#i will upload to my ao3 too

[peppermintquartz]

Explicit.

Yes, with the Daddy kink.

*

"God, I hope so."

Tommy can't believe those words left his mouth, but what is a guy to do when Evan Buckley is sitting so close looking delectable?

Evan only gazes at him, smiling in a way that seems to be hinting at something naughty. Tommy refuses to squirm in his seat. He's thirty-nine years old, he's not going to be a shy little prude about what he likes. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirts and the leather cuffs.

"I don't know, Tommy," says Evan slowly, spearing some salad on his fork, "I may need some persuading to, uh, open up to you more about my daddy issues."

He chews and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Okay, that's it.

"Challenge accepted." Tommy feels a slow heat building at the base of his spine, but tucks that away for now. The dinner is really good and he's not about to deprive Evan of the energy he'll need. And Tommy is going to make sure Evan expends a lot of energy.

They chat about other matters: about flying for the army versus flying for the fire department, about bartending, about how Evan sued the fire department for wrongful termination ("yes, I was on blood thinners, and yes, I'm still very careful"), about the first car Tommy restored.

By the end of the meal, Tommy is less concerned with what they're talking about and more concerned about Evan's wine-stained lips and dark eyes. And from the way Evan's foot is rubbing up and down Tommy's calf, he thinks the younger man isn't interested in conversation any longer either.

"Let's clean up," Tommy suggests. He doesn't mean to drop his voice further, but the words come out in a low rumble. Evan's eyes darken even more.

They load up the dishwasher together, Tommy knowing enough about Evan not to usurp the task. When Evan closes the door to the machine and starts it up, Tommy reels his boyfriend in and says, "Good boy."

Evan swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I just put some plates in the dishwasher. That's hardly difficult."

"True," Tommy allows, then swivels Evan around to face the sink, where the salad bowl is sat. "Wash that now, hmm?" He keeps his hands on Evan's hips as Evan washes up quickly, and firmly pins him against the counter when he takes the bowl, his arms going around his boyfriend to dry the wooden bowl and set it aside.

"Tommy?" Evan sounds a little breathless. "What are you..."

"Shh. Good boys don't interrupt." Tommy turns him around again, noses along Evan's jawline and breathes him in. He flicks his tongue out and plays with Evan's earlobe before biting softly on it. Evan shudders and moans, wrapping his arms around Tommy's waist and shoulder.

Tommy feels his pulse kick up another notch. He pushes a thigh between Evan's knees, and gratifyingly Evan allows it. Tommy needs to get closer, and reaches down to hook one leg up. Evan goes along with it, gasping when Tommy starts licking and sucking on that soft spot under his ear. He's hard against Tommy where their groins are pressed together, and his fingers are digging into the older man's back.

"Alright, baby, do you want it here or on the bed?" Tommy growls. He wants it to be good for Evan, he needs it to be good for Evan. He needs to see Evan undone completely.

"Bed," Evan says.

Tommy begins to move, then pauses. A wicked little smile crosses his face and he leans back to make sure Evan can see it. "That's not how you answer nicely, Evan."

Evan is flushed and his pupils already wide with lust. His mouth - and what a pretty, pretty mouth, Tommy wants to do all kinds of filthy things to it - is open, his breathing labored. "Tommy, bed, please."

Tommy is very pleased that he's strong enough to keep Buck pinned against the counter. He rocks his hips forward, hissing at the pleasurable pressure. "Ask nicely."

"I did, I said please!" Evan protests. He tries to push away from the counter but with one leg firmly hooked around Tommy's waist, he has little leverage.

Tommy leans forward to lick his way into Evan's mouth, unable to bear another second not tasting his boyfriend. "Ask Daddy nicely now."

Evan freezes for a second. His hands tighten where he's clutching Tommy, and for a heartbeat Tommy wonders if he's spooked the younger man.

Then Evan grabs Tommy by his neck and practically inhales him with hungry kisses. With a tiny jump, he wraps both legs around Tommy and, oh, that feels very encouraging, where Evan's hard cock is pressed against his abdomen.

"Take me to bed right fucking now, Daddy." It's Evan's turn to growl, and Tommy is very glad his knees are strong enough to hold him and Evan up.

It takes some tricky maneuvering before they do end up on the mattress, Tommy having had to relinquish his prize so they can both take the stairs without falling and hurting themselves, and they're stripping with the efficiency of men who know exactly what they want right now. Evan grabs the lube from the nightstand and Tommy tears open a condom.

It never fails to awe Tommy that his partners trust him so much with their bodies, and even more so with Evan. The younger man sighs into the pillows and allows Tommy into him with minimal prep, only the faintest of grimaces on his face where it may sting. Despite every nerve telling him to claim, Tommy holds still, chest heaving and arms trembling with the effort not to just thrust into that slick, hot tightness.

Evan's eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown and his lips redder than before. "Take me," he whispers. "Take me hard. I wanna feel it for days."

Tommy smacks Evan's thigh lightly. "Ask properly."

Evan licks his lips, a look of mischief fluttering over his face. His cheeks are pink and his hair fluffed up. "I don't want to."

The downfall of saints, this one, Tommy thinks, and thrusts, once, to remind Evan exactly who's in charge, and begins to pull out. "Really? Then I guess I'll just take a nap instead-"

"Wait, no, Daddy," Evan gasps, and his cheeks flame even darker with want.

Tommy is shaking inside with desire but he holds still. "Ask. Properly."

Evan blinks up at him. A coy smile curves his lips. "Please, Daddy, may I have more?"

