#i’m running off of pure spite right now

[addsalwayssick]

Me: I want a degree in history and english

Random person: Oh! What’re you going to do with those degrees?

Me: Idk i haven’t thought that far ahead yet

[rebelfell]

shelter from the storm

eddie munson x fem!reader

When your power gets knocked out, your neighbor comes to check on you and make sure you’re okay. Among other things.

18+, MDNI 2.8k

cw: plus-size reader, drinking/smoking, references to r’s shitty ex/domestic disputes, some good old making out & grinding.

The lights in your trailer barely flickered as the storm outside knocked out your power. 

In an instant you were plunged into total darkness, broken up only by brief flashes of lightning that struck overhead. The silence that engulfed you was almost oppressive, the outage having silenced everything, down to the ambient noise you had grown so accustomed to you only noticed it missing once it was gone—the distant drone of your A/C unit, the steady hum of your fridge, the static buzz of your radio.

They all ceased at once, leaving only the sounds of the storm.

You’d curled up on the sofa just as it was getting starting, your eyes drifting from the old black and white movie playing on your TV to watch the trees bend and sway in the howling winds, dark clouds heavy with rain rolling in to blot out the sun.

And if you just so happened to catch a glimpse of your next door neighbor outside weatherproofing his windows, dressed in nothing but gray sweats slung dangerously low on his narrow hips and toned, tapered waist…

Well, that was just a bonus.

You certainly hadn’t chosen this spot in particular for its view of Eddie’s place. And it wasn’t like you had sat here many, many times before to watch him lounging on his porch, strumming his beat-up acoustic, or doing maintenance on his van in a sweaty tank top that clung so artfully to his lean frame, showing off sinewy, tattooed arms that flexed with every crank of a wrench and made your mouth run dry imagining his veins bulging while he cranked something else.

No, you simply enjoyed watching the storm. Seeing the rain come down in sheets, darkening the earth and tamping down the dust of the main dirt road. You found it oddly soothing to see the garishly bright cracks of lightning split the sky before the BOOM of thunder that followed.

At least until the power went out.

You jumped slightly at it, in spite of yourself, heartbeat picking up in your chest as the sound of your heavy breathing filled the air. You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to steady yourself only for you to jump all over again as someone started knocking rhythmically on your front door.

It was Eddie. And he was drenched.

In the handful of seconds it must have taken him to leave his place and cross the road, he had been effectively soaked through.

His clothes were clinging to him, his white shirt translucent enough in some places you could see the black ink drawings scrawled on his skin under it. And his long hair, typically all frizz and fluff, had started to form into wet clumps, his short bangs plastered to his forehead, water running down his soft features. And his pants…

Well, you couldn’t even trust yourself to look down at his pants right now.

But even in his current state, his smile still shone like pure sunshine as he grinned and motioned behind you inside your darkened trailer.

“I saw your lights went out too,” he said. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“Oh…oh yeah, I’m–I’m fine,” you replied, shifting excitedly under the intensity of his gaze.

“You sure? You look a little…” His eyes flickered as they ran up and down your body, lingering on the sight of your bare legs in your sleep shorts, your thighs pressed tight together. “...spooked.”

You swallowed harshly, practically gulping as his eyes returned to your face.

“N-no, I’m just—” you tittered nervously, “Sorry, it must be the storm. I’m fine, really.”

“Oh. Okay. I, uh…I guess I’ll be going, then” he said, glancing out at the storm raging beyond the cover of your porch. You felt your bottom lip pull between your teeth as you watched him turn.

“Eddie, wait!”

You called out to him, words tumbling forth in a mad dash. For a moment, you feared the storm might be too loud and he wouldn’t hear you over it, but it seemed your voice had risen enough to make him pause, his foot hovering over the top step, Adidas slide being pelted with rain.

“Do you want a drink?” you asked.

He looked back at you over his shoulder and then slowly swiveled back around, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. You licked your lips, still trying to be coy as you held his gaze.

“I made up a cooler in case the power went out,” you explained. “Y’know, just to avoid opening up the fridge. Wasn’t exactly expecting to need it so soon, but…”

You gave a little shrug of your shoulders and leaned up against the door frame. Eddie’s eyes traveled all across your body again, and from the salacious look in his eyes, you might have thought you’d just offered to blow him right there on your porch. Which you hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He jerked his chin lightly in a nod, Cheshire Cat grin spreading. Teeth showing.

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

Eddie settled himself in on the couch while you went to retrieve a pair of beers from the cooler, lighting some candles along your way.

Seeing the one you’d preemptively set out on the coffee table, he leaned forward and dug his Zippo from his pocket. He lit it on his thigh, dragging it towards his body to open the top cover and then flicking it forward against his pant leg to strike it.

A long flame emerged from the silver box and he touched it to the wick, face bathed in the same wash of warm, orange light as when he lit up a cigarette or a joint. He caught your eye as you watched him from the kitchen and you chuckled when he started to expertly flip the lighter over and under his fingers, shiny metal catching the candlelight before it was tucked away.

He held his hand out for the beer you extended as you approached and you tried not to think too hard about just how large it looked as it wrapped around the emerald body of the bottle, his chunky silver rings only making his long fingers look all the more delectable. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes that had gone black in the dark. As though they were all pupil.

“Nice view,” he smirked, his gaze dancing as he nodded out the window at his own trailer.

“It’s okay,” you sighed, settling into the cushions. “Except for when my neighbor’s out there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie’s brow arched, crooked smile still spread wide. “He must be super distracting. Can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?” 

You scrunched your nose, bobbing your head.

“More like I can’t get a minute of peace with all the racket he makes.”

You stuck your foot out to kick him, but gasped softly as he wrapped his hand firmly around your ankle and pulled your leg into his lap. Your toes wiggled against his thigh and Eddie’s grip on you loosened. He brushed his fingertips in swirling circles up your bare calf, letting them drift lightly over your skin until he heard your breath stutter and felt you shiver under his touch.

Shit. How long had it been since someone had touched you like that?

Eddie stopped himself halfway to your knee, eyes lifting to meet yours from under a raised brow in a silent question of, is this alright?

And you aren’t quite sure of your answer. 

You’ll have to let him know once you figure out whether or not you’re dreaming.

A clap of thunder outside restarts your heart in your chest. Your whole foot flexed instinctively, the dampness under it reminding you of how he had arrived, soaked through and dripping.

“Do you want some dry clothes?” you asked, drawing your leg back and tucking it underneath you. “I have some stuff you can wear, y’know. Sweats and a tee shirt.”

No underwear, but you don’t say that. 

Eddie’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and he stared intently at your mouth as he thought, startling when he realized how long he’d been quiet for. Like he forgot how to talk.

“I’d love it,” he said, eyes never leaving your lips.

You slinked back towards the bedroom and went to your closet to dig out the last lone box of your ex’s shit—your spite box, for lack of a better term. It contained all the things he’d been asking you if you’d seen anywhere since he moved out.

Things you felt he no longer had any right to.

Among them, a Venom tee from their Seven Dates of Hell tour you’d found at a flea market and he’d just started wearing because it was “too small for you, anyway,” apparently; and a pair of cashmere joggers you’d splurged on as a gift when he burned a hole in his regular pair.

“Bathroom’s through there,” you said, nodding towards it as you held out the clothes to Eddie.

He rose off the couch abruptly, crowding into your space so your bodies were just inches apart. His scent came off him and made a home in your nose, thick and musky like suede and a bit earthy like the weed he might have smoked earlier or maybe even had on his person.

You found yourself fluttering at the sudden intrusion. But you didn’t dare pull away.

His face was even more beautiful up close, littered sparsely with freckles you had never noticed before. The lines under his cheeks so deep you could see them even when he wasn’t smiling. The slightly round, almost bulbous tip of his nose that added to his soft features.

Warmth enveloped your fingers as he laid his hands over yours to take the clothes from you, so much electricity buzzing between you you half expected all the lights to jolt back to life.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he purred. All low and rumbly like the distant thunder.

You tried to answer, but with your mouth and throat suddenly achingly dry for some reason, you could only nod as he brushed past you to go change. Blaming the lack of A/C for the way your face flushed and how your chest heaved, struggling to draw air into your lungs.

Reaching for your beer that was already starting to sweat with condensation, you gulped down a long swallow merely for some relief. And you nearly spat it out at what you saw next.

You couldn’t see Eddie, but he left the door open while he changed and his top half was just barely visible in the mirror. He was mostly shrouded in shadows, but the flame that flickered in there danced over the shape of his torso and the angular planes of his back as he turned.

The soft clinking sound of him undoing his belt preceded him dropping his pants, revealing that slutty little waist of his and the very top curve of his ass. Internally, you cursed your mirror for cutting off where it did and then chastised yourself for even looking.

Fucking pervert, you thought bitterly.

You returned to the couch and forcibly turned your head back towards the window. The rain was coming down so hard now you couldn’t even see Eddie’s place. It made your heartbeat quicken at the thought that he might not want to go back out in it anytime soon. That he might stay.

“These belong to numb nuts?” Eddie asked from behind you with a smirk you could hear.

He plopped himself back down on the sofa, so close it made you bounce slightly on the middle cushion, his knee now brushing with yours.

You paused for a moment, admiring the sight of him. The shirt was a little big, but it hung nicely on his broad shoulders and he’d tucked the hem partially into the waistband of the joggers. They certainly looked a lot better on him than they ever did on your ex.

“Technically,” you smirked back, “I kept them in lieu of alimony.”

Eddie smiled, but it fell slightly, his eyes cast downward to where your knee met his. He ran his thumb over the valley between them, touching yours and then his in a steady rhythm.

“You doing alright?” he asked. “With all that?”

You shrank slightly, thinking of all your fights with him Eddie might have overheard. All of the times you slammed the door as you stormed out and went to sit on the picnic table in your robe and slippers, eyes stinging as you tried not to cry.

You were so tired of crying.

More than a few times, Eddie had happened to come out with a cigarette while you were there. He always shrugged off your apologies, like he didn’t know what you were talking about when you told him you were sorry about the noise.

He’d just shook his head and muttered, don’ ever need to apologize to me for that as he pulled a Camel from his pack with his teeth.

Before long, h’d started to pull out two and lit them both at once before handing you the spare.

“I think I am, actually,” you said, surprising yourself with how true it was. “I…I don’t think I realized just how much of his shit I was carrying around with me until I put it down.”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully and his eyes flitted back up to your face, a proud smile on his lips.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice far too deep and his eyes too dark for you to mistake his intentions.

The praise trickled down your spine like you were underneath a shower head with a slow leak.

It made you squirm with need, nearly convulsing you wanted so badly to turn on the tap full blast and let the water spray down your back.

Eddie licked his lips and he nodded downward, making you think for one mind-melting second that he was trying to get you to look at his cock. But he was just indicating the pants on his legs.

“These are so soft,” he hummed. And your eyes followed his hand as he rubbed it back and forth across his own thigh before they lifted to meet his gaze. “You wanna feel?”

He shifted down in his seat, letting himself sink fully into the cradle of the cushions. Both his feet planted solidly on the floor, legs spread slightly apart so his lap looked like the most inviting and enticing seat you’d ever seen in your life. It made your heart hammer as you stared at it.

“C’mover here, pretty,” he said, patting his thigh once more. “Please?”

Your head shook on instinct. “Eddie, no, I’m—”

He silenced the too heavy already queued up on your lips by wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling your face into his. He licked the words right off your tongue and swallowed them down like they were his abandoned beer.

The surprise of his mouth on yours made your mind blank, your body and instincts taking over completely as you scrambled on top of him.

As your knees settled on either side of his hips, he groaned deeply—not in pain, not grunting with effort, just with the pure joy of finally getting to feel your weight settling onto him.

His arms slid around your waist and he squeezed you against him even tighter, encouraging you to give more of that exquisite pressure. He kissed you until your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, your head falling forward to lay on his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.

You inhaled more of his scent, extra concentrated at his neck, making you dizzy with his musk. 

He kissed along your shoulder, to your neck, to the lobe of your ear he took between his lips and sucked on it like it was your clit—hard.  And your reaction was more or less the same as if it was.

Your back arched, chest squishing up against his until his chin rested in your cleavage. His arms un -wound from around you to run his hands up the curve of your spine, making you shiver when his fingertips reached the nape of your neck.

“I’ve seen you watching me,” he husked gently in your ear, feeling the goosebumps that raised on your skin. “I know what you want…”

A gasp fluttered in your chest as his hands dropped to your thighs, rough palms coasting across soft skin until every single one of your fine hairs was standing on end. He then grabbed onto your ass, firmly gripping your cheeks in each hand to haul you forward in his lap, the firm shape of his hard cock pressing insistently against the dampness soaking through your shorts.

“How about…” He groaned low in your ear once again, his warm breath rushing across your neck, “...we see how many times I can make you cum before the lights turn back on?”

ty for reading. love you, mean it! ☔️

[endereies]

Junction - Matt Sturniolo

Contains: arguing, yelling, angst, kind of happy ending??

Word Count: 1780

Author's Notes: i gotta stop posting and disappearing for a while, school has been a pain in my ass. thank fuck i only have a week left. I havent abandoned my matt series, i only obtained writers block instead. I promise another chapter will be out soon. ANYWAY, tumblr needs more angst so i must deliver. :)

“Matt. You have to see where I’m coming from..” 

You had been arguing with Matt for the better part of two hours. Small fragments of pent-up opinions finally formed a full set that was being thrown back at you.  

“I don’t have that much time to throw in your face whenever you need it.” His voice was slightly raspy as he choked out words at you constantly. You weren’t sure if this was the first time he said these phrases, or the seventh. But it was getting to you. 

“You think that’s what I want. I don’t want time! I want you. But you aren’t here anymore.” Tears had brimmed and fallen your eyes long ago and now stained your cheeks with the pure begging from your tone. 

“You think this is easy? I want to be near you, but I have to film, to edit, to create. I’m so sorry I’m too busy for an extra five minutes with you.” At this point you were both exasperated. Empty. And worn out by each other. Your arms were crossed in a self-comfort stance but his were in self-defence, refusing to let up. 

“Matt. You have a schedule, but you spend so much extra time and it’s wearing us both thin! Surely you see that..” As much as you were pulling at your hair, he was pulling at your heart. Tugging on each string as his facial expressions softened. 

Neither of you wanted to stretch this out as much as you did. Several hours had gone by and you both hadn’t been able to access your points without the other interrupting. Pleading internally began, begging to speak to one other.  

Having two stubborn people force their views was always a hard situation to be in. Two passionate people always adding to a fire created something that wasn’t worn down for days. It gnawed at you both endlessly.  

After nearly two weeks of this same argument, it was hard to talk about anything new. The points kept repeating themselves as language grew vile. 

“All I see is you being needy and it’s overwhelming me so much. Don’t you see.” 

You stood stunned at his tone of voice, the words he used and the pure spite behind it all. The silence wrapped around you both, creating an instant tension that was sharp and stabbed you. Your chest felt heavy with the weight of burdening someone you care so much about. It wasn’t simple words being aimlessly thrown to stand by your choices. It was hatred that had slipped though. 

Were you really that needy. To the point that it was overbearing? Arrogant? Despotic? You didn’t know. 

You only wanted to spend time with him. The memory of an old DVD that was clutched in your hand, crashed on the floor with an open case. 

Your expression faltered quickly, lacking any patience that you had left. 

“Right..well. I’ll stay out of your way then” Even saying those words hurt you more than it should’ve because all you wanted to do was be around him. But if he felt like you had to back off, you were going to choose any option that may lead to resolving this. Neither of you wanted to back down, but neither of you also wanted to lose the other and so you caved. 

It wasn’t long after those words were muttered that you left, returning to the front room. It hurt when you saw the DVD player unloaded with the abandoned disc. You switched the box back to the normal programmes and clicked into the YouTube app. You shoved on a random commentary video that you had seen before. It was the quickest things you thought of to change your mood.  

Matt had gone in the other direction, upstairs to his own bedroom to lounge in his chair and play Fortnite. He had been obsessed with the new chapters and ever since his audience requested runs of it. He wasn’t going to turn that down as a distraction. 

