face— his expression was unreadable. The only thing you saw was his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He swallowed hard, and you noticed that.

"Dude… what? I did not expect that from you…" Michael was still in awe of his friend, as he cupped his cheek with his hand.

"Don’t make assumptions, Mikey. You only live once."

As much as you wanted to say you were shocked, you honestly weren’t. You didn’t know a whole lot about Ashton’s sex life, but this didn’t surprise you. He’s the kind of guy to try anything once.

"Well? Don’t be a prude… Tell us what happened."

"Y/N—" Luke blurts, seemingly attempting to stop this conversation from unfolding.

"What? Am I wrong for being curious?"

"No, no— I agree with Y/N," says Michael, "Since you wanna rave about your endeavors as a submissive princess… Tell us all about it."

Michael’s sly comment earns a snort from Luke, who had been trying to remain steely faced since the moment he had called him out for having sexual fantasies about him. You smile to yourself, eyes darting between Ashton and your boyfriend as their stare down commences.

"What’s so funny over there?" Ashton quips.

Your boyfriend’s eyes shoot down to his lap. "Nothin’."

"Ash, get on with it." Michael was fed up, and ready to hear all about what Ashton was so persistent about.

You can’t help but stifle a giggle as Ashton lets out a sigh. He was taking this a lot more seriously than you thought he would.

"I’m not sure what came over me— but there was this one time. I guess I was feeling particularly lazy er’ somethin’, but I asked her to take over for the night. I won’t get into the nitty gritty but let’s just say; it changed my fuckin’ life."

"I am way too high to be talking about this right now." Calum says, his eyes wide as he is still processing everything.

Ashton continues, "Somethin’ about the feeling of your fate lying in your lover’s hands is just so… exhilarating. You never know what’s gonna happen next— you learn to expect the unexpected… It’s fuckin’ great, man."

Upon Ashton's admission, your seat in Luke's lap shifts slightly. He adjusts you, pulling you closer into his torso and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Still can't picture it, but... I believe ya'," says Michael with a nod of approval. You laugh, feeling your boyfriend's fingertips drumming against your stomach.

"You guys ever tried it? Don't mean to pry but, as Y/N said, this is a safe space."

The room goes pin-drop quiet. Nobody wanted to speak up; not you, not Luke, not anybody else. It seemed as though this conversation had died out quicker than it came to be.

"Oh, come on. You guys are the freakiest fucks I know. Seriously? None of you?" Ashton presses the group for answers, his eyes landing on you. But you just shrug.

"I'm always on the bottom, Ash. You're preaching to the choir."

"Oh trust me, we know."

"Cal—" Your boyfriend huffs, cutting off his friend and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Confused, your eyes search around the room for any sign of an answer. You seemed to be out of the loop, which was unlike you in these kinds of situations.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You can’t help but get a little defensive, now zoning in on the feeling of your boyfriend’s fingernails anxiously biting into your waist.

"Nothing! He means nothing..." Luke tries to defend, his voice a bit pitchy.

You bite back a smile. “Secrets, secrets are no fun…"

"Unless they’re shared with everyone, fuck, I know! But you don’t have to—"

Calum butts in, "Mate, relax. I’m just messing around."

"No, no— don’t give me that bullshit. What were you trying to say Cal?"

You weren’t sure why, but feeling left out of some sort of inside joke or secret was making you angry. Your temper was mellowed from smoking, yet this whole back and forth was getting to you a little more than you’d like to admit.

Luke lets out a sigh from behind you, dropping his chin on your shoulder in defeat. He didn’t feel like arguing anymore, with the rest of the room dead quiet as they wait for Calum to speak.

Calum on the other hand was holding back a high smile. A look of ‘I know something you don’t know’ was plastered proudly across his cheeks. He rubs his hands together, glancing at Ashton and Michael before he opens his mouth.

"I know you pride yourself on being a pillow princess Y/N, but… Luke wants to see you in charge."

Immediately, your face flushes pink. You didn’t know what you were expecting Calum to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

It was almost as if everyone in the room was trying not to burst into laughter, Ashton and Michael slapping each other’s legs to get the other to stop snickering.

You swallow the newly formed lump in your throat, taking a second to look each of your friends in the eye.

"Well, this is news to me—"

"You fuckin’ suck, Cal." Luke blurts, embarrassment and anger laced through his tone.

As you sit cross legged, still perched on Luke’s thigh, you feel a tap at your lower back. This was your boyfriend’s cue; an unspoken means of telling you 'let’s get the fuck out of here.'

"I’m sorry," Calum laughs, "I didn’t mean t’ hit a nerve with that one."

"Luke, wait—" pleads Michael, who had been rather quiet throughout this whole ordeal.

"I think we’re gonna head out."

Soon enough, you’re rising to your feet, and your boyfriend is quick to follow. He grabs your bag from off of the floor, scooting you closer into the awkward energy of the circle. The rest of the guys just look at you in pity, but you were far too busy in your own head to notice their stares.

Luke wanted you to be in charge?

"Can’t force him to stay if he doesn’t want to," Ashton shrugs, clasping his hands together between his knees, "I guess we’ll see you two tomorrow?"

You purse your lips to reply to Ashton, watching your boyfriend feverishly pack up your belongings and shift you towards the nearest exit. But Luke is quicker than you, cutting right to the chase.

“Yeah, sure. Somethin’ like that."

The entire car ride back to Luke’s apartment was silent.

You were still hung up on how awkward those last few minutes had played out; but a part of you was just dying to know more about Luke’s little secret.

Pushing boundaries was something that you hadn’t yet considered when it came to you and your boyfriend. Your relationship was fairly new; with the both of you still testing the waters and occasionally stepping out of your comfort zones.

Luke was excellent at reading you. He paid very close attention to detail, which was one of the things that had you falling so hard for him in the first place.

But there was a piece of you that felt guilty for prying this all out of him, the way his entire demeanor seemed to drop when Calum spilled his beans. He was embarrassed, from what you could tell. And you weren’t quite sure what to do.

"Luke?" You pop your head out of the bathroom door, your face wash in hand, looking into your master bedroom at Luke splayed across the mattress. He’s still fully dressed, laying flat on his back with his shoes hanging off of the side.

You, however, took it upon yourself to get ready for bed. You took off your makeup, brushed your teeth, and changed into a little plaid pajama-short set to try and get your mind off of the awkward energy still floating in the air.

"Luke…" He hadn’t replied the first time you called out his name, so you tried your luck again. This time, he just sighed, before turning his head to face you.

His sandy blonde curls were haphazardly strewn across the made comforter. His body restless, as he drummed his hands along his abdomen and waited for you to reply.

"Yes?"

"You okay?"

"Mhmm."

Your shoulders drop in defeat, your eyes still lingering on his lanky frame. He lets out a deep breath before looking at the ceiling again, gnawing on his bottom lip mindlessly.

"I’m sorry," you say, "I didn’t mean to embarrass you."

"You didn’t."

His short replies were making your stomach churn. It was unlike the both of you to be so cautious with each other, walking on eggshells in hopes that the other would just let up and speak their mind. You didn’t want to make it worse, either— it seemed like this affected him, and the last thing you needed was for it to be your fault.

You turn back to face the bathroom counter, continuing your nightly skincare. But from behind you, you hear shuffling. The sole of a shoe hitting the floor, then another. The sound of a jacket unzipping, and pooling to the floor as well.

You could see Luke’s slouched posture in the mirror through the doorframe, watching him slowly rid himself of his clothes and leaving him in nothing but his grey t-shirt and pink heart boxers. The ones you gifted him for Valentine’s day.

The water was warm as you started to wash your face, warm enough to let yourself relax for a moment. It dripped down your forehead, into your eyes, momentarily shielding you from your surroundings as you bent over the sink.

In your daze, you turn the faucet off, your eyes screwed shut and vision starry. But as you blindly reach around the counter for a towel, you feel someone hand it to you.

"Here," the familiar voice drawls from behind you, before you feel a broad hand slither around your waist.

You let out a whimper from the back of your throat, unable to say "thank you" now, as you grab the towel from Luke’s hand realize his hips are digging into your backside.

When you dry your face and regain your vision, you stand upright. Luke’s torso is warm, and inviting, his blistered palm making headway beneath your shirt to drag across your torso. In the mirror, you see his face contort into a mellow smile, his curls pushed back away from his eyes.

"Hi," You whisper into the mirror, water dripping off of your eyelashes and down your cheek.

"Hi, pretty."

"Are you mad at me?" You hated asking that question.

"Of course not, why would I be mad at you?" Luke replies, pulling you into his cotton t-shirt.

"You seemed like you were a few minutes ago." The feeling of his fingertips was getting to be distracting.

"No, no. It was just— something I’d been meaning to tell you but… I just never got around to it."

"Oh."

His other hand has made it to your waist. "Are you mad at me?"

"Never."

"Good to know."

For a moment, the two of you stare at your reflections in the mirror. Luke’s eyes rake down your body, his hands still wandering along the delicate skin of your tummy beneath your shirt. You sigh into him, leaning backwards to rest your head on the crook of his neck.

"Wanna try something new tonight?" He asks, his voice huskier than before and mumbling into the top of your head.

"Mmm, like what?" You were unable to hide your melodic hums as his hands move closer beneath your breasts.

You already knew what Luke was going to ask of you, the excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach as his eyes wandered, pretending to think.

To be honest with yourself, you had already thought a lot about what’d it’d be like if you two switched places for a change. But you were always too nervous to bring it up, especially in the heat of the moment.

"Want you t’ be in charge tonight, pretty. Do whatever you want t’me. Think you’d be interested?"

"Yes," you breathe without even a second thought, entranced by his fingertips as they creep towards the waistband of your shorts, "I’d love to."

"Sounds good t’me."

Not a second passes before Luke is spinning you around to face him. He dips down, and plants a gentle kiss on your lips, leaving you with a fuzzy head and a fluttering stomach.

When you pull away from him you notice the twinkle in his ocean blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was a look of anticipation. Pure excitement. You were about to try something new with the person you loved most in this world, and he was about as thrilled as you were.

You could just tell.

"How can I be good for you, pretty? Wanna be your good boy tonight."

His words made your heart skip a beat, but you figured it’d be best to just play it cool.

"Wellll—" You press your index finger to his chest, "Maybe start by getting on the bed?"

"Are you gonna come with me?" He asks sweetly, still holding you in his hands.

"Of course, baby… But I need you to just sit tight and wait for me, okay?"

He nods quickly, biting back a smile between his teeth before he’s shuffling out of the bathroom towards the bed. You linger in the doorframe for a moment, watching in complete awe as Luke crawls to the top of the mattress and sits with his back resting against the headboard.

Doing exactly what you had asked him to.

You start in slow strides towards him, swaying your hips with each step in hopes to kill some time.

You wanted to figure out a game plan. Since you’d never done this before, you weren’t sure where to start; and as much as it wouldn’t be shameful to ask Luke for advice, you wanted to impress him.

"Okay, done. Now what?" The anticipation in his voice made you want to just explode on impact. He was just the cutest fucking thing.

"Hmmm," you hum, crossing your arms as your eyes scan his body, "I’m gonna need that shirt off."

"Yes ma’am."

He then crosses his arms in front of his torso, pulling the hemline of his shirt over his head. He tosses it to the side, revealing his bare chest sprinkled in sandy blonde chest hairs.

As you watch him move, you gnaw on your bottom lip, scanning down his practically naked body and thinking of all of the things you could do. All of the things you could do to make this right for him. To make this worth wild.

You glance down at your plaid pajama shirt, clad and held together by buttons that gap between your breasts.

And then, you get an idea.

"You ready for me baby?" You ask your boyfriend, whose legs had been crossing and uncrossing impetuously as he watches you near closer to the bed.

"Mhm."

"Gonna play a game with you, m’kay?"

"M’kay." He mocks your gentle tone.

Before you could explain the rules of this new, made-up game of yours, you start to move. Dipping one knee down into the mattress, then the other. You crawl to him, straddling his lap and settling down atop of his obvious hard-on.

He was turned on just by the thought of you.

"It’s very easy," you start to say, reaching for the first button of your blouse, "and there’s only one rule."

Luke’s hands hover around you awkwardly, unsure of where to rest them, unsure if he was even allowed to touch you at all.

"What is it?" He asks, swallowing and adjusting himself beneath you.

"Tell me I’m pretty."

His eyes widen. He had finally noticed your hand lingering and toying with the button on your top.

"You’re pretty, baby. The prettiest."

And with that, the first button comes undone. You move your hands down to the second.

"Tell me I’m pretty."

His tongue juts out to wet his bottom lip, his hands now stagnant at his sides and twitching by your calves.

"You’re so pretty. Prettiest girl in the world."

Second button, undone.

"Tell me I’m pretty, baby. Tell me again."

As you reach for the third button, you make a point to grind your hips down, swiveling them in a way that he’d feel it. His face contorts in bliss, petal pink lips parting slightly.

"You’re so fuckin’ pretty… Prettiest I’ve— ever seen."

Third button, undone.

"Tell me more, baby. Tell me again."

You grind your hips down again, and a soft whimper escapes the back of his throat. You could feel his hands fidgeting down by your legs, reaching out to touch something that wasn’t even there.

"So fuckin’ beautiful… My pretty girl— ah—" He's cut short with another dig of your hips. The paper thin material of your pajama shorts leaving absolutely no room for the imagination. You could practically feel his cock twitching beneath your core, but you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

With his last words of affirmation, you undo the last two buttons on your own accord. The breeze from the air conditioning makes you shiver, instantly perking up your nipples.

Luke noticed that, too. He always does.

"So, so pretty…" He utters with one last labored breath, as if it were the last he’d ever take, upon seeing your chest.

"You did so good for me, didn’t you baby?"

Luke hums quietly, clearly feeling some sort of release due with the pressure of your body on top of him. You notice his hands trembling still, down at his sides and oblivious to the thought of touching you.

"You can touch me, y’know. Been’ such a good boy for me so far."