Tommy kisses him. "Much better." He flexes his hips and thrusts into Evan's hot body. It is so much better. He loses himself to the rhythm and the feel of sweat-slick skin. Evan spreads his long legs even more and wraps his limbs around Tommy, breathing encouragement and pleas for moremoremore.

Reaching between them, Tommy wraps his big hand around Evan's hard cock. "Daddy's gonna take care of you," he rasps, stroking fast and firmly, his callused hand wet with Evan's precome. Evan whimpers, fingers raking over Tommy's back. Even in the haze of lovemaking, Tommy hopes Evan will leave scratch marks. It'll be satisfying to have visible reminders of pleasure.

"Please," Evan sobs when Tommy's thumb rubs over the head of his cock over and over, the pad of his thumb pressing into the wet slit. "Please, please, please Daddy please-"

Another soft cry and Evan's spilling hot and slick all over Tommy's hand, clenching down on Tommy's cock. Tommy valiantly strokes Evan through his climax until he's limp and breathless, telling him you're a good boy Evan, such a good boy for me, and suddenly Evan has a hand buried in Tommy's hair and he's squeezing down on Tommy's cock again - whatever Evan has been reading up on to build those muscles, Tommy is going to get a subscription, it feels incredible - and then Evan is whispering in his ear, "Come for me, Daddy, show me how I've been a good boy." And Tommy's vision whites out for a second, all sensation rushing inwards and exploding through his nerves.

When his brain comes back online, he realizes he's lying on his boyfriend like a huge immovable rock and carefully pulls out to roll to the side. Evan makes an unhappy sound as Tommy releases him from his weight, but snuggles closer once Tommy's got rid of the condom.

"I know I liked that," Tommy mumbles, his eyelids growing heavy from the post-coital hormones. "But was it good for you?"

"Yeah, yes it was," Evan replies, sounding just as sleepy. He drapes a long leg over Tommy's. "We'll be stuck together if we don't shower though."

Part of Tommy wants to say he doesn't fucking care, but another part knows that Evan won't appreciate the discomfort. He grunts and levers himself up onto his elbows.

In the dim light, Evan's an adorable, debauched angel with mussed hair and flushed skin. Tommy wishes he were twenty again, just so he can go one more round with Evan immediately.

"We can shower together," he says instead, and gets a sweet kiss. Then he adds with a hopeful bat of his eyelashes. "Shower sex?"

Evan raises his eyebrows. "We'll see if you're... up to it." With another twinkle and smirk, he tacks on, "Old man."

Delighted, Tommy smiles and grabs Evan's wrist. "Challenge accepted."

[ash-and-starlight]

another late @zukki-week entry, for day 2 // skinny dipping

and as a special treat it comes with @erisenyo's fantastic fic And Babe, (What Do you Mean) We Ain't Even Dating that this scene is based on!!

[myokk]

Eloise is really, really bad at chess😐

(this is a scene from my fic & I typed it up here:)

"Milady, you cannot send him there! He will surely die a terrible death, and Murdoch is our finest knight!"

Eloise blinked her bleary eyes at the wizarding chess board, not really comprehending what the tiny pieces were yelling at her. The one that seemed to be doing the most talking was gesticulating wildly and jumping up and down, trying to get her attention. When she had taken the pieces out of the box Sebastian had lent her, they had immediately recognized her and started protesting, appealing to 'their benevolent lord's innate sense of goodness', but their protests fell on deaf ears. Eloise was positive that Sebastian took some sort of perverse pleasure at watching her lose at chess.

In the background, she could hear Ominis's laughter echoing through the Undercroft. His own pieces were quite happy at the moment, preening and occasionally sending rude gestures towards Eloise's, much to Sebastian's amusement. He was narrating their every action to Ominis, whose laughter was egging on his soldiers even more.

"Eloise," Sebastian said, propping his chin up by one hand (entirely too amused, infuriatingly so, why did he have to look so handsome when she was trying to be annoyed at him?), "maybe you should move the knight..." his other hand pointed to an empty space on the board, "...here."

This declaration caused an uproar. There were shouts of betrayal, tiny pieces gesticulating wildly to the carnage surrounding the board as they shouted in vain. She didn't see any other viable moves, so Eloise sighed and ordered the brave little Murdoch to where Sebastian had suggested. Chaos immediately ensued and Ominis's queen gleefully knocked his head off with a violent swing of her scepter. Eloise's pawns all doubled over, sobbing as their most valient knight fell, and her remaining bishop shook his tiny fist in outrage up at her.

After a few more minutes, much to Eloise's ashamed relief and the boys' disappointment, her pieces refused to move for either her or Sebastian. They solemnly collected the remains of their fallen comrades with as much dignity as they could muster and marched off the board and back into their box in a mourning parade of sorts.

Sebastian joined Ominis's pieces as they jeered the losing team off the board, causing Eloise to glare fiercely at him. "You were the one telling me what to do, and they're your pieces! Show some loyalty."

He shrunk away from the intensity of her gaze and held up his hands in protest. "I was suggesting the moves as a joke! After last week's fiasco, I didn't think you'd fall for it again."

Ominis was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath, and the two of them turned to watch him. Even through her irritation, Eloise couldn't help but smile at him - he was always so solemn and these bouts of mirth were few and far between. He managed to speak between bouts of laughter. "I...I couldn't...I couldn't believe it when you sent your bishops one by one into my trap! It was so obvious! And then...and then you..." Ominis dissolved into fits of laughter again and couldn't finish.

Eloise turned her angry glare to him. "We can't all be chess geniuses!"

