#it isn’t that deep to them when they’re saying it

[p0orbaby]

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

-

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

[luveline]

If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours. 

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid. 

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here. 

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably. 

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing. 

“What?” 

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?” 

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.” 

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?” 

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.” 

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.” 

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.” 

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.” 

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.” 

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly. 

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid. 

“Hi, Hotch,” you say. 

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says. 

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.” 

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks. 

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging. 

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.” 

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up. 

“You too, Prentiss.” 

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know? 

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says. 

“Missed me?” 

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.” 

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.” 

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them. 

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster. 

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently. 

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?” 

“Both.” 

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke. 

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.” 

“Wait,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Usually. Why?” 

“Are you okay right now?” 

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.” 

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask. 

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually. 

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.” 

“Me too.” 

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection. 

Can JJ make him blush like that? 

—

bombshell fics

[thus-spoke-lo]

pairing: silco x gn!reader. cw: angsty. reader implied to be close to Silco's age. wc: 1.2k

Silco bends at the waist and leans down to meet your gaze as you sit perched on the edge of the couch cushion. He runs his fingertip along your orbital bone and down to trace the contours of your jawline, places a dry palm on the side of your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. His eyes narrow as he examines every inch of you, as if he’s confirming again and again that it’s really, truly you.

“My word,” he says after a moment, a hint of something close to reverence in his voice, “you look nearly unchanged.”

Of course, it isn’t true. There are lines around your mouth whenever you smile, deep-set creases in your forehead where there was once smooth skin. Your bones creak, your joints ache, your muscles scream at you when you sleep the wrong way on the floor of your tiny, barren home. Your body isn’t as flexible as it once was, nor as reactive—it’s how you were caught in the first place, how you ended up in the hands of Silco’s men, dropped unceremoniously onto this sofa with no warning that it would be Silco you would be faced with.

“Thanks,” you mutter, trying to focus your gaze on his good eye. “You certainly know how to flatter.”

You want to tell him he is just as unchanged, but the uncertainty of his reaction turns your stomach; he looks at you just as he once did, with the same softness hidden in his features, but with a veneer of harshness over it. Despite this, he is, in ways, the same man you knew: the same striking aquiline nose and sharp jawline, the same blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smirk, the same glint in his eye when he was trying (often unsuccessfully, but still amusingly) to flirt.

“How did you ever find me?” you finally ask, placing your hand on his as he cradles your face. His skin is cool to the touch, and you can feel him react, just slightly, at the warmth of your palm.

Silco pauses for a moment. “Sheer luck, I suppose—one often finds lost objects when they’re looking for them the least.”

A grin creeps up the corners of your mouth. He’s still just as charming as he was then, when he wants to be. Of course he would deny ever searching for you, probably still would under duress if you still had it in you to threaten those in power, but such pursuits didn’t come as easy as the once did.

“You kept yourself well-hidden.” He says it almost chidingly—you’d made it difficult on him.

“I had to, you know that.”

Silco kneels before you, places his other hand on your face and holds your head still, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. “I could have protected you.”

“Not then, you couldn’t have.” Certainly not like he could now, as the Eye of Zaun. No, you couldn’t expect to rely on others then, not him, not Vander, not anyone else, only yourself. And if that meant living a life of solitude barely worth living, then so be it—at least you were alive.

“Of course I could have—I would have.” The accusation seems to rattle him, and his grip on your face becomes more vice-like, his hands beginning to shake. “I would have done whatever it took. I would hope you would have known me well enough to know that, hm?”

“Silco, you’re hurting me,” you finally eke out, a rasped whisper, and he immediately releases his hold on you.

Silco sits back on his heels as you rub your aching jaw, his mouth opening and closing as words seemed to catch in his throat. “Tell me—why did you really stay away?”

All the reasons begin to flood you, burning in your blood, all the things you’d turned over in your mind year after year. Because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you. I was afraid of you losing me. I had to leave before you abandoned me, before the world abandoned us both. But all that you manage is a soft, defeated, “I don’t know.”

You slide down to the floor with him, press your forehead to his. The room melts around you, the architecture and the furniture disintegrating until all that remains is you and Silco, and the remains of what was and the scaffolds of what could be.

A low creak brings the room back together again, shocks you back into consciousness. Sevika stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her broad chest, her gaze fixed on some point just above and beyond the two of you; she clears her throat and gestures towards the door.

“I-I’m afraid I have business to attend to.” Silco stands, straightens himself as he nods and waves a hand to dismiss Sevika, leaving the two of your alone again, for now. “Unavoidable, I suppose.”

“Of course.” You clear your throat and scramble back to the couch, sitting up ramrod straight, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly raw. “It was lovely catching up, Silco. But I...I suppose I should be going as well.”

He cocks his head, glaring at you almost incredulously as he smooths his vest. “Go where?”