The eye contact between you was like trance; it was gentle, and warm. Still wavering with uncertainty, yet eager to continue. Luke’s hands eventually make it to your waist, something he had been dying to do since the moment you straddled his hips.

You could tell he was still hesitant to let his fingers roam as they usually would, and that was definitely getting to your head.

You swivel your hips one last time without a single word, dipping down to kiss him. Your hands are quick to cup his face, lips interlocking eagerly for the first time since this morning.

It’s not long before your tongues begin exploring, tangling together in the sweetness of your kiss.

You’re still grinding your hips. He’s still in a trance.

Luke’s hands had moved to grip your ass, pushing it down while simultaneously bucking his hips up into your core. This action of his makes you disconnect from him for a moment, a disapproving look in your eye.

"Ah ah ah," you tut at him, his cheeks now squished between your palms. He quirks his brow.

"What?"

"Not so fast, pretty boy. You said I could do anything, right?"

He chuckles, eyes flicking down to your lips, "I did say that, didn’t I? You're right, baby. Tell me whatcha' need from me... I'm all yours."

You suck in a deep breath, trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts that keep poking at your head and telling you to just let him have his way with you. You wanted to remain stern, whether he took you seriously, or not.

"How about this…"

You let go of his cheeks to shrug your pajama shirt off of your shoulders, tossing it onto the floor next to his tee. His pupils shake, eyeing down your breasts.

"…You don’t get to cum ‘till I say so."

"Oh, fuck— you're too good t'me..." His voice is soft and melodic, already so willing to give up the power he usually claims. "Yes. Yes..."

Your palms lay flat on his broad chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath he took.

He was anxious; anxious in the way that one more subtle touch to his flesh would send his heart thumping right through his ribcage.

You couldn't contain your excitement anymore; just looking at him was already creating a slickness in your panties.

But Luke could've stared at you for hours.

"Are you sure, Lu?" You ask once your delicate boy once more, tracing little hearts with your pointer fingers across his pecs. He nods eagerly, eyes going doe.

"Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes. Have your way with me, please."

With a tug at your bottom lip, you take his words as your cue. You're quick to take out a condom from Luke's bedside dresser, and even quicker to shift your ass down to rest on his thighs.

As you move, his stare lingers. He nods at you slowly, to remind you of his approval. How desperately he wanted you to have your way with him.

His cock twitching and practically popping through the button of his boxers was already telling you everything you needed to know.

To try and read his eager pleas, you begin to palm him delicately through the pink heart fabric, heavenly sounds spilling past his lips and floating to your ears like a siren's melody.

He was grunting, whining; almost as if he were in pain.

"Easy now, baby," you coo gently, as a shiver runs down Luke's body, "Still my good boy, right?"

"Mmmmph."

"Good, good. Just like that, pretty baby." You squeeze your hand around his length, and his jaw falls completely agape.

You weren't planning on teasing him for much longer. It almost felt cruel to do so.

So, instead of waiting any more, you release him from the button of his boxers.

His tip was already leaky with precum; angry and red, that angelic face of his melting the second you wrap your manicured fingers around his shaft.

Tipping down to take him into your mouth, you hollow out your cheeks, tongue laying flat against him as you start to bob your head.

Sucking him off had always been one of your favorite things to do. In your head, it gave you a purpose— and you always loved the praise that would come with it.

But with the power dynamic now in your favor, you were already enjoying it all the more.

"Fuck me, pretty... So fuckin' warm..." Luke groans through gritted teeth, taking his hands to comb through your hair. You hum at him, sending a vibration down your tongue and directly through his body. He jolts, as if he’d been struck by lightning, while your hands begin to claw at his hipbone.

The walls of Luke's bedroom felt like they were closing in on you, each heaving breath that he was taking was making you dizzy. Your nails leave little crescent etchings deep into his flesh, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat each time you duck down.

"Fuck... fuck fuck fuck–" He grunts, he whines, he continues to writhe beneath you, completely at your disposal. You were eating up every single sound he made, every little spasm of his hands or jerk at his hips.

Picking up on the signs, you could tell he was close. He didn't even have to say it.

"Y/N... I–I'm..." He can barely even finish his thought before he's grabbing your hair in a handful. You always loved it when he was a little rough with you, and this time was no different.

With a tug at your roots, you hum around him again. His body comes lurching forward, almost as if to stop himself from fucking your throat.

"Baby– M'close..." He finally utters, which brings you to toss your head up, releasing him from your mouth with a pop.

"Shhh, it's okay," you whisper, watching his cock fall thump against his stomach and twitch here and there, "You’ve been so good for me so far."

"I have?" He asks the question sweetly, genuinely. With a little twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, of course you have, my pretty baby…" you say, running the back of your hand down his belly, "Gonna keep it up for me, right?"

"Yes."

"Such a good boy."

Luke tosses his head back, his bottom lip held captive by his teeth, and lets out a whine the moment you start to get off of him. The fact that he was whining at the loss of your touch was enough to send you over the edge right then and there, but you wanted to keep your promise.

You hastily discard your pajama shorts, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Luke whimpers again upon seeing you naked— you didn’t bother to wear your panties tonight.

"You are so beautiful, Y/N… My pretty little flower—" Luke sighs, in awe of you, despite the lingering sexual tension in the air. He always made it a point to compliment you, no matter the scenario.

"Thank you, Lu," You can’t help but giggle and blush, making your way back to his lap to straddle him.

Again, his hands find your waist. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes wired shut.

After only doing this for a little while, you were already comfortable talking to Luke in a more dominant way. The trick was to not think about it too hard. Just let the words roll right off of your tongue.

Simple enough, right?

"Tell me what you want me to do to you, baby." Your words are soft like down pillows yet loud enough to get a rise out of him. He shifts beneath you, still closing his eyes.

"Fuck me… please? I’m achin’ for you."

You take his pleas as your sign to start, wet enough from merely the obscene sounds spilling from his lips. The condom you had grabbed was still at your side so, you rip the package open with your teeth.

When you start to roll the condom down over his length, he lets out a hiss. Could have been the temperature; or maybe he was just too desperate to be ashamed of his sounds.

"Shit—" He whines, clutching onto your hips as your hand pumps his cock a few times.

"Easy, baby," you purr, adjusting yourself upwards to line him up with your dripping slit, "You ready for me?"

"Mhm— yes… yes please, angel. Please— fuck me."

His throaty cries only furthered the butterflies floating around in the pit of your stomach. You could barely contain yourself as you hover over him, biting your lip as you sink down onto his cock.

The both of you let out a collective groan; the feeling of him filling you up completely just seemed too perfect.

You lower your body so that you completely engulf him, taking his length fully and making your breath hitch in your throat.

"Feels good, pretty baby?" You ask, still buzzing.

"Mmph—" He whines, anchoring his hands to your hips as you start to swivel.

"Need you to use your words, Lu… Tell me."

You’re gentle with him, at first. Treating him delicately, like picking off the petals off a daisy. He seemed so weak beneath you and something about it was making your head spin. Your heart was bursting at the seams.

"Yes, Y/N— Feels s’fuckin’ good—" Luke whimpers, digging his fingernails into you, and holding onto you with his entire soul fleshing through his fingertips.

His cock twitches inside of you, as you continue your rhythm of grinding hips. It’s easy for you to tell when to pick up speed, testing his limits by his face alone.

"Such a good boy, baby.. You’re doing so fuckin’ well."

You start to notice the familiar furrow of his brow, that concentrated little notch in his forehead.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he just couldn’t seem to look away

"Y/N, I—"

He says your name again. It’s syrupy, like honey dripping off of his tongue. You place your palm flat on his tummy, tossing your hair out of your eyes to match his gaze.

"Takin’ my pussy so well, aren’t you?" You ask him, but don’t expect an answer. His face of concentration was telling you all you needed to know. How hard he was working to please your demand.

"Mmm… Th-think’ m’doin’ a good job…" He nods slowly, and you smile.

"Oh baby, you are… Keep goin’, m’kay?"

He smiles with a hum, through heavy, bated breaths.

"M’kay."

The sweaty flurry of blonde curls and baby blue eyes was slowly starting to unravel. The rise and fall of his chest was rapidly picking up speed, before he started to snap his hips up into you.

A slapping sound engulfs the walls of his bedroom, but you have no reason to complain. His cock was stretching you out, hitting that sweet spot with every stroke.

"Fuck, Lu—" You can’t help but revert to your old ways; yet not completely giving in, and letting him hold the reins. He was still beneath you, practically melting as your bodies entwine.

And that, was an incredible feeling.

"Y/N—" he whines, broken by panting, "m’close."

You nod sloppily, your tits bouncing at the speed of your swiveling hips.

"Hold it, baby— still my good boy, right?"

"Yes, yes… I am, Y/N. M’ a fuckin— a fuckin’ mess for you…"

A catty smile sprawls across your cheeks, feeling your orgasm budding lowly in the pit of your stomach, and satisfied at the way you had him completely wrapped around your finger.

"Mhm, yes you are. Such a pretty mess..."

Your orgasm was on the brink now, ready to burst and run through your body. Sloppy sounds filled the air; panting, whining, groaning. It was all meshing in your ears like the tune of a fucking song.

You felt your face tinge pink upon seeing your boyfriend’s concentrated expression, feeling a tad bit sorry for being so demanding.

So, you finally decide to let go.

"Cum with me, baby—" You gasp.

"Wha—"

"Let it go, Lu. Been s— so good for me, fuck!"

And with that, stars and galaxies are fogging your vision. You let out a cry as you finish, your walls clenching tightly around Luke’s cock as he does the same. He gives one last quick snap of his hips before you’re collapsing completely, going limp on his chest with him still inside of you.

You could hear his heart thumping through his chest; your sweaty bodies practically letting sparks fly. His hand moves to rub your back, as you both collect your devices.

"Was I good enough, baby?" He asks sweetly, that soft voice from before coming into play and making your stomach flutter.

"More than enough."

He giggles; seeming a bit shy about the semantics of it all, before planting a kiss at the crown of your head.

You can see his eyelashes fanning against the apples of his cheeks, glistening in the light of your bedroom as he grins up to the ceiling.

"I’m glad," he beams, "And you were right, by the way."

You pop your head up from his chest to look him in the eye. "About what?"

"Should’ve told ya’ about this a lot sooner."

With a shake of your head, you tut at him teasingly, just happy to feel closer to him than you ever have before.

"Guess it’s not a secret anymore."

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[mauesartetc]

Have you seen vivzi's tweet regarding the mille situation?

Oh yeah. Though to be clear, it's not just one tweet; it's a motherfuckin' thread (with screenshots below for posterity).

I won't go over this whole thing point by point, but one aspect that jumps out at me is how Viv deflects responsibility from herself onto the viewers. If your audience doesn't fully "understand" your characters, that's a problem. It's your job as a writer to make them understand, and do it in the story you're telling, not on social media. Can't help but see shades of how gobsmacked Fennah was that his audience didn't get how one of his characters represented toxic relationships, despite that character amounting to a harmless, childlike pet.

While Viv's response doesn't demean the audience like Fennah's, it does come off as a tad arrogant, as if Millie being perceived as flat is the viewers' fault, not hers.

The second thing that stood out is the list of Millie's qualities: "She is resourceful, she has strong family ties and memories, she has sibling rivalry, she's excitable and hyper focused." Only three of those are actual personality traits, and I can't even remember her being "hyper focused" at any time. To me, that would suggest working long hours on some kind of project, too engrossed to notice hunger, thirst, or how much time had passed. I guess you could make the argument that she worked tirelessly to become the skilled fighter she is, but we never see that in the show. I'm not even sure how "strong" those family ties are considering Millie didn't even hug her mom when she saw her. Basically, this smacks of telling rather than showing, trying to convince us this is the case rather than letting us see for ourselves.

[Edit 6/10/23 Forgot to mention this tidbit: "we are literally on 3", meaning the third episode. Girl, no. You were literally on ten episodes total, and eleven/twelve (depending on whether or not the pilot counts) with the release of Western Energy. That's way too long to go without properly developing one of the main characters.]

Also, "we found more storylines that influenced Blitz"? You mean you created more storylines with him as the focus. You chose to follow those paths in Season 1. It didn't just happen to you. "Whoops! Tripped over this random plot! Guess I have to use it in an episode!" Obviously Blitzo is the main character so it makes sense that he'd have the most plots centered around him, but it's extremely telling that y'all gave absolutely none of the focus to Millie.

Let's look at the seven episodes of Season 1. Blitzo could be the focus of three, Moxxie could get one, Millie could get one, Loona could get one, and Stolas could get one, and you could save extra story ideas for Season 2. There ya go. Yes, seven episodes is a pretty short season with not much wiggle room to fit all the juiciest stories in, but there's definitely space to tease what's coming. Imply that there's more to these characters and this world than meets the eye. Make the audience hungry for more. This is a fan-funded Youtube series, after all; it's not like any networks or streaming services are threatening to pull the plug if the metrics aren't up to snuff.

Finally, the "this is a male-led show" excuse for female characters being underdeveloped is so weak, especially for an adult show that prides itself on social progressivism. You've got a handful of queer main characters and a trans side character, but fleshing out the women was a step too far-? Y'all are all about spotlighting LGBT stories, but anything resembling feminism that goes deeper than '90s-style "hey, this chick can fight!" girl power? Whoa, that's a bit too much, buddy.

Call me crazy, but shouldn't viewers get the impression that all of a story's principal characters have inner lives, regardless of gender? What is Millie like when she's alone, isolated from her relationships? What does she think about? How does she entertain herself without anyone to brawl with, or anything to hack into with an axe? The show hasn't given us any hints.

Honestly, if you're not good at writing female characters, you're allowed to say that. Yes, it's embarrassing to admit when you're a woman yourself, but if you grew up in a culture that promotes internalized misogyny and prioritizes masculine wants over feminine needs (which many of us did, let's be real), it's understandable. That shit's hard to unlearn. What might make it easier when it comes to characters, though, is what I like to call the Ellen Ripley method.