"I've tried teaching you and you don't listen! For the next time, I'm only going to give you one piece of advice: don't listen to Sebastian." He chuckled once more to himself and then turned slightly to the board, addressing his men (and queen) and giving them a debriefing. He always did this after he won the matches; it was a strange sort of ritual that he seemed to look forward to.

[syb-la-tortue]

Hi there! Ik you're not into homestuck anymore, but I was wondering if all your old piratestuck art is posted anywhere else, since your original blog got deleted? I used to spend so long just going through that tag, cause I love your art so much. It rly sucks that Tumblr is so hellbent on censoring everything to the point of just trashing a decade or more of someone's hard work :(

sadly at the moment no, tumblr was the only place where the great majority of my Homestuck art was (along with some One Piece art and a good chunk of my early bnha art) and even though I don't think much about Homestuck and Piratestuck these days, I wanted to share these art back then and the sentiment is still true today, I really want all my old arts to still be accessible for everyone to find, even if looking at them today myself might make me cringe due to it being old and seeing all the flaws in them lmao

anon asked: Hope you’ll be able to reupload your art! Everything you make is gorgeous!

I know I won't reupload them on tumblr (wouldn't be able to post the sexy here anyway and I refuse to skip it), or twitter or wherever, one by one like they were posted in the past, because we're talking about hundreds, possibly close to a thousand pieces of art and doodles

what I intend to do is to sort them into a few .PDFs (by fandom? by year?) and make those available for download

it's just that. the task right now is a bit daunting, that's a lot of art to sort through! and I would also like to write some level of commentary, you know like captions to give some context, maybe some of the lore and headcanons for Piratestuck, that kinda thing! but yeah, lot of work that I'm currently a bit afraid to start on so that might be a while...

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One day, in mid August of ‘85, Dustin shows up at Steve’s front door, completely unannounced. It’s the middle of the night and Steve has half the mind to reprimand Dustin about curfew and biking alone in the dark. But when his vision finally focuses on Dustin’s expression, Steve sees panic in his eyes; fear. At first, his heart plummets and he thinks not again, not so soon. But then Dustin says-

“I killed that guy. Didn’t I?”

And every other thought in Steve’s mind crumbles like ash. 

“The Russian,” Dustin clarifies in Steve’s silence. “The doctor.” 

Steve remembers. 

Bald, round glasses. 

Stale coffee breath. 

Pliers pulling his nail. 

He can’t speak, throat closing up. 

Dustin keeps talking, rambling like Robin does when she’s panicked. “They used those cattle prods to stun demogorgons, Steve. Do you have any idea how many volts that thing held? He- He fell, like-”

“Dustin,” Steve says - rasps it out because his throat is dry but he needs to stop Dustin’s spiral. 

Rendered silent, Dustin looks up at Steve with wide, glistening eyes. He’s expecting an answer, but Steve doesn’t have one. He can’t think beyond the sight of Dustin standing before him in a matching pajama set and untied shoes, like he didn’t have the time or mind to fasten them up because he was in too much of a rush to come here. To seek out Steve, in the middle of the night. Steve, who should be able to help because that’s his job; he’s the protector, the older brother Dustin can come to for comfort. 

Except that Steve was woken with a start just five minutes ago when Dustin started pounding on his front door and he thought it was the Russians coming back for him, his mind still half lost to the nightmare he was having; all blood and bone saws and Robin’s screams. Part of him is itching to call her, like maybe she somehow died back there and Steve has been imagining her this whole time and he just needs to hear her mom answer the phone and say, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, honey’. 

But he remembers Dustin charging in, remembers watching him strike the doctor right in the chest and how he fell to the ground, limp, and didn’t get back up. Knows that everyone is safe, no matter what his brain tries to tell him. Robin and Erica are sleeping in their beds, and Dustin is standing on his front door step, bike discarded on the ground next to the Bimmer. 

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “Get in here.” 

He ushers Dustin in with a hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them, and heads to the living room. Dustin just keeps looking at him, like Steve has all the answers. Like Steve can make it all better. Can say the voltage wouldn’t have killed him, as if the possibility that he’s still out there wouldn’t send himself into a panic attack. 

“Steve,” Dustin says, and it sounds like a plea; the way his voice lisps, wet and small. 

He’s only thirteen.

“I killed a person,” Dustin says. 

And Steve gets it, sort of. It doesn’t matter that the person Dustin killed was evil and cruel, just like it didn’t matter that Billy Hargrove was about to kill Lucas when Steve stepped in between them. He still didn’t want to hurt someone. Each punch felt like too much, like if he punched any harder, he’d do some serious damage. And Billy would have deserved it - as horrible as it feels to think that after his sacrifice - but Steve didn’t want to be the one to do it. That’s not who he is. He’s a protector, not a fighter. Not a killer. That breaks something in a person, as is made clear by the crack in Dustin’s voice. It took something from him. The little bit of innocence Dustin had left. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet and almost apologetic. “You did.” 

Dustin’s face falls, as if he really did want Steve to say otherwise. But avoiding the truth won’t help anything. 

“But- But you saved me, okay?” he says, like he’s asking if that truth is enough.

Dustin’s eyes flash with something Steve can’t identify. 

“Me and Robin,” Steve continues. “You saved us. If you hadn’t done what you did- What you had to do…”

His nightmares have answered that hypothetical too well. 

He shakes it off, puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder instead.

“You saved us. You did good, Dustin. Okay? That’s what’s important here.” 

Dustin's face crumples and before Steve can blink, he’s got an armful of the kid. He’s still bruised, ribs only just recovering from the break, and it hurts. But he wraps Dustin up in his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric through. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve soothes, voice low. "You're okay. I've got you, buddy."