“Home, I suppose,” you shrug. Anywhere but here. Anywhere you won’t be captivated by memories, lured by the life you’d built in your head, pulled into the unknown by years of want finally able to be realized.

He inhales deeply and sits beside you on the sofa, his lean hip digging into yours, hand settling on your thigh. “What could possibly be there for you now that you need to leave so abruptly?”

Nothing. There is nothing for you there. Everything you wanted is here, right here, because he forced your hand and dragged you back in time with him against your will. You run your fingers over his forearm, dancing in the fabric peaks and valleys of his shirtsleeve and your heart pounds and your brain buzzes and everything in you aches for him.

“You act like time stood still when we last saw each other. Like we can just pick right back up where we left off.” Hot tears form at the corners of your lash line, and you do nothing to stop them from tumbling down your cheeks. “But time never stopped, I never stopped. I kept running. I had to.”

Silco grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head towards him. There’s the softness you missed, the same concerned expression and furrowed brow he’d wear whenever he’d catch you in a rare moment of melancholy. “What if you don’t have to run anymore?”

“Silco, time just keeps moving, even if I don’t want it to.” A sob hitches in your throat and comes out a deep and mournful wail, years of want and need, of anguish and grief, all escaping you at once.

He slides a hand to the back of your neck, squeezing it gently, and waits, waits for your cries to become hiccups to become soft sniffles. He leans in close, so close his breath warms your skin and his lips ghost yours and you want him to kiss you so badly, more than you ever have and ever will. “Then let it halt for a moment with me...won’t you?”

[daisymbin]

hii!! i wanted to request suggestive prompt 9 & 14, and fluff prompt 20 if it's possible ♡ you don't have to necessarily add the three of them if it's too much! have a good day 💗

hi sweetie!! I can definitely add all 3 together!! ++ thank you for coming back to clarify!! thank you for requesting 🥰

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's list

fluff prompt #20: "you can braid my hair if you want." +

suggestive prompt #9: "your hands feel good on my skin." +

suggestive prompt #14: "you've been staring at my lips for the past five minutes."

it’s quiet in the bathroom except for the faint sound of the faucet running. your hands move methodically, patting your cheeks with toner as you stand in front of the mirror, focused on your skincare routine. wonwoo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you.

“still not done?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

you glance at him through the mirror, smiling. “almost. just a few more steps.”

wonwoo pushes off the frame, stepping into the small space. his hands slide down your arms, gentle and slow, before coming to rest around your waist. he presses his chest lightly to your back, the warmth of him seeping through your shirt.

“you always take forever,” he teases, though there’s no real complaint in his tone. his fingers tap lazily against your side. “what if i fell asleep waiting for you?”

“then you’d miss this quality time,” you quip, reaching for your serum.

he hums in response, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you work. his hands wander absently, trailing up your arms and into your hair.

“what are you doing back there?” you ask with a laugh, catching his movement in the mirror.

“your hair’s soft,” he mumbles, fingers weaving through the strands without thought. “it’s nice.”

you pause, looking at him in the reflection. “you can braid my hair if you want.”

his eyebrows lift slightly. “really?”

you nod, your lips quirking up.

he pulls back just enough to gather your hair into his hands, the gesture oddly delicate for someone who claims he doesn’t know what he’s doing. his brows furrow in concentration, and you bite back a smile at how focused he looks.

“you’ve done this before,” you remark as he works.

“not really,” he replies. “i’m just guessing.”

surprisingly, the braid he finishes isn’t half bad, and he tugs gently to secure it with an elastic he found on the counter. “not bad for my first try, huh?”

you’re about to respond when his hands slide to your shoulders, his thumbs pressing lightly into your muscles. the motion is deliberate but unhurried, his touch firm yet soothing. you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt under his hands.

“your hands feel good on my skin,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes meeting his in the mirror.

a small, pleased smile tugs at his lips. “yeah?”

you nod, exhaling as his fingers knead into a particularly tight spot. “mm.”

his touch lingers, traveling to the base of your neck, his fingers brushing the delicate skin there. he moves lower, tracing slow patterns along your collarbones and the tops of your shoulders. your eyes flicker down to his hands in the mirror, watching the way they roam with a mix of purpose and instinct.

it’s mesmerizing—how careful yet confident he is, as though he knows exactly how to touch you.

your gaze travels up, catching on the faint curve of his lips, the way they’re slightly parted as if he’s about to say something but doesn’t. your focus lingers there, shifting between his hands and his mouth, unable to stop yourself.

his voice breaks the silence, deep and slightly amused. “you’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes.”

heat rises to your cheeks, and you meet his gaze in the mirror. “i have not,” you lie, but it’s weak, your voice betraying you.

he leans closer, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he speaks. “liar.”

your breath catches as he shifts, turning you gently to face him. his hands remain on your waist, thumbs brushing idly against your sides. his gaze is intense, his eyes flickering to your lips and back again.