Challenge, Viv: Write a nuanced male character. Give him strengths and flaws, likes and dislikes, quirks and hobbies, strained relationships and happy ones.

Now make him female.

It really is that simple.

We'll have to wait and see how much that defense regarding Hazbin Hotel truly reflects reality, though if I were a gambler, I'd bet Alastor and Angel Dust will dominate the story and leave Charlie and Vaggie on the sidelines.

[vampiric-succulent]

OUAW EP 20:

It’s not even past the bean footage yet and already I have a thing to comment about—

“Hey. Keep working. Keep your hands down.” Idk if it’s just Mace or if it’s me but this is an interesting thing to start the episode with

Also I lowkey already watched this but considering that I wasn’t really paying attention due to Sleep im rewatching

Oh this is the Silly Goofy episode. Got it.

Watching this is so different now that I know how tall each of these people actually are in real life

“Mr Kremyyyyy….. Torbek had a nightmaaaare………..” torb <3

Hot jones?

Why is Mikey using the King Shmebulon voice

Oh the energy here is so weird today

NEXT YOURE GONNA TELL TORBEK THAT A SHRIMP FRIED THAT RICE and they’re gone

The improv shenanigans here are SO GOOD— “the wee hours” watches and the blue J and the bottle of something

HOT JONES!!!

“There was that guy and he was like… woah.” Bi Gricko!!!! “Why you always watching these kingly types and looking at their woah?” Lmfao Gideon you are no better

Degenerate Jones

TABAXI TORBEK and eughhh Mammon Tiefling Gricko (applying for all Mammon Tiefling Gricko)

I love how Kremy is super paranoid thinks everyone is out to get him but still immediately tells Gideon everything (I need to see Gideon do some sort of something back bc coalecroux is feeling increasingly one sided and it is making me sad)

“Torbek was happy with the infinite abyss”

THE FEDS

Poor Twig she went from dealing with absolute loneliness to dealing with all this bullshit. She needs to have the space to Bogart out a little bit like get this woman a destruction room

Twig 🤝 Torbek

coping mechanisms

Gideon has such older brother who acts like a father figure to Twig vibes

THE FEDS THEYRE IN THE CLOTHES

Torbek is simply following suit… following the suit to the ground lmfao

PENIS NOSE?????? HOW IS THAT AN OPTION

Gideon is overwhelmed by Penis im sorry

This is just reminding me of when Frost got the proud nudist curse and Derek made that slapping turn joke 😭

Obligatory “im walkin here” please stop

Nvm we have the coalecroux and also poly party affirmations (long shots and headcanons)

OH!!! Woah there Kremy

“Think of the Federal government!” Quick Gid take your clothes off!! The government!!!

OH NO THE ORCIFICATION

NO THE FUCKING CABINET

DEREK. DEREK WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT DEREK WE COULD HAVE NEVER GONE DOWN THAT ROAD

Love Torbek’s Spring Aladrin voice. It’s like some sort of old English aristocratic friend of Oscar Wilde.

Oop! Theseus’s Ship mentioned (kind of)

“Did we do a bunch of drugs before bed again?” Funny you should have asked that Gideon given what is now happening

“Tentacles probe me” “yes Gideon join us the time is now get naked”

WHY IS IT ERECT NOW DEREK. PUT THAT DOWN. “Something about beekeeper helmets…” HUH

Oh god Twig is gonna bogart out

PUT IT DOWN. PUT THAT THING DOWN AND AWAY.

“STOP BEING ERECT. STOP EATING MY BONES”

Love how Nikkie says “your mind is back to Gricko” and Mikey just starts screaming

Whoops!

It is so impressive how Twig is so controlled. Like she has every justification to absolutely freak out right now and she’s keeping calm and trying to manage things.

Thank god Hootsie is out of this lol

NO TWIG LOOK AWAY

“Torbek was *very* thorough.”

Okay seriously how old is Twig?? This is a very important question. Like REALLY important.

I’m imagining Spring Aladrin Torbek lying on a couch like he’s gonna say “draw me like one of your French girls”

Guys. Please. We are nearly halfway through this video. Please.

YES CAST SILENCE. HUSH MICHAEL.

No Twig it’s not your fault!!!!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!

Not the Pennsylvanian sperm trees

“After what I’ve watched today I don’t think you’ll accomplish anything of value.”

Not the milk joke PLEASE y’all not the cilk

Frost is so sweet tho

No more Hot Joneses :(

Yesss Twig establish those boundaries!!!!

Tom is such a deep cut

Okay so Twig is at least 200 years old. Good. That’s really good. Good to know.

Grinko is having a stronk. Please call the Gronkulance.

WHAT HAPPENED TO HOOTSIE.

Omg she’s their niece!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But also HOLY FUCK HE HIT HER??? WITH A CABINET????????

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

Menasith, and their older sibling Menapauthe.

The Glowing Anus 😭

Oh this is Nikkie’s fault. Fantastic.

MORNING FROTH CONGRATULATIONS EVERYONE

“That’s very funny Gricko. Your daughter is possibly bleeding out.”

Ohhhh Hootsie’s okay thank god

Gricko however is really not

Okay so I know this is a fantasy campaign and we are in the literal Feywild so this like kind of doesn’t matter but how does Gideon get energy??? Does he need to absorb nutrients or is it just sort of as long as he keeps his internal furnace alive he’s okay?

Twig boundaries 100 with regards to Torbek but fully get the party’s concerns

Also Twigsy ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Not Gricko being hypnotized by Spring Aladrin Torbek’s hip sway

Torbek does not know but Torbek must dance!!!!

Oh Torbek’s ticket is so sad

“This is an Acorn Satchel!!!”

Mikey annoying Nikkie so much that she just takes things away

Frost getting jealous over the Gricko impression 😭❤️

What is a mud meffet?????

I love Andy so much. Oh he’s wonderful. So glad he’s here.

KLUTZY RETURNS for like two seconds

Love these guys. Oh my lord. Also what the fuck happened in the first like hour???? Still a fun little episode.

[agirlandherquill]

the calendar project - day 23,24,25

triple whammy because i forgot to post yesterday's double lot before watching logan in preparation for deadpool 3 whoops (was so worth it though, both movies were INSANE, and i also watched despicable me an hour after dead pool 3 ended - been a very fun day)

daily page count: 1 (day 23), 1 (day 24), 1 (day 25)

here's the pages,

“Then it would be a very, very sick joke if they have.” She propped herself up on her knees, examining the lock, the door chilled her cheek as she pressed her face against it, peering in to get a glimpse of the mechanism. There was nothing but darkness.

“I’m doubtless asking the wrong person but you wouldn’t happen to have a hair pin would you?”

Reid crouched beside her, frowning. “Why ask if you know what a stupid question that is?”

“I wondered if you ever needed to pin back that hair of yours. It must be inconvenient.” She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress and teased her own hair pin free from the scrap of material she kept them attached too, in case of needing one. She pressed it carefully into the lock, then looked at Reid. “Would you? It needs enough force to knock the key free.”

“So they did lock us in!”

“Why?” 

“When I get out of here I’m going to find out.” He growled under his breath and slammed the bottom part of his palm against her pin, she heard something give then the key dropped on the other side of the door with a heavy thud. She laid down, trying to push her fingers beneath the gap of the door to reach it but she wasn’t able to. 

“What is it now?”

“I can’t reach.”

“Move.” He eased himself to the floor.

“If I can’t reach it what are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’d rather be out of here than watch you do whatever it is that you’re going to do and fail miserably.” She hugged her knees, watching him feel around the floor. Have I been trapped in here with a mad man? Is that what this is?

“Do I need to worry about being in here with you Reid?”

He scoffed, pressing his fingers into the flagstone closest to the middle of the door. “No, but you should be thankful that I’m me.” He slammed his hand onto the flagstone, it tilted up and she heard something slide, and the key appeared under the door. She snatched it up before Reid could and pushed it into the lock, giving it a harsh twist. The door opened and they both sprung to their feet.

“Get me out of here.” She pushed Reid out of the way and ran to the courtyard, stumbling as she came out into the soft, startling light of the rising dawn.

The other doors were more visible now, they were all different colours - the one she stepped out of was a dark shade of blue, the one that led back to the Church was a faded grey, the other two were green and black. 

She went to the green door first. Now’s my best chance to explore before anything serious starts. And I’d rather not see Reid question his people - that’s a line no newcomer should have to cross. 

The door opened into a lengthy corridor full of many smaller rooms, she assumed they were small from the frequency of the plain wooden doors, but none of them interested her. Her focus was pulled to a large sliding wooden door down the corridor. What could be behind this? She gripped one end of the door and pushed against it, it slid along the rails on the wall, giving her enough space to step through.

She took one step forward then recoiled as something sharp grazed against her elbow. Was that a knife? 

She shielded herself with the door, thinking it through. Why would someone attack me with a knife? And why haven’t they come out?

Isolde realised then, what she would have to do.

I’m going in.

The knife came at her again. This time she was ready for it. She ducked down and let it fly over her, then a calloused hand seized her arm and hauled her forward, using her arm to pin her against a torso, keeping her trapped with the knife. 

She took one breath, then two, then tilted her head back to see her attacker.

“You?”

“Mornin’ to you too.”

“I don’t even know your name and you’re attacking me with knives!”

“Callan. Better?”

“No.” She drove her heel into the instep of his boot. He grunted but did not let go. “Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but not bad.”

“If you’re going to drag me out because you don’t want me here, can you get on with it? I’d rather make it back to the castle before breakfast.”

“And you wouldn’t put up a fight?” He looked curiously amused.

“No.” 

He smiled, then started to twist her arm, angling her shoulder back. He’s testing me, to see if I’ll fight him. I won’t. I told him I won’t. The twisting became a sting in the joint of her shoulder, her back arched, but he kept on. Testing, testing, testing. Not going to happen. She was not going to fight him. She had no interest in fighting him. Which left her with an infuriating alternative.

Whimpering.

Callan released her in an instant, disappointment marring his features. “Forgive me. I thought… I was wrong.” He tucked his knife into its sheath at his waist, his cloak was long gone, he was now wearing a simple shirt and trousers. He rubbed his face. “I was wrong for last night too. Will you accept my sincerest apology?”

Callan surprised her. He’s apologising, he seems genuinely guilty - excusing the way he acted last night… He seems nice. Nicer than Reid. She smiled at him. “Consider yourself duly forgiven. Now, will you tell me what you were thinking?”

He winced. “I wanted to see what you would do, I thought perhaps you were a spy, an assassin, something like that - Reid didn’t tell me who you were and I wanted to see for myself.”

“I’m nothing like that.” She reached to touch her shoulder, the ache became more apparent with her stretching so she gave up, letting her hand drop.

“She’s most certainly not, but Cal, did you have to try and dislocate her shoulder?” Reid’s questionable drawl made her eyes dart to the door. He was leaning in the gap she had made, not even bothering to shoulder it open further. “No, but if she’s going to work with us she ought to know things.” He flashed her an apologetic smile.

“Things such as defending herself?” Reid’s stare was disapproving. She stood straighter against the weight of it. “You’re right. She should.”

“She, knows enough.” Isolde stared him down, irritated by his refusal to speak as though she was in there with them. I don’t even know where I am or what this room is, but I’ll be damned if I break this stare first.

“I think our definitions of enough beg to differ.” Reid broke the stare, nodding toward Callan, it made her scoff. “I’m not being trained by either of you cave animals thank you very much.” She stepped toward Reid but Callan held out a hand, stopping her. “Let him see what he can do, it can’t hurt to be safe, can it?”

He’s the voice of logic here then. I envy him. “Fine.”

[tammyfeabakker]

Whats going on in my neck of the woods... my check engine light came on. Air flow throttle body. Ran to the shop. Chris got me the only one left. He hooked up his code reader. Pressed a button. Said you'll be ok. If thats the case why am I putting in a throttle body if you jus press a button on your code reader? Hmmmmmm. Its been bout a month still hasn't put my throttle body in. Trouble in paradise again must of been a fight. Him and my neighbor his ex girlfriend seem to have sizzled out. Going strong there. I havnt seen her or the dog. I seen the dog not her though. My emily jus announced her n her boyfriend are calling it quits. She wouldn't explain jus they have called it quits. She says she is OK. Still wondering what the fuck happened. My job I know its been taking my time up .. I had 4 days coming I was off but no! I'm having a hard time with target. They have a stocking policy. My job is like go in there get a zebra clear off a endcap. A endcap is the end of a aisle in a store. Fucking companies pay up to 50k for a endcap. I jus can't go in there clear a endcap off. For another company! Wtf! Jus because I have a letter to do so! Means shit! I wonder what the old merchandiser did. Lie on the job app. Yeah I packed out 3 but I really didn't. This info goes back to the seller they think they are selling when their not. Me I'm like no . I didn't pack out because I'm not allowed! God! So neca has me grid lock i was told by the receiver I'm not allowed to pack out! Because there's a system. Target has stockers those stockers get a list. Now if I go in there pull shit those stockers get fucked up. My company probably take target from me. Because I'm following instructions! Give it to someone else that will lie and say yeah I packed out 6. Hasbro is like we are selling stuff. My company been in buisness for 39 years how I don't know. Obviously the info being sent is wrong. I had a gift card reset omg! I was going to fuck up some one. Cards falling off the pegs. Why is there 245 amazon gift cards on a fucking peg? I did a count 245 amazon I can't go over 50. Companies keep sending and sending. Like neca they lost space. Keep sending product for a large space. They no longer have. Walgreen gift cards I would of quit my job. My company gave me 6 hours what a fucking joke! If I had to do it. 9 hours tops. I had one 4hours it took 2 people 3 hours. I did one by myself 4hours I was given which was bigger then the 2 people one. I did it in 4 hours did I do it right dunno. Walgreens I have been hit up twice there by pan handlers. The world is coming too. A guy sleeping behind rite aid. Pan handlers everywhere Cumberland mall is loaded at every light. People riding bikes in store parking lots looking in cars. I ignored the one pan handler chased me down to my car! I don't have it to give but I did. Going through my whooping 45 dollars he is like 20s are good I was like get the fuck out here! 5 I gave him 5. Because I had 2 20s and a five. I don't carry money because of this shit. Its bad. I have to watch leaving California.com because it was said someone is profiting off the homeless situation. Yeah let the immigration flow! Pay them but don't give to the ones that pay into the system that lost everything elderly living in cars. This is ridiculous! Someone is making money off our homeless. Hmmmmmm.