He’s not coddling him or trying to get him to stop crying- he just talks so Dustin knows he’s there. Tells him how grateful he is for Dustin taking care of him and Robin when they were messed up, for being so brave when he busted into that room. He talks until Dustin is quiet against him, left with his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a while, but Steve doesn’t mind - just rubs his back and rests his cheek against his curls. 

“Your mom know you’re here?” he asks softly. 

Dustin shakes his head. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” 

Dustin nods. 

Steve checks his watch over Dustin’s shoulder. It’s almost midnight. He sighs. 

“Remind me to send her flowers or something as an apology for waking her up right now,” Steve says, light-hearted, trying to make Dustin laugh.

But Dustin just sniffles, guilty. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. It’s fine. Take your shoes off and head on upstairs, yeah? I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re with me.” 

Dustin pulls back, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve and Steve tries not to cringe. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

It’s not entirely selfless, calling Dustin’s mom. If he calls Mrs Henderson, he can call Robin right after without Dustin knowing. He has a feeling she’ll be awake at this time too anyway. He thinks he might call the Sinclairs as well, wants to make sure Erica is okay. 

And as long as Dustin stays the night, Steve knows that at least he’s safe, spread out right beside him, taking up the whole bed. Can make sure Dustin sleeps through the night, can be there if he has a nightmare that his mom wouldn’t be able to calm him down from. 

Steve ruffles Dustin’s hair, smiling at how he pushes into it like a cat. “It’s no problem.”

[peekychu]

Quitting my fulltime job to frost cupcakes at Sugarcube Corner and take naps in the clouds. Take my hoof, bestie.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

…I finally did something again

Summary:

After completing the Candy Carrier Chaos adventure, Ragatha was certain that Pomni was finally coming around to her new life at the Circus. She had even made a new friend! It felt like things were finally going to be ok between them!

Then Gummigoo was deleted...and suddenly all of her hopes came crashing down.

Losing people is starting to take its toll.

[lullaebies]

Hi, I love this acc sm!

Just asking if you could do a Jaehaera lives and Daenaera marries Viserys ii au? thanks sm!!

“You can eat it still. I’ll manage, Daenaera,” Jaehaera tells her good sister. Daenaera prances around the room as if she is a lady-in-waiting still, taking the fish dish she had been eating and putting it on the balcony for the morning birds to gobble up. 

“Your words are most kind, your Grace, but your scrunched nose betrays you,” Daenaera grins as she sits back down on their tea table. They most often have their tea times at the gardens, but Jaehaera’s fatigue had not allowed them such luxury. Daenaera had combed her hair, but they both agreed she is better off remaining in her comfortable nightgown for the day. “The smell of the Strumm fish wards off Viserys, too. Regretful I must give up my defences, but I’ll manage for my Queen.”

Jaehaera lifts her teacup to her lips, a thin smile stretched upon her tired face. “Newlyweds should be sweet on each other. Should I worry you want my good brother repelled already?” 

Daenaera laughs, her pretty smile accompanied by a playful gaze. “Oh, there are no concerns there. Should he have been any sweeter, he may have not allowed me to attend my duties to you on this fine day.”

Jaehaera shakes her head with a soft chuckle. “You are going to make Viserys resent me,” she says. They’ve come a long way since their initial meeting and the accusations of her ‘bewitching Aegon’, but Jaehaera’s matching of her good brother and Daenaera bridged them true. She hopes that it won't go to waste. “Regardless, you are not my lady-in-waiting anymore. You must remember to enjoy your own bliss; you needn’t attend any duty.”

“On the contrary, your Grace. You are my good sister now, and my duties are attended from the depths of my heart,” Daenaera says as if she is speaking out a poem, smoothly, and leans forward to bring a hand over Jaehaera’s palm. “On such exciting days I couldn’t bear not to see you, Haera.”

Jaehaera smiles gently, bringing her other hand to her belly. She had been anxious when the signs had started to show. The maester Daenaera brought from Driftmark in preparation for her wedding had also been the maester that confirmed Jaehaera is with child. The Grand Maester would’ve had to tell Aegon — but she had wanted to know for herself, first. They only made headway with their own intimacy this year. The changes are coming with such haste she hasn’t managed to internalise either her fears or her excitement. 

Swift knocks are heard from behind the door. “King Aegon the Third and Prince Viserys are at the door, my Queen,” Ser Willis Fell announces. “May they enter?”

Jaehaera snorts. Ser Willis wastes no opportunities to show his allegiance. Should Aegon have stood there alone, he could not make them ask for permission, but Viserys standing outside the door means he must mind her chastity. 

“Speak of the devil,” Daenaera’s smiles from ear to ear, turning her body around to the door. 

“Daenaera,” Jaehaera exclaims softly, amused. She clears her throat to raise her voice. “Let them in, Ser Willis.”

The door opens for the two brothers. Aegon’s dark amethyst eyes fall on her tenderly, and the hand that brushes on her belly moves to her lap. She nearby told him yesterday, when he embraced her to calm sleep, but had found him lulled to sleep before she could find the courage. It is always on the tip of her tongue.

“And here I thought you’d keep me out, good-sister,” Viserys says, walking over to Daenaera in steps that seemed more reflex than thought of. “Wife,” he says, planting a full kiss on her silver locks.

“If it was up to me, she would,” Daenaera answers, giving a kiss of her own to his chin.”The council went well, I’d hope?”

“As well as you’d expect from a council all due to be swapped,” Viserys says. “They take too long to make decisions as simple as deciding what establishments to be patrons of for The Smith’s Day. The answer is in the day’s name, for heaven's sake.”