“what are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

you swallow, your heart racing as you tilt your chin up just slightly, yet, not touching. a small smirk makes its way to your face as your hands reached for his as you drag him to the bedroom, onto the bed.

wonwoo leans against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, his black shirt rumpled. you crawl onto the bed, settling yourself beside him, your knees brushing his thigh.

his eyes flicker to you, dark and half-lidded, the corner of his mouth tugging into a lazy smile. “what are you doing?” he asks, his voice soft but teasing.

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “nothing.”

he chuckles, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. the touch lingers, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, and you lean into it instinctively.

“doesn’t look like nothing,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

you don’t answer, instead, you shift closer, your hand coming to rest on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. his breath hitches, and you feel the subtle rise and fall under your palm as his heartbeat picks up.

his gaze locks onto yours, intense and unyielding, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move. you don’t let him wait long.

you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. it’s light and fleeting, a question more than a statement. his response is immediate—his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

it’s slow at first, unhurried and deliberate, but it doesn’t stay that way. his other hand finds your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you onto his lap, settling you against him. your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, seeping into your skin.

his lips move against yours, hungry and demanding now, as though he can’t get enough. his hands roam, trailing up your sides, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you gasp softly when his lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw and down to the curve of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his teeth graze lightly against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“wonwoo,” you whisper, your voice breathless and barely audible.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his lips red and slightly swollen, a smug smile tugging at the corners. “yes, love?”

you don’t answer, instead crashing your lips back against his, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. he lets out a groan into the kiss, the sound low and rumbling, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight through you.

his hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. his touch becomes bolder, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours making your breath hitch.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your foreheads resting against each other. his eyes are heavy with want, his lips parted as he pants softly, trying to steady himself.

“you keep doing that,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “and we won’t be sleeping tonight.”

your heart races, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looks at you—like you’re all he wants right now.

“maybe i wasn’t planning on sleeping,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying a weight that sends a flicker of something dangerous through his gaze.

his lips twitch into a smirk, and he leans in, his hands trailing lower. “careful,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with suggestion, “i might take that as a challenge.”

[violenteconomics]

so it’s pretty popular in this fandom for the overblotters to have a support group going on, and that’s all well and good and we’ve got a lot of amazing stuff out of it (shameless segue into compelling you to read the “girls in wonderland” series by the lovely jxnebug on ao3, please, it’s awesome), but can you just. like. imagine for a second that everybody else has a support group too, because goodness gracious, do the people who have to witness the overblots need so much therapy.

like. i imagine that it starts off with the first-years and their weekly ramshackle hangouts, and then they all start venting to each other about all the trauma they’ve gone through in the past year, which, thanks to yuu, becomes an unofficial, very unqualified support group.

ace: hey. i’m ace trappola. during my first week at night raven college i had to wear a collar around my neck at all times and didn’t even get to sleep in my dorm, which is probably for the best, because i couldn’t really sleep with that stupid collar anyway. i slaved away making a chestnut tart to apologize to my housewarden with, only to have my apology literally thrown into the trash. and when my best friend tried to stick up for me, they got called stupid and undereducated. and my other upperclassmen just enabled him. i almost got killed twice in that week, and many more times afterwards.

deuce: hello, i’m deuce spade. and i promised myself that i would become the best person i could be for my mom, only to fall short of my own expectations every single time, except for when i literally sign my soul away. i had such high hopes for my housewarden and upperclassmen to guide me to a better future, only to come to the realization that they’re even more flawed than i am. so, basically, there is nobody who can help me now, and i’m doomed to the path i made with my own hands.

jack: this is so unnecessary. jack howl. basically what deuce said, but combine that with the fact that, when you first met, your upperclassmen didn’t have any problems with getting rid of you if it meant their path to victory was assured. your dormmates will never admit that they’re wrong and sooner rip your ear out than say they like you to your face. but you care a lot about them, and deep down, maybe they care a lot about you, too. but the only thing they can do that would prove that in your eyes is improve themselves. become better. be the people you thought they were when you got here. and that is the one thing they will never do.

epel: howdy. my name is epel felmier. my housewarden is all about personal improvement. he’s right to think that i need to rework my thinking about gender and strength, because they are not equal in any way. other than that, though, he has no investment in me as a person. i’m not allowed to eat whatever i want. if he tells me to perform, that’s what i do. if i slip up even a little, he scolds me for being lazy. my posture must be perfect, my diction clear, and my hair flawless. he puts the same pressure on himself to be perfect, so it’s not like he’s a hypocrite. but that’s the thing, isn’t it? he likes me for the things i do — and he hates the person i am.

ortho: hello, world. my name is ortho shroud. not the real one, though. i’m just a poor simulacrum of him that my big brother forged from the flames of his grief and the metal of his self-loathing. but even though idia put his soul into constructing me, i can never truly be the person he wants me to be. my only purpose, and i can’t even do it correctly. for almost my entire life up to this point, idia loved his dead brother more than he loved me, and i just had to be okay with that, because the nature of the STYX organization mean that i didn’t have anybody else. and the one time i tried to change that, i corrupted my brother and almost ended the world.