[mortifiedandawesome]

On Friday, somebody's mistake was pointed out to me and I corrected it. I then went on to my other duties without any other discussion. Because it happens. whoop-dee-doo.

Hours later, the person who made the mistake was alerted. In a volume that everyone could hear, they announced "DID YOU DO xxx yyy?", Totally needlessly. We are NOT sitting close to each other.

Of course I did xxx yyy. That was the first step. Not only was it the first step, it would have been easily observable from their vantage point. There was absolutely no need to say anything out loud at all, but to anyone other than them and I, that person made it sound like 'oh shit, they're checking up on him did he mess up!?'

Because this particular person wants to be in charge and they are absolutely not. So why not phrase a question out loud to make it seem like they are on top of things? Even though the only people who knew the error were myself and them.

I'm a fucking mouse, but I don't allow that kind of shit to happen.

Absolutely enraged but trying to keep it calm, I reply in a comparative volume "did I xxx, yyy? You mean that thing that we do? Of course I did. You can see it on there."

I'm not quite sure if I could hide any rage, but it also didn't shut them up. Because like 20 minutes later, even though the issue was absolutely over (and communication is preferred to be done over the system) this person had to enter my personal space bubble, essentially to angrily complain that some other person hadn't noticed the mistake for 3 days. Why not flop your entire germy waste all over my desk!?

I'm like, I am already knee deep in other work and also I would rather not have very bad breath entering my breathing zone. The only two options available are to say "yeah they sure did miss that!" Or say loudly "of course you did the error" unfortunately I had a business call just at that point so I couldn't spend a second to think of my reply I think I said something like "oh yeah oh yeah mm" there isn't anything to talk about. It wasn't a terrible error. It was unfortunate, but it was certainly not malicious. Even if you are a fucking creep.

These fuck knuckles!

[the-firebird69]

Supreme Court lets Cowboys for Trump founder's office ban over Jan. 6 stand

This is happening a lot and the opposition is growing as minority morlock join to oppose Trump as to miscellaneous already bja and company are at him and after him and opposing him and the pseudo empire and they're much more harsh and it's getting stepped up and the empire has decided to stop him rather than feed his fire is completely out of control and that's practically everybody foreigners are attacking him they have not declared him to be a massive liability no they have and they too oppose the guy and Trump thinks it's good and we know it's awful he is going to kill everywhere. The rate of degradation of the morlock has increased to 0.045% that's half of 1/10 of a percent an hour so yes in 10 hours it so every 24 hours is a percent and it's moved up from over a day and a half now people are considering what these people are doing here is to be wrong I'm entire areas are evacuating overseas and some areas in the West. So far in the east there are huge huge casualties of trumps at the stashes and Cassius gigantic casualties okay these guys are not going to make it. The stashes and cashes overseas this morning we're at 45% empty right now it's approaching 53% empty and it is increasing in their losses it is going to be a hell of a day they're going to lose everything they've had. People are starting to see it and they are excited and they're going after them and it will be over soon for these loud mouths braggots

Other news is developing

-we have a war off Mars it is a space war it is gigantic and it is forming up to be something very substantive. Huge numbers of ships are off the planet giant giant ones too and yeah this guy Trump has to go he doesn't need to be in the neighborhood or town or state we're working on it and a lot of people are they want them out of here is relatives and all sorts of people and it's going to be a war over money and that's what he's doing too be a really cheap when our son and whoops he thought we were going to go for the money first instead it's completely upside down and he's doomed and he doesn't know if that she's addicted to it himself and he's running around without businesses and power and soon without police and or military of any kind as soon as ships will be gone and the pseudo empire is losing ships by the way a lot of them do other groups as well as the warlock and the minority Mall locker gathering ships a lot of them and it's a huge day it is a big change and I said it was and it is asking me a few times and I couldn't get it out yet but here it is. Now this this was going to be a massive shift in the paradigm the minority morlock have not entered the scene yet but they're entering scene now because they have to and they're forced to by these people and they hate them and they hahaha and Chow fat is making a joke you said we ate them and our son says yeah many moons ago said that for there is laughter all around. But they're going at it okay and they have a lot of forces out there finally and they're at 7% or so and they're pretty big but right now they're just scavenging and it's working and they really have to scavenge because they need things and they can't get them on the islands and they get pushed out by these dumb assholes it's a horrible experience there are several other things that this is huge and we're going to print

There are probably about 3 billion ships from each and those are the mackmore lock and it also includes the opposite side pseudo empire and it is quite a battle it will probably consume their fleets more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

[suhacidal]

hello

it's been so long since i've spoke on here. i do apologize, to myself, for falling out of a practice that is so healing and transformative for me. now i am taking the time to sit and honor my need of expression, regardless of what is taking place around me.

so, here we are, in the last (full) weekend of the month. i can't say i'm shocked by how alarmingly fast the time has flew, because it was just mid-july, and i was celebrating life to the fullest. i started mones, flew back to my former state to party (and see the oomf-ilf...but that didn't happen), and spend time with my dysfunctional family.

now it's september. it's been a month at my new job, two months on mones, five months sober. alot to take in, really! this weekend, i was supposed to be spending time with my mother and sibling, but circumstances arose for that to be rescheduled (to my ultimate surprise). i think it was a necessary shift, given this would be the first extended period of time i've had off from work since starting. if they were still to have visited, i fear we all would've been miserable! so instead, i've been perpetually cleaning my room, which i think can be classified as my own personal hell. i can say i have been doing this task for the past several months, seemingly making little to no progress, regardless of the long, laborious hours that were allocated for completion. alongside that, the weekend has been spent battling lengthy bouts of anxiety and mania! it's safe to say that they are WINNING. i am getting my ass whooped severely in this battle. nonetheless, here i stand, living to tell my story.

i think the recent manic-induced depressiveness (or depression-induced mania) can be chopped up to 3 things:

my new job. so, i began working a new job in late august, which i am so grateful for! i quite literally asked for this job. i went in, looked around, and asked if they were hiring. to my surprise, i was greeted by the store manager with an application and on-the-spot interview! that day was overall amazing. my interactions with strangers were much friendlier than usual, and the consistent vibe for the day was abundance. abundance of smiles, abundance of opportunity, abundance of amazing experiences. this i thought would set the tone for my work interactions and environment, especially given that the manager i spoke to almost immediately asked for my pronouns. i would love to live in a world where that is the norm, regardless of presentation. me being very visibly queer was obviously going to warrant some confusion and curiosity, so i let it be. fast forward to me starting, my first day was great! the customers were eating me up, i was learning the registers (this is a retail job btw), and i had not one bad interaction. that was until we were near close and i was standing with my manager as she talked to a customer. she began introducing me while in the same breath misgendering me. now...as previously stated, i truly understand the confusion, but she asked me my pronouns. it kind of rolled off my back, especially since she immediately corrected herself. she started apologizing to me and said that she "slipped". this statement stuck with me. because, is that how you actually think of me? in the vain of which i was misgendered; is that actually what you see? and not the identity i was vulnerable enough to come to you as--the one you sought out of me? i tried my best not to spiral and allow grace for mistakes and growth within this new environment; an environment that is not mostly or all queer like i'm used to. this would have been a sentiment i held onto if that was the only time this happened. my manager proceeded to misgender me again, as well as most of my coworkers. i was flabbergasted at this point and heavily considered tendering my resignation. i very obviously am not respected in that space or being regarded as the individual that i am, so why should i stay? the thought has been on my mind for a moment now, and i've been trying to devise a plan to make sure i'm not jumping ship with no lifeboat. needless to say the entire debacle has significantly impacted my mental health. this is without considering the interactions with customers. their perceptions of me can range from one thing to another instantly, no matter how i'm dressed, no matter how i sound, no matter how i begin to perform what i think will appease their curiosity around how to approach me. it's all very tiring and has made me question the basis of disregarding my wellbeing for the sake of money, and even partially for the sake of social interactions. i truly don't know where to go with this one.

hormones. now, this one is a more modern realization. i've been going back and forth and back and forth on what could possibly be perplexing me so, only to realize the massive emotional shift i'm undergoing. it was much more obviously felt within the first few weeks of taking them, but i feel now the noticeability has faded into the background. as with anything that becomes a routine, i've grown used to the thoughts and emotions that have became amplified by the presence of hormones. it's taken quite the toll on me, honestly. i can't lay in bed most days like i'd like to. i feel as if i have to put on a mask and perform for a crowd of people every day. i've began to be more assertive and possibly mean within my interactions because i felt as if i was just being pushed over. never in conversations around gender, though. whatever the customers perceive me as is their business. although, i am growing weary of the polarizing views. but i'm guessing that's something i'll have to learn to live with...? i don't know.

the looming, overarching shadow of dread casted by responsibilities i've yet to attend. there are alot of things in this world i'd like to do. attend to these responsibilities is not one of them, however i know i must to live worry-free. well...worry-free of these responsibilities. there is so many other things i have to focus my worries on, and these do not need to be taking up so much space. almost 70% of the responsibilities consist of facing emotional traumas in regards to my parents. another reason i was so grateful for the opportunity to be alone this weekend is because of the strange relationship i hold with my mother. yes, i love her, and yes, we ki down very often, but there is alot to be addressed within our dynamic that has been left unacknowledged or simply unspoken. her perception of me aligns with those that are convoluted by societal definitions of gender norms, which obviously creates some distance. i do my best to give transparency and vulnerability despite this major character flaw. i've explained to her the meaning of nonbinary, just not in my case scenario. i just don't know what's to come of it when i do finally demand respect. i know it needs to happen ASAP especially because...what have i got to lose? besides the odd relationship where alot goes unsaid, my livelihood is not at stake for me standing in my authenticity and claiming visibility in front of my parents. i don't know why i act as if it's life or death for me in this situation. the whole thing has been bothering me for quite some time now, and even more so with the progression of physical changes induced by hormones.

another thing i forgot to mention in my first point is the newfound access to recurring deposits of money. it's convinced me that the world is at my fingertips and i can spend my whole check in a week without batting an eye. i know my first few checks went to rent, but the last one, i couldn't tell you. actually, yes i can--that one went to bills as well. it's unfortunate that living in this world means working to survive. not to rest or reap the fruits of your labor, of course! i've been compulsively shopping with what i have left from squandering on bills. the manic spending of money has made things more dreadful for me, because i'd like to save. i've been too deep in the "live like it's your last" mindset for a while now and it's time for a change. i cannot say i'm completely disappointed with those decisions (i acquired some cool stuff), but i could be doing much better and living wiser without the see it, want it, have it attitude.

the main thing keeping me afloat right now is another planned trip back to my former state, this time specifically to reunite with oomf. also for a friend's wedding, but that's tbd. the details were given to me in passing and forgive me if i don't remember the very vague sentiments that were expressed. this friend also doesn't talk to me often, or at all for that matter! we may have exchanged one or two conversations since i moved. mind you, this person was a best friend to me, so imagine my shock when i was left on delivered for months. anyway, a trip away from the usual humdrum of life always gets me going, and this time i actually will get to stay with my oomfita. things have been rocky for us lately, so i'm kinda riding on this trip to provide us with some stability, and maybe even deeper connection. it's going to be their birthday so i'm hoping to make it very special. (me being there should be special enough...just saying.)

i can truthfully say that sitting down and intentionally dedicating time to write and express has lifted a weight off of my shoulders, and tended to some of the overwhelming anxiety that has been plaguing me for who knows how long! i must do better at holding myself accountable to talking/writing, even if there isn't much to say. i also have to give thanks to the soundbath i've been listening to the entire time i've given correspondence. it's been itching my brain in all the right ways. i just feel very zen and very light, finally releasing so many thoughts that have been with me for so long. i thank myself for getting up here, because i know it was not easy. i am excited to come and visit again tomorrow. hopefully with some prompts!

[gold-wolf-soldier13]

So I’m watching Friendly Space Ninja’s video on the Originals cause I never watched it but my mom and sister swear by it and in the last hour he mentions that he thinking literally anybody could play Elena Gilbert, that it didn’t have to be Nina Dobrev and I 100% agree!! but not for most of the reasons most fans would.

So I started reading the original Vampire Diaries books back in like, the late 2000’s/early 2010’s so look I think I’ve got skin in the game here even if it’s been a minutes since I read them and I have never watch past the pilot episode of the tv show honestly because of Nina Dobrev

Like no hate to her she gets enough of it honestly but when people started talking about The Vampire Diaries as a tv series, she was the last person I would have picked simply because, well honestly she wasn’t fucking blonde.

And like I get it, “Gold that’s so shallow wtf” but Eleana Gilbert is a Very Special Character to me and I could have gotten over Elena not being Blonde™️ if they didn’t, seconds later introduce Jeremy and Not Aunt Judith I literally don’t remember her name on the show whoops and that shit took me out.

Aunt Judith and Margaret while never heavily involved in Elena’s supernatural struggles were a very integral part of her character, like fuckin spoilers for a book over 20 years old but keeping Margaret safe is one of Elena’s first interactions with Damon!!! he threatens her baby sister and she gives into him, letting him drink her blood against her will to keep him from doing anything to Margaret.