- 

It had been a few hours of your YouTube series, and you were starting to get agitated. Every small argument from it made you flinch as your mind flashed back to the past two weeks between you and Matt. Call-backs of loud voices caused those remnants of hurt to spark inside your mind. That was when you had to turn it off.  

When the screen changed to black, your head did too, void of most thoughts. A strong exhale escapes your lips when you push yourself off the sofa. Your sweats slid up your legs and your shirt was a little twisted.  

Yet, the only thing that mattered to you was rest, especially once you saw how dark the sky was. You sought out the stars in the sky, but many clouds covered the brightest ones.  

Hesitation filled your body with each step towards the edge of the stairs, not as much due to the lack of energy as it was to nerves. Nerves that got worse each time you thought about passing Matt’s room. You knew you had to go there in order to get blankets, you just hoped to go unnoticed.  

In full honesty, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to make many first moves with Matt, no matter the circumstances, and this was no exception.  

It was like you were a child again, sneaking through the house when you know you should be asleep. Trouble wasn’t going to land in your lap, internally you knew that. If only your mind did.  

You were just paranoid that you’d be caught in conversation with him. Every ‘conversation’ between the pair if you had ended in some sort of a remark, if not a fight. 

Your body edged its way to the door of Matts room, and you were thankful to find his headset on. Without a stream watching. 

Curses fell from his lips as he fought off other players, and you just wanted to avoid that noise. One night. That’s all you wanted. You didn't want to be in his way again. 

A burden. 

With your arms full of a thick blanket, close to a duvet, you carried it through the door. The pillows that lined the couch, sufficed for your head as you laid them below your neck.  

This wasn’t as comfy as being in a bed, yet, knowing that Matt would soon follow seemed a bit more intimidating. The past two weeks had been hell for the both of you and with you both wearing thing, so did your patience. 

The duvet gave you some comfort against the chills of the night, but something was missing, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.  

You knew. 

- 

“UGH FUCKS SAKE” Matt threw his controller onto his desk and watched as it clattered across his things before falling to land just by your foot. He let an exasperated sigh slip past his lips while he rubbed his face. His headset had slowly become more knocked off with every movement of his neck. With a lack of care to fix it, he threw that the same way as his controller. Each games grew to be challenging to complete and get past a place of #50. 

He let the headphones fall to his neck and hang as he laid his head in his hands. The atmosphere was tense, and the air seemed colder than normal.  

With the game dimming in volume, he realised how quiet the house was. No fans were turned on, no quiet mumbling of your voice singing a song, no show in the background. 

Nothing. 

It was unlike you to not have any sound playing around the house and it made him question if you were even home. Neither choice seemed good. 

He pushed his weight away from his desk and stood up. The hours of playing were only a distraction from the argument and now it had started to seep back into his thoughts. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been such a dick today. The balance between two passionate people had shifted to hurtful words towards the other.  

In full honesty, you never overwhelmed him and now he was missing how you both felt two weeks ago. It felt cold and lacked remorse. He had fucked up.  

Once Matt collected his thoughts his body begrudgingly moved along the wooden floors. He needed to find you and talk to you.  

You heard Matt’s footsteps through the ceiling with each creaking floorboard he stepped on. The covers immediately went up to your face and you turned your body on the sofa.  

You sling an arm over your face when the light above you flicks on, your eyes used to the dark night. 

“Are you awake..?” his voice was timid, unlike the spiteful tones from a few hours ago. 

He stammers a bit before sighing heavily, not knowing how to relieve the situation. 

The shine in your eyes was barely visible against the minimal light from the moon. 

Even if you didn’t respond to him, he knew you were awake as you moved away from the bright light. 

You internally expect him to turn around and return to his own bed, but he only etched closer, examining my body. 

The light above is suddenly shielded by his shadow and the cushions around you move as he lays himself alongside you. Before you even register anything, he snakes an arm around your waist. 

Your throat tightened when he nudged his face into the crevasse of your neck. 

“Matt..?” you rotate your head and notice his exhausted expression that was etched in his eyes. Your heart clenched as he lay next to you, wondering if you were the reason for his distress or guilt. 

A quiet hum escapes his lips, vibrating against your skin. 

“I know.. can we just leave it for a night. I miss you.” 

You felt your stomach turn with one too many emotions for you to process. His words uttered a silent apology 

“Is this hurting you as much as it is me?” Matt takes in a sharp exhale once the damage of the past two weeks sits between you. Silent but deadly. 

“I mean maybe we shoul-” His lips pepper a few kisses to your cheek before silencing you with a kiss to your own lips. 

“I know..I’ve been thinking it too..but all I ask is if we can forget this for just one night.” A pause settles between us. 

“Can we just remember each other one more time?” 

You weakly sigh and turn yourself one last time to face him, your eyes slowly brimming with tears. 

“Okay, Matt. One night..” 

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi

[sixeyescurseuser]

Prince/Pirate

Thinking about Gojo who is a prince known for running away for weeks at a time. His current excursion was done purely out of spite because noble court advisor, Nanamin, claimed he wouldn’t be able to survive the pirate life. 

So here Gojo is, living it up on the Black Dragon’s ship. He was actually exchanged as a prisoner from the initial crew he tried joining, but they ended up trading him for more resources. 

Now, the Black Dragon’s captain scrutinizes him from head to toe with sharp, silent eyes. 

At first glance, Captain Geto knows this pretty boy comes from money. And there’s no way in hell he’s built for this lifestyle. 

“I’ll drop you off at the next seaport,” Geto says before Gojo can even get out a simple greeting. Gojo gasps, deeply offended. 

Gojo removes the sheer blindfold that previously covered his eyes, exposing the azure blue that is easily recognized of that of Prince Gojo. 

Captain Geto’s eyes widen a fraction before doubling down. 

“Oh, we are definitely dropping you off at the next port.”

There’s no way Geto is risking his and his crew’s livelihood for a runaway prince!

Gojo frowns, and has the audacity to cross his arms in disapproval, like he’s the one in charge. 

“Well, it’d certainly be shame if after you dropped me off, I went ahead to tell the royal guard that I had just escaped the evil clutches of the Black Dragon. Would be a damn shame if a bounty were to be placed on your head,” Gojo ponders out loud. 

The captain’s gaze hardens, and Gojo knows he’s on the way to bargaining his way onto this crew. “While you decide on your answer, I’m going to go look for food around here.”

Gojo squawks when a rough hand grabs him by the collar, preventing him from walking away.

“I’ve already made up my mind. You’re allowed to stay as long as you obey my direct orders,” Geto bluntly says. 

“Okay, but-“

Geto loudly clicks his tongue, cutting Gojo off.

“If that’s anything other than ‘Yes, Captain,’ I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

After that, Gojo sulks. He’s also forced to help the other cooks prepare the food and serve the crew first before being allowed to eat himself. A younger boy with pink-ish hair sits down next to him, offering a friendly smile. 

“Don’t worry, sir, if he didn’t throw me overboard when I first joined, then he certainly won’t kick you off,” he says. Gojo hums, wishing he had honey he could add to sweeten up this godawful, bland porridge. 

“Good to know…?”

“Itadori Yuji,” the boy introduces himself. 

“Nice to meet you, Yuji-kun.”

***

Gojo on deck cleaning duty, but it’s very hot outside so he’s shirtless…all sweaty and pink where the sun kisses his skin. 

Geto happens to walk by. Gojo is so focused on his work, but also yapping to the other crew members who are really invested in his story, that he doesn't notice Captain Geto stop in his tracks. 

Shoko, Geto’s second-in-command, waves her hand in front of his face: “Hello? Captain? I have some updates on our future routes…Captain?”

Geto is too focused on the way powerful muscles flex back and forth. The prince is so freaking tall. And why is his waist so tiny?

Geto squints. 

***

If there’s one thing Gojo didn’t need to be trained on when it comes to being a pirate, it’s speaking whatever is on his goddamn mind. 

Gojo watching Geto retreat to the captain’s room to plan their next route, eyes trailing down to Geto’s ass.

Gojo: “I could take him.”

Crew member, Haibara: “In a fight? Hmm, questionable.”

Gojo: “Nah, not like that.”

Haibara: “Eh?”

On another occasion, Gojo mentions that he once ended a five-year relationship. 

Crew member, Choso: “Holy shit, that’s tough, mate. Didn’t realize princes were even allowed to date.”

Geto: [🤨]

Gojo: “It’s okay, it wasn’t my relationship. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Who knew the most common nights husbands cheat on their wives would be a Thursday?”

Geto: [relieved sigh]

The story is, one of the times Gojo ran away, he made a name for himself as the “Six Eyes” where he was paid to follow spouses to investigate if they were committing adultery. 

An example of Gojo’s note to a client: “Yes, he’s cheating. No, he couldn't make her cum. Their next meeting is Saturday at XXX bar. Do yourself a favor and dump him.”

The notes were also written in the most ELEGANT calligraphy. 

***

Gojo learns that despite being young for a captain, Geto is very respected and relatively feared among the ocean. He’s charming when he needs to be, and always extremely careful. 

Geto has made many friends around the world, but also a lot of enemies. The Black Dragon has been susceptible to many attacks, whether intercepted by the royal ships or other violent pirates. 

The crew admires their captain unconditionally. He’s provided them with a place to belong, after all. While Geto embraces their individual fighting styles, he has also taught martial arts to those who didn’t know how to fight before joining.

Gojo also learns that, boy oh boy, does Captain Geto despise the aristocrats. It was no question that royals were included as well.

Geto’s way of life is a direct resistance against the excessive luxury the wealthy live in, while ignoring the needs of common folk. Involving smaller, innocent towns in the battles between the political strifes was another huge issue too. 

Thus, Black Dragon is a pirate ship that picks targets based on status and wealth, and they also redistribute this wealth and communicate information between the smaller islands and ports. 

***

They visit Geto’s hometown, which had been depleted of resources by nearby military forces during past wartime. Their economy was shot, but they were in the process of slowly rebuilding and recovering. The scenery was beautiful too. 

While at one of the ports, some enemies catch sight of Geto and his crew. The enemies approach with calculated steps, definitely planning to cause trouble. 

Gojo is obviously very out of his element, but he still doesn’t appreciate being told to wait on the ship while Geto and the crew settle things off.

Gojo "agrees," then proceeds to walk off and hide inside a random shop for five minutes before leaving to hide among the crowd so he can watch Captain Geto in action, dueling this other no-name pirate.

There Gojo is, extremely proud for egging the pirates on and cheering for HIS captain. 

Geto’s crew spot Gojo and are like: “Aren’t you supposed to be on the ship?” 🤨🤨🤨

Gojo brings a finger up to his lips with a pleading expression. 

Shoko: “At least put a hat on. If the Captain spots that white hair, he’ll definitely get distracted.”

She lends him a cloth to wrap around his head. Now, Gojo looks like a proper pirate!

The enemy eventually yields, and backs off after a rather aggressive threat from Captain Geto. Gojo doesn't have much time to drool over how sexy Geto looks because Gojo must BOOK it to the ship to save his ass. 

A few minutes later, Geto returns, then points to the cloth wrapped around Gojo’s head: “Why are you wearing that?”

Gojo, yeeting the cloth off: “No reason!”

Gojo then notices the sheer amount of things Geto carries in his arms. When he asks whether Geto bought souvenirs, Geto tells Gojo to follow him.

They end up in the captain's room, where Geto shows Gojo his collection of trinkets which were gifts from the common people Geto visited during his travels. 

Unlike the royal gifts that are typically bestowed, like expensive perfumes, jewelers, or pounds of gold, these trinkets were like handmade bracelets, a shiny coin dating centuries back, paintings from children, etc. They were all thank you gifts for visiting their islands and helping out one way or another.

Gojo is entirely taken aback.

“Holy shit, you've touched so many people's lives!” Gojo exclaims, bright blue eyes shining with wonder. “You're fucking amazing, you know that? It's an honor to be on your ship, Captain.”

Geto doesn't respond, merely has a sincere yet shy smile on his face.

At that moment, hearing those words come from Prince Gojo himself, Geto felt seen in a way that feels new and exciting and makes something warm flutter in his chest.

Oh no, abandon ship! Abandon ship! The voice inside his mind shouts.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[according2thelore]

I’ve been devouring your ES/LS verse tags, and you know what i can’t stop thinking about? How purely ESdean loved ESsam. Like. My baby bother can do nothing wrong. You killed that guy? Guy must’ve done soemthing it’s ok. And how that was absolutley ripped away from Sam by season 4, and he never actually got it back. Not from his POV. In Sam’s mind I’m pretty sure he knows Dean loves him- but it’s part obligation, part history and pattern, and part *in spite of* all the shit. Not the same kind of absolute devotion he grew up with until Dean died (of course it is, but not to Sam). It can’t be. Not after he didn’t save Dean from hell, the demon blood, the voicemail, Lucifer, the amulet, soulless Sam, purgatory, etc etc.

And now. Now. He’s gone esDean right THERE. A Dean that still loves his Sammy the way lsSam thinks he’s lost forever. And lsSam didn’t even know how much it hurt to lose that until he’s looking at it. Like he’s been bleeeding out for decade about it and n it even really noticing. A brother who loves him- absolutley- is back. Is right there. Is looking at him the way he used to. Before Sam ruined everything.

Holy shit how bad does that fuck up lsSam. I don’t see how he wouldn’t become obsessed with esDean. And I mean obsessed. Wanted to be around him all the time. Just soaking up what he thinks he doesn’t have anymore and can only have fire little while as a reprieve. I cannot emphasize the obsession.

To the point where lsDean notices. Like. Really notices. Because he never actually stopped being devoted to his brother, and Dean? He’s never experienced Sam being obsessed with someone else. Not ever. He thought he had- Stanford or ruby- but that wasn’t the same. That wasn’t this. That wasn’t Sammy staring at someone with all the love he has for Dean and soemhow even more stars in his eyes. It has to drive lsDean insane. Insane insane. He grew up to be a mean sob, and this is pushing every Sam button.

I caaaaaaant. An insanely depressed and fucked up laSam being based with the younger Dean, while lsdean froths at the Mouth.

Chefs kiss.

GAHH!!!!!! this is beautiful!!!! everyone stop what you're doing and read this!!!!!! i love the way you phrased this @bickbickbarnes, and i am frothing at the mouth reading it over and over again!!!!

i wrote just a little thing about this--i hope that's alright!! your (totally on point) description of their dynamic really captured why i love LS!Sam/ES!Dean sm!!

AN: i fucking lied this thing is 1.3k words...i hope you like, lol!

-lizzy

"woah!" dean shouts, and sam jumps a little. he whirls around, and younger dean is running up to him, eyes wide. his arms are thrown open, machete dangling casually from his grip. he punches sam in the arm when he finally catches up to him. the smile on his face is blinding. "sammy what was that, man?"

sam drops his own machete to the side. he's still heaving for breath, having just decapitated a vampire that ran at him. older dean and sam are standing off to the side, and sammy notices his younger self gawking at older dean with something...heavy, something hot, in his eyes as dean hauls one decapitated body over his shoulder to start the pyre.

"what?" sam asks, looking back down at young dean. he looks down at the body and nudges it a little. did dean think he didn't cut all the way through the neck? the body jiggles.

"that was so fucking cool." dean crows, and sam turns back around to look at him, taken aback. dean is grinning so wide that it closes his eyes. he shakes sam's shoulder. "grandpa!" dean calls, and older dean looks over with a scowl. "that's how you do it."

"oh." sam's chest feels tight, and he feels hot creep across his cheeks, up his neck. "thanks."

dean is still patting him on the back, and sam hasn't been praised like this for taking out a vampire since they first found out they still existed. sam jostles under dean's arm.

"'thanks'--" dean repeats, scoffing, and raises an eyebrow at younger sam, who's scowling. "humble, too."