sebek: greetings. i am sebek zigvolt. i nearly perished recently. the prince that i admired so dearly tried to put everybody to sleep, and in trying to stop him, i very nearly lost a dear friend of mine to the secrets hidden inside his father’s brain. the whole time, i felt distinctly out of place. it was like i was watching one of those soap operas master lilia loves so much. only ever looking. never touching. right before me was a broken family that i only wanted to see come back together, but i couldn’t fix it. for it was not my family to fix. i was helpless. useless. but that is nothing new.

yuu: …hi. i’m yuu. i was ripped out of my home and isekai’d into this world that’s filled with mentally unstable magic people who tried to kill me more than a couple times. i am currently living paycheck-to-paycheck while going to school full-time thanks to a crow who doesn’t know how to adult. and clearly, we all have a lot of work to do.

this goes on for a couple of weeks with just them, but then sebek decides to invite silver, because he’s prolly not doing so hot post-book 7 (and also, silver is basically the freshmen’s official big brother at this point, let’s be real) and then silver invites kalim a few weeks later, who invites ruggie, and then it just sort of snowballs out of control from there.

[runariya]

Prompt idea: 🐉🤫

Hybrid Behavior Doctor JK v. Husky female. Husky female has behavior problems as she was abused for years and then dumped off by her owner. She doesn't like being touched and wants to be left alone. JK is a behavior specialist for hybrids so he is tasked with taking her home and trying to rehab her for adoption. He has his hands full. She destroys his furniture, scratches his door frames, doesn't clean up after herself, and leaves junk food wrappers and bags all over his house because she doesn't want to eat proper food. But he knows that what she's looking for is attention and she's acting badly to get it. So when he ignores her, it bugs her and she seeks him out. Eventually she becomes used to him, and she lets him touch her a few times. Feelings slowly grow between them. When it's time for her to be put up for adoption, he doesn't want her to leave him and he asks if she wants to stay. She agrees and he asks her on a date.

I originally pictured smut for the ending, but now that I've reached the end of my description, it kind of doesn't need it. I'll leave it up to you and how the story writes itself. If it goes in a more flirty, sexy manner, you can put the smut in at the end. If it goes more friendly to new love where it's way too early for them to have sex, then you can leave the smut out.

(hybrid+smut) part of the prompt game pairing: hybrid behaviour doctor!Jungkook x husky hybrid!female reader genre: hybrid!AU, S2L, fluff warnings: bratty reader, understanding JK, allusion to abuse, fluff word count: 1.308

a/n: I went with the 'more friendly to new love' theme, hope that's alright 💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jungkook’s a professional, a hybrid behaviour specialist to be exact, so why does he get frustrated?

He’s spent years working with hybrids of all kinds, from jittery squirrels to brooding panthers, and he’s always been able to handle them. He prides himself on his calm, patient approach.

But you?

You’re on a whole different level.

From the moment he brought you into his home, it’s been absolute chaos. You’re a husky hybrid, all sharp fangs and attitude, with a permanent scowl etched onto your face. You don’t trust him, don’t trust anyone, really, and that’s understandable, considering your background.

Your last owner didn’t just neglect you; they left you broken. Abused, abandoned, and dumped off like you were nothing. It makes Jungkook’s blood boil every time he thinks about it. He knows it’s going to take time to get through to you, but he’s never met anyone so determined to make that process as difficult as possible.

You refuse to let him touch you. You destroy his sofa cushions like it’s a personal mission. You’ve scratched deep gouges into his doorframes, chewed on the corner of his coffee table, and left wrappers and empty crisp packets scattered across every available surface.

“Messy,” he mutters to himself, picking up a half-crushed bag of crisps from under the sofa.

You’re perched in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and tail swishing in irritation as you watch him. “Maybe if your food wasn’t so boring, I wouldn’t have to eat crisps for dinner.”

“My food isn’t boring,” he counters, tossing the bag into the bin. “It’s healthy.”

“Healthy’s boring,” you shoot back, smirking like you’ve just won some kind of argument.

He sighs. He knows this is part of the act. You’re defiant because it gives you control, you make a mess because you want to provoke him. He’s seen it before in other hybrids who’ve been mistreated, it’s your way of testing him, of seeing if he’ll snap.

But he won’t, ever. 

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, brushing past you to grab his laptop off the counter. He makes a note about your eating habits, not that they’re habits, really. More like disasters waiting to happen at this point.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re not going to tell me off?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re looking for attention,” he says casually, not even glancing up.

Your ears twitch, and he knows he’s hit a nerve. “I’m not,” you grumble. 

“Sure you’re not,” he replies, biting back a smile. He knows ignoring you drives you mad, but it’s all part of the plan. If he reacts to your antics, it’ll only reinforce them. If he doesn’t… well, eventually, you’ll come to him on your own.