“The Smith represents all labourers, good brother,” Jaehaera chimes in, leaning back against her chair. “There is some merit in that discussion, I fear.”

Aegon drags the chair beside her to sit down. “Let him complain. We all know the true reason he does,” he says. “He has been tortured to keep a charming smile for the entirety of it. A wonder the corners of his lips are not set in it permanently, by now.”

“Should you budge a smile for once, I wouldn’t have to blind the room with mine,” Viserys says, taking his own place with his wife. “Dear sister, I implore you to have him practice his smiles. He cannot leave you to endear the realm to the crown on your own.”

“I am certain the realm will soon be overwhelmingly endeared to her and The Crown in tow. His Grace is only aid, one way or another,” Daenaera chuckles to herself. 

“Pardon?” Aegon asks, tilting his head. The goblet of wine he poured for himself is held by his chest as he stops to comment. He poured herself one, too; she had been the wine fan of them two, but alas, she cannot allow herself to drink much. “I don’t think my wife needs any assistance in these matters.”

Jaehaera smiles. A few years ago all would doubt that claim entirely, but she supposes all things are due to change. She ought to embrace this possibility and make it true; the son or the daughter that are growing in her belly deserve to be loved by the realm, as they deserve to be loved by their father.

She looks at Aegon midway his sip, at the line of his restrained lips. Jaehaera raises herself on the chair, fixing her posture, hand coming back to her belly. “Perhaps, but assistance will come anyway. The babe will be of great aid, if my husband will not.”

Aegon’s wine spritzes from his mouth like a rush of rain. It stains the teal of Viserys’s doublet and furthermore his face, to Daenaera’s great laughter. Jaehaera cracks a wide smile at the display, and especially when Aegon turns to her whole. 

“Truly?” his goblet is left aside, reaching out to her wrist. Jaehaera nods gently, letting her eyes crinkle at Aegon in hopes his will return the favour. The king does not disappoint, his face coming to her own for a swift kiss that stamps his smile on her own.

“I am all congratulations for the both of you, and the realm,” Viserys says, trying to clean off some of the wine on his doublet while Daenaera brushes away his wet fringe from his face, still struck with giggles. “But you most definitely will have to rely on your wife and child in charms, dear brother.”

Aegon shakes his head, kissing her one more time before he turns to his brother. “We will see how you will take it when such news comes to you.”

Feeling at her utmost bravery, Jaehaera hums. “My aversion to the scent of Daenaera’s beloved fish dish had been a most important indicator. Perhaps we should check if you are due alongside me, dear brother?”

“Those damn fish,” Viserys’s ears turn a shade of pink. “I take it back. My nephew or niece will have to do the work for you both.”

Daenaera kisses Viserys’s flushed cheek; soon enough his face brightens. Aegon brings a hand to Jaehaera’s stomach too. Jaehaera hopes the son or daughter within her hears the joy they already brought forward.

[money-and-dandellions]

Of cold nights, slushies and how good it is to breathe; one-shot about Sunflower Siblings.

Less than 30. Sunset is less than thirty minutes away, and the sun has already gone behind the clouds. As if it hadn't spent the whole day there.

In addition to how lazy the sun really was, other thoughts flashed through Lester's head; most often they were lyrics from songs that, with annoying buzzing in his head, played on a loop for a few hours straight.

"...It seems to me that when I die,

these words will be written on my stone...

And I'll be gone, gone tonight

The ground beneath my feet is open wide.

The story of my life..."

The finger while not thinking much about the recent events, tapped out the rhythm of the song, words of which had glued to the skull.

Speaking of skulls, then it's better not to think about them at all, because he has managed to see of too many skinless heads in the last two weeks. This experience is finished for at least three eternities. No exaggeration.

Lester swerved to the right, trying not to hiss at the sharp surge of pain in his right temple. The black-blue dots continued to dance in his view.

Well, at least they weren't tap dancing. He hoped so.

"...There'll be nothing left for me to yearn.

Think of me and burn..."

'Burn what?'

There was no such event as highly-pitched scream, thank you very much.

Meg's eyes, somehow reflecting the rapidly decreasing in availability sunlight, were shining with candle-yellow which did not go along at all with her red, dimmed by a light layer of dirt, tip-tops. Her hair were as wet as the top of her bright green dress, lovingly handed by Ms. Sally Jackson.

Despite that the rain had stopped more than an hour ago, no one would say it if only looking at his master's clothes. Weren't she asleep, like, just now?

'Why would—' A pause. They will, for sure, discuss all the ups and downs of Bastille but Lester doesn't recall what was the last time he have seen the [liquid poison] fluorescent lights of any convenient shop, so—

'Were are going to be in Arkansas in an hour, near some gas station - in 10 or so, because the road is wet, who thought it would be a good idea to... Anyway, in 10 or so minutes. Any wishes?'

'A blue slushie and fries. With salt.' Meg answered, kicking the tips of her legs together with a soft bup.

A slushie and fries it is.

And aspirin, before Lester's brain will wave a white neckerchief, wishing all the best.

———— ———— ———— ————

As it was said before, the liquid poison of lightning bulbs is the least expected thing to happen to anyone, who is crossing the United States of America, even in a company of girl with unicorn-obsession. Even, if you were a god.

Alas, the gas station's advertisment was not so merciful to every unlucky person that ever visited it would it be a mortal, demigod, or a monster.

It would be unpleasant if it would be merciful to monsters.