Elena is a bitch, she is kinda selfish and shallow- she’s a teenager!! she’s kinda supposed to be! She’s Queen Bee of Robert E. Lee High School and she didn’t get there by being fucking nice but she was never actively malicious- just a teenage girl who was used to getting everything she wanted because people just liked her and the showrunners for the tv show were fucking cowards

Because the tv show came out after Twilight even though the source material was written well before, TVD had to be like Twilight and that meant there was a love triangle and over the top dramatics because that’s just what the genre was at the time. Now I’m not saying that the book series didn’t have a love triangle but it just felt different in the book cause you knew from jump that it was always going to be Elena/Stefan, there was no way in hell that she was gonna end up with Damon and everyone knew that.

Which is what made the beginning of book 3 (I think I can’t remember, I owned the omnibus versions and I’m at work rn and can’t fact check myself) so shocking and actually made me ship Elena and Damon for a while. Elena had just died, run off the bridge that had killed her parents something the tv show actually gets right but she survives cause she and Damon had shared blood very recently and when she wakes up as a vampire, she has no memory of anyone besides Damon and for that brief moment Elena was honestly That Bitch™️ until she got her memories back and stopped being a bit of a menace

But even after that she handled her transformation really maturely from what I remember and from what I know of the show, that doesn’t happen and it’s a huge disservice to Elena as a character and Nina Dobrev as an actress because she was handicapped from the beginning by the showrunners!!

The writers purposefully chose to make Elena this timid, wallflower, whiney, “girl-next-door” type of character then didn’t understand why no one liked her as the main character and gave all of Elena’s best traits and story beats to Caroline. They kneecapped Elena from the start, designed her into a corner then floundered when their choices came back to bite them.

Elena Gilbert is the driving force behind the plot of The Vampire Diaries, and it’s such a shame the people in charge didn’t understand that because the show could have been so much better if they’d just embraced the material they had instead of trying to be Twilight and making her another version of Bella Swan.

[sunflowerharrington]

The Dating Plan (Part Two.)

read part one here <3

-> Summary: The smutty part. Minors DNI! And the fake relationship doesn’t seem so fake anymore 👀

-> Notes: @quickiesgirl is still an icon, as always. Enjoy babes! Also the first time I wrote part 2 it didn’t save at ALL so… whoops? i guess

-> Word Count: 3212

-> Warnings: Minors DNFI, smut, 18+, viewer discretion is advised, p in v, not that graphic cause they’re still like 18 and 19 in this respectively, praise kink, peter is not a good dom lol (bottom bitch tingz💅), not a warning but a condom is used because like i’m not writing a baby fic yet

-> Taglist: @quickiesgirl, @xxlangdon, @langdon-cumslut, @sympathyforher, @wzrlds, @taecube, dm comment or inbox to be added to my taglist!

"Peter? Peter! Peter Maximoff! Where are you going?!"

Outside of the venue, you called out to him, waiting by the road on his own, making sure to keep your voice down so as to not attract attention.

"Home," he said, not looking at you.

"I thought you were coming to m—"

"I'm not feeling well, sorry." Peter replied, kicking at the stones beneath his feet.

"I don't get it. You were just fine an hour ago. What happened?" You walked down towards him, crossing your arms over your chest. "I know you might not think the world of me, but I can at least listen."

"That's where you're wrong."

"Excuse me? If you knew how many times I had to listen to Jean blab on about Scott…”

“Not that. I'm sure you're a great listener... but you're wrong. I do think the world of you. I really do, Y/N.”

The silence was disarming, but Peter had said it. Not in the exact words, but close enough. He couldn't let it hang here.

“When we started this whole thing, I thought it'd just be for a joke. That I'd have all these mad horror stories about Y/N Y/L/N to tell my friends and maybe get a few free lunches off of it. But it didn't happen... well, apart from the free lunches. Those were the shit. But they weren't with this unattainable, emotionally unavailable asshole like I thought it would be. You're funny... charming... you're beautiful, obviously. You drive me absolutely crazy with some of the stuff you do but that's what makes hanging out with you even more fun. I loved seeing how our worlds would collide. But this... this is supposed to be the end of it. And if I take your guardian’s offer, or even if I just try to be friends after... it's not gonna be fun anymore. Because it's going to be knowing that I'll never have the chance to be with you, for real.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. Peter looked down. His hands were shaking. “That’s why I think we should say goodby—“

He couldn't get another word in edgewise before your lips collided with his, your lip gloss tasting sweet as your lips met in a passionate, long overdue embrace. Peter felt his heartbeat accelerate and his entire body tingled with sensations as he realized what was happening, before you released yourself delicately, looking deeply into his big brown eyes.

"I... I don't want to say goodbye, Pete."

"But I... but you..."

"I know. There's not exactly a good way to show someone you convinced to fake date you how you actually feel, but... it hasn't been just you. You're unlike any other boy I've ever been with. You're unpredictable, funny and out there... but that's what I love about you. I'm always banging on about structure and order, when really? The variety you've added to my life has made it so much more exciting and fast paced." She squinted as she saw his eyes mischievously light up. "And no, that's not a speed joke."

"Damn it!" Peter laughed.

"But... know that... no, it's not just you. So, if you'd really just like to go home after all this, I don't blame you. I'll give you all the space you need, but... I'm not washing my hands of you. I don't want to."

"So, you're breaking the agreement?"

You sighed, a smile on your face as you shook your head. "I'm breaking the agreement."

“I think this calls for a celebration!”

You chuckled. “And what exactly would that be?”

“Let me show you,” he said, this time his voice was more raspy, lower than usual, and it made your stomach somersault.

In a split second, Peter pulled you in by the chin and met you in a searing kiss. A blush all over his face, and you gladly reciprocated it, a warmth exchanged between you both in finally being beyond the terms of your agreement. And in another second, you were sitting in his lap on his bed down in his mom’s basement slash his bedroom, ball gown hiked up to your hips, lips still attached to his. Peter knew his speed would come in handy, and would also come in handy for locking the door so you would be away from prying eyes and ears. Cough, Wanda and his mom, cough.

His hands never left your hips, holding you closely to him, and once you pulled your lips away from his you looked back into his half lidded eyes; he looked so peaceful and sleepy, so you kissed him in the centre of his forehead and then both of his temples, his nose, his cheeks, his chin… But not his lips.

“Mmph, Y/N. Kiss me!”

“I did,” you chuckle.

“On the lips you dummy!”

“Nope.” You watched as he pouted, his eyes widening and rounding, looking up at you like a lost little puppy.

“Pleeease? I’ve gone so long waiting to kiss you!”

“But how am I meant to do anything in this huge ball gown? I left all my clothes at home. Would Wanda have anything?”

“Oh, uh… yeah… sure! Let me just go and ask my mom,” he said. “Since Wanda’s still at prom.”

He came back with a grey hoodie that had a tiny line of writing reading ‘bee-lieve in yourself and anything is possible’ with a small stitching of a cute bee beneath it, and a pair of shorts. Peter handed them to you and offered to help you out of your dress, which you accepted.

“Thank you so much, I can barely breathe!” You laugh, and he gets to work unzipping the back.

“I’ll stop when you tell me to, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything… I’ll just unzip your dress and then I’ll go and get changed too, in a different room, obviously.”

You stepped out of your dress as Peter unlocked the basement door and left the room to go change in the bathroom, leaving you alone in his room. You fought the sudden urge to snoop around his room, and quickly changed into the bee hoodie and black shorts. But you wanted to keep your heels on because you knew damn well that if you took them off now your feet would ache for days, and you didn’t want the pain to start right then.

When you were finished dressing, you sat back down on Peter’s bed, waiting for him to come back down into his room. He audibly gasped as he walked back into the room with a plate of cookies, almost dropping them to the ground upon seeing you.

The dress that had been covering your legs had now been ridden of, and we’re now exposed before him, and there was a look on his face that you had never seen before. You subconsciously began fiddling with the sleeve of the hoodie you borrowed as he set the cookies down on his dresser and he walked towards you.

You’d thrown your hair into a messy bun, and that added to the fact that you were wearing baggy clothes sent his mind into overdrive. His clothes were against your skin, and he could barely comprehend that.

“You could’ve asked me nicely and I’d strip for you, baby,” you said in a joking manner, but nothing in Peter’s expression read as being amused as he bit his lip.

“Really, peaches?” He asked, sitting down right next to you, your bare leg brushing against his. “And would you fuck me if I said please?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the air shifting around them. Peter got closer, leaning towards her and sliding one hand down the side of your body, brushing his thumb ever so slightly against your warm thigh. You could feel the familiar warmth climbing your skin as your heart pounded like crazy and you swallowed dry, feeling Peter’s breath against your neck as he planted kiss after kiss on it.

“You look so fucking beautiful wearing my things," he said, leaving a trail of kisses up your neck and jawline. "That hoodie looks so good on you. You can keep it if you want. Take all my clothes, they’ll all look better on you anyways."

“I thought it was Wan—”

And when he finally locked your lips with his, it was like the whole world had just disappeared and the room started to spin in slow motion. There were no teachers, no students, no ‘she did’ ‘he did’s, and no parents in that world that could make your world spin so fast yet so slow at the same time. Not when his tongue tasted heavily against yours, not when your nails scratched the back of Peter’s neck making him shiver with delight, not when his slow hand ran down your arm, all the way down to rest on your inner thigh, mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“You do not know how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you, babe,” he muttered, his voice raspy as he continued to kiss up and down your neck, stopping at the pulse point to suck your skin into his mouth.

You squeezed your thighs together, trapping his right hand between your legs, arching your back, leaning your head back to give him more access to your neck. He mumbled something into your skin, moving to take your heels off, slowly, too slowly for your liking. Was this payback for when you didn’t kiss him? Maybe. Maybe not.

As you grabbed his t-shirt in your balled fists you began slowly lifting it up over his torso, arms and head. Piece by piece, each piece of clothing ended up strewn all around his bedroom, he would sort out the mess later but for now his attention is solely on you.

He flipped your positions so you were now sitting on the bed instead of his lap, and never did his lips leave yours. Peter trailed his kisses down your neck to your now exposed collarbone and you took his cock in your hand and began stroking him slowly through the fabric of his boxers.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, babe?” You asked, whispering softly into his ear, your breath hitching in your throat as did his. Already his breath was ragged, the temperature in the room heating up with every rapid rise and fall of your chests.

You could feel him nodding, and so that gave you permission to stroke him harder, listening to the soft moans eliciting from his throat, slicing through the quietness in the room like a knife. Peter climbed on top of you stopping your movements for a moment, kissing your lips once, finally, holding the spot on your thighs just below your ass to lift you at an angle.

“Peter, please I can’t take this anymore,” you whine, the sexual tension between the two of you becoming too much for either of you to handle.

A thought flickered in his mind and he gently lowering your back down onto his bed, the sheets brushing against your bare skin as he hooked his slender fingers into the band of your panties, slipping them down your legs, pressing soft kisses over your exposed skin with so much care as if you were a doll made from porcelain or ceramic.

You were everything his wet dreams had prepared him for; so warm and inviting, and yet your body felt cold to the touch.

He leapt off the bed and dashed out of the room before coming back a second later with a silver wrapper in his clenched fist. Some might think condoms are a mood killer, but so are babies, so Peter made sure he was always careful when having girls over.

“How long, Peaches? How long have you been waiting for this?” He says, voice low and dangerous, and if his voice got any more soft you thought you would pass out, or simply pass away at peace and utter bliss.

His breath is hot on your neck as you work on pulling down his boxers at an agonizingly slow pace, ridding them and throwing them… somewhere across the room. You didn’t know where, and that’s not what you were worried about for the moment.

You did the honours of rolling the rubber up his length, taking your sweet, precious time, chuckling as he groaned in frustration.

Peter lined himself up with your entrance, kissing you on the lips as he stroked himself firmly through the rubber, waiting for the right moment to slide himself between your legs, and when he did you couldn’t help but whimper his name under your breath. He rested his forehead against yours as you gradually took him all the way in. Every inch, every rapid pulse, every vein, every pump of blood worked to stretch your walls.

“So tight for me, peaches,” he moaned, voice breathy, and you swore to yourself that you never heard a sound so beautiful in your life before this moment. He hovered above you for some time as you adjusted to his size.

“Please, baby,” you pant, giving him permission to start moving, but he didn't. “Peter…”

“I uh… I don’t like how we’re doing this, Y/N,” he began, his voice shaking as he asked, “Can you be on top?”

His heart pounds in his chest, he hated the fact that he was a bottom, but that would all change tonight. He lay down beside you and you took this as your sign to straddle his hips, pushing yourself back down onto him.

You held onto the headrest and slowly began lifting your hips up and down, taking his cock almost out and then back in again while watching his eyes roll into the back of his skull from the pleasure.

The image beneath you was breathtaking; his silver locs splayed out over his pillow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your movements, his hands taking a loose grip on your waist, and his soft whimpers. “Fuck,” he moaned, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. “That’s it, just like that peaches.”

Tiny bolts of electricity began shooting through your body as you rode him faster, picking up your pace as he writhed under you, becoming a whiny moaning mess beneath you. His cock brushed along your sweet spot, causing the breath to hitch in your chest.

Peter’s hips bucked up against yours, stretching your walls that little bit more, making you cry out his name. You leaned forward, almost against his chest, to move the sweaty hair from his forehead, and then he thrusted up into you again.

“Holy fuck- do that again!”

He sat up in the bed, wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close to himself as he could, as he thrusted up into you. You weaved your fingers into his soft hair, tugging lightly, but hard enough to cause a moan to escape from his parted lips.

Peter wanted to make himself last, so he tried distracting himself by driving his cock into you quickly, faster, his grunts matching his rhythm as he erratically slammed his hips up into yours. He kept an arm around your waist and wrapped his fingers of his free hand around the back of your neck, holding you still as he fucked you from below.

You buried your face in his neck as he picked up his pace, and with your face buried in his neck he could hear every angelic sound that escaped your throat.

“Oh my god… Please, I’m right there! I’m—”

Your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him as he slowed down his thrusts as he came with you, his whimpers quieting and dying in your hair as you both came down from your high. Panting, you both slowly caught your breath back, chests heaving, caressing each other’s skin, Peter’s thumb brushing your cheek.