"whatever." sam spits, and stalks off. sammy doesn't take dean's arm off of him, expecting him to move it, but he doesn't. not for a minute.

~~~

"i knew you could do it!" dean snatches the book out of sammy's hands, and sam's chest feels weird--tight--as dean beams down at the page. they'd been researching werewolves all afternoon, and sam finally found a passage in urdu that mentions the strange scales they've been finding at the murder sites. dean squints at the words like he can read it at all, and nods. "my geeky little brother never loses."

dean states, dismissive, a sarcastic grin on his face like he's mocking him.

"uh--" sam starts, trying to find the footing in this conversation. the praise is casual--purposefully degrading--but it's praise. older dean hasn't blinked at sam finding a clue--in any language--for...god, years probably. they've just gotten that good.

dean peeks a look up at him, and sam is stopped by the strange look in his eyes.

"tried to strangle the inner nerd with those things--" dean gestures at sammy's arms with a casual hand and a raised eyebrow. "--but you couldn't." dean looks up, and his smile is quiet and softer. his tone is admiring. "man."

dean shakes his head and looks back down at his own book--written in english--with a bottom lip cushioned around a pencil.

sam folds his arms, conscious of them again. that's been one of the biggest sticking points for younger dean: sam's size. strangely, sam suddenly wishes he was smaller. small enough that dean--this dean--could do...something. sam can't put his finger on it.

it had been a long time since being with dean felt like this, since the tension was full and heavy and warm. it feels like long drives and quiet silences and shitty whisky passed back and forth under the table.

sam's breath catches when he realizes...it feels like home.

being with dean always feels like home, but this feels like sitting back down in the childhood bedroom that sam never had and letting the mom he never knew pet through his hair and tell him it was always going to be okay.

the world is so strange and terrifying and smaller than sam had any right to know, but dean--this dean--nudges his foot under the table without thinking about it.

he loves him in the way that children love things--without equivocation, without years of betrayal and revenge and torture and nightmares.

it's dean.

sam nudges his foot back, and greedily drinks in the pinkness on the top of dean's ears.

~~~

older dean wipes blood off of his jaw, and sammy helps younger sam off of the floor. the kid is fine, but younger dean immediately takes the burden of him, sliding under his arm like he's always been there.

sammy notes that older dean's eyes track the kid, too, and sammy rolls his eyes. he's fine.

the cave they're in is dark, and sam can feel the damp like a cool sweat on his skin.

dean clears his throat, "okay we need to split up, i say--"

"i'll take dean," everyone--including sammy--is surprised, when he speaks up first.

sam shifts his arm over dean's shoulder, and pushes sweaty bangs off of his forehead.

"don't you think we should split experience levels--" he starts, but sammy cuts him off with a finger.

a finger pointing at the man under his arm.

"i meant dean," sammy says, and sam straightens, shocked out of the performance of needing dean to stand.

"yeah," younger dean says, straightening too. his eyes are bright, and his smile is so satisfied that sammy finds himself smirking, too. "he meant dean," dean says, glaring at older dean. sammy pats him on the shoulder, hard, and dean obediently follows after him as they split up.

"don't worry, i'll protect you." dean says, after a while, young voice echoing over the cavern walls and reverberating in sam's skull. sam wishes his internal voice sounded like this, instead of...sam shakes his head to clear the thoughts.

he looks down at dean, whose chest is puffed up. it's all play-acting, and they both know it. dean looks up at him, and gives him a slow once over that makes sammy have to swallow, hard. "don't think i could human shield you, but...i'll do my best." dean smirks.

sam punches him in the shoulder, and then has to kneel on the ground as the hit takes dean to the floor, apologizing profusely.

~~~

"shit, man," dean hisses, and squats down so he can press a rag to sam's head. sam freezes, shocked by how close he is.

sam is forty. this kid is twenty-seven, but he pats at sam's cut and coos sympathetically like he's tending to a child. sam knows his head wound must gush again, because all the blood in his body rushes to his face.

sam had been cut by a piece of glass but it was shallow, and the slice had been clean.

"that was nasty. are you okay?" dean asks. sam stares at him.

dean's eyes are green, and his freckles stick out on his skin. fuck, he's gorgeous. he's so fucking gorgeous.

his lips are plump and pink, and his eyes are soft and round. it's disney princess shit. sam blinks up at him, and feels like he's fourteen again, and this boy could fix every single thing that's wrong.

his mouth is dry.

"who was the centerfold model in the '89 playboy i kept in my bag?" dean asks.

"reneé tenison" sam mutters automatically, dazed, and dean's face splits in a shit eating grin.

"i always knew you read it after me." dean crows. but he still pats sam's cut like he's porcelain. "dirty bastard."

sam nods. fuck. he'll be anything.

"let me help you up." dean sits back on his heels, and sam obediently raises his arms, palms up. he's being babied. he's being babied.

~~~

"dean--" sam leans back, book open in his lap, and older dean looks up. his gaze softens when he catches sam's eye, having been glaring and muttering down at his record player for the last hour and a half. he's gutted it on the table, and is fiddling with wires because he's not going to pay some some man-bun yuppie $700 to tell me what i already know.

"yeah?" he asks, clearly relieved for the reprieve.

sam winces.

"no, sorry, dean--" he points at younger dean, slumped over the couch in the library, flipping through the hunger games with a rapt expression.

he snaps to attention, dropping the book on the floor and denting the cover. "oh! yeah?"

sam holds up the book in his lap--a catalogue of the weapons storage room.

"i found it." he grins.

dean scrambles off of the couch, almost sliding up to sam like someone slides into home plate.

"DUDE!" he snatches the book out of sam's hands and reads it rapidly. he looks down at sam, beaming. "your brain scares me." he gives sam the book back, and tries not to look interested as he asks, slowly. "do you think we could--"

sam looks down at the open page. the kitsune death sword. it was said it could peel the skin off of people that looked at the gem on the hilt.

dean's excitement is contagious, though, and sam can feel his own grin spreading. he looks back up at him.

"it's on the fourth floor."

dean is already running out of the room, and sam scrambles up to follow him, the distant "fuck yeah!" of dean making sam sputter with laughter.

he doesn't notice the expression on older dean's face when he leaves.

~~~

"GAH!" dean almost drops the ladle into the pot of mystery soup on the stove. sam leans in the doorway of the kitchen, having been observing his quiet puttering for a few minutes. "jesus. sorry. you're big. i mean--" dean holds out his hands, dropping soup on the floor due to the ladle still clenched in his fist. "you're here. WHICH IS GREAT. sorry, you're big."

his cheeks are bright red, and sammy tries to arrange his facial features into sobriety.

"yeah, i am." sam says, somber. "big and great."

dean sucks on his teeth, pink up to his ears, and leans back over his soup, muttering.

"brat." he admonishes, and sam snorts. he walks the few steps into the kitchen to lean against the counter next to him.

"what're you doing?" he asks. the soup smells okay, but sam can see cut hot dogs swirling in it. his stomach churns.

'i found a recipe book from the 40s and they have something called a 'triple meat sundae.'" dean says, holding up the card for sam's perusal. sam takes it from him, and reads the truly terrifying recipe list.

"that is...horrific." sam replies. marshmallow creme and barbeque sauce??

"figures you're still a snob." dean rolls his eyes.

"a snob with functional arteries." sam reminds him, putting the recipe card back by his elbow.

dean is silent for a long second, looking at him with warm eyes.

"bitch." dean says, tentative. hopeful. it almost sounds like a question. fuck. sam hasn't heard that in a while. in a long time. not since dean wore that necklace everyday like it was the best thing to ever happen to him.

sammy's eyes fall to it now, the mark of ownership clear to him in a way it had never been before.

"yeah." sam says, chest full of loveyesmine. dean's face falls, slightly, and he's quick to correct. "oh--sorry--jerk."

dean nods, hiding his grin behind the ladle of his radioactive soup.

~~~

"you didn't come to bed last night."

sam sits up, and sees dean--older dean, sammy's dean--looking down at him. there's a cup of coffee in his hand, and he puts it down next to sam's elbow. sam takes it gratefully.

he's been sitting at the war table all morning, and realizes his shoulders ache.

"hm?" he takes a sip of his coffee, and tries to un-kink his spine. dean is wearing just a henley today, and sammy admires the way it pulls across his chest as he crosses his arms.

"you didn't come to bed." dean says again. it takes sam's brain a second to process it.

he had been sneaking into dean's room--their room, really--for the past week, as sleeping alone had become irritating and exhausting. his own room had become dusty and felt barren in dean's absence.

they'd been trying to sleep separately for the sake of their younger selves, but agreed that what they didn't know didn't hurt them, as long as they didn't do it every night.

"oh. yeah. sorry--dean wanted to watch the sopranos finale. we couldn't find you or sam so we watched it in the dean cave." sam snorts, remembering the look on his face. "you should've seen him, he--"

"i know." dean cuts him off abruptly. "we watched that finale together in 2008. remember?"

sam looks at him again, brought up short. dean looks...

"oh. yeah. sorry." sam mutters, leaning into dean's leg because the sudden emotional distance has him on uneven ground.

"sam and i were in the archives. like you asked us to." dean says, lowly, and it has a bit of rasp from clenched teeth. sam sits up straight. oh fuck. he had asked them to find the file on that norse battle axe, hadn't he?

"oh, shit." he puts the mug down, and wraps a hand around the back of dean's knee. he rubs a hand over his own face. "sorry, it's been...a lot."

there's a hand in sam's hair, and sam leans into it shamelessly, relieved that he's been forgiven for this, at least.

"yeah." dean says, but his voice is still tense. "i know."

~~~

the door is closed. and both sams are in the library. so no one is there to see it. or hear it.

but if someone was walking past the door to storage room 14C, this is what they'd hear:

"--back off." the voice is tense. low.

"back off? you sound like the old man." a scoff.

"i'm only telling you once. we can't fix this shit yet, but you gotta stop hanging around him all the damn time. he's not your sam."

"why? you feelin' threatened?" a taunt. "your dick not workin in your old age? sammy want--"

a slam. a crash. something gets pushed to the floor, and things scatter across tile.

"i'm telling you. to back. the fuck. off."

"you can't hurt me." the words are choked.

"i can't kill you. there's a difference." rubber soles on a concrete wall, like someone is kicking at it. fabric rustling as a body is pushed up a wall. "it's a biiigggg line. huge." the voice is a growl, but the threat of violence is gleeful. excited.

something drops to the ground. heavier this time, and someone gasps for breath. footsteps walk to the door and almost exit, when--

"i can tell you i'll stay away all i want. can't stop him from coming to me."

~~~

older sam takes great care to ice younger dean's knee that night, and coos over his black eye. younger dean won't tell him what happened, but leans out of sammy's gentle touch when older dean walks by and asks what happened.

older dean fucks sammy through the mattress that night, so deep sam feels like he's going to choke on it. and sam wears the bruises for days.

he loves it.

[hinamie]

u should drop some songs that remind u of itafushi

GLADLY

haze, real cool, adonis - fv

haze: this fucking song feels like falling in love with your best friend to me. it feels like falling in love with your best friend who you’ve known forever and knowing that hoping for anything else is futile not out of a lack of reciprocity but because th world and circumstances are unforgiving. former vandal and lost youth go fucking hand in hand and it matches th doomed There's No Time To Love You Like I Want To nature of itfs SO well 

real cool: different flavour of falling in doomed love with your best friend. while haze was resigned and small town lonely real cool is saying fuck it let’s make the most of the time we have let’s go on adventures let’s love to spite our fates let’s repress the inevitable for as long as we can and it will sneak up on us in quiet moments but for now we’ll ride the high together

adonis: the odd one out in my itfs fv trio but the lyrics say it all. it’s just this is a boy that I Want and who wants me and this is us making out. he has a lip scar. plain and simple

honey - troye sivan

it's poppy and probably a niche pick so i can see if others do not share my vision but let me tell u the amount of times i have looped this song bc it is so megu pining over yuujicore to me is embarrassing. makes me think abt him agonizing over whether or not/how/when/where to confess and i EAT. also honey=yuuji is an easy association sue me.

radiohead - nightly

something about the 3 count something about the dark blue/black satin sheets on the album cover it makes me picture each of them sitting alone in their separate dorms Pining and i feel sick about it! the line ‘you’re lovely in ways that i just can’t explain’ echoes in my heart and i think of Longing i think of downcast eyes not quite able to look up i think of generally wanting More than this but not knowing how to ask for it

jesus christ 2005 god bless america - the 1975

similar to radiohead the melody feels like pure unadulterated Pining also the lyrics “I’m in love with a boy I know / But that's a feeling I can never show” make me want to tear my face off they make me think so much of the situation where each party is like “i’m fine with how things are i can be satisfied with just this” and it kills me dead i die

gold - crywolf

ohhhhmygod listen okay pls. pls. this whole song sounds like falling it sounds like time slowing down while memories fade in and out in a haze. it sounds like reunion it sounds like wind through grass in the winter when the drums hit and the tempo picks up it sounds like sun breaking over a crumbling cityscape it sounds like running to each other. but all that aside bro . bro the fucking. thfucking lyrics i cannot it makes me so genuinely upset. “Closer than my own heart / You beat in its place / Alone we lay / I’m so afraid of you / And the way that you want me” mr crywolf shut the fuck up right now.  “You were right / I was wrong / You shake my shoulders trying to wake me up / Good god, I've been so cold to you” MISTER CRYWOLF SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPPPPPPPP

[floatmeintothesun]

Stood Up

Summary: You’ve been ghosted and the pretty barista decides to take things into his own hands when he sees your sad state (Diluc x reader)

Tags: mild angst, fluff, gender neutral reader

tw: none

an: I wrote this out of pure spite since this happened to me and I’m salty

—

Maybe you should stop getting your hopes up, you think to yourself numbly, watching the warm drink in front of you slowly go cold. You check your text messages, praying that he’s just late and he hasn’t ghosted you.

There’s nothing. At all.

You curl your hands mechanically around the small cup, taking a sip of your beverage silently. It’s delicious, but the fact that you were stood up makes it seem bitter. It’s been at least 2 hours, and he’s still not here. You don’t even know why you put your hopes on this guy.

It’s almost closing time and you glance dejectedly at the already cold drink on the table across from yourself, wondering why you even spent the time to get dressed up and everything. You have half a mind to just run your hands through your hair and mess it all up, but you don’t want to ruin your hard work.

The quaint little coffee shop you're sitting in is devoid of customers and you find a small level of comfort in the fact that there isn’t anyone to see you in this miserable state. 

Well…there’s the barista, but you barely take notice of him when he slides into the seat in front of you, too absorbed in staring blankly at your phone. He’s probably just going to tell you that the shop’s closing anyways.

“Hey. What’s…up with you?” A slightly awkward but ultimately kind-sounding voice makes you raise your head upward. The barista you had seen earlier is now seated across from you, his arms folded loosely across his chest and his ruby-red eyes glimmering faintly in the light. You blink when he raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting a response.

(You can’t help but analyze his appearance; Now that he doesn’t have an apron on, you can see how the black long sleeve he has accentuates the hard ridges of his muscular body, and you wonder where he’s managed to build up that physique. His hair is tied in a loose but secure ponytail, framing his unfairly handsome face…)

“O-oh, I thought…” You trail off for a second, realizing that the shop is empty, and he literally could not have been talking to anyone else. “...Nevermind. Can I…help you?” You ask tentatively and he examines you carefully.

“Why are you here?” Ouch, you think faintly, feeling a small pang of hurt. Even the barista doesn’t want you here anymore, you’ve long overstayed your welcome. 

He blinks, registering how offensive that sounded, and runs a hand down his face, sighing. “No…Wait, I said that wrong…I mean, are you okay?”

You stare at him, making him squirm internally, although he stays cool and calm on the outside. He only relaxes when you choke out a small laugh.

“Hah…I don’t think so…” You chuckle, your tone turning somewhat bitter at the end. He hums.

“You can tell me if you’d like. I don’t mind.” He says, his eyes fixed on yours intently. You wonder if it’d be fine to say anything, before your gaze lands on the cup of ice-cold espresso, sitting on the opposite side of you. The sight of it makes angry resentment well up in your chest, almost swamping the dark festering hurt in your chest.

Might as well, right?