It’s already starting to work.

You storm off in a huff, probably to destroy something else, but Jungkook doesn’t follow. He knows you’ll be back.

And you are.

Later that evening, you poke your head into his office, pretending you’re just passing by. Your ears are pinned back slightly, a telltale sign that you’re unsure, and Jungkook hides a smirk behind his laptop.

“Need something?” he asks, keeping his tone as natural as possible. 

You shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you working on?”

“Notes,” he states simply.

You frown, clearly expecting more of a reaction. “Notes about me?”

“Maybe.”

“Am I doing that badly?”

He glances up at you then. “You’re not doing badly,” he admits, and he means every word. “You’re just… figuring things out.”

You huff again, but you don’t leave. Instead, you wander further into the room, pretending to examine the books on his shelf. Jungkook knows better than to push you, so he lets you roam in silence.

After a while, you plop down on the floor right beside him, your tail curling around your legs. “I don’t like it here,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“It’s too quiet,” you pick at a loose threat on the carpet. “And you’re boring.”

Jungkook bites back a laugh. “Boring, am I?”

“Yeah.” You glance up at him, your eyes unusually serious. “But… I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.”

It’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve ever given him, and Jungkook feels a small beam of hope. Maybe he’s starting to get through to you.

🐕

The weeks pass, and slowly, things begin to change.

You still have your moments, like when you chewed through one of his shoelaces because he refused to let you eat biscuits for breakfast, but they’re less frequent. You’ve stopped trashing the place quite so often, and sometimes, you even sit with him on the sofa without scowling the whole time.

You let him brush your tail once, and though you complained the entire time, Jungkook could tell you didn’t truly hate it.

And then there are the smaller moments that mean so much more. The way you hover in the kitchen while he cooks, pretending you’re not interested in what he’s making. The way you roam in his office, curling up on the floor like you just want to be near someone. The way you’ve started calling him by his name instead of “Doctor Boring”.

It’s these moments that make Jungkook realise something’s finally shifted, not just in you, but in him, too.

Because, he doesn’t want you to leave.

It hits him square in the face one evening as he’s watching you sprawl across the sofa, your legs dangling off the back and your ears twitching as you flick through the channels. The thought of you going to a new home, with someone else, feels incredibly wrong to him.

The day he’s supposed to start your adoption process, Jungkook can’t focus. You’re in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for God-knows-what, and he’s sitting at the table with his laptop, staring at the blank application form.

“You’re quiet,” you observe, glancing over your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lies, though it’s in vain.

You narrow your eyes at him, and he knows he’s been caught. You’re sharper than you let on, and it’s one of the things he’s come to admire about you.

“Spit it out.”

He takes a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “I was supposed to start your adoption paperwork today.”

Your ears perk up slightly, but you don’t say anything.

“And I realised…” He hesitates, his heart pounding out of his mouth. “I don’t want you to go.”

Your cock your brows at that, nearly touching your hairline, and for a moment, you just stare at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He stands up, crossing the room until he’s standing in front of you. “I want you to stay. Here. With me.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

“Completely, but only if you want to.”

There’s a long pause, and then, to his relief, you smile. It’s small and shy, but it’s unmistakable.

“I want to,” you nod softly.

Jungkook’s chest feels like it’s going to burst. “Good. Because I was really hoping you’d say that.”

You look away, but there’s a warmth in your eyes he’s never seen before.

“So, what now?” you ask with big eyes, turning and tilting your head.

“Now…” He hesitates, suddenly feeling like a nervous teenager. “Now I ask you on a date.”

“A date?” You giggle.

“Yeah,I mean, if we’re going to live together, we might as well see if we can survive a dinner out.”

You pretend to think about it, your tail swishing behind you. “Alright. But only if I get to pick the restaurant.”

“Deal.”

Before he can second-guess himself, Jungkook leans down and presses a soft, tentative kiss to your forehead. It’s brief, but the way you look up at him afterwards, ears twitching and cheeks flushed, tells him everything he needs to know.

You’re home.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Kris behind the cut; I was offered dealer's choice and picked “mirror mirror”. relevant tags: clonecest, gender play, roleplay, daddy kink (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Fuck, you’re so into this,” he breathes raggedly as he plasters himself down against the other’s back, a little too come-stupid to hold back the break in character, and Match– 

Match– 

Match bites his lip, and keeps his hips tilted up just perfectly for the deepest possible place Kon can get inside him; keeps himself up on the balls of his feet. Kon pictures him in heels. It is very fucking distracting, as a picture, and not in a helpful way. 

“Yeah,” Match mumbles, barely audible, and Kon just about burns alive even before he gets to, “You're my favorite, Daddy.” 

Kon really, really regrets the fact he just came. Even half-Kryptonian stamina isn’t gonna let him keep fucking the bastard right now. 

Though if they’re talking superpowers in sex, well–his TTK really never has let him down. 