“I… I think I’m in love with you,” you whispered, your cheek still pressed against his warm, slightly clammy shoulder. You couldn’t believe you just admitted that in front of him, but you’d already said it and it could never be taken back. “I— I love you, Peter Maximoff.”

“And I love you, Y/N Y/L/N,” he found your hand and held it tight for a moment, before extracting from the embrace (though he didn’t want to, he never wanted to let you go), getting up from the bed. His insides were intensely screaming and cheering for him, over the moon that you said that, thanking the heavens that you felt the same way.

His eyes glazed over as he went to grab a towel to clean up before his mom would come down and see what had happened—Peter was pretty sure she heard what happened so it wouldn’t make any difference if his bed was a mess or not. He wiped beneath his eyes, his back to you so you couldn’t see what was happening, and sniffed his tears back in. Or so he thought.

As he walked back into the room with the towel in his hand all he could see was you, sitting on the edge of his bed with his bee hoodie and shorts back on. Your heart felt heavy as you watched his movements as he cleaned up, insisting he did it since it was his bed, sniffling a little.

“Are you okay, babe?” You asked, and he nodded wordlessly answering your question, but not a second later the tears started again and you ran to throw your arms around his waist.

“I just… Why me? You’re an amazing, beautiful woman and I’m… well… me. And don’t girls like guys who do it on top?”

“Peter, look at me,” you encouraged, standing on your tiptoes to be as level to his height as you could.

“You,” you started, pressing your index finger against the centre of his chest twice, “are perfect to me. All of your small insecurities are valid but I don’t see them! I wouldn’t have this relationship any other way, and I don’t wanna be with anyone else. Stop doubting yourself!”

The smile on your face was contagious, infectious, making Peter grin back at you brighter than ever before. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, holding his waist tighter as you felt your knees weaken a little, playing with the hem of his shirt to distract yourself, though you wouldn’t need that distraction moments later.

Lost in each other’s gazes you smiled at each other, taking in this precious moment and sealing it inside your hearts forever. Peter wrapped his arms around you, sniffling from his recent tears, one lone tear falling down his cheek. You raised your hand up to his face and gently caught the tear on your thumb, wiping away any insecurity he had with it. And though that tear was alone, Peter was not, and neither were you.

The world around the two of you faded away as Peter’s lips caught yours into another sweet kiss, your love for one another blooming all around like daffodils in springtime along with your relationship, which blossomed into something truly beautiful.

[writerlyhabits]

Movie Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: After an awful day of work, Bucky is quick to help you relax. And who can go wrong with a movie and some takeout? (Based on these requests.)

Ch 3 of the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: uh oh I wrote about his sister again, sorry not sorry, excessive pining (they’re idiots okay), mild cursing, mention and eating of food, alcohol (Bucky has a beer but nothing really happens with it), I still feel like i'm missing stuff but I think that’s it.

AN: whoops my hand slipped. This is a monster of a chapter, and it’s all just fluff. I started writing one of my requests, and then it started to feel like it was fitting in with Neighbors… and then I thought to combine it with another request, and I just went wild. @deceiverofgodss was horribly wonderful as she bullied me into finishing this, keeping the slow burn in check, and filling it with cuteness, thank you my love 💖 I think that’s all I have to say for myself… enjoy!

Gotta site my sources since she reads directly from the Wiki page, so there you go.

You were drained. Beyond exhausted as you shoved your key into the door, dropping your things unceremoniously on the floor of your apartment before collapsing onto the couch. Your hand was draped over your eyes as you held your temple, not even having the energy to kick off your shoes or otherwise unwind from the day.

Work had been hell, you were on your feet almost all day and your legs were absolutely killing you. You had been on the move non-stop, and it seemed like one thing after another needed your attention, only finding an escape when it was well past the time your day should have ended. And now, you didn’t even feel like existing, wanting nothing more than to just stay right where you were.

There was a knock on your door, and you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face.

“It’s open, Buck,” you yelled, hearing the eye roll in his sigh as he turned the handle.

“I hate it when you do that,” he grumbled as he walked in, making a point to lock the door behind him. “What if it wasn’t me?” You looked at the tall man as he made himself comfortable in the familiar space, immediately moving to pick up your bag off the floor and hang it from its hook on the wall.

“It’s always you.” You hadn’t meant to sound so wistful, but you were too tired to care. He stood with his hands in his pockets as he looked at you from across the room, a soft expression on his face as he raised his brows sympathetically.

“Rough day?”

“The worst,” you groaned. “I was busy from the second I clocked in until about an hour ago. The whole day I felt like I had to be in four places at once, and had twelve things to do in each of them, it just didn’t stop.” As you’d started explaining he had made his way over to the couch, settling himself on the edge and running his hand comfortingly across your calves, which were tight and hurt like crazy. His gentle touch felt good. “I just don’t want to do anything. I don’t even want to use my brain.”

“Then why don’t I head out? Let you have some time to relax, give you some-”

“No,” you cut him off, reaching for him as he started to get up. “Please stay. I haven’t seen you all day.” He smiled gently down at you, resettling himself on the edge of the cushion.

“Well, I was very busy, but I guess I can stay for a little,” he teased, brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “I can’t leave my girl when she needs me.” You closed your eyes and turned your face towards the couch cushion, hopefully hiding the way your face flushed as a smile grew at his sweet words. He brought his hand back to rest in his lap as he sat and looked at you, leaving the two of you in comfortable silence.

“How’d your day go?” His first response was a sharp inhale as he sat up straighter, and you knew what that meant. “Not good for you either, huh?” Bucky just shrugged his shoulders.

“I mean, not as bad as yours.” You rolled your eyes at his attempt to brush his feelings off. “Yori dragged me out to that little park by the docks... It was nice, you'd like it. He uh… he used to take his son a lot. Told me all about it.” He trailed off at the end, eyes shifting to his hands in his lap.

There was something delicate about Yori’s son. You’d picked up over time on how much it affected him, but you weren’t quite sure what had happened, or why it seemed to have such a hold on him. Your mind would go wild with possibilities… it could have been something close to home, maybe something that brought back old memories. He could just be sympathetic, the longer he’d spent around the old man the more of an impact it had? Or maybe — and this was one idea that you tried not to think about — maybe Bucky wondered what his family had to have gone through when he had ‘died’ so long ago. Maybe he thought about what Rebecca had to have gone through…

You reached out to find his hand, holding it in yours to try and bring him back from his thoughts, whatever they may have been. He gave a small smile as he started absentmindedly running his thumb over your skin, the cool of the vibranium a welcome contrast to the rest of his warm presence.

“Have you had anything to eat tonight, doll?” He asked after a few moments, nothing but concern in his voice. You shook your head ‘no’ before continuing.

“But I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti and bacon, if that’s what you’re offering,” you poked, earning a chuckle as Bucky shook his head at you.

“Nah, I was actually coming over to try and sucker you into making something,” he retorted, shooting you what you’ve determined to be his trademark mischievous smirk.

“You’re such a shit,” you laughed breathlessly, shoving his shoulder. It was a nice little moment, laughing with him, being so open with each other. It felt nice, it felt... It felt natural.

“I was thinking about ordering something in… you in the mood for Asian food?”

“Oh that sounds good,” you hummed. “Where from?”

“That place on the corner by the drug store, with the noodles on the logo?”

“That’s the one with the dumplings, right? With that really good sauce,” you asked vaguely, knowing Bucky would understand what you meant. You two had been through your fair share of restaurants in the area near your building, narrowing down your favorites for different things.

“Yes, that one,” he replied enthusiastically. “What do you want?”

“I want pad thai,” you just about whined, your stomach starting to remind you how long it had been since your lunch break. He laughed softly at you.

“You got it, sweets.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before getting up to grab your computer and place the order.

-

“Oh that’s not… what I thought that song sounded like,” Bucky said hesitantly as he did his best to listen. The two of you had decided it was time for a movie night, and in your efforts to fill in the many missing spaces in his pop-culture bingo, you two settled on something he was familiar with, The Hobbit. That was apparently the one out of the well-known series he’d read before.

“Really? What did you think it’d be like?” You asked from your spot tucked in the corner, a pillow held tightly in your lap and your feet brought up on the couch just a few inches away from him. He didn’t answer you for a second, and you watched his very reactive eyebrows as he continued observing the dwarves on-screen throwing things through the hobbit hole.

“I… I don’t know, but that’s not it.” You laughed lightly at his reaction as he reached for his beer.

“Aww, and I was hoping you’d sing your version for me,” you teased. He scrunched his face at you as he took a sip, and you just grinned at him as you both turned back to the movie. A few moments later, there was a knock on your door — dinner. You swung your legs off the edge of the couch to go collect the goods when Bucky’s hand appeared on your thigh, holding you down.

“I got it, peach,” he offered with a gentle smile, catching you off guard with the new name, and you couldn’t stop yourself from watching the way his shoulders moved as he went to pull open the door. When Bucky turned back around, food in hand, he gave you an amused expression when he found you had extended yourself down the entire length of the small couch.

“You’re taking up the whole thing,” he laughed. “Are you kicking me to the floor?”

“No,” you defended, a playful smirk on your face. “Here, come be my leg rest,” you offered, lifting your legs so he could slide in.

“Is that all I am to you? A leg rest?” He shot as he took his seat again, the bag of food in one hand and he guided your legs down into his lap with the other.

“Of course not Buck. You’re also the bringer of food,” you reasoned, reaching your hands out for the takeout box of noodles. Bucky just shook his head at you.

“I’m gonna remember that,” he mumbled with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, making you giggle as he dramatically tossed the paper bag to the side, digging into the box that looked small in his large hands. “You better be ready.”

“For what??” He faltered for a second, scooping food into his mouth as he stalled.

“Just… be ready.” Your giggles didn’t subside as he furrowed his eyebrows to try and give you an intimidating look. The grin creeping up on his face was a dead giveaway.

“You’re a shit liar.”

“I… no I’m not,” he tried.

“Alright, okay… you just let me know when you’re gonna carry through on that empty threat.” You winked at him as you shoved noodles into your mouth, and he rolled his eyes.

“Can we just watch the damn movie? We missed their whole conversation, they’re already headed towards the mountains.” Sore loser.

You were immensely pleased with your movie choice, being rewarded with a very confused and very outspoken Bucky, his facial expressions acting as the most entertaining commentary you could have hoped for. There was a fair share of “that’s not how that happened,” another song he’d had a hard time listening to, and an impeccable sense of which dwarf was which — especially for a man who’d had to fight to remember who he was.

Between bites of his food, he’d taken to resting his hand on top of your tired calves, rubbing the tired muscles there absentmindedly as he kept his gaze on the screen. Which was lucky, because you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He would catch you looking out of his peripherals every now and then, offering you a warm smile before he would turn away again.

“How’re your legs feeling, doll?” You raised your eyebrows in question, his catching you off guard as he deposited his empty takeout box beside yours on the coffee table. “Your muscles feel tight… do they still hurt?” Had he… you wondered whether his touches had been absent-minded after all.

“I- yeah, they’re a little sore. But I’m alright,” you managed, reassuring him. “They’re better than they were.” He gave you an unsatisfied expression, brows knit together in concern. Before you could offer any comment or assurance, he took one of your calves in both hands, applying gentle pressure as he began to massage the tender muscles. It took everything you had no to let out anything more than a small sound of relief, and his bright blue eyes snapped right back up to meet yours.

“This alright?” He asked softly, his motions slowing as he waited for you, though still keeping pressure in his movements. You nodded with a smile, and he let out a huff of amusement. “You sure?”

“Mhmm, it feels nice.” He continued his movement as he turned his attention back to the movie, his hands gliding across your leg to alleviate the tension there.

Now you weren’t even trying to watch the movie, busy watching his hands on your legs when you didn’t have your head tilted back on the armrest, eyes closed in relief. His touch was soothing, applying just the right amount of pressure exactly where you needed it, and alternating his attention between both of your calves to balance out his ministrations. You were in heaven, no matter how much you didn’t want to be attaching yourself, to be having these kinds of feelings… but it’s so much harder when he’s touching you so tenderly, and entirely of his own volition.

You hadn’t even been listening to the movie until he’d stopped his motions and one of his hands left your leg. You glanced up to find him looking at the screen incredulously, his arm outstretched in question. On the screen you saw Bilbo sitting up in a cave with his sword in hand, sitting right across from a very distinct character.

Gollum.

“What’s up Buck?” you asked, trying to gauge his reaction, but ending up confused yourself.

“Why did they make him so creepy?”

“Gollum?” you asked, still unsure where he was going with this. “Because he is?”

“I don’t remember him being like this. He’s mean, too… No, this isn’t right.” You had never heard someone complain about Gollum’s character in your entire life. Not in person, not online, not in some giant internet argument. If you remembered correctly from when you had tried to read it, he was done pretty well...

“I… I think it is, Bucky.” He looked at you with furrowed brows, and it was almost comical how much he did not care for the change. “He’s consumed by the power of the ring, he’s extremely possessive of it. That’s one of the things that makes it so dangerous,” you tried to explain. But it didn’t seem to help.

“But- no, okay… The riddle game he plays with Bilbo, he’s gonna give him the ring.”

“No, the Ring is in Bilbo’s pocket.”

“Well, yes, but Gollum doesn’t know that. And he’s upset he doesn’t have a gift for Bilbo, so he leads him out of the cave instead.”

“No. Bucky, he’s trying to eat Bilbo.” You reasoned, and he still looked confused. “When Bilbo wins, he goes to get the ring so he can use it to turn invisible and eat Bilbo anyway. And when he can’t find it, he thinks Bilbo stole it.”

“Then how else does he get out? Gollum led him there, I know it.”

“Well… kinda? Bilbo accidentally puts the ring on and turns invisible. Gollum thinks he’s already escaped so he goes to the exit to try and find him, and Bilbo follows him out.” Buck’s brows were still furrowed as he kind of looked off into nowhere, and you could tell he was trying to remember.