Sitting on the hood of the car, Meg McCaffrey was very much pleased with apple-strawberry flavour of brain-eating (okay, not the best choice of words) cheap freezer also known as a slushie. Kicking the air, she looked almost peaceful, even counting the pinkish cut on her cheek, which, of course, was already healing.

The clouds were not so peaceful. The dark-gray, wet and multiple layered mass of water looked too intimidating for simple liquid.

Everything started to have a significantly huge amount of ozone smell in it. Choking, cold and crystallized pieces of something sharp scratched Lester's chest, tightening it.

Like rings of lubricous, narrow as cut dried wax, scales that would not stop and would be very much satisfied with crushing him until the last, shaky breath—

'It's cold.'

'What..?'

'I'm freezing, let's get in the car, dummy.'

Yes, breathing is good.

———— ———— ———— ————

Five minutes, ten fries and one boring song listened after, the sun had fully sat, shining at last in the front window of the car. For the next eight or so hours, headlights are going to be Lester's best accomplices.

Meg, her fingers suspiciously shiny, put knees to her chest, head - onto the cold window. Her glasses shifted a little, sliding more onto her right eye.

From time to time, taking his eyes off the road, Lester casted a glance at her, trying to figure out if his young friend is indeed asleep.

Judging by how strong was her grip onto recently bought blanket, she was not.

In twenty or so minutes, the girl shifted, wrapping herself further in the soft cloth.

'I'll go sleep.' The mumble was almost barely audible, but it was still there.

'Have a good night.'

'Don't tell me what to do, du—' She yawned, interrupting her own speech.

"All this time I was finding myself, and I

Didn't know I was lost.

I tried carrying the weight of the world

But I only have two hands..."

'You too.'

Lester smiles tiredly, staring at the infinite dark road ahead.

It's going to be a long night.

[ishomieokay]

Masks We Wear (Chapter 1)

Teen and Up. 2.1k, canon-typical violence, ptsd, mental health issues, mentions of murder, morally grey!john, non-sexy-choking, anger issues, hints of mallory/john if you squint. part 1/44. AO3 link. part 2, part 3.

Right before turning eighteen, John Vogelbaum escapes the clutches of Vought. Always under the radar, he manages to live as a regular Joe for the next couple of years. Until one day, trouble comes knocking at his door in the shape of Grace Mallory. What does the CIA want to do with him, anyway?

Or, the one where Homelander is never born. A traumatized, socially-awkward John wanders through life trying to work out what to do with himself, and somehow becomes a member of The Boys.

Taglist: @discowizard88 Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Before there was a knock on his door, John already knew that he would have an unwanted visitor that night. He could sense it in the air. A peach-laced floral scent with woody notes. Middle-aged, definitely a female, and with a good-paying job. Most ladies around that part of town couldn’t afford such a luxurious brand of perfume. Unsure of what to expect, John opened the door slowly. He came face to face with a petite, gray-haired woman, quite unremarkable in appearance. This just made him all the more suspicious.

“Good evening,” the stranger said as if she hadn’t just shown up at his home in the middle of the woods, late at night and uninvited. “It’s Johnny, isn’t it?”

“John,” he corrected, voice sharp.

“Just John, then.” The stranger’s lips twitched subtly. “I’m Colonel Grace Mallory. I thought maybe it was time we had a talk.”

It would be quite easy, John mused, to laser this frail-looking woman into a pile of ashes and sweep her off his porch. Then again, she may not be alone. He had learned to be careful when it came to leaving witnesses behind. The last time he let his emotions get the better of him, John got thrown into a quite bothersome murder investigation and ended up taking on a new identity. Again.

At least his handlers had bestowed him with a generic enough name. One that allowed him to go unnoticed almost everywhere he went. These days he was always John, though never Vogelbaum. Not anymore.

“Colonel, you said? May I see an ID?”

“Naturally.”

Grace Mallory pulled out a laminated card that included her name and rank, as well as a picture of her. In the upper left corner was written CIA, and that gave him pause. It seemed this time it was not the local police he needed to worry about.

“Wowza, who would have thought? A tiny old thin’ like ya,” John said, letting through that subtle southern accent he’d developed for this particular persona. “So sorry, ma’am. One can never be too careful ‘round these parts, ya know? How may I help you?”

“I rather think it’s us who can help you, John,” Mallory replied, and he could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was not fooled by his everyday-joe act. “We’ve been watching you for some time.”

“Oh,” John said, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his forehead, “that’s… not a creepy thing to say. At all.”

He silently reviewed some incidents from the past few weeks. A big, hairy guy tagging along behind him whenever he went on his morning jog. An Asian girl staring at him a bit too intently while he was fishing around for the best Avocado at the supermarket. What appeared to be a French tourist stopping to ask him for directions, as if it was just every day that a European decided to go on holiday to Des Moines, of all places.

For some time now John had been aware that he was being followed, but by whom and for what purposes was beyond him. He’d had his suspicions and was relieved to find he’d been wrong. “So, those weird folks who keep taggin’ along whenever I go downtown are all you, guys?” He asked, going for nonchalance. “Well, ain’t that something. Thought I was getting paranoid for a sec there.”

Mallory looked unapologetic. “Ah, you could tell. How embarrassing. Perhaps my agents need a bit more training.”

“Perhaps,” John replied, smiling thinly.

“You’re a very resourceful man, I have to say,” Mallory continued. “You’ve got a full set of records as John Gillman. An ID, a passport, a birth certificate, even a driver’s license. After doing a little digging, it’s quite easy to find that less than a year ago you didn’t exist, though. John Baldwin, John Harrison, and oh, John Freeman, isn’t that creative? - also sprung out of thin air.”