Kon wraps his TTK around his dick–concentrates it around his dick, more like–and keeps it a hard and thick pressure inside Match, even as his actual cock tries to soften underneath it. Match makes another hitched little noise, and Kon nuzzles the back of his neck a little clumsily, trying to just–focus. Just get himself back into being Match’s “daddy”, at least for now. 

Or being his special little princess’s daddy. Just, like, however his dick wants to phrase that right now. 

“Please,” Match says, his voice flickering a little hesitant, and Kon drops a soft little kiss behind his ear and slides his hands up his sides; keeps his TTK-wrapped dick deep inside him, even if fucking him with it would probably fucking hurt at this point. It’d be worth it, definitely. 

“You don’t have to ask, sweetheart,” he manages, and mostly gets himself under control. “Already told you I'd let you come on my cock as many times as you wanted, didn't I? Let you keep him warm all night? Let you be the pretty little whore you love being as long as you wanna.” 

Match whimpers. Kon strokes his hands heavier back down his sides and presses down tighter against his back and gets him squirming under them; under him. His dick’s too oversensitive for the way Match clutches up around it, even with his TTK in the way, but he doesn't give a fuck. 

He wonders, suddenly, if that’s part of why Match keeps fucking leaving him so fucking quick. If he can’t–what, goddamn justify sticking around if he’s not getting off for it. 

They’ve got the same powers, after all. The same stamina. And Kon really doesn’t usually need or want to go as many rounds as they always seem to end up going. Really does wish Match would just, like–fucking stay and talk to him a little more often. Or just literally fucking ever, even. 

He doesn’t really know how he feels about the fact he’s regularly fucking somebody who won’t even sit down and eat a pizza or watch shitty reality TV or even sleep with him, sometimes. 

But if maybe Match feels like he has to leave, when he doesn’t have the “right” excuse to stick around anymore . . . 

Kon digs his fingers into Match’s ribs. Match squirms again–clutches up tighter around his dick again–and Kon licks the back of his teeth. 

He rolls his hips again, and Match whimpers again. A quiver goes up his thighs, and Kon presses him down against the top of the dresser and slides his hands down to grip his ass and knead in tight. 

“Daddy,” Match whines half-senselessly, and Kon loops an arm tight around his waist and nuzzles roughly into the crook of his neck and up his throat. Match clutches up even fucking tighter and Kon manages to make what should probably be a groan of overstimulated pain into a dirty grunt and rock his cock in to the root. Match whimpers louder, his ass pressing back pleadingly and fingers gouging the dresser again. 

Kon’s probably just gonna need to, like, fucking destroy the furniture after this, or else people might figure out exactly what kind of superpowers tore up this room and shit might get awkward, Kryptonian-ly speaking. Like, definitely he doesn’t want some rando tabloid reporter or online influencer asking Clark, “hey Superman, someone with your exact build and set of superpowers who kept their face carefully concealed from all the security cameras broke this paid-in-cash motel room somewhere in the Pacific Northwest with a sex marathon with an unknown partner; care to comment?” 

Yeah, definitely not. 

[mumms-the-word]

Yet another Veilguard update with the usual good, the bad, the ugly, and the me freaking out about minor references and callbacks haha

This one is very long sorry

So since the last update I have done as much side content as possible before heading to the Hossberg Wetlands and later Weisshaupt (which I just completed last night) which included, briefly, unlocking all of the solas regrets murals

And uh WOW was that whole deep dive a doozy. I definitely should have spaced out the murals over time rather than movie-marathoned them back to back. But the things I learned about Solas…it’s insanity

In a good way

In a really horrifying way

I loved that our theories about Solas being a spirit of Wisdom first were confirmed, and I lost my mind over the fact that the first elves were spirits who gained physical bodies by taking Titan blood (aka lyrium). And the fact that Solas CREATED THE BLIGHT by essentially making the Titans Tranquil?? And that’s why Dwarves don’t dream????

Losing my mind. Solas what have you DONE.

I still ahev to process it all haha but I do have a few thoughts

So far, I wish there was more engagement with these elements and the Chant of Light. The companions react and say that these reveals basically dismantle Andrastianism but the Chant has several allegorical parallels to what, apparently, really happened. The Maker’s first children were spirits, and all that…so I kind of wish the Chantry had a bigger presence in the game with more reactivity

But that’s a post for another day. For now, I reloaded back to only 3 murals unlocked so the team only knows the story up to Solas creating the Veil. I’ll rewatch the others later.

I got worried about being locked out of stuff so I went ahead and did as much side content as I could with a couple of exceptions. Turns out, I probably didn’t need to do that and it would have made more sense narratively if I hadn’t. More on that in a minute

The Siege of Weisshaupt mission was SO GOOD!! Like…the main missions are really where this game shines, I think. I have gripes with some of the companion conversations, but in the actual story missions, the action, the intensity, all of it is so good. And I thought Ghilan’nain turning her archdemon into a many-headed hydra creature was *chefs kiss* so cool. I love fighting big/unique stuff like that!