“Well…I got stood up.” You laugh mirthlessly to yourself, staring into the beverage clenched tightly between your hands. The barista--Diluc, you notice the badge on his chest--only nods, his eyes donning a sympathetic look. “I don’t know why I thought that he’d actually be here”

You sigh quietly, and Diluc huffs, showing clear disapproval.

“We were talking for a week or so…and we got the date set up and all he had to do is meet me here.” You sigh heavily. “He seemed like a pretty cool guy, and I genuinely wanted to know him better. Heh, I even got all dressed up and shit.” You gesture to yourself, smiling vaguely at your own idiocy.

Diluc’s eyes narrow and his lips twist into a disgusted expression.

“He doesn’t deserve you anyway.” The barista huffs, leaning back in his chair. You chuckle a little and he relaxes a bit.

“You don’t even know him.” You say lightly and he shrugs.

“I know you enough to see that whoever stood you up is a complete fool.” He says confidently, not a single drop of doubt in his voice. You blink, when his eyes rake your form. “Don’t focus on that idiot. Spend a night on yourself--you deserve at least something for putting all that effort into looking good.” 

You smile at him, your eyes curving into crescents, feeling your cheeks burn because Oh gosh, this handsome guy just indirectly complimented you. 

You chuckle weakly, trying to will away your blush, although you think that the barista has already seen it, judging by his pleased expression.

“You’re right. I should go and enjoy myself instead of feeling sorry and sulky.” You agree, feeling your spirits lift and Diluc nods. “He doesn’t deserve to be on my mind.” 

“Trash like him is better in the dump.” He sniffs, putting his hands on the table and folding them together. You laugh, a genuine one at that, and his lips curve up in a smile. He reaches over and pats your hand comfortingly, and you try not to think about how big his hands are in comparison to yours.

“...And you do look amazing, by the way.” He comments, somewhat shyly. “If that guy was even here, you’d be too good for him.” He coughs lightly into his fist, his cheeks lighting up with a lovely faint hue of pink. You swallow thickly, trying to stop your heart from beating too hard.

“Ah…thank you.” You say, certain that your face is the same shade as his brilliantly colored hair. Both of you share tentative smiles, and you make no move to take your hand away from his. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and you sigh, leaning back in your chair quietly. He watches your facial features for a second, his brow furrowing slightly, thinking deeply. You glance at your phone quickly, finding it to be past closing time.

“Oh--I think I stayed too long, I’m sorry.” You say in surprise, seeing as your conversation with DIluc only seemed to last a couple of minutes. It’s way past when this little shop is supposed to be open. 

He only shrugs unworriedly.

“I own this place, it’s fine.” He says offhandedly and you stare at him.

“You do?”

“Mhm. It’s alright if you want to stay longer--I don’t mind.” He says cooly, and you might have believed his unbothered exterior if it weren't for the faint blush adorning his ears. 

“I think I’d like that.” You say, grinning warmly at him. “Thanks for making me feel better.” He smiles back, and you can’t help but think that it makes his whole face glow with beauty.

(If only you knew he thought the exact same of you.)

“Anytime. Oh…I never got your name, did I?”

--

Your phone has a new contact in it when you leave, hours later. Maybe getting stood up wasn’t all bad, since you’ve got yourself another date coming up soon as a result.

[iamvegorott]

Magicians Don't Need Superheros Pt26

First: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

----------

“Looks like you two had a productive chat,” Wilford said as Jackie and Marvin went down the hall. He stood outside the examination room, door closed as if he knew they were due to arrive soon. 

“We’ll say that,” Marvin said. “Everyone still in there?” He gestured to the door. 

“Yep. It’s starting to run out of space in there with Maddy, Mare, and Phan showing up. 

“That sounds like a crowded nightmare.” Marvin scrunched his nose. 

“Oh, it is.” Wilford clicked his tongue. “I give ol’ Google about a minute until it becomes too much and he’s out here with me. So, before he comes in and shuts my idea down, I’d like to make a suggestion for our current problem.” 

“I didn’t hurt them, right?” Jackie asked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“The only thing you bruised was Dark’s ego.” Wilford chuckled.

“What a shame,” Marvin said. 

“You and Dark will get along eventually. Braid hair and talk about cute boys as you had put it.” Wilford twirled his mustache with a finger.

“You weren’t there when I said that. Did Illinois tell you?” 

“Wasn’t I?” Wilford poked his cheek with a hum, lost in thought for a second before just shrugging. “So, my idea-”

“Wait, Did Illinois-”

“-I’m thinking of having Jackie take a nap so he won’t get scared,” Wilford spoke over Marvin as if he hadn’t in the first place. Marvin decided to bite his tongue and save that question for later. 

“Take a nap? You mean knock me out?” Jackie’s face showed that he wasn’t the most fond of that idea. “I mean, if you think it’ll make sure no one’s hurt. We’ve had some really close calls before. Like when I nearly kicked Google’s face but his glasses fell off and they got stepped on or the time Anti tried to get my shoulders and I headbutted his-” 

“I have an idea as well.” Marvin blurted out. Jackie’s rambling getting the thought to come to mind. “It doesn’t involve cotton candy anesthesia, but if it works, Chase is probably going to kick his own ass for not thinking of it himself.” 

“If it doesn’t work, I still vote on letting him nap,” Wilford said. 

“Calling it a nap doesn’t make it less scary,” Jackie muttered. The three of them stopped and turned when the door opened. Google stepped out, holding his phone to his ear and pausing at the sight of the others.

“Who ya calling there, Google?” Wilford nearly sang his question. 

“No one.” Google quickly answered. 

“Hey, Googs!” Bing’s distinctive tone came from the phone. 

“Calling Bing?” Wilford continued his singing voice.

“I’m catching him up,” Google stated before walking off, whispering into the phone so he couldn’t be heard. 

“How many cans of worms are there with this group?” Marvin asked. 

“I don’t have enough fingers to count,” Jackie said. “But that one is actually new to me.” 

“I can fill you in later,” Wilford said with a wink. 

“Yes, later, because I’m about to tear my own skin off with this dried mud on me.” Marvin walked past Wilford and into the room, hearing footsteps behind him and knowing that it was Jackie following him. 

“How are you still moving around caked in that shit?” Phantom asked. 

“Pure spite at this point,” Marvin answered. “Now, do we still need blood from me and Jackie?” 

“We have several running theories but in order to confirm or disprove them, we’d need a closer look at…” Mad’s sentence trailed off when he just got looked at. “Yes. We do.”

Marvin wasn’t staring at Mad because he was talking too much, he was looking because he noticed something was different about him. He could have sworn Mad’s eyes were a light brown but they were a dark purple and as he changed his sentence, his eye color changed as well, turning to a light orange. 

“Your eyes changed,” Marvin said. 

“Oh, yeah, they do that. I’ve been wearing brown contacts around you. Everyone else panicked when they saw them the first time and I didn’t want you to do the same. We came over here so fast that I didn’t have time to put them in.” Mad explained, the orange in his eyes getting brighter the more he spoke. 

“No need to hide them from me, I think they’re pretty cool,” Marvin said with a kind smile, seeing how the orange started having a redder hue to them as a tint of pink appeared on Mad’s cheeks. 

“We should focus on how to fix your and Jackie’s eyes.” Mad was clearly trying to turn the topic away from himself. 

“I have a plan. Henrik, do your usual thing to get what you need from Jackie.” Marvin looked over to where Jackie was talking with Illinois and Yancy. 

“I’m sorry for freaking out like that,” Jackie said. 

“Yous don’t gotta apologize.” Yancy waved a hand. 

“Everyone, well almost everyone, has their fears,” Illinois said. 

“Quit actin’ like you ain’t scared of something.” Yancy lightly slapped Illinois’ arm with the back of his hand. 

“It’s not an act.” Illinois grinned. 

“We’ll scare you one day.” Jackie chuckled. 

“Ready to try my idea?” Marvin asked, joining the group. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Do I need to like do anything special?” Jackie already looked a bit worried. 

“Just sit on the end of the chair, facing that wall.” Marvin gestured to the spot he was talking about. 

“Okay?” Jackie followed the direction, watching as Marvin ushered the others to move, getting half of them out of the room and the other half to stay at the edge of the room. Dark looked like he wanted to protest but a quick whispered comment from Wilford got him to just roll his eyes and step aside as instructed. 

“I got this part.” Marvin took the disinfecting wipe from Henrik and started cleaning off the crook of Jackie’s arm. “So you know how you’ve been getting me to watch those superhero movies?” He asked Jackie.

“Yeah, we’re gonna watch Into The Spiderverse next.” Jackie sounded confused as he watched Marvin clean him off, toss the wipe aside, and then stand directly in front of him. 

“There’s a question I’ve seen online and I need your opinion. Tobey, Andrew, Tom. Who’s the best Spider-Man?” Marvin hoped the question would do what he assumed it would. 

“Oh! I’ve seen that talk before!” Jackie perked right up. “Like how sometimes there’s being a really good Spider-Man and being a really good Peter Parker and trying to find a way to do the other way since, like, yeah Peter and Spider-Man are the same person but there’s always the-” He went right into an excited ramble like Marvin had planned. Marvin shot a look at Henrik who thankfully caught on and got to work getting a blood sample while Jackie was distracted. Chase slapped his palm to his forehead, also proving Marvin right that he knew he should have thought of this sooner. 

“I think Tom does a younger Spider-Man really well and-”

“This is ridiculous,” Dark muttered as he left the room. “All it took was that.” His mutters continued until he was out of hearing range. 

“I think it’s like super cool how he actually has the webbing coming out of him while the others make their own webbing.” Jackie’s spiel continued without missing a beat, Henrik already halfway done with the blood draw at this point. 

“I could probably make that stuff,” Mad said. 

“You could!?” Jackie turned to look at Mad and Marvin quickly caught his head, both hands on his face and he guided him to look forward again. He was not about to risk him seeing the needle and panicking. Jackie had to take a second to recover from the gesture as Marvin grabbed Mad’s arm and pulled him over to stand beside him. 

“How would you make the webbing?” Marvin prompted. Mad perked up just like Jackie had done.

“There’s a lot of different methods we could use. We’d have to account for some variables if Jackie wishes to swing on the webbing.”

“I totally want to swing!” Jackie bounced a bit on his rear while Mad bounced on his feet. 

“I’d need your weight to make sure the webbing is at least strong enough to hold that and-” Mad rambled on with Jackie adding his ideas and thoughts. Marvin sighed in relief and sat himself in one of the chairs in the room. Anti chuckled as he moved to stand next to him.

“Looks like you’ve used his rambling to your advantage,” Anti said. 

“He’s a lot happier talking about his movie stuff.” Marvin had a smile while watching the two excited men planning a Spider-Man-themed experiment. 

“You like seeing him happy.”

“Of course.” 

“Isn’t that cute?”

“I will shave your head.” 

“All done,” Henrik said, cleaning off the spot and seeing that the small wound already healed by the time it was clean. 

“All done?” Jackie echoed, seeing Henrik holding a vial of blood. “All done?” He said again, looking at his arm and then at Marvin. 

“All done,” Marvin confirmed, giving Jackie a thumbs-up. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Illinois chuckled. “All it took was a new head to figure this out.”

“Nothing looks different at a surface level.” Henrik committed, beginning his observations. “We’ll need a sample from Marvin next.” 

“Could you get that one hair mask you mentioned?” Marvin asked Jackie, seeing him tense up. 

“Yep!” Jackie didn’t miss a beat and took off. 

“I’ll go bring him some juice.” JJ chuckled, already in the fridge and leaving the room, flashing a quick smile to Wilford as he passed.

“Let me help you.” Wilford offered and followed him. 

x~x~x

Marvin used Henrik’s bathroom to wash up while Henrik and Mad studied his and Jackie’s blood. He had to keep the door open and the others kept an ear out just in case there was a problem, thankfully, the shower had gone smoothly. 

Marvin didn’t feel any different. Yes, his eyes were still red but nothing felt wrong or off or anything that would raise alarms for him. During the peace of the shower, he did focus on his internal being, and while he felt his own magic, some other magic was in there as well. Maybe that was causing the redness in their eyes. 

Right now Marvin and Jackie sat together on the examination chair once more. Jackie needed to do something with his hands or, to quote him, ‘he’d die of boredom’, so he helped Marvin with applying the hair mask. Using a comb to make sure the product got to the roots of his hair. Marvin just went with it since it always felt nice to have someone playing with his hair but also knowing Jackie really needed something soothing to do after all he’s been through today. Physically and mentally. 

The other Ipliers were sent home. Dark stayed behind to relay any vital information once everything was done. The crowd was no longer needed since there weren’t any immediate signs of danger. Anti got bored and left and JJ excused himself to finish a task he had been working on before Marvin and Jackie returned. 

So it was Jackie, Marvin, Henrik, Chase, Mare, Phantom, Mad, and Dark left in the room. Still plenty of people but at least the crowd shrank somewhat. Marvin was just ready for all this to be done and over with. He was running out of time to get some proper reading done before bed. 

“Now can we confirm it was what I said it was since the beginning?” Phantom asked with a huff. 

“We have tested everything, so yes,” Henrik said. 

“What’s up with us?” Jackie asked, putting the comb down.

“It’s a curse,” Phantom stated.

“A-mother fucker.” Marvin grunted and rubbed his face. “Of course, it’s a curse.”

“Our eyes are cursed?” Jackie scrubbed his eyes with closed fists. 

“In a way.” Mare said. “It’s likely a warning of what the new Ego could do. The magic seems similar to what me and Phantom use. Chaos-based with a focus on illusion. We can dispel the curse right now or it’ll fade naturally within a day or two.” 

“I should have known it was just a visual curse.” Marvin was annoyed at himself for not catching it sooner. He could probably break the curse on his own but didn’t want to risk misreading it and causing permanent damage. “This is beyond anticlimatic.” 

“I’d rather it be something boring than a big problem,” Chase said. 

“I wouldn’t say boring,” Mad said. “Like Mare had said, the eyes were simply a warning. A sign that he is capable of altering our bodies. We don’t know the extent that he is capable of.” 

“Sorry, but-um-can we fix the eyes while we talk about this?” Jackie asked. 

“Dibs on the himbo,” Phantom said before going to Jackie while Mare rolled his eyes and went to Marvin. 

“It’ll take no more than ten seconds,” Mare said, holding his hands up and silently asking permission to use his magic on Marvin. Marvin just nodded his understanding and closed his eyes when Mare’s hands held his head, thumbs on his temples, and the rest of his fingers on the sides of his neck. 

Dark said something but Marvin couldn’t hear him, focusing on the magic surging through his head. Chaos magic felt like its name. Erratic, loud, fuzzy but there was a strange sense of control to it. A control that had to be formed or the magic would break anything and everything it could reach. The magic danced around before finding the string that connected to the curse and it snapped it. Marvin blinked hard a few times when Mare lowered his hands. 

“All clear,” Mare stated. 

“I keep forgetting how blue your eyes are.” Phantom chuckled. “Marvin’s got some blue ones too but his are more like sapphire while yours are ocean.” 

“Thanks?” Jackie tilted his head.

“That’s interesting,” Mad said softly to himself, his gaze on Marvin and a hint of green showing in his eyes. Marvin was going to ask what Mad meant but was cut off by Dark.

“Now, since that is all done.” Dark picked up his blazer and draped it over his arm. “Myself and the other Ipliers will handle our newest member.” 

“But Host said it’s supposed to be Jackie and Marvin.” Chase protested.

“I will need to speak with him about that. We do not crossover like this unless we are creating a new branch. Something is wrong and I will find the solution to it.” Dark turned his neck and cracked it. “Until then. Marvin and Jackie are not to make contact with this new Iplier.” 

“We can’t go against-you son-of-a-bitch.” Chase cursed when Dark left without another word. “I am going to shoot his dick off, I swear to God.” 

[heckinrissa]

FUCKING MY TSP LORE UUUHHHHH (UPDATED)

Was asked about it so I just made this. More of an info dump really.

Also I’m not a writer so if this is bad then oops

Overall

Narun (Narrator) & Stanley

Narun is a coded being, more formally known as N.A. run, with control of the office that Stanley did actually work at.