John’s hands flexed at his sides.

“Oh, heck, where are my manners?” he said, taking a step back to clear the doorway. "Would you like to come in? I was just about to brew some coffee!"

“Of course,” Mallory replied. Right when she was about to cross the threshold, she stopped. “Oh, I should say. The information I manage is also in the hands of all my associates. Killing me won’t help you keep your secrets under wraps. Quite the contrary, actually.”

John stared into the woman’s sharp hazel eyes. Getting rid of her would be quite easy. If he put a hand around her neck and squeezed just so, he could break her like a stick. It wouldn’t even make a mess. 

“Now, that’s just rude, ma’am,” he said, offering his most disarming smile. “I'd never raise my hand to a woman.  Especially one of your advanced age.”

Mallory’s eye twitched, but otherwise, she failed to react. She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her. John closed the door and she followed him inside. He watched her through the corner of his eye as he poured coffee for them both. She took it black and with no sugar, which he found oddly fitting. John sipped at his cup and waited. The woman was watching him with a serenity that he found slightly unnerving.

“I’m here representing an independent group working under CIA supervision,” she said finally. “We call ourselves The Boys.”

“The Boys,” John repeated, blinking. “Uh, who came up with that?”

“I did,” Mallory shot back, unruffled. “We know who you are, John, and we are very interested in your talents.”

“My… talents?” John said, smile frozen in place. His tongue felt like it was made out of lead.

“You’re a supe, aren’t you?” There was an air of impatience around Mallory, now. As if she were getting tired of walking around the bush. “Don’t try to deny it, we’ve got a whole file on you. We know about Vought and the lab. About Compound V. We know about Jonah Vogelbaum and the others.”

There was a familiar prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. John closed them, covering them with his hand. He took a couple of deep breaths, hoping it would go away. The air tasted like ashes and metal. It was a challenge to get the lasers under control but he did. He always did. He had a lifetime of practice.

“Fuck off.” John’s voice came out guttural and strange to even his own ears. He stared at Mallory through the cage his hand had formed. There was a curious look in her eyes. “You think you know shit ‘cause you read some file? You’ve no idea what happened in that lab. Not a goddam clue! ”

“You’re right,” Mallory conceded. “I don’t.”

John adverted his gaze, feeling his mouth twitching. “The fuck does the CIA want to do with me? If it’s a supe you’re looking for, go to Vought. They’ve got a whole fuckin' parade of 'em.”

“Would if we could.” Mallory leaned back, crossing her arms. “The government isn’t all too happy with Vought these days. They’ve gotten sloppy. There’s blood on their hands and it’s gotten to the point the bosses can no longer ignore it. The purpose of our group is to take the company down.”

“Take Vought down,” John repeated, blankly. He stared at Mallory for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You want to take Vought down?  You?  Right, course you can. I mean, it’s just the most powerful, dangerous, and corrupt organization in the whole wide world. Easy peasy.”

“How skeptical,” Mallory said, seeming unconcerned by the mockery. “I assure you it can be done, although I can see why you wouldn’t think so. It's normal for you to be afraid of them, after what they did to you.”

It all happened in the blink of an eye. One second, John was sitting at the table, laughing at her and sipping at his cup of coffee, and the next one he had Mallory hanging by the throat, feet dangling a few good inches off the ground. She took him by the wrist, instinctively trying to pry his hand off.

“You’re real fuckin’ ballsy for a woman, you know?” John said, staring at her icily. “That file you have on me - does it say what I can do? It must. My handlers were so very diligent about documenting my progress.”

“Yes, it does,” Mallory said, and his grip tightened.

“And still you came here alone, no backup, and with that goddam holier-than-thou attitude. I can’t decide whether you're being mighty brave or just plain ol' stupid, Colonel Mallory.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mallory choked out, “it’s a very fine line.”

Something about her answer must have pleased John, because he smiled thinly and then let go of her. Mallory stumbled awkwardly to the ground. She struggled to catch her breath, hand clutching at her throat. “Whatever makes you think I'd be interested in your itty-bitty venture?” John asked, hovering over her. Mallory raised her eyes to look up at him, defiant even then.

“Revenge,” she said, voice low and rough. “We figured you may want to take revenge. On Vought. On Vogelbaum, and Stillwell, and fucking Stan Edgar. On all those people who tortured you and experimented on you before you’d even learned how to walk. Even if you were to tell your story, you and I both know they wouldn't face any repercussions. They get to live their lives freely, as rich and powerful as they’ve ever been. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

John considered her from above, frowning.

“… it does,” he conceded. “Perhaps I just wanna forget about it, though. Perhaps I’m at a point where I no longer give a hoot ‘bout gettin’ even. Did it ever cross your mind, or anyone’s in that sweet little clique of yours, that I might just wanna be left alone?”

“I think…” Mallory said, fixing John with a hard stare. There were already red stripes forming along the skin of her throat. “… that you’ve just proven you are a man with a lot of anger inside. There’s a dark, ugly thing festering inside you, isn’t there? I don’t blame you. I would be angry too, if I were in your shoes. I’m offering you a chance to unleash that anger on the ones who deserve it.”

There was a strange, watery sensation in John’s chest – a sense of exposure he wasn’t at all used to. When he’d decided to build his new life at a cabin deep in the woods, far from people, and noise, and the hustle and bustle of the city, it was to keep this sort of thing from happening. To have people peering inside and getting a glimpse of the real him.

“You sure make a whole lotta assumptions, old hag,” John said, throat dry.