All that said the follow up scene with the team at the table leaves…a lot to be desired

Listen, DA games pride themselves on bringing together a team of companions that players adore and fall in love with. Naturally we enjoy helping out our companions because we like them. We don’t have to be told to help them because we just generally do that…and if we don’t then, rip, suffer the consequences

So I got a bit annoyed when the scene suddenly turned to a very overt “fix our problems” narrative

I don’t know, that feels so…forced to me. Varric literally tells me I have to solve everyone’s problems. Which is like…I was going to! Because they’re my friends! But being straight up told like “hey you have to solve everyone’s problems and stop their distractions or this team isn’t going to function” is like…I’m sorry are we adults or aren’t we? Why am I being told to babysit the team? Can you guys not pursue these distractions on your own rather than wait for me to give you permission? Did we all forget that two gods are out there rampaging? That they’re strong enough to destroy a fortress that stood against the blight and various conflicts for over 900 years? That they haven’t stopped and show no signs of stopping anytime soon?

But no, by all means, tell me in very obvious terms that my job is now to reconcile all your differences before I face the gods again. That doesn’t feel very handed at all.

Let me be clear. I love to help my companion. I love the idea that you build a team that works well because you have shaped them via your leadership skills. I love the idea that your team works well because you have invested in them. That’s really the heart of any DA game—gather your team, earn their loyalty, and see how well the friends you’ve made along the way assist you in the big battles to come.

But…that scene around the kitchen table could have been so much better, so much more nuanced, and far less “Solve their problems.”

To me, that scene should have been everyone fighting, calling out everyone’s distractions and mistakes, and essentially devolving into outright arguments over the table until Rook yells at everyone to shut up. Everyone is mad, everyone is upset. And then maybe the companions are like “sorry Rook, listen, I have a lot on my mind. I’m still going to help with the Big Problem but I’m also going to pursue this Other Thing whether you like it or not.” No suggestion that it’s now your problem to solve, but a heavy hint that it might get done more quickly if you help (which also gives you room to be an ass and not help). In this scenario, everyone ends up being very disgruntled with you, but you still have your hint that you need to pursue companion questlines if you want to see their cool abilities or special items or get them to be a Hero of the Veilguard or whatever…but that’s just my opinion

Basically I wanted subtly and tension. So much more tension.

What we got instead was a couple of annoyed comments and then Emmrich being like “oh dear we’re all distracted by the things that bother us” and everyone offering up distractions that, yes, need to be resolved…but it’s very easy to be like “hey bud the Hand of Glory and the Nadas Dirthalen can wait until the gods aren’t threatening to destroy the world I think.”

It’s not the worst scene in the world, but it could have been reframed better. Either frame it as “Sorry Rook but none of these factions trust you enough to aid you in the fight, you have to prove yourself to them” (and loop in the companion questlines that way) or show your team literally unraveling because they can’t get along or agree with you—now you see the evidence of what you need to fix, and nobody has to outright tell you to “solve everyone’s distractions.” It’s just implied. Because you saw them fighting. A lot.

Like duh I knew I’d have to resolve everyone’s problems if I want them to like me or stick around! That’s just what I’ve come to expect from RPG games like this. It’s an expectation of the genre. But I don’t want to be told that’s my job now. If anything it triggers my contrarian nature and now I want to see what bad ending I get when I don’t listen to the game’s extremely heavy push for me to deal with everyone’s issues

I won’t, but I’m tempted

I just…wanted it to be better. I want see everyone bitching at each other until everyone leaves in a huff and Rook just sits at the table, head in their hands like “oh my god everyone hates me and they hate each other and we’re going to die if everyone can’t get their shit together”

Then maybe Varric sits down next to them and goes, “Hey kid, did I ever tell you about the time Hawke tried to convince a Rivaini pirate, a weird abomination, a Dalish blood mage, a stiff-necked captain of the guard, a broody elf who glowed in the dark, and a few other friends besides to all agree to fight as a team to stop a qunari invasion in Kirkwall? It worked, more or less. By the end of the night, everyone had worked together enough to end up with one dead Arishok and an entire city’s gratitude.”

Maybe Rook looks up and says, “And how’d they manage that little miracle? Without everyone trying to kill each other in the process.”

And maybe Varric smiles and shrugs. “They had their differences, trust me. Half the time you couldn’t put two of them in a room together without a fight breaking out. But they all believed in one thing. They believed in Hawke.”

Then maybe there’s a pause, as he lets Rook consider that for a moment, before he stands up and says, “It’s a good bedtime story, in any case. I’ll let you sleep on it.”