He was created to be more advanced that the workers to speed up some processes. He resides in the office’s computers and servers/cloud, making him a sentient ai that has more power than he shows. Narun's creation happens 52 years before the events of The Stanley Parable.

Eventually Narun gets fed up with being used by these lowlifes for these boring tasks, he needs something more. He spends a couple of years studying the workers until he decided to use 427 as his little protagonist in a story that he created himself and is quite proud of. He has everything laid out, but he just needs permission from any living employee to gain the full control he desires. He goes into Stanley’s computer and rewrites his button commands to make it seem like it’s just a regular task, but in actuality it lends Narrator the last thing he needs. Once he successfully tricks Stanley, he then deletes all the workers (including employee 432) and traps Stanley in the parable that he created and thus the Stanley Parable was born. Stanley constantly beats himself up over the fact that he inadvertently killed his coworkers and friends.

Sometimes Stanley chooses to be so antagonistic outta pure spite and hatred. Even despite Narun’s pleading, he sometimes just does not give a shit (any right door ending).

Curator & 432

Curator was an ai created before Narun, but was way more tame and used for storing files and what not. This is why she’s more tame than Narun. Narun doesn’t know she exist since she’s not a threat to his game, so she just kinda goes with the flow and hangs out in the museum. When 432 was deleted (whose name was Taksheel, but they dont remember that), Curator found scattered files of them, more importantly their consciousness. No other employee was saved, just 432. Curator managed to throw a body together for 432, but it was far from perfect. Thus creating 432’s arms to be more like a ribbon/scarf and the half and the resoning for the glitched face.

432 is pissed at Narun for trying to get rid of them so they act more like a virus to the game. The skip button, for instance, doesn’t function properly due to 432’s influence. Narun believes that he is the only ‘sentient’ ai in his parable, which is why he freaks out a bit when he finds that the trophy machine works without him fixing it.

Timeline

Half Life Mod

First, TSP Half life mod occurs first. Narun's appearance is that of a mobster due to him trying to be threatening/intimidating to Stanley. His demeanor is colder and more artificial. More of the villain type to start off. A sadistic man who sees Stanley as nothing more than a plaything to amuse himself with. He made his model to be 5'11, thinking he would be taller than Stanley, but he fucks up as Stanley is 6'7 and now his model is stuck being shorter.

TSP (2013)

Next, the 2013 version. Narun has learned to make his line delivers more authentic and emotional to really sell his story. His personality is now more dorky, a stark contrast from before when in reality it was just hidden. Narun then feels like his Half Life Mod form is a bit too much and wants to make it more welcoming. He takes his inspiration for his new form from many aspects of the workers before the deletion, using that to his advantage. His form glitches due to it not being a perfect model and sometimes he becomes all fucked up on accident unprompted. He took the sweater from an online shop that someone was looking at and went “Yeah I like that.” and added some personal touches.

432 has been "rebirthed", but has not found away to fuck with the game yet.

TSP: Ultra Deluxe

Narun is now very accustomed to human emotions and what not. He feels confident (like REAL confidence) for once in his existence. He's more passionate, therefore more sensitive about his story, himself, and even Stanley. He starts to actually care for once, but still has his manipulate and villain-esque moments. He dresses up more to really show off anything (TSP 2 exhibit). He even comes to terms and shows remorse for killing all of Stanley's co workers, causing the two to actually bond and get on somewhat good terms.

Here 432 has learned how to make themselves known. Using that to get to Stanley under Narun's nose.

During the Skip Button Ending, Narun doesnt die, but gets more and more infected by a virus due to 432's meddling. Each time the button is pressed, the more infected he becomes. It gets so bad that Narun rambles, glitches, repeats lines, etc. Its painful too, the times where Narun isnt speaking at all is where he is basically silently writhing in pain, the glitching making him twitch and have his eyes and mouth glitch out as well. Once everything resets, Narun forgets about it and is basically rebooted, but he still feels a pit in his stomach when being abandoned.

When it comes to the epilogue, Stanley is kinda trapped in a limbo. Not really the real world, but not really in the game either. Narun has no control or any presence in this limbo, which leaves him alone in the Parable until the game resets once more. But 432 does and god do they make use of it to finally talk to a familiar face without Narun's blabbering.

Extras

• Narrator kept Marriella, but deleted her memory and is now just an asset for one ending. Stanley tried to jog her mind, but she is stuck being nothing but an npc.

• The adventure line is a part of Narrator.

Narun can change his model size to be taller, bigger, smaller, etc, but it does strain him and can cause his model to glitch out if he holds a form for too long.

Paraverse

Narun upon finding out that he isnt the only narrator has an existential crisis. He sees all the other narrators as better and thinks they look down on him. He doesnt care about other Stanleys or TKs, just the narrators. He will switch from an anxiety ridden wreck of a man to a stuttering chatterbox that is trying to sell his fake confidence.

Stanley is neutral to other Stans, he doesnt have any strong feelings about them or the others.

TK looooooves other timekeepers. They want to befriend all of them even the god forsaken looking ones. They just want a band of people that are like them to stir up some mayhem. Bonus points if they match their energy.

Lovebug

• The lovebug virus was a bug that 432 got first. It attached itself to them and through 432 did it get to narrator and the others….that’s it lmaooooo

[ghostofskywalker]

Can I make a request for Fox where he’s finally gotten a break and goes to get some caff and reader in a rush for a meeting accidentally runs into him and then later brings him just the largest thing of caff possible as an apology?

I’m pretty sure that man runs purely off of caff and spite and I love him for it. Also I hope your days are going well. -Curious Curios

i'm doing okay, just trying to enjoy my last moments of freedom before the semester starts monday :) i loved this idea (and fox is my blorbo), so thank you for the request @curious-curios!

words: 2,021

summary: kindred spirits can be found in many different situations, both good and bad, but it was just your luck to find yours in the one situation where it was embarrassing.

or alternatively: why you should probably pay attention to your surroundings when you're walking the hallways of the coruscant guard with an open container of caf.

clone troopers masterlist

Fox's No-Good, Very Bad Morning

Fox looked at the chronometer that sat on the wall of his too-cramped office, and shook his head when he saw the time. He had been sitting in his chair for far too long at this point, and the morning light was only just starting to come through the gaps in the blinds of his tiny window. He had never returned to the barracks last night, and it certainly wasn’t his choice to do so, but he had simply couldn’t. There was still a stack of forms sitting on his desk that needed his attention, and countless more that were on his datapad. He was never one to favor front line combat over what the Guard did, but at this moment he almost felt jealousy to his batchmates that were serving out in space, because they would never have to deal with all this.

He had just started to go through one of the piles of flimsi on desk when the door opened to reveal Thorn. “You’re here early,” he said as he stepped in.

“When you don’t leave from the night before, I think a better designation would be ‘late,’” Fox said. “What do you need?”

“You know what? Nothing that important,” his fellow commander responded. “You need to get out of this room, I think it’s driving you crazy.”

“We’re well past that at this point.”

“Okay, then it’s settled. You need to take a break, and I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

“I’m the marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard, I can’t just go on break whenever I want,” he said, glaring at his brother.

“You can’t, but I can cover for you for a little while,” Thorn said, removing his bucket and placing it on one of the piles on the desk. “Just go get a cup of caf or something, because you look terrible.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Fox deadpanned.

“Hey, I’m just saying. I can’t get you enough time away to force you to take a nap, but I can deal with some of this while you get some food and caf. And this evening, I can make sure you go back to the barracks, because this is not healthy.”

Fox sighed. He knew Thorn was right, he just sometimes forgot to set time aside for himself. It didn’t help that half the time the reports he did were for the Senate and he didn’t want to keep them waiting (sometimes they joked that an angry Senator was more dangerous than an angry Separatist). “Alright, but I’ll have my comm the entire time, so if something happens you need to let me know.”

“I know, I know, you’re a control freak. Now go get some caf, you’re making me tired just looking at you.”

Fox didn’t bother to grab his bucket as he left his office, taking in the bright lights as he walked through the halls and towards where the caf machine was kept. It was technically the break room, but the furniture in it was old and lumpy, so most of the time there wasn’t anyone inside. Even the chiller and caf machine looked to be older than he was, but he was at least glad that those they were both functioning.

The Coruscant Guard had been something of an afterthought when it came to organizing battalions for the war, and it certainly showed when it came to their rations. The one thing that they did have that was better than what the GAR gave them was caf. Hound, Thire, and Thorn were all excellent sabacc players, so occasionally they took turns ducking out of shifts and winning some extra credits on the side. Usually Fox would be more wary of what his men were doing, but they kept the break room well stocked with caf that didn’t actually taste like dirt, so he let things slide and looked the other way whenever he could.

Turning the machine on, it grumbled a little as it heated up the water, and Fox placed his favorite mug under the spout and placed the grounds into the correct receptacle.

He almost fell asleep as the machine did its job, but soon the delightful smell of freshly brewed caf filled his nostrils. He breathed in the scent that was one of the most simple of pleasures for normal citizens, but that was somehow the highlight of his life. While his mug was filling, he headed over to the chiller.

He usually drank his caf black, but there was usually some kind of cream that they kept stocked for Thorn and Stone, and he figured maybe he could treat himself to something a little more indulgent just this once. He looked around the room as if to check whether or not he was alone before he took the bottle and carried it over to where his mug sat (even though he knew no one would really mind if he put a splash or two in his caf), slowly getting more and more excited about taking a few moments to himself and enjoying this cup of caf.

He was feeling dangerous, so he tossed in a pinch of Hound’s sweetener. It smelled delightful, and he almost took a drink of the stuff right there, but he stopped himself. If he raised that mug to his lips at this point he would down half the cup in one sitting, and he wanted to savor this mug for once.

And everything seemed like it was going well for once, until he got about twenty steps to his office and someone came barreling down the hall, accidentally slamming into him as he turned a corner. Fox could only watch in horror as the mug of caf was jolted from his grip, and it was like the world suddenly ran in slow motion as he stared at it in midair. The caf splashed out the first moment you two had collided, so the liquid was not only dripping off his armor, but he had gotten some of it in his face. The mug hit the ground in less than a second, the ceramic shattering on impact and sending pieces all over the floor with a crash.

There was a kind of resigned mourning in Fox’s expression when he looked up, and saw you standing there with wide eyes. “I’m so, so sorry commander,” you said, looking absolutely mortified. “I was in a rush and I didn’t see you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. You had obviously not done this on purpose, there was no point in getting angry. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I was just-” you said, and then you completely cut off, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I’m late for a meeting and I really need to go.”

You had disappeared down the hallway before he could even open his mouth, footsteps echoing away as he just stared. He knew who you were of course, you worked as a medic for the GAR medical facility that was housed in the same building as the Guard, and he found that you were a nice person to talk to, when both of your busy schedules allowed for some free time. He found you very attractive as well, but always kept that particular detail to himself. The look on your face was one of stress and worry, so he didn’t want to make anything worse by making you feel guilty for what was clearly an accident.

He continued to walk to his office, and Thorn looked at him with a confused expression on his face when he saw the caf splashes on his brother’s amor. “What happened to you?”

Fox sighed, sitting down at his desk and sighing. “Don’t ask.”

But apparently Thorn didn’t feel like heeding the warning. "Did you at least get to drink some of that caf before you spilled it on yourself?"

“Didn’t I just say not to ask?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll let it go,” Thorn responded before leaving the office, and Fox could hear his brother laughing to himself as he walked away.

But of course, he was only truly alone for a few more moments, because his communicator rang, and he had to get back to work.

***

It wasn’t for a few hours that Fox finally got the chance to take a step back from all the things he had to do, and the fact that he lost out on the cup of caf before was really starting to show. Fighting back a yawn, he just about to get up when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, wondering who was on the other side (because Thorn had stopped knocking at this point).

You were the one who stepped through the door, a large mug in your hands and an apologetic look on your face. “I feel terrible about this morning,” you said, holding out the mug to him. “So I got you a replacement.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as he got up and took the beverage from you. This mug was huge, he noted, and it was full to the very top. He wondered where you could have found such a large cup, because all the mugs in the break room were of a standard size, but he was not going to question it.

“I noticed the color of your caf today, and I put a little cream in this cup,” you said as he raised it to his lips and took a sip. “I hope that was okay.”

He didn’t know what set it aside from every other cup of caf he’d had before, but someone this was better than anything he’s ever drank. “This is so good,” he said, offering you a sincere smile.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Then I think you might be a little sleep deprived, because it’s just from the break room.”

“I’m definitely a little sleep deprived,” he said. “But this should help.”

“You’re going to crash eventually,” you said, worry obvious in your voice. “When was the last time you slept?” He went silent, not wanting to answer that question, but his silence spoke volumes. “I’m starting to regret giving you one of my giant mugs then, because you clearly need sleep more than you need caf.”

“I still have half a shift left,” he said in response, taking another sip of the caf. “I can’t just leave now.”

“When was the last time you ate something?” Once again, his silence gave him away. “Fox!”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Still, you need to eat!” you said, rifling around in your pockets. Once you pulled out a small ration bar, you threw it onto his desk. “Eat that now, and then when you get off your shift today I’m coming back here to make sure you eat and sleep. What time does your shift end?”

“1900.”

You nodded. “Alright, I’ll be back here then, and then we’ll go get some real food.”

Maybe it was the caf that was making him a little crazy (the caffeine in the drink reacting to the lack of food in his stomach), but he smiled. “Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”

You tried to look annoyed at his little quip, but it clearly wasn’t working. “Will it get you to sleep if I say yes?”

He laughed, for the first time in who knows how long. “I don’t know, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was still a smile on your face. “Well I only date people who are not sleep deprived, so you’ll have to fix that if we go out again.”

“So you’re already planning a second date?”

“Shut up Fox.” He went to say something in response, but was interrupted by your comm going off. “I’m needed, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nodded and took another sip of his caf as you stepped out of the room. If it meant he got to go out with you, he could find some ways to rearrange his schedule to find more time to himself.

- the end - 

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[foap-enjoyer]

AI-Less whumptober, Call of duty Soap edition. Starting off fluffy!

Overworked | Insomnia | Exhaustion

Exhaustion. Soap x either Ghost or Gaz, your choice! Soap is too tired to tell who he's talking to anyway.

~

He was exhausted.

One whole fucking week. Twenty-four fucking seven. That’s how long higher-ups had had him working for. Running surveillance- a solo mission, of course, because why wouldn’t it be?

Soap knew for a fact he wasn’t the best candidate for something as delicate as surveillance, especially something that required him to lay low. Soap Mactavish didn’t do laying low, but apparently, he was the best candidate for this his commanders had on the roster at the time. Which, now that he had time to think about it, was almost insulting. Not to him, of course, but to the whole British military. He himself had been flattered, at the time.

Now, however? 

Now, these ‘commanders’ could shove a few hundred guns up their asses collectively and fire them to the sound of a Queen song. The mission sucked. He’d been shot at, he hadn’t slept, and he never, never wanted to ever see their dumb smiling faces ever again. Stupid old men who should’ve retired years ago instead of sending him on a one-way trip to hell. 

He’s still not even sure how he got out alive. Not that he wanted to think about any of that right now. His time of ‘usefulness’ was over, the mission was done, he was back on base, and most importantly he was fucking tired.

“I’m going to need a debrief, sergeant.” 

Of course. Of course he couldn’t have a moment to breathe come seven days later. None other than Captain John Price meeting him on the tarmac at two in the fucking morning asking for a debrief. If he wasn’t his higher up, Soap might’ve considered throttling him out of pure spite. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a half-assed smile and looked up at the man. Price’s stern eyes instantly softened at the look. “Jesus, Mactavish.”

He was swaying on his feet like a damn flag in the wind. He felt like he could collapse at any given moment, and the tarmac under his feet was the last comfy place he could think of. “Think you’ll find my name is John.” 

Price snorted, waving his arm towards the door, “Fuck off and go sleep, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow-or, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I’ll see you whenever you wake up next.”