“Maybe. You haven’t killed me yet, though,” Mallory said, eerily calm. "And I know that’s not for lack of ability. I think I managed to catch your attention.”

“And if you had? What then?” John asked, his every word slow and precise. He noticed how Mallory’s expression relaxed ever so slightly.

“I’d ask you to come with me to talk a few things over.”

Ah, I see what you are playing at, John thought bitterly. He felt his lips pulling backward and struggled very hard to suppress his grimace. You really think I’d let you box me up that easily?

“No, thanks. Ah’m not interested,” John said, smiling brightly at his visitor. Mallory’s disappointed look, however brief, was slightly satisfying. He turned around and started picking up the dirty dishware from the table. “Well, it’s gotten real late. You just go and mosey outta here, would ya?”

“Well,” Mallory said, standing up. “It was worth a try.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card. “You can reach me through this number if you change your mind.”

Then she turned around, heading towards the door. John stared at her retreating figure. Just before walking out, Mallory paused. “I’m sorry if I brought back unpleasant memories,” she said without turning to look at him, “have a good night.” She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. 

John waited, perfectly still, but she did not reappear. After a few moments, he bent down and picked up the card she left behind. Agent Grace Mallory, it read - Colonel, CIA, Special Operations, and a number. He considered throwing it away but decided against it just as he was about to drop it into the bin. Instead, John put it in a small wooden box he kept in the living room. Hours after her departure, the flowery scent of Grace Mallory’s perfume persisted in his home.

[harmoniouseclipse]

Half bird Jean character design sheet wip for a silly little project I'm doing 😋

[jacksprostate]

hey i was thinking about uploading a bunch of my snippets to ao3 for storage/ease of access since tumblr sucks. figured i'd ask yall your preferences before i spam the shit out of you

[rubra-wav]

I'm back from the grave rahhhhh 🗣

Feeling a hell of a lot better and am ready to write again, my brain was not healthy before 💀 /lh

Requests will probably be opening soon, but rn my main priority is reordering this blog and remaking the aesthetics so it's not such a cluttered odd looking mess

Also, it's not my usual sort of post, but I have a radiosilence fic from what I hc as more Alastor's perspective in editing stages rn that'll probably be out soon 🙏

[melit0n]

From a fic writer, please don't say 'I wish there was a second part to this!' or 'part 2?' to writers, like, ever, because it is unfortunately not the compliment you think it is.

Don't get me wrong, I love every person who's taken the time to comment and make sure I reply to them, but it always brings me down a bit to see people asking for a second part, especially if it is quite clearly stated as a oneshot. It's half of 'oh hey! They think my writing is good and want more of it :D', so I recommend the other stuff I have on my page, and half 'They just want more.' because, when it comes to those comments, there is nothing else but asking for more.

In a general sense, the author has put time and effort into making that fic//oneshot happen! Might've been inspired by a song and written out in two days, or it could've been intractably planned over weeks! It is still time and effort and self indulgence! Don't ask for more when there is obviously nothing else planned.

I think, nowadays, even with fic reading, it's become a matter of quantity; basing whether to read a fic off of kudos:reads ratio, only being able to read fics over 50k words and not accepting any less etc. People also have seemed to forgotten that fic writers are apart of fandom as well; they aren't influencers farming out massive fics every two months, and, when it comes to a oneshot, quite possibly want to leave it as that. A oneshot.

So, instead of asking for more, maybe compliment what is there! Talk about a favourite line or scene, or give some constructive criticism if the author allows it. Fill your belly on the food served and don't think of the extra plate you could have.

[paimonial-rage]

For people that enjoy my bookkeeping!verse series, I am planning on editing and revamping all of my previous chapters and posting it to Ao3. I understand that it's difficult following chaptered works on Tumblr, so hopefully that'll make updates easier to follow. I'll let you all know when it gets uploaded. ;v;b

[t1meslayer]

Fallout (Ch. 3 - "Strange Bedfellows")

Fun fact: I wrote this chapter a couple of weeks ago. Then my beta reader and I both caught the Covid, which as you can imagine threw a big ol' monkey wrench into our schedules.

But better late than never, I say! Especially since they just introduced Nemona with Scream Tail in Pokemon Masters and I'm kinda sorta whaling for her please join my team I love you

===

Fandom: Pokemon Scarlet and Violet (part of my "Paldea's Fearsome Foursome" series)

Characters: Florian, Nemona, Arven, Penny, Kieran, and Carmine.

Summary: The gang's all here! However, that doesn't mean Paldea and Kitakami are one united front.

Want to catch up from the beginning? Check out my "Fallout" introduction post and story recap!

Click through the Read More below to get a preview of the latest chapter. Thanks for reading <3

"Oye, I wasn't going to strand them at that festival in Alfornada!" Nemona pouts. "Or send them back to their hotel on a Flying Taxi, where they'd just be waiting for word on our demise."

Florian's neck hair stands up. He leaves Miraidon's violet handlebar shoulder long enough to glance at his spread group of friends.

"Let's keep the 'death' talk to a minimum, y'all." The boy pats Miraidon's chassis. Clanging reverberates in the metallic, open space. "I'm not planning on letting anyone take a hit down there."

"Right." Arven's arms cross with a loyal bow. "Besides. If anyone's dying down there, it's going to be us. This is our mess to fix, not theirs."

"Well—"

Carmine groans. "You're sooooooo annoying!"

"I'm always telling him this," Penny mumbles to her phone, mousy voice cracking, "but he never listens."

"Have you tried projecting?" Carmine calls back. "That usually helps."

Penny glares over her device. An obscene gesture is visible through the glass railing.