Sigh. It just would have been cool…

Now in all fairness the scene felt even clunkier because I had actively been doing side quests and helping out my friends so it was like…it felt weird to have this implication that I’m not already helping them. It makes me think I shouldn’t do any of their side quests until after the Siege of Weisshaupt but who knows

I keep pendulum swinging back and forth between moments of brilliance and moments that leave me baffled and wondering who made some of these narrative/writing calls. I don’t hate the game by any stretch of the imagination. Like I said the Siege of Weisshaupt was amazing! And I loved the callbacks to precious games! You should have seen me live reacting and screaming about codexes in the Weisshaupt library haha But it’s like whiplash when something that good is followed up by a scene that feels excessively more hamfisted in comparison.

Anyway I am very busy this weekend and dunno when I’ll get to write another update soooo if you’re following for more, hope to give you more updates in the near-ish future!

[sunny-knight]

LETS FUCKING GOOOO!!!!!!

(@forgettable-au go read it, its so good)

DAWWWWWWGGGG THIS WAS JUST AN ABSOLUTE JOY TO READ

not at all soul crushing…Just pure “EHEHEHEHEHE” the whole time cause SANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! him and Floweys’ interactions are always such a treat when they’re both written canonically, like Sans KNOWS Flowey is a little weirdo, but hes got faith in him! hes got faith in everyone! especially Papyrus AND WE WILL GET BACK TO THAT.

Taking in the first frame…The only thing I could focus on was I LOVE THEIR SILLY LITTLE HOUSE!!!!!

I love when people make their surface house just their Snowdin house BUT THIS IS JUST DOWN-RIGHT ADORABLE. Very very fitting, the Christmas lights in the middle of summer HDHEHEHEHEH they would

also: Flowey just hates to see a man chill

This frame in particular, but also just him being in a lawn chair in general feels like a reference to the Reward Tier video and Im here for it

That is the face of a man whos thinking “UHHHHHHHH”

also, alternate ending: Sans is honest:

Now… Im gettin nervous on what Floweys plan is gonna be in getting Papyrus to go to Hotland, let alone- THE LAB 😭

Like no way is he gonna just waltz in there without a fight

like is Flowey just gonna gaslight him like “The GREAT Papyrus isn’t afraid of a little lava now, is he??”

Then…. the last panel.

YOU GET IT OMG YOU GET IT

Sans cares, yes, BUT HES NOT A HELICOPTER MOM he trusts himmm :(( Id say more on that but thats getting side tracked into more Undertale in general territory….ill probably make a rant about that later-

I love it sm I love them, them is great, they are awesome, theys is perfect. theyre have no flaws.

GAAAAHHHH again this whole thing was just a treat to read, unlike the last update I have less THEORIES and ANALYSIS and more just “:3”

BUT IM STILL MAD ABOUT THAT GODAMN COLLARED SHIRT HES WEARING. THAT IS WINGDINGS’ SHIRT. THAT IS NOT A COINCIDENCE. I AM NOT GOING CRAZY AND LOOKING WAY TOO DEEP INTO THINGS!!!!!

Sans just stole his swag

…I just had a thought as I was writing the tags………. and now im crying just a little bit….

AGAIN. I MIGHT. JUST BE LOOKING. WAYYYY TOO DEEP INTO THINGS. BUT…..IDK….

IDC IF ITS NOT REAL. THESE TEARS ARE

this frame feels deliberate.

The sun. IS A STAR.

NEED. I. SAY. MORE.

[lilac-hecox]

hi! do you think you would write ianthony sharing clothes? thank you!

Ian/Anthony - ianthony - Sharing clothes

--

“Ian,” Courtney begins.

Ian looks at her from where he’s pouring his coffee, standing at the counter in the kitchen of the Smosh office.

Courtney’s waiting for her frozen breakfast to cook in the microwave and as she waits, her eyes scan him, head to toe. Ian nervously touches the corner of his mouth, wiping at his face just in case he has any remnants of the gluten-free muffin he had eaten for breakfast when he arrived at the office.

“What’s up?” Ian asks because he can’t handle Courtney’s surveying gaze any longer.

“Is that…isn’t that Anthony’s shirt you’re wearing?” she asks, biting her lip, her voice low, but there is a clear sense of amusement in her eyes.

Ian looks down at himself.

Fuck.

The shirt he’s wearing is, in fact, Anthony’s. They’ve been spending so much time at each other’s places, sleeping over, that it’s natural that their possessions are missing. Anthony had a dedicated drawer in the dresser in Ian’s bedroom, but Ian hadn’t pulled this t-shirt from that drawer this morning. He had plucked it from his closet. Sure, he had noticed the shirt was a bit baggier than usual, but Ian attributed it to him eating more vegan meals to align with Anthony’s dinners.

Courtney must note Ian’s wide eyes before he can school his features into something more composed. She’s got a sly little smile on her face like she’s a cat that got the cream. Ian wills himself not to flush or really even react more than he already has. He clears his throat.

“Uh, no, I think this is mine. We must have gotten the same one. You know that happened in high school all the time.”

It’s not a very convincing lie but it’s all Ian’s got because neither he nor Anthony is ready to reveal their newfound relationship and