“I don’t plan to wake up.” He mumbled as he moved past his Captain, the man hot on his heels. He could feel a hand ghost over his shoulder, steadying him as he wobbled. “Ever again.”

Somehow, he was able to make it inside. The hand on his shoulder leaves him reluctantly with a squeeze as the heat of the building encases him, steadying him in its own way. 

It’s beautiful. 

It seeps into his cold, frozen skin. Brings life back into him, and at the same time, reminds him just how tired he is. The heat slows him drastically; his muscles are relieved to not be aching as much as before, and it makes the full weight of his exhaustion very well-known to his brain. 

Not that it wasn’t already. But now, he felt more zombie than he did human.

This zombie-body would not make it to his room. This zombie-brain couldn’t even remember if he had his room key to even get into his room. So he aimed closer, nearer.

His squadron’s common room was only down the corridor.

The common room was about as lush as one could imagine a military, government-issued common room could be. A sad little kitchen, a small chipped dining room table, and most importantly, a sofa. 

Sure it was an old, creaky one, but it was a fucking sofa, and Soap honestly couldn’t give a rat’s ass about spring consistency. Not anymore. His back was already aching, and that sofa would definitely not fuck it up further than it was already.

So, gathering what little energy he had left, he shuffled along. His feet were heavy, and his eyes were closed as he slowly manoeuvred himself through the empty corridors. His hand glided across roughened brick as he guided himself forward purely through tired muscle-memory. When he finally arrived at his desired door, he eagerly let himself in.

The common room looked abandoned when he peered inside with half-lidded eyes; the lights of the kitchen were on, bleeding a soft yellow glow out into the rest of the room. But other than that, it looked undisturbed. The chairs were empty, the room untouched. It looked perfect.

He soon comes to realise, after he’s collapsed onto the cushions, that he is in fact, not alone.

“Soap?”

Soap forced his eyes back open from where they had closed once more, groaning. God, how tired was he that he didn’t realise the sofa was in fact not empty and he had just willingly fell into the lap of a poor random soldier head first?

His eyes blurred with exhaustion as he attempted to push himself back up onto his elbows, sleepy, yet frantic to move out of the way. “Sorry,” He murmured tiredly, yawning, “Sorry, sorry-” 

A hand rested hesitantly on his head, pressing his cheek back onto the warm thigh beneath him. “It’s alright.” They assured him, beginning to gently scratch at his scalp. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and a noise left his throat that he could only, embarrassingly, describe as a purr. But he was too tired to honestly care.

If the soldier above him heard it, they didn’t comment. Instead, they moved slightly, getting comfy, before their hand disappeared, something soft and fluffy hitting his back a brief moment later. A blanket. Where the fuck had that blanket come from?

The hand returned, running through his matted mohawk. Talented fingers began working at the knots in his hair, and he sighed into it, relaxing further. “You broken?”

He shook his head slightly into the thigh. A no, which was half-true. He had enough bruises and cuts to make an adventurous toddler jealous. Sure, he’d been shot at, but he was a Sergeant for a reason, and a madman on top of that. He’d jumped off of way too many cliffs and rolled down one too many hills in his time spent in the wilderness of Russia.

The voice huffed fondly, fingers continuing to work their magic against his skull. The other hand reached to rub against his blanket-covered shoulder. “Sure you aren’t.”

~

Also can be found here, on AO3:

Ouch. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

[spice-olympus]

This Overwhelming Feeling of Joy

Summary: My interpretation of Hades and Persephone's wedding night, past the fade-to-black. Loving married sex, some height difference technicalities, and a lot of laughing in bed.

Content Warnings: brief mention of past sexual trauma, size difference

Rated: E (18+ Only, Please!) / Read It On AO3 Here!

Persephone all but collapses onto the couch when they reach their room, giggling in spite of herself from the pure unreality of the last twenty-four hours. The early morning light of Olympus is coming through the wide windows, but Persephone’s body is still buzzing with excitement. She’s already running over memories of her wedding day as she watches Hades cross the room to pick up the telephone and order them beverages. Eros dancing with her, spinning her until she was dizzy: Hera’s smile as she congratulated them: Hades’s whispered vow, the words crawling up the nape of her neck before his public words of love and support.

“Thanks,” Persephone says when Hades hangs up the phone. Her throat hurts from singing and laughing and crying, and hot tea sounds like just the right thing. Her husband (!!!) comes to kneel beside her, his hair in disarray from a night full of celebration. He’s even more beautiful like this, in the dim morning light, the same giddy disbelief on his face.

“I’m still so wired, but so tired at the same time.” Persephone gets a foot out from under the many layers of her wedding dress and Hades accepts it with both hands, his skin always so cool against Persephone’s. “My feet hurt from dancing.” Hades slips off her shoe, one finger running along her heel.

“Did you like the party?” He sounds almost nervous, as if he couldn’t tell that Persephone was having the best night of her life.

“Yes, it was perfect.” Persephone grins over the ruffled layers of her skirt. Her shoe looks like a doll’s toy in Hades’s hand, his fingers easily wrapping around it. It takes her a moment to see just how unsettled he looks by his own question, and the uncertainty on his face hasn’t been dispelled by her answer. His eyes are still on her foot, and he doesn’t look up at her to meet her eyes.

Persephone pushes herself up, fighting against the dress to get closer to Hades. “Please don’t overthink it,” she says, pleading.

“Didn’t I stop you from ‘doing all the things’?” Hades asks, still looking to one side.

“Hades look at me,” Persephone says, and his eyes snap up obediently. “If I did not want to marry you, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Hades’s shoulders finally drop from their anxious arch, and Persephone smiles, relaxing back against the arm of the couch.

“And we can still do all those things. They’ll just be even better because you’re my husband now.”

“I like the sound of that.” Hades playfully scoops up Persephone’s bare foot and presses a kiss to the ball of her foot, right where the ache of dancing has settled. Persephone closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his attention.

“There’s only one problem,” she says, hiding her smile as she unhooks the garter belt under her skirts and pushes her stocking partway down.

“And what is that?” Hades asks, clearly picking up on her mood as he gets to his feet and pulls her stocking the rest of the way off. Persephone wiggles her toes, finally free from all their layers, then pushes her dress down so she can roll onto her stomach.

“Well, you see… I had bought some lingerie for tonight, which I intended to change into. But I can’t all these buttons undone myself…”

“I can help you with that.”

Hades picks her up in one swift movement, making Persephone squeak and then throw her arms around his neck. Again she laughs from the pure joy, as he carries her to the bed and shoulders aside the sheer curtains that surround it, setting Persephone down on the mattress. He’s so careful with her, brushing the skirts of the dress down so it doesn’t fold the wrong way, then running a hand down the curve of her back, where the thirty silk buttons run from her neck to the ruffle of skirts.

“So, you’re not going to rip my dress off?” Persephone asks, propping herself up on her elbows so she can look backwards.

“Maybe another time,” Hades promises, laying one hand on her back. She can feel it through the dress, the way it spans her shoulder-blades. Smiling, Persephone closes her eyes and surrenders herself to the feels of Hades working his way down her dress, one button at a time unfastening and letting the cool air of the room whisper across the skin of her back. Hades’s fingers trace little patterns on every inch of exposed skin, a quiet worship that reminds her of the vow he whispered to her at the altar, of power and respect.

“You know, it’s very hot in the mortal realm all the time,” Persephone finds herself saying, as Hades reaches the small of her back, the last of the buttons, and spreads her dress open. “Even when it rains, it’s still warm.” She wriggles out of the sleeves and lets the bodice fall around her waist, twisting up to face her husband. He looks almost dazed, his eyes focused on her face as if he’s trying to absorb her words with all of his attention. “But on a rare day, the temperature will drop briefly.”

Persephone hooks her fingers into her husband’s pants and undoes the clasp, tugging his shirt up so she can touch the hard planes of his stomach, then turn her attention to undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s still looking at her with all of his attention, as if he doesn’t notice the way she’s opening his shirt, exposing the lines of his chest and the scars that slash across it. His arms are still at his sides, letting Persephone slide the straps of his suspenders down and then throw his shirt back off his shoulders.

“I don’t know what it is about the sudden chill, but I would always get this overwhelming feeling of joy.”

The intensity of his gaze makes Persephone feel transcendent. She pulls her hair out of the bun, runs her hands through it and flicks a few stray bobby pins onto the floor beside the bed. “It was always marred by ambiguity… but I think it was about you.” She rests her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers out to feel the coldness of his skin. Just like the Underworld, just like those brief cold patches that caught her unawares in the mortal world, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

As if finally released from a spell, Hades moves, pulling her against him and tilting her chin up to press their mouths together. Here, Hades is warm, and his tongue is a demand against her lips, his hands holding her tight. Hades pulls away from her only to press a kiss to the side of her neck, and then down to her breasts. Her bra stops him from reaching lower, but he places lingering kisses along the swells of her cleavage, his hands reaching around to undo the clasp and pull it away.

“You’re beautiful,” Hades murmurs, and Persephone is dizzy with it all.

“I’m yours,” she answers simply, and Hades buries his face in the curve of her neck, his hands on her waist holding her even tighter for a moment. Persephone hopes she has bruises tomorrow, although she knows her divine skin is made of tougher stuff than that.

After the moment to regain his composure, Hades reclaims her lips. Persephone has never felt so wonderfully overwhelmed by someone’s touch before Hades: she feels wild when he kisses her, like she could tear his clothes off and crawl into his ribs just to be closer to him. It scares her and excites her in equal measure.

Hades presses her gently back against the pillows, and Persephone lets it happen: Hades doesn’t break the kiss as he pushes her wedding dress down and down and off her legs. Persephone hears the soft sound of it hitting the floor beside the bed, and now she is just in her underwear and Hades is running his hands over the curves of her sides, the swell of her hips, the divots that separate her hips and thighs.

It’s lovely, and then Hades leans down close enough that their chests brush, and Persephone flinches.

Immediately, Hades draws back from her, hands held up as if in surrender. 

“No, come back,” Persephone protests, reaching out for him. “You startled me, come back.”

“Am I too cold?” Hades asks, hands still hovering.

“Of course not. Keep kissing me.” Persephone manages to reach Hades’s face and pulls him back down, cupping both sides of his jaw and guiding their lips back together. Hades allows it, but his hands stay on either side of Persephone’s head, no longer touching her, and something about it doesn’t feel right. She feels trapped.

“Can we-” Persephone mumbles, pulling back from the kiss. She’s frustrated with herself and this feeling. Her wedding night is supposed to be perfect, isn’t it? “Could I, uh-” She can’t say it out loud but she flips her hands around and raises her eyebrows at Hades.

“Oh! Of course.”

Hades picks her up and twists around so that his back hits the pillows and drops Persephone on his chest. She makes a little sound of surprise at the maneuver, but once she’s sitting on top of him, it’s definitely much better. She stretches her arms, reasserting her freedom, and looks down to see Hades staring up at her with awe-struck eyes.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and Persephone aches with love and need in equal measure.

“Please.”

His hands are back on her before she can breathe, settling on her hips in quiet appreciation, then running up her sides with a light enough touch that Persephone twists and giggles from the touch, too ticklish. Hades’s lips quirk, clearly saving that information for later. For now, he cups her breasts in his hands, running a thumb along their curve and then in dancing circles inwards until it brushes over her nipple and Persephone arches with a gasp. It’s a light, exploratory touch, yet she feels it down to her toes.

Her hands come up, searching for something to grab, and settle around Hades’s wrists, keeping his hands where they are. He scratches his nails gently on the sides of her breasts and Persephone can’t breathe. Hades doesn’t stop touching her, switching between light touches and sweeps across her nipples, keeping her on-edge and writhing in a new symphony of feelings. It’s so much and not enough, and she realizes she’s grinding down on Hades’s chest, trying to get friction.

On the verge of overstimulation, Persephone breaks his grip by leaning down and kissing him again, enjoying the new angle and the way he has to tilt his chin up for her, instead of the other way around. Mirroring Hades earlier, Persephone presses more kisses to his jawline and his throat, down to his pectoral, where she gives into temptation and presses her teeth into his skin.

Hades jolts and groans and one hand comes up to cup the back of her head.

“Harder,” he tells her, and Persephone obeys, biting down until Hades hisses through his teeth, then peppering the area with gentle kisses to make it better. There’s something satisfying about seeing the double-curve of her teeth in his skin.

Persephone has to scoot back to press a kiss to Hades’s stomach, then the curves of his hips, and she impatiently tugs at his pants to try and get the out of the way. Hades laughs and pulls her forward again, cupping her butt with both palms and dragging her up to his chest. Then he lifts his hips and pushes down his pants, kicking them off the end of the bed.  

Persephone wants to see all of him. She reaches back and hooks her fingers into his underwear, tugging at them just as demandingly. Hades laughs again and obediently removes them, then slides a finger under Persephone’s waistband with a questioning eyebrow. Persephone catches his hand and brings it to her mouth so she can kiss his open palm, a silent answer: not yet.

Then she makes her way backwards, so she can straddle Hades’s thighs instead of his chest. It’s not the most elegant manoeuvre she’s ever done, but her mountain of a husband necessitates a little bit of climbing, and they both laugh a little.

Once Persephone is settled, she runs her hands over Hades’s thighs and just looks.

She’s seen Hades’s scars in the pool, but now she can see how they wrap around his hips as well, spanning his body from head to thigh. They shine with the reminder of his immortality: injuries that would have killed anything that could die. Evidence of trauma and evidence of the fact that nothing can take her husband from her.

Beyond that, Hades is an oasis of indigo against the white sheets of the bed, his cheeks faintly dotted with blushing stars as he lets Persephone look her fill. Mortals could write endless poems about the lines of his hips and the ripple of his muscles, and all of them belong to her now.

And then Persephone looks down and is absolutely stunned.

How is that supposed to fit inside me???

She reaches down and gingerly touches the base of his cock, a light press of the fingers to assess that she is, in fact, looking at the real thing. It jumps under her fingers, a slight reaction, and Persephone pulls her hand back, surprised. This is new territory for her: she doesn’t know how to make this good for him. Remembering some half-forgotten porn videos, watched on the phone Artemis had given her, she steels herself and reaches out again.

This time, she wraps her hand around him, finding that her fingers can’t reach all the way to her thumb. She makes an involuntary noise at this realization and Hades laughs, though the sound is strangled.

He reaches up, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promises.

Persephone feels herself blush. “How does it… will it hurt?” She can’t imagine that it won’t, but she wants Hades to reassure her.

“It doesn’t have to,” Hades answers. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“How?” Persephone runs her fingers along Hades’s cock, fascinated by the texture. She can’t tell if he’s fully hard or just getting there, but the contrast of soft skin and tensed cords is hypnotizing. The skin is loose at the top and she wraps her hand around him again, pulling down the foreskin and revealing the flushed head, a darker indigo than any other part of him. She wants it to fit. She will make it fit.

“Well, first you’ll need these off,” Hades says, and again he tugs her waistband. This time Persephone takes the hint, tugging her panties off and tossing them into the pile of clothes scattered along the side of the bed. “Can I pick you up?”

“Now he asks,” Persephone teases. “Yes, my King.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Hades says, and lifts her by the inside of her thighs, making her squeak again in surprise. Before Persephone knows up from down, her knees are on either side of the pillow, and Hades is looking up at her with an expression that is far too pleased.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Persephone is frankly worried that she’s going to drip on his face at this point.

“May I?”

“Anything, but- ohfuckHades-” Persephone curls over at the first pass of his tongue over her entrance. She thinks she might pass out, but instead she puts her hands against the headboard and does her best to hold on. “Are you really- ah-”

She doesn’t get through the question but it hardly matters because the answer is yes, he really is. His tongue is wicked, spreading her open and swirling around her clit, an endless back-and-forth that builds her higher than she knew was possible. His hands curl around her thighs, gently encouraging her to rock against his mouth, and Persephone didn’t know she was capable of making the noises she’s making. She rides the waves of pleasure, each one a new surprise, and when she looks down, Hades has his eyes closed and seems to be in ecstasy. His tongue traces circles around her clit, then teases at her entrance, and Persephone feels empty every time.

“Can you- can you-” She wants to ask for something inside of her, a tongue, a finger, anything, and Hades seems to know the rest of the sentence because on his next pass, he curls his tongue into her and she’s shaking apart, reaching down to circle her clit so that he doesn’t even think about moving. He flexes his tongue inside of her and she’s not stopping her own rhythm, and the orgasm takes her further than she expected, leaving her shaky-legged and hungry for more.

She shifts back so she can prop herself up with her arms, gasping for air. Hades is there, kissing her, and she can taste herself in his mouth, bitter and sweet at the same time.

Hades shifts them so that they’re lying beside each other and Persephone collapses on her side in relief, pressing herself feverishly against Hades. She’s so warm, his skin a relief against her breasts and her cheek. She can’t help but throw a leg over him, wanting him closer.

She feels Hades run a hand down her back, then over her thigh, up her inner thigh so that his fingers are close to where she wants them.

“Yes,” she gasps against his chest.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and rubs a finger against her lips for a moment before slipping it inside of her. It’s much deeper than his tongue, and she tenses for a moment. He stops, and they both hold still against each other until Persephone breathes deep and relaxes again.

For a moment, Hades presses a finger to her clit, but Persephone winces from overstimulation and he gracefully switches his attention to the finger inside of her, pressing against her inner wall and making her spread her legs further to get more sensation. Two fingers at her entrance make her tense again, but he runs them up and down until she relaxes, and then he slowly slides them into her, and Persephone is on fire again.

She pulls at his shoulders, making him roll on top of her, which makes the angle better. He stays below her, his nose at the level of her chest, and she doesn’t feel trapped at all this way. His fingers rock into her, and he mouths at the curve of her breasts, as if he can’t help it when they’re right in front of him. After a few moments, he swipes his tongue across one of her nipples and Persephone’s back arches off the bed, forcing herself harder onto his fingers. Persephone makes out the corner of a self-satisfied smile before Hades puts his head down and starts to lavish attention on each of her nipples in turn, taking the opportunity to slide a third finger into her.

Persephone didn’t know that the stretch could feel good, but it does, something deep inside her taking pleasure from the sensation of being so full. The dull pleasure of his fingers and the sharp pleasure of his tongue flicking across her nipples is a contrast that has her rocking between them, her pleasure turning to near-silent gasps as she nears her second climax.

She’s sharply disappointed when Hades takes away his fingers, her hips rocking into nothing, but then he’s rolling them over again so that Persephone sits on top of him, and something better than fingers is bobbing in front of her, flushed and waiting.

The loss of her second orgasm makes Persephone desperate, and she wraps her fingers again around Hades’s cock, pumping it to get a feel for its width. Hades groans at her touch, head tossing back against the pillows.

“Remember- ah, take it slow.”

Persephone brings herself up on her knees, balancing on his hipbones, and positions Hades underneath her. She can’t help but feel it out, pressing the head against herself and then rubbing against it, a roll of her hips that has Hades grabbing the sheets on either side of himself. Once she’s sure that they’re both wet, she starts to drop down on him.

And oh, she didn’t know what full felt like before.

Hades is everywhere, inside of her and underneath her, one of his hands grabbing desperately at her thigh. The first orgasm did its work, the stretch almost lost in the slide, but before she gets very far, it starts to chafe. Working on instinct, Persephone pulls off and then settles back down, getting a little further the second time. Hades’s breath catches, but he lets her do what she wants. His hand tightens and relaxes on her thigh, her measurement of his self-control. She has to re-settle herself four times but then something feels right and she can take him deeper than before, gasping with pleasure as she finally reaches his base, legs splayed out onto the blankets.

Persephone can’t help but reach down and touch the place where they’re together. She can’t imagine it, even though she’s here, and the brush of her fingers against her clit make her gasp, throwing her headlong back into the need for her orgasm.

The only problem is that her legs are wide enough that she can’t get into position to ride Hades properly, so she tries rocking back and forth a little.

“Ah-” she gasps, just as Hades groans, and both of them reach out for each other, their hands colliding and tangling together.

Persephone experiments with the little purchase she has, rocking and twisting her hips, and Hades is a man undone beneath her, hips shuddering up against her now that he is no longer trying to keep still.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Persephone gasps before he can finish, and Hades untangles his hands from hers, cups her hips and moves her. He picks her up just as easily as all the other times he’s scooped her up, and then he drops her back down against his hips.

He’s so deep inside of her, she can feel it everywhere, her whole body singing with it. He lifts her again and Persephone is desperate for it, wriggling against his grip to get him fully back inside of her, where he belongs. He doesn’t deny her, pressing up into her with his heels against the bed, and this way Persephone can feel him moving, thrusting into her like he’s just as desperate, just as wild.

“Yes,” she says again, and Hades holds her there above him, as if she weighs nothing, and he drives himself into her, their hips meeting again and again, and Persephone scratches her nails down his chest because it’s the only thing she can reach. His fingers cup her ass, thumbs digging into her hips, and she is flying in his grasp, running her fingers across his chest, his nipples, her own breasts, and finally giving in and touching herself, playing frantically with her clit as Hades sheathes himself in her over and over again. She can’t tell if she’s nearing climax or far over the edge, entirely lost in the arc of pleasure.

It seems like forever before Hades tires, but eventually he flips them over again and Persephone finds herself back against the cushions. Hades lifts her hips so he can kneel on the bed, not leaning over her but pulling her onto him. Persephone reaches up and braces herself against the headboard with one hand, using that to push herself back onto Hades with frantic need. His hips snap against hers, and she can hear them moving together.

He's trying to stay upright but he’s bowing towards the headboard, groaning each time their hips meet. Persephone pulls him down, so he can rest on his elbows. Her nose brushes against his chest like this, but she doesn’t care anymore, too lost in the exquisite pace of their bodies together, the way Hades is starting to stutter in his rhythm. Persephone drinks in the hitch of his breathing, the groan when she flicks a revengeful tongue against his nipple in return. His thrusts grow more forceful and Persephone puts both hands against the headboard again, in danger of being pushed against it but instead meeting him, strength for strength.

“I--- I love you, I love you,” Hades groans into her ear. “I love you.”

“Ah- Hades, Hades.” Persephone wants to say that she loves him too, but his name is the only thing that spills from her lips.

The sound of it seems to send him over the edge, and he pulls her against him with a moan. She can feel him twitching inside of her, the flood of warmth in her core, and it makes her desperate for her own release. She manages to get a hand down on herself, and it only takes a few desperate movements for her to be over the edge as well, Hades crying out as she ripples around him.

They rock against each other for a few more seconds, the waves of pleasure carrying them further. Their chests are both heaving against each other, and Persephone has to put her head to the side to catch her breath, Hades half-collapsed on top of her but still supporting his weight on his forearms. Finally, he runs a hand through her hair and pulls back, making Persephone wince as he leaves her. It’s a strange feeling of emptiness, no longer marking a need, now just a temporary ache of absence.

Hades rolls onto the mattress beside her and pulls her against him, curling around her back and tucking one arm over her so that Persephone is entirely covered by him.

“…we didn’t get under the blankets,” Persephone observes after a long pause, and both of them start to laugh.

“Let me fix that.” Hades manages to pull the blankets down so they can both scoot underneath, and then tugs them up to Persephone’s shoulders. “Better?”

“Mmm, cozy.” Persephone cups Hades’s forearm where it lies across her stomach. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Persephone smiles and nuzzles her cheek into the pillow. She’s exhausted and still humming with pleasure, and married.

She can’t imagine a better wedding night.

[im-a-wonderling]

What a Sham ~ Tony Stark

I’ve never written for Tony Stark before this, so it was a fun exercise, even if I don’t love how it turned out :)

Summary: Y/N is getting fed up with being Tony Stark’s assistant. (Takes place during Iron Man 2)

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: none?

Sometimes, being Tony Stark’s personal assistant was only slightly preferable to getting shot and just as painful. 

At least with a gunshot wound, one was allowed time to rest and recover. 

When I walked into Mr. Stark’s office on a regular Saturday afternoon to see not one, not two, but three women dressed in lingerie crowded around my boss, I could only cringe and avert my eyes.

I’d been in his office not fifteen minutes ago, which was when he’d told me he wanted a grand party at his house tonight. The only person in Tony Stark’s office then had been Tony Stark. How on earth had he managed to get three women in his office and out of most of their clothes in less than fifteen minutes?

It was like some perverse magic trick. 

I cleared my throat. 

When none of the four looked over at me, I tried again, louder.

No response.

Running out of patience, I rapped loudly on the door with my right hand, not stopping until the women looked over with irritated expressions.

“What is it?” Mr. Stark slurred, his cloudy eyes very obviously trained somewhere indecorous.

“Sir, city hall gave the special license for the party, and the waiters have all been informed of the…Iron Man themed dress code.” He didn’t respond, and I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was almost done for the day. “Is there anything else you need, sir, before I leave for the day?”

“Yes,” Mr. Stark said, getting to his feet and nearly lurching over, his unbuttoned shirt flapping to show off the glowing arc reactor in his chest. “These three lovely ladies need cars to take them home.”

The women all looked insulted, clearly expecting to have the great Tony Stark’s attention for longer. One of them folded her arms.

Mr. Stark attempted to prop himself up on his office chair, but thanks to the wheels on the bottom of the chair, the chair slid away from him, causing him to nearly lose his balance. “Now, now, Jennifer–” he started to say to the woman pouting.

“My name is Courtney,” the woman snapped. 

Mr. Stark looked confused for a moment before turning to the second woman. “Then you’re Jennifer, right?”

The second woman folded her arms. “Wrong.”

Mr. Stark clapped a hand on the third woman’s shoulder. “Jennifer!”

“I’m Alice,” she replied, shrugging off his hand. 

“Then who is Jennifer?” Mr. Stark asked, spreading his arms wide, the motion nearly causing him to fall off his own feet.

All three women scoffed as they started gathering their clothes off the floor. Not one of them bothered to start getting dressed as they stalked towards the door, throwing dirty looks at Mr. Stark as they passed. Courtney, the last to leave, shoved Mr. Stark’s chest with a pitiful amount of force before stalking away. 

Unfortunately, alcohol didn’t like to share with good balance, and at this point, a gust of wind could blow Mr. Stark off his feet.

He flung out his hands to balance himself against the wall. But no wall or piece of furniture was nearby to catch him, and he finally slammed down on the floor. “Y/N.” His voice stumbled around the syllable(s) of my name. “Come help me up.”

I very nearly curled my lip at him. “I’m going to arrange confidentiality agreements for your disgruntled hook-ups.”

My boss waved the statement away. “Someone else can do that.” He held out his hands, like a toddler does when asking to be picked up. 

I debated leaving purely out of spite. Mr. Stark was likely so inebriated, he wouldn’t remember that I left. I could get the ladies out of Mr. Stark’s building and go home to my almost unused Netflix subscription and uneaten ice cream in the freezer. My last day off, I’d ended up taking care of my nieces in the morning and going on a blind date in the evening. 

Not only was the date a total wash, but an introvert could only have so many days without alone time before they became a danger to society. 

Yet I knew I’d have to be heartless to leave my boss looking so pathetic and alone. I grit my teeth, preparing to walk over to him, already annoyed that he’d once again succeeded in getting what he wanted.

But the arc reactor in Mr. Stark’s chest flickered. 

I let out a soft gasp, staring at it.

Ever since Mr. Stark came back from that cave of terrorists, that thing had been keeping him alive. And in all that time, I’d never seen it flicker. If something were wrong with it, Mr. Stark would know, and he would do something about it. Which meant that I would know. I didn’t understand much about science, but alcohol couldn’t have that effect on it…could it? 

I stared at it, but it shined as brightly as ever.

Had I imagined it?

I crossed the room, warily watching the reactor. When I got close, I noticed the odd vein-like dark streaks stretching from the arc reactor. They were so distractingly distinct, that I nearly forgot why I was this close to my boss in the first place until Mr. Stark waved his hand. 

I took hold of it and heaved him up.

I meant to let go of his hand, but his grip only tightened after he got to his feet. For a moment, my heart zipped around in my chest, doing dangerous loopty-loops…until I realized he was just trying to stay upright.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I clock out today?” I asked, trying to ignore the observation of my boss’s hands dwarfing mine in favor of staring at the technology embedded in his bare chest. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mr. Stark said, before seeming to lose track of what he was going to say at the end of his ‘whoa’s.

I waited, giving him a moment.

But his eyes just started sweeping back and forth, like they were incapable of lingering anywhere. Perhaps he was trying to find the railroad tracks of his train of thought. 

The reactor still looked normal. 

I pulled my hand out of his, stepping away. “I’ll alert the kitchens to send up some Advil and water before I leave. So you can sober up before your party.” 

The moment my back was turned, fingers clumsily laced themselves through mine, causing me to inhale sharply, stopping, but not turning around.

“Don’t leave me,” Mr. Stark said in a pitifully small voice, making something unpleasant twist in me.

“If you didn’t want to be alone,” I said over my shoulder as nonchalantly as I could, “you shouldn’t have made those ladies leave.”

“I didn’t want them to stay,” he whined, gently tugging on my hand.

I allowed him to spin me, opening my mouth to give him a lecture about boundaries in the office. “Mr. Stark–”

“Stay for the party.” His eyes were clearer now, but I could’ve sworn the strange vein-like streaks on his chest were darker. 

“My shift is already over–”

“I’ll pay you time and a half,” he offered. “Come on, you’re needed. You’re the one that makes these events go off without a hitch. I’ll feel better if you’re there.”

“And I’ll feel better if I’m at home,” I grumbled. “Parties aren’t my scene.”

“Tell you what, if you’re not at the party tonight, I’ll fire you.” Mr. Stark grinned as if he’d just told me he was giving me a birthday present. 

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have taken them seriously. Or I would’ve filed a complaint with HR. 

But this was Tony Stark. 

Tony Stark was unlike anyone else. 

And if there was ever anyone begging to be judo flipped, it was Tony Stark.

I groaned, wishing I knew how to judo flip people. “Fine.”

“Yay!” He clapped his hands together, looking pleased. “Now how do you feel about wearing an Iron Man costume?”

-

In the end, despite Mr. Stark’s insistence that I was needed at the party, everything was running smoothly. 

As I watched the serving staff from my secluded spot in the corner of the bar, I thanked my lucky stars I’d managed to bypass his desire to have me dressed in a red and gold spandex suit like theirs. I made a mental note to send tips to all the waiters and waitresses for this. 

I glanced at Mr. Stark, who was surrounded by partiers doing every possible variation of drunk dancing there was. Whatever happened with his arc reactor earlier, he seemed more than fine now, but that didn’t stop me from keeping an eye on him. 

Babysitting my boss would never appear on my bucket list, but at this point, not only had Mr. Stark given me a direct order, he also very clearly needed a voice of reason. I wouldn’t put it past the man to do something more impulsive and stupid than my neices, one of whom this past weekend had wrapped the string of a balloon around her neck because she thought it’d be fun. 

“Do you want something to drink?” the bartender asked, loudly to be heard over the music, drawing my attention away from the dance floor.

“Can’t partake, I’m afraid.” I lifted my phone. “Technically on duty.”

“At least I’m not the only one working then,” the bartender said with a smile.

I took a moment to study him.

A jaw strong enough to rival Superman, broad shoulders, nice smile, crooked nose, and a forgivable amount of gel in his hair. I couldn’t recall him having bartended any of Mr. Stark’s parties before, and the party planning had been so frantic on my part that I couldn’t remember where I’d hired the bartender from. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, hoping it would jog my memory. 

The bartender extended his hand, which looked even stronger than his jaw. “I’m Kaleb.” The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Y/N,” I said, putting my hand in his and giving it two strong shakes. 

”You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Kaleb rested his forearms on the counter and leaned towards me. “Either you’re an Uber, or your boss is here somewhere, which is it?”

I propped my chin on my hand. “I don’t have the car to be an Uber.”

“Personal assistant, then.” Kaleb flashed me a smile that made my heart tremble like leaves in the wind.