Both of you looked to the screen, attention caught by Gollum throwing a fit when he’d lost the game, clearly upset that he’d lost a tasty meal. When he slipped his hand back to reach for the Ring, Buck started nodding slowly.

“He does go for the Ring… I guess I must have just remembered it wrong,” he managed, as if he was still trying to find his memory of the book from so long ago. Hearing him say it aloud, that conclusion didn’t sit well with you. He’d remembered so much from his past, why was it this one detail? You were pulled from your own thoughts when Bucky took a sharp inhale. “That’s fair, I mean... I read the book once? I had it pretty close, I’d say that’s still good.”

“How long ago did you read it?”

“Oh god… I don’t know when it was, but I read that book right after it came out,” he answered, a smile appearing on his face before it turned into the side smirk he would do when he was trying to talk through a laugh. “I remember… Becca was still in school, and she got so mad that everyone was talking about it without her, so she came over one day and stole my copy. Ma said she couldn’t get her nose out of it for days.” The two of you shared a soft laugh at the thought.

“Okay, I’m curious now, look up when it was published,” you asked, reaching for your drink on the coffee table. He was quick to pull out his phone to find the answer; even though it sometimes took reminding, Bucky loved having such an expanse of knowledge sitting in his back pocket. It came in handy when he needed to catch up on life, or times like these when you were too lazy to use your own. Taking the last sip of your drink, you slipped your feet out from under his arms to get up and get more, and his head snapped up to meet your gaze.

“I’m just getting a drink, do you want another beer?” you asked, picking up his empty bottle on your way past. You were met with a face that was confused and concerned, and you could only describe it as a worried puppy dog expression.

“I- sure… I would have gotten it for you,” he argued, his eyes never leaving you as you made your way to the small kitchen.

“I know, but you got the last one,” you reassured, offering him a soft smile.

“The whole point was to let you rest, sweets.”

“I can take ten steps to grab a drink, I’m fine,” you laughed. “Come on, what does it say?”

“It says it came out in 1937,” he read off, though he continued to scroll through the screen.

“So you were… 21?” You asked, grabbing yourself a coke along with one of the beers he had stored in your fridge when he’d gotten tired of walking all the way to his. “That would’ve made Becca a senior, right?” You closed the fridge and turned to look at him, his concentration still on his screen.

You let yourself look for a second while he was occupied, sitting leaned back on the couch with his right arm propped up on the back of the couch, his legs spread wide like he usually did. Such a man. His brows were furrowed in concentration, the screen reflecting in his blue eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the scruff on his sharp jawline, his dog tags hanging around his neck.

Bringing yourself back to reality, you made your way back to the couch, and Bucky didn’t look back up at you until you were standing right up against the cushions between his legs. You ignored the way his eyes traveled up your body before he met yours, and you definitely ignored the way he looked at you until he realized you were holding out the two bottles for him. He set his phone down in his lap, and you pushed the coke out to his hand.

“Becca was three years younger than you, right?” you asked, trying to confirm your last response as he easily popped the cap off of the glass bottle with his vibranium hand.

“She was… yeah, senior year. Sorry,” he sighed, and you shook your head at him as you held out the beer bottle, and he manhandled it the same way before taking it from you.

“That’s okay,” you giggled, watching as he tipped the bottle back for a sip, and not being able to look away when he licked his lips as he set the bottle down on the side table. “What’d you find?” You asked, nodding towards the phone in his lap.

“Actually, I think I found out why I was confused.” You raised your brows with intrigue as he picked up his phone again. As you waited for him to find what he was looking for, you eyed the spot on the couch beside him. He had his arm over the back … it was practically an invitation… “Okay, here it is.” Buck started to turn his phone to you, and you decided to lean towards his side. To see the screen better, of course.

“In the first edition of The Hobbit, Gollum willingly bets his magic ring ... to reflect the new concept of the One Ring and its corrupting abilities, Tolkien made Gollum more aggressive towards Bilbo and distraught at losing the ring,” you read off his screen, settling onto the couch and tucking into his side as you finished talking.

“That second edition was published in ‘51,” he said matter of factly, a shit-eating grin on his face. “So I wasn’t wrong.”

“And neither was I,” you retorted, looking up at him. He settled back into the couch to make it more comfortable for you to curl up into him, and you had to look away before you revealed yourself, opting to take a sip from your bottle and focus on the movie once again.

But you weren’t watching the movie. You hadn’t been watching the movie the entire night, but it was especially hard to concentrate now that you were wrapped in Bucky, his warm presence encompassing you as you relaxed into his side. Being so close, so intimate, it was intoxicating when you knew it shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t let yourself tuck in closer. You shouldn’t have rested your head back against his shoulder. And you definitely shouldn’t have breathed in and gotten a whiff of something so purely him.

He wanted to be able to ignore it, but he picked up immediately.

“You alright doll?” He tilted his head down to look at you, and you had to lean back farther against his shoulder to meet his gaze.

“Mhmm. You smell good.” You smiled lazily up at him as he let out a huff of amusement.

“Thanks. That’s my cologne.” You were giving him a mischievous look.

“Oh? You go somewhere fancy today?”

“Nah, I just … wanted to try it out,” he started, but didn’t know where he was going to go with it. “Wanted to see if I liked it before I got stuck wearing it all day.” That was technically the truth. It wasn’t like he could say he put it on right before he was knocking on your door so he could get your reaction… no, that would be a bad idea. He hoped you didn’t see through it, because you knew how horrible of a liar he was. He always had been. You giggled before responding.

“Well, it’s nice. It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s just… it’s a very you smell.” His heart skipped a beat as his whole body lit up at your words. You always said the sweetest things, things that were so impossibly personal, and in some cases, intimate. It was like you could see right to his core, and it made him feel alive. It made him feel like a person again.

“Noted.” You made a soft hum of amusement before turning back to the movie, cuddling right up close to him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He’d had a hard time trying to focus on the movie himself, but it was damn near impossible now, not with you tucked right into him.

He wanted to kick himself for thinking a movie night would be better than just putting on a record and talking like you always did. No, this was a different kind of torture… but he couldn’t bring himself to decide it was any worse.

-

Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep, but he came back to consciousness with the soundtrack of the movie’s menu screen playing quietly in the background. He slowly opened his eyes and his breath hitched at the sight in front of him.

Your living room was dark, save for the light from the tv that illuminated your soft features as you slept next to him. Well, on top of him really, the two of you having shifted to the side in your sleep. His body had shifted to lean against one of the large pillows on your couch, which gave you the perfect position to cuddle up on top of him. His arm had fallen from the back of the couch and was resting so perfectly on your shoulder, your body rising and falling with the combination of both your gentle breathing and his.

His body may have been screaming at him for such a horrible position… but he hadn’t slept that good all week, the nightmares being particularly aggressive in their onslaught. His watch was the only indication that the two of you had only been asleep for a few hours, his mind pleasantly clear. The only thought in his head now was you, and how cute you looked resting so close to him. He shifted a little, trying to ease himself into a new position without waking you, but to no avail.

“Buck? You up?” you asked quietly as you tilted your head towards him ever so slightly.

“Yeah… Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, peach.”

“It’s alright, I’ve been up for a little bit,” you assured, and he could hear your sleepy smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face as you shifted from your side to your stomach to try and look at him. “I’m a light sleeper, you could’ve shoved me off of you,” he laughed, and you giggled in response.

“Well, you said a few times this week you had a hard time sleeping … I wanted to try and let you catch up,” you mumbled, nestling yourself further into his chest. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating, because it was so rapid there would be no question as to how you made him feel. He was not ready for that. “How did you sleep? Any dreams?”

“No dreams… just a blank slate,” he answered softly, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. “It was nice. Thank you, doll.” The two of you didn’t move for a while, simply basking in each other’s company. Not talking, not sleeping, just existing close to each other.

He wanted to live in this moment forever. He wanted to pull you in closer, kiss the top of your head, wrap you in a blanket on top of him… but he knew better. He moved to sit up on the couch, holding you close to him as he got up, resting you against the back of the couch. It took a lot for him to successfully ignore your sleepy protests, reaching for him as he got up.

“You’ve got an early morning tomorrow, sweets. Get some sleep.”

“What about you?” You asked as he reached for the blanket you kept beside the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“I’ll be alright,” he assured you quietly. “You wanna come lock the door behind me and head to bed?” You gave a sleepy nod and lifted yourself off the couch, looking like the blanket was weighing you down.

“Thanks for taking care of me tonight,” you mumbled as he gathered his things and opened the door. You watched him, holding onto the door knob like it was supporting your weight.

“Anytime,” he smiled. Unable to resist himself, he walked back up close to you and held your face in his hands, placing his lips on the crown of your head. He couldn’t even call it a kiss, his lips barely even touched you… “Goodnight doll.”

“Goodnight Bucky.”

While you shuffled your way to your bedroom, falling asleep the second you hit the pillow, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking. But he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Because instead of the usual thoughts and memories that usually plagued him, all that was in his head was you.

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

[katyasrussianaccent]

you’re so golden (corpse x reader)

Summary: You’re a faceless youtuber that sings cover songs. What happens when a certain faceless streamer slides into your DMs after you cover one of his songs?

Authors note: Part 3 whoop! I havent written fic in 3 years so Im hoping this is okay. Its about 4000 words, super long, sorry. I also dont play Among Us, but hopefully its not too obvious. Lemme know what you think!

You're nervous, though you aren’t quite sure why. The kind of nervousness that spreads to your feet, causing you to tap your toes against the side of your sofa.

Call you in 15. 

You look at the message again, staring at it till the screen goes blurry. Rubbing your eyes you exhale into the emptiness of your apartment; a feeble attempt at calming yourself down.

Logically it’s stupid to be nervous over a phone call. Logically you know that in the grand scheme of the universe, there are bigger things at hand. But you’re not a logical person, never have been. You’re all heart and emotion, both a blessing and a curse. There’s something intimate about a phone call, to have nothing but someone’s voice on the other end of the phone, talking to you and only you. It was a little scary; to think your purely online friendship with Corpse was going to be taken to a different level. You’re excited to think what that could mean.

“Fucking get it together,” you mutter to no-one as you exhale again, because there’s nothing else to do other than to wait and try to breath. There’s this frantic energy about you; like when you eat fizzy sweets, the flavour buzzing on your tongue. Your ancestors used to hunt wolves and here you were nervous over a single phone call.

The silence in your apartment’s too much now; too noisy. You grab your TV remote, clicking onto Spotify to find something. You’re scrolling so much, none of the artists feeling quite right for the moment before settling on Sufjan Stevens.

The dulcet tones fill the space, and for a brief second, you feel fine. You’re feeling relaxed and then your phone lights up.

Incoming Facetime Audio

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck” you say. Your face feels warm, your heart quickens in your chest. You could just ignore it, say you’re not feeling too good and that would be that, you wouldn’t have to do this. But it’s Corpse, you like Corpse and you’re kind of friends.

You swipe to accept the call, and press the button for speaker. 

“Hey,” you say, cringing at the meek tone your voice has taken on.

“Hey,” Corpse’s deep voice rumbles through your tiny speaker, distorting slightly and you press the volume button to turn it down a little.

There’s a beat of silence, a beat too long, and you already hate how awkward this is. You’re not great at social stuff, the concept of being a social butterfly is almost foreign to you. And it’s not because you dislike people, it’s just you hate this; the small talk, the awkwardness before you get comfortable and can hold an actual conversation.

You suddenly remember a tip from your customer service days. “How are you?” you ask, plastering on a grin so wide that it must look borderline demented. Thank god you’re single. 

“I’m okay thanks, how are you?” he asks.

You lounge back against the soft cushions of the sofa, lifting the phone up to your mouth as you do so. “I’m good, excited to be taught by the Among Us master.”

He snorts in disdain. “Hardly a master.” 

You chew your lip before you speak again, “I dunno, people on the internet think you’re pretty good.”

He snorts again, and you smile at the sound. It’s not something you’ve heard from him before, through your hours of watching his streams, you’ve become accustomed to his voice and the noises he makes. But this one seems to be new. And maybe it’s the weird, selfish part of you that likes to think he’s only ever made that sound for you. You shake the thought out of your head, because really? Getting happy over a snort is really such a ridiculous thing to do. 

“People on the internet say a lot of things.”

“True, but sometimes they speak the truth,” you reply, moving to get more comfortable; tucking your feet under your thighs. You wonder what he’s doing right now as he talks to you, is he sitting down? Or is he lying on his bed; his head propped up with pillows? There’s a brief flash of yearning, of wanting to be there in the same room as him, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared so you ignore it.

“Hm. We’ll agree to disagree.”

“Okay, you’re the boss Mr Husband.”

He chuckles softly, and again, you smile. You can feel yourself getting annoyed with yourself; you’re acting like a child with a crush; smiling at the phone. All you needed now was a notebook that had Mrs YN Husband written all over it.

“You know if you keep calling me that, we’re gonna have to get married,” he says, his voice a little lower than it was before. You blink and cock your head to the side, looking at an imaginary camera like you’re in The Office. Did you say that out loud? Is he...flirting with you? Sure, you’re flirty over Twitter, but it’s Twitter, Twitter isn’t real. There’s a fluttery feeling in your stomach at the mere prospect that he might actually be flirting with you.

“I’d be the best wife you could ever get,” you shoot back. There’s a brief second of silence before he answers, and you can hear shuffling on the other end. You want to ask what he’s doing, but you know it would break the conversation, and you’re curious to see where this goes.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” he asks, and you can picture the smirk in his voice. You have no idea what he looks like, no real care about it either, but you bet he’s got a beautiful smile. You bite your tongue before it tells him this, for once your brain actually works and stops you from making a fool out of yourself. It’s incredibly strange, how quickly he puts you at ease without a try, he’s just so naturally comforting. He’s not this flashy persona, he’s just a guy who likes to play video games and happens to be kinda good at them. And also has a voice that is literally like chocolate. Not just chocolate; dark chocolate. If dark chocolate could talk, it would sound like Corpse.