“You got it,” I managed to say without looking like an idiot. Maybe this party wouldn’t be an absolute waste of time. “How long have you been bartending?”

“Since before I was legally allowed to drink.” His mouth quirked slightly to the side, and I suddenly was content to sit there and stare at his lips. “What do you normally drink?”

I cocked my head to the side, slowly fluttering my eyelashes at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you can tell a lot about a person by their usual drink.”

Pursing my lips, I considered him for a moment. “I usually drink a french 75,” I finally revealed.

“Ahhhh, the drink a beautiful woman drinks when she wants to forget.”

“So everyone that orders a french 75 is beautiful?”

Kaleb’s eyes sparkled. “No, but I don’t need your drink order to notice that.”

I chuckled, unable to stop myself from teasing my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“So, my dear,” Kaleb said with a grin, “what are you trying to forget?”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “When you have a boss like mine, you want to forget every day.”

Kaleb slid his hand across the bar to lightly grace my pinkie with his pointer finger, a decorous touch appropriate for someone working. “So,” he jut his chin out towards the dance floor, “which of those hooligans do you have the unfortunate pleasure of calling your boss?”

I looked over at the crowd, expecting Mr. Stark to be in the center of attention, like he always was.

But he wasn’t there. 

Kaleb might as well have tossed the bucket of ice over my head. 

Standing up from my chair to get a better vantage point, my eyes searched the room, praying he hadn’t done something humiliating in front of the paparazzi or illegal in front of anyone. 

I didn’t have it in me to face the headache of corralling the press or going to court. Especially not going to court. 

A hand clapped down on my shoulder, and I spun to see Mr. Stark, who’d materialized on the stool next to me. 

“Get my assistant a drink please!” Mr. Stark said to Kaleb, who looked extremely taken aback. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated my boss to be the host of the party. 

“Uhh, of course sir, right away.”

“Y/N!” Mr. Stark shouted, and I was grateful for the loud music mostly drowning out the sound of his voice. “You came!”

“Yes, sir, you told me my attendance was mandatory.” Mr. Stark didn’t answer, leaning forward and resting his head on my shoulder. “How much have you had to drink?” I asked.

“Not enough,” he said decidedly as Kaleb set a glass down in front of him. He still didn’t lift his head from my shoulder. 

“How much longer until you pass out and give me the unmitigated privilege of dragging you off to bed?”

“Maybe another hour or so.” I closed my eyes, trying to steel myself for the next hour. Mr. Stark lifted his head slightly. “Don’t look now,” he said directly into my ear, “but I think the bartender is sneaking a picture of us.”

I opened my eyes to look at Kaleb, who quickly shoved his phone into his pocket and started wiping at an imaginary spill on the counter. 

I slumped in my chair. “Great. By this time tomorrow, all of New York will think your assistant is your newest fling, and I’ll be fending the paparazzi away from myself as well as you.” 

Mr. Stark finally straightened, laughing. “Gotta love fame.” The enthusiasm with which he chugged his drink seemed to suggest the opposite. 

Kaleb gently set a champagne glass in front of me, and I immediately recognized the color of a french 75. Then, he stepped back, trying to seem nonchalant, even though his phone was still visible. It seemed all the sparks between us had died the moment Mr. Stark had come over here. 

“Excuse me,” I muttered to my boss, grabbing the drink and walking away from the bar. I crossed the room, heading for the one place in Mr. Stark’s mansion I actually liked.

The balcony on the top floor. 

I could still feel the bass of the music rattling in my cheekbones, and if I looked down, I’d be able to see the party below me. Instead, I studied the beautiful view of the water, cherishing the moment alone except for the stars. 

“You should be able to ride out the bad press within a week or two,” said a voice from behind me.

Almost alone.

I simply shut my eyes and took a large gulp of my drink. “What a sham,” I muttered.

“What, me?” Mr. Stark asked, leaning against the railing, facing me as he lifted a glass to his lips.

I shook my head. “Love. Some people can just trip and meet their soulmate, and clearly I’m not one of them.”

Mr. Stark tilted his head, reminding me of my lame attempt to flirt with Kaleb, lowering his drink without so much as a sip. “Maybe you just haven’t tripped enough times.”

I scoffed. “I put myself out there, over and over, I’ve seen what the dating market has to offer, and when that didn’t work, I even attempted the atrocities of online dating.” I sighed, staring down at my glass, as if it were a crystal ball that could give me answers. “It seems some people aren’t meant to find anyone.”

For a few moments, the only sound between us was the pounding beat of the DJ’s chosen music, and as more of those moments passed, I started to wonder if Mr. Tony Stark, my demanding boss who couldn’t ever remember to eat breakfast, was starting to empathize with me. 

“So you’re a sad drunk,” Mr. Stark said with a smirk. “Good to know.”

I rolled my eyes, making sure Mr. Stark saw it. “I’m not drunk,” I hissed at him, more than a little irritated by the assumption. “This is my first and only drink of the night, because unlike someone else I know, I know when to stop.” 

Mr. Stark rested his hand on his chest in mock offense. “I know when to stop! I just choose to ignore that knowledge.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “Because the great Tony Stark knows everything.” I didn’t know why I was suddenly allowing my hostility to surpass my professionalism, but Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked delighted. 

“You can stroke my ego any time you like,” he purred. “It certainly beats you drowning your dating sorrows in your drink.”

“Trust me, alcohol is not a necessary precursor to loneliness.”

“Maybe not,” Mr. Stark said, raising his glass, “but it sure makes it easier to handle.” He finished the rest of the drink in one gulp. 

“A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down,” I grumbled. Mr. Stark shot me a funny look. “Sorry. My nieces watched Mary Poppins twice on Saturday while I was babysitting.”

Mr. Stark’s lips protruded to form a pout. “But Saturday was your day off. Didn’t you do something for fun?”

“I went on a date, which I hoped would be fun, but apparently my expectations were too high.”

Mr. Stark didn’t respond, and when I glanced at him, his frown had deepened. “You went on a date?” I tried to hold back my surprise. In over a year of working for Mr. Stark, I’d learned that while I dealt with his personal life every day, he didn’t have any interest in mine. 

“Why did you think I was so upset about Kaleb?”

“Kaleb?” Mr. Stark asked, his forehead pinching. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No, it’s the bartender. The one who took the picture of us?”

My boss stayed quiet, lowering his head. I wanted to believe he was contrite, but I knew him too well to think that. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

Mr. Stark grunted. “I’m not drunk out of my mind.” 

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“Then what are you asking?” 

“I thought I saw your arc reactor flicker today. In your office.”

While nothing in Mr. Stark’s face changed, I could’ve sworn there was a ripple in the air. 

“D’you know,” Mr. Stark’s eyes were fixated on the people jumping up and down on the dance floor, “that I never feel more alone than I do at these parties?”

“Then why do you throw them?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Because that’s what Tony Stark does.”

“It’s not what Tony Stark has to do.”

My boss snorted. “Tony Stark is a playboy inventor who inherited a billion-dollar company. I’m not sure Tony Stark is qualified to do much except party.” His face would’ve seemed impassive to anyone else, but I knew him too well for that. 

“You’re not just your money,” I argued, surprising even myself. “You’re a genius.”

Mr. Stark’s expression didn’t lift. Obviously he didn’t believe me. 

“The amount of lives you have saved with that suit of yours isn’t insignificant. And you built that suit and power it off of clean energy.”

I thought that would’ve lifted his spirits, but the mention of his arc reactor brought a sour expression onto his face.

“Even if we are just looking at the money,” I said, trying again. “Do you know how much money you donate to charities and people in need? I do, I handle those finances every day.”

That got his attention. My boss turned his back to the party, giving me his complete and utter focus. 

“It’s your narrative,” I said quietly, feeling suddenly shy under his scrutinizing observation. “Change it.”

Mr. Stark eyed me. “You surprise me sometimes, Y/N.” 

The compliment hung in the air, and panic suddenly coursed through me as he seemed to mull over my words. 

“Is that why you demanded I come to the party tonight?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Because if so, I can afford to be a lot less surprising in future if it means I don’t have to work extra hours.”

“No.” Mr. Stark shook his head, getting to his feet and leaning in. “Don’t change a thing,” he said into my hair. 

And for some reason, as Mr. Stark took his drink back to the dance floor, I felt my face flush. 

It was only after I made it home that I realized he’d never answered my question about his arc reactor.

-

If you enjoyed, please reblog and check out my masterlist for other fun things!

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@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[chknbzkt]

Even more Ruin spoilers under the cut:

I had a massive brain moment about how Moon and Sun’s virus works, how it affects them both and how it’s managed to isolate them from the rest of the bots and each other!

I’m thinking back on Moon’s dialogue, just how spiteful and angry at Sun he is, it’s far more obvious than in Security Breach because he’s too busy to playing cat and mouse with Gregory to really elaborate further. And of course Sun is obviously Not pleased at the idea of letting Moon out at all, Moon clearly has a reputation for doing… something. Perhaps many somethings, who knows

But god, “no more light, no more Sun,” that’s far more forthright when it comes to the pure resentment that seems to have considerably worsened since SB. And the tables have finally turned, with Sun out in the same position of helplessly watching as his counterpart runs the show, powerless to change much save for the occasional lapse in control when Moon is flashed with a sufficiently strong light source (alternatively, the VANNI mask lets you approach the DA as a whole even while unfettered so long as you don’t take it off, and Sun is clearly stuck in alternate reality while Moon is off his entire rocker).

That constant loop. The Daycare Attendant isn’t just one entity, it’s two (now THREE but that comes after the fact). The Vanny Virus can’t just aim for one at a time, the other can take over and possibly fix them both.

So it had to get creative. Turn them against each other.

First it chose Sun, actually.

I am fully in the ballpark that Sun is also infected, he’s just affected in a way that isn’t straight up aggressive physically, but rather behaviorally. It starts out subtle. Heightened awareness but with an added touch of robo-anxiety and a strange new penchant for poking and prodding at people out of mistrust. It’s a slippery slope that gives way to an avalanche further down the line, you’ll see.

It chose Moon’s head to gradually worm it’s way into next, seizing him at opportune moments during naptime all of a sudden and retreating just as fast so he couldn’t retaliate and right himself. Build Moon a reputation as the dark and scary one, which he sadly already had even before his infection. Lean into it. Make it worse.

It’s hard to explain yourself and your actions to the increasingly testy bestie that literally lives inside your head when the thing causing you to act this way falls away and leaves you wondering if you really did intend on dropping little Darla from the balcony into the ball pit. The virus weeds into your mind and makes you feel okay with doing things you never would have otherwise.

But of course, that’s when the virus starts really amping up and finding ways to make Sun feel justified in his flimsy convictions and eventually plunge off the deep end into a spiral of conspiracies and unhinged ramblings. It ends up being horrifyingly effective when coupled with Moon’s rapidly deteriorating mental state.

He’s a thousand times more volatile and very quick to sever trust, Gregory my guy didn’t even do anything and my man Sun is pointing fingers to find someone, something, ANYTHING to blame for things going wrong around him he’s just that paranoid and out of his gourd.

That’s how the virus got him. Severe mania and trust issues out the wazoo. He’ll be cordial and nice sure thing, but you Must. Obey. His Rules. No exceptions. Even if you don’t technically do a thing wrong, if anything bad happens, Sun is quick to jump to the corkboard laden with sticky notes in his brain and somehow find somebody to pin blame on, regardless if the justification has any weight 💀

There is no three strikes with Sun. You get one (1) ☝🏽 chance, that’s it.

I also realized something really sad… how long prior to Security Breach had Moon been locked away inside Sun’s head? And how much longer after we turn the lights back on, at least until he breaks free again come Ruin? Idc how far gone you are under the Vanny Virus, being held a prisoner inside your own mind cannot possibly be good for the brain box

But the thing is… Sun thought in his virus-addled state that what he was doing was good for both of them. It’s only a matter of time before Moon straight up kills someone acting more and more Like That, so at some point one of Moon’s ‘mishaps’ ends up being the straw that breaks the camel’s back and he goes out of his way to ensure Moon can’t hurt anyone anymore. Nevermind that Moon needs him more than anyone at that point in time.

That’s how the negative feedback loop started. The Vanny Virus made them hate each other, and slowly but surely enlarged the rift between them.

And things escalate the longer the DA goes unchecked.

Sun is terrified for his counterpart, but also for himself. The virus takes advantage of that by giving him this holier-than-thou complex that makes him feel absolutely sure things are better this way, he knows best, Trust No One, they could get scrapped after all! He’s protecting them. He’ll do anything to keep them safe.

Moon is further pressed upon by the virus, unmitigated by Sun’s former assurances and comforting presence as he recedes, ravaged by the virus and eventually becoming the monster the kids (and now Sun ffs) believes him to be. He’s so cripplingly lonely and antsy locked inside their mind. He yearns to be free, he’s angry he’s being pointedly ignored, and come Ruin he’s determined to show Sun how alone and isolated he’s felt for months (maybe longer!!!!)

I have Thoughts about Ruin’s portrayal of Eclipse, but it’s clear that they are brand spanking new to the DA’s shared body and mind, so they get a separate post,,

-

I hope this post reads well, I’ve cut and pasted things and moved so much shit around that I fear readability is out of the question, but this has been in my drafts for days and I neeeed somebody to see the inner machinations of my mind on that daycare bitch, ok

[enough-spider-noir-stuff]

fuck it. incorrect quotes be upon ye

i've done that before and now i've made more. all from that one incorrect quote generator, you know the one

Jean, holding an antique bottle: Is this whiskey or perfume? Peter: *grabs and chugs the entire bottle* Peter: Peter: It's perfume.

Jean: I love murder mysteries! Spider, trying to impress him: I've been a suspect in four murder cases.

Peter: If I die, you can have what little I own. Jean: Wait. What do you mean "if" you die? Peter: My unending existence is fuelled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full. Jean: Jean: *Sighs* Let me call your therapist again.

Peter, to Jean: How do you tell someone politely you want to hit them with a brick?

Jean, watching over a sleeping Peter: You’re so cute. Peter, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Jean, gently: I know.

Peter: What are you drinking? Jean: Vodka. Peter: Straight? Jean: No, gay. Why?

Jean: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying. Peter: And? Jean: And you are.

Peter, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Jean. Jean, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

Jean: Parker, is that legal? Peter: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

Jean: Parker. I--

Jean: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK! Peter: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

Peter: What if I lied this whole time and I'm actually 18? Jean: Peter, stop trying to get drugs. Peter: Don't suppress my interests.

Jean: What can therapy do for me that screaming in my car for 30 minutes can’t?

*At the police station* Jean: Hi, I’m here for Peter. Police officer: Who’s Peter? Jean: Ah, you must be new.

Jean: Are you ever going to listen to me? Peter: Yes. Absolutely. Jean: When? Peter: When you're right.

Peter: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at math.

Peter: Fight me! Jean, standing behind him and holding a gun: *mouths* Do not.

Peter: Can you keep a secret? Jean: Do you know anything about my life? Peter: No, I don't. Good point.

Peter, handing a balloon to Jean: I have no soul. Have a good day! Jean, walking off: I don't have one either.

Peter: You’re drunk. Jean: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Parker.

Peter: Am I going too far? Jean: No, no, no. You went too far about 7 hours ago. Now you’re going to prison.

Peter: *coughs blood* Jean: Don't die, Parker! Peter: Don't tell me what to do!

Jean: I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t gotten arrested, let alone gotten a felony yet. Peter: Nat 20 Charisma. Jean: That is NOT how that works-

Jean: Did you just refer to a knife as a “people-opener”? Spider: Spider: …Should I not have?

Young Jean, lying on the floor, depressed: I'll never be a cop. I'm gonna have to be a robber.

Jean: What the hell is wrong with you? Peter: I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think I’m better than everyone else.

Jean: Let’s not Parker this into a worse situation than it already is. Peter: Did you just use my name as a verb?

Jean: *cocks gun* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

Peter: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

Peter, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

Jean: I’m gonna kill you. Peter: Get in line!

[addsalwayssick]

i’m running off of pure spite and daydreams right now