“Cos your girl can cook,” you say proudly, puffing out your chest a little. And that’s not a lie, you can cook. Okay, you’re not a Michelin starred chef, but you feel quite confident in the fact that Gordon Ramsey could eat your food, and probably (hopefully) wouldn’t scream that it was “fucking raw”. 

“And what would you cook for me?” he asks. 

You hum in thought for a second. “You’ll have to marry me first to find that out.”

He laughs, a proper laugh that settles in your stomach, spreading warmth through your chest. “I’ll think about it. I can hear music, what are you listening to?”

You straighten up a little, the question catching you off guard. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look at the song that’s playing. It’s not his type of music, you’re almost positive about that. You almost don’t want to tell him out of embarrassment. You’re not sure why you feel embarrassed; you know Corpse isn’t an asshole, he wouldn’t make fun of you. But music is so personal to you, so personal, it’s like baring a piece of your soul; which sounds so fucking cliche, but it’s true.

“Uhhh...It’s called Make out in My Car by Sufjan Stevens,” you reply.

He hums in affirmation. “It sounds nice; from what I can hear.”

“I can turn it up?” you ask, leaning forward to grab the remote off the coffee table.

“You could always sing some for me,” he offers. 

You laugh a little, scrunching up your nose. “And why would I do that?”

“I thought you wanted to get married. You have to woo me,” he replies.

“Woo you?” you ask, your tone incredulous. This isn’t how you pictured the conversation going.

“Yeah. Woo me, yn.” he says, dragging out the “o” causing you to laugh again.

You sigh dramatically. “I haven’t warmed up or anything, it’s gonna sound so bad” you warn as you put the song to the beginning.

“I’m sure you sound great. Go ahead, woo me.” 

You shake your head as you softly sing. “I'm not trying to go to bed with you, I just wanna make out in my car. And though I'm dying to fall in love with you, I just wanna make out in my car”. You stop and you’re suddenly very aware that you have essentially just serenaded him. Good going, brain.

It’s silent for a beat too long, and the smile that graced your lips starts to fade as the embarrassment starts to set in. 

“Well now we definitely have to get married,” he affirms. And there’s that fluttery feeling again.

You swallow, moving the conversation swiftly onto Among Us. You grab your laptop that was next to you, humming in acknowledgement as he walks you through downloading it. 

“So there’s a few of us joining us tonight, it should be really fun.”

“Oh. It’s not just us two?” you ask. You focus on the download, watching the number increase. You’re nervous at the prospect of playing with other people, strangers, for the first time. 

“No, it’s a 4 player minimum. We’re going to stream as well.”

“Corpse…” you start. You begin to pick at the skin around your nails, a habit you do whenever you get really anxious. This was meant to just be a cute moment where you learnt how to play a game, not a big event where people would be actually watching you, judging your every move.

“We’re going to do a few games off stream with you, you don’t need to be there for the stream after if you don’t want to,” he interrupts. 

“Okay,” you trail off, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip. You feel a little better, but not by much. You didn’t know who the other people were, what if they hated you? You ask this out loud.

“I’ll be there. You know Rae and Sykkuno. Felix, Sean and Toast will be there but they’re super nice, I promise.” His voice is sincere, and it soothes you. You don’t know him, not really know him, but you trust Corpse. You know he has his own struggles, and you believe his promise; he wouldn’t screw you over or put you in a situation you were uncomfortable with.

The rest of the call is him taking you through how to play and how to set up something called Proximity Chat so everyone can talk to each other in the game. He says it’s easier once you actually play, and it doesn’t sound particularly hard quite honestly, you just hope you don’t get imposter on the first try because you’re not the greatest liar. 

The game screen pops up, and you type in the code that Corpse gives you. You say goodbye to Corpse, who tells you to text him if you need any help. You drop into the game lobby, and you look at the little astronaut. There’s no time to dwell as a cacophony of voices hits you.

“YN!” Rae screeches and you chuckle at her enthusiasm. You’ve known Rae for a few years now, you met at college and had become fast friends. Though you had many different interests - gaming for one, you considered her your best friend. Rae was the type of friend where you didn’t need to talk every single day, you could message her a week later and it would be like no time had passed at all. And you loved that, sometimes you just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Sometimes your mood wasn’t the best, and you needed a little time to recharge. And she understood that, something that you were eternally grateful for. 

“Raebies!” you screech back, using your “pet” name for her.

“I’ve been trying to get you to play forever. But Mr Smooth Operator over there slides into your DMs and suddenly you’re a gamer now?”

“It sounds so sordid when you say it like that,” you reply.

“Hi yn! Glad to see you playing with us,” Sykkuno says. You greet him and the others, making sure to say hi to everyone in the game. You didn’t want to start off by being accidentally rude. You listen as everyone talks amongst each other, and you talk when spoken to, but you aren’t interjecting. It wasn’t anything against the other players, it was just a little overwhelming, and you were figuring out what everyone was like.

“Hello,” Corpse’s voice interrupts your train of thought and you greet him along with everyone else. 

“Aw, I wanted purple,” you say, frowning at Corpse’s name above the astronaut.

“We can switch,” he replies.

“No it’s o -” you start to speak before you realise he’s already switched to white. “Thank you, you didn’t have to.” You smile as you switch to purple, and you decide to add a flower for a little pizzazz.

“It’s your first game, I’ll kill you if I get imposter so it’ll even out,” he jokes and everyone laughs. The countdown begins and you puff your cheeks out, exhaling as it gets to 1. You’re nervous again, a seemingly common theme of the night. Your shoulders relax as the word CREWMATE flashes across the screen.

You watch as everyone but Corpse disperses from the cafeteria with haste, and you look at the keyboard to press the buttons to move.

“You ever see an old person text? That’s how I’m picturing you right now,” Corpse says as you walk together to Weapons.

“Shut up Sonny,” you reply in your best old woman voice, getting a laugh. You open up the task, shooting the Asteroids with ease. “Yay, I completed a task!”

“Good job,” Corpse replies, and you beam at the praise. You move down to o2, doing your task while Corpse does his.

“Wait, you could be imposter right? How would I know?” you ask as you walk together to Navigation.

“You wouldn’t, you just have to trust me,” he says, his voice full of charm.

You scowl. “Well that just makes me not want to trust you.” 

Before he replies, there’s a blaring alarm. DEAD BODY REPORTED. You blink at the suddenness; you were really enjoying the relaxing pace of the game. You look at the screen;  Felix has been killed.

“Who found the body?” Corpse asks.

“I did,” Rae answers. “I was in admin, and was going to lower engine and it was there in storage.”

“If you were in admin, why didn’t you go up through Cafeteria?” Toast asks.

“Because it’s quicker to go through storage,” Rae replies. They argue between themselves, and you listen intently and silently. It’s a lot of information, you can’t tell whose lying, but you guess that’s what makes a good player.

“Where were you yn?” Sean quizzes, and it takes you a second to realise you’re being spoken to.

“Oh. I was in um o2?”

“You don’t sound too sure there, pretty sus,” he says. Your face heats up a little, you’re not the imposter, but it feels like you are.

“She was in o2 and then we went to Navigation,” Corpse answers, and you breathe out as he takes on the interrogation.

“Oh you were together?” Rae asks, and you know that tone she’s got. It’s the tone that says she’ll be messaging you right away.

“Well yeah, it’s her first game, I’m not gonna leave her alone,” he says and you smile at that. 

“Yeah we’ve been together the whole time,” you add and it’s left at that. No-one votes anyone out, since no-ones really too suspicious. You carry on the game, and you find yourself really enjoying it, though the questioning part is kind of stressful. You can see why Corpse likes it so much, it’s really fun. You’re in electrical, humming as you do your task when Rae comes next to you. 

“Hey,” you greet her.

“I’m sorry, nothing personal,” she replies. Before you have a chance to say a word, she kills you and you look on in shock as your ghost floats above your body.  You listen into the meeting as Rae continues to lie and plead her case. She’s good, but Corpse knows better.

“Wait, you said you found her in electrical and you were where?” 

“I was in Upper Engine, and then I went to electrical to do my task,” Rae answers, her voice even and calm.

“I was in Lower Engine, and I didn’t see you,” Corpse says, and you grin at the fact Rae’s been found out. That’s what she gets for killing you.

“You were doing your task, I passed right by you,” Rae starts. She pleads her case, but it’s too late and she’s voted out.

“That was so much fun!” you declare. “I can see why you guys play it all the time.”

“Yes! We have converted another!” Felix shouts in victory.

“And all it took was Corpse,” Rae mutters sarcastically.

“Don’t get bitter Rachel, just get better,” you reply, causing the group to laugh.

You get the hang of it after a few games, and find yourself agreeing to stay while the others stream, though you decide against it yourself. You’ve only streamed once by yourself, and it was a very casual affair and you don’t want to feel too much pressure while you enjoy yourself. You know that Corpse gets nervous when he streams and he’s been doing it for so much longer, so you can only imagine how nervous you would be.

You tap your fingernails against the keyboard as the lobby counts down, any previous nerves have been replaced with excitement. 

IMPOSTER flashes across. You’re the only one, your astronaut looks lonely on the screen by itself, and the red letters almost taunt you. 

“Shit,” you mutter as your brain goes into overdrive. What was it Corpse had said before? Not to be too obvious. You don’t kill immediately, instead going at your previous pace to not look too suspicious. You were still fairly new to the game, and you were going to use that to your advantage.

You fake your task in Cafeteria before venting over to Navigation where Toast was.

“Hi Toast!” you greet, coming to stand next to him as you pretend you’re doing the task. 

“Oh hey yn,” he says. It doesn’t seem like he suspects you, and you’re not quite sure when to click the Kill button. You do it anyway before running out and going down and into shields. There’s adrenaline running through you as the dead body’s reported and you crack your knuckles before putting on your game face. You were going to play dumb, play the confused newbie - because to them, that’s what you were. 

“YN, where were you?” Corpse asks. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t going to get away with this.

You twiddle your hair as you draw out your words, playing the role perfectly. “Uhm I was in...shields? I think that’s what it’s called. I was in the cafeteria before that though.”

“Wait, you couldn’t have, I was in weapons. I would have seen you,” Sykkuno says.

You open your mouth to talk. “She could have vented,” Felix comments, and the rest of the group starts to agree.

“Guys, I don’t even know what venting is. I literally just started playing,” you point out, giggling.

“That’s true,” Rae agrees and you knew there was a reason you loved her.

“Bullshit! She’s playing you with her “oh I don’t know how to play” schtick,” Felix proclaims.

“Aw, that’s kind of rude, Felix. I’m just enjoying the game, doing the tasks,” you say, pouting a little. He’s the next on your list. 

Everyone skips the vote and you lean over your laptop, ready for the next round. You were going to win this. You kill Rae and Toast next, and yet again, manage to worm your way out of any suspicion. You can sense that Corpse and Felix are starting to get suspicious of you, and you know you need to bring out the big guns to throw them off.

You catch Sykkuno in Med Bay after checking the cams in Security.

“Hi yn!” he greets, and you almost feel guilty as you kill him. He’s so sweet and innocent, but unfortunately, casualties are a given. You pass Felix as he comes out of reactor and it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to talk your way out of this one again.

“I passed yn as I came out of reactor,” Felix shouts with a hint of glee.

You roll your eyes; this is going to be tough. “Yeah I came from Upper Engine, I was finishing part 2 of a task.”

“I was in Electrical, where was the body?” Corpse asks.

“Med Bay. And the only one that could’ve been there was yn,” Felix starts.

“Well no, you could have passed me and killed Sykkuno then self reported,” you reply. “I think you can do that right?” 

Corpse hums in agreement. “Oh come on! She’s being really sus,” Felix argues.

“You are being a little sus yn,” Corpse comments.

“Corpse. You don’t really think it’s me do you?” You decide to lower your voice a little, your tone sweet but sultry. “You only taught me like an hour ago, there’s no way I’d be able to fool everybody so quickly.” You get close to the mic so it’s like you’re speaking only to Corpse. “Remember what I said? You’re a master at this.” You’re laying it on thick, and for a brief second you think you’ve been too over the top.

“This is difficult,” Corpse says, and you see the seconds count down, your heartbeat starts to quicken.

“Corpse, stop being a fucking simp and vote her out!” Felix demands.

“Corpsie baby,” you drawl out and you smile in success as you hear him sigh, almost shakily. You’ve got this in the bag. The victory screen flashes up and you cheer.

“Fuck yeah!” you shout, patting yourself on the back. You laugh as you exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Good game yn!” Sykkuno comments, the others agreeing.

“Not fair, you used your womanly wiles against Corpse,” Felix says.

“Gotta use them for something. Not my fault Corpse knows where his allegiance lies,” you reply laughing a little.

You stretch, your back crying out in pain from being hunched over so long. You let out a long, loud moan of relief as you straighten your spine, your shoulders relaxing as you move from side to side.

“Your mic’s not muted” Corpse points out, clearing his throat. You feel your stomach drop and your face instantly becomes hot. Shit. 

“Oh. Uh. I totally forgot about that,” you say, forcing out a chuckle. You screw your eyes shut, any happiness has been now replaced by red hot shame. “So this was fun, uh, really fun, but um, I’m gonna, I’m gonna go. So...yeah. Bye guys, have fun!” 

You click to exit without giving anyone a chance to say a word, and drop your head into your hands. 

“Can’t wait to see what they say on Twitter about this,” you mutter into your hands.

TAGLIST (if youre bold, it wont let me tag): @teenageguitarist @fanworrior  @cherry-piee @mirahg  @clara-bee @cookinglovingalien @vir-tual @clubfairy @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @more-like-reyna @boiled-onionrings @moneybagmgk @brendalopez99 @delicateavenuenacho @dreamsofficialwife @hydrate-tion @little-red02 

[clairenatural]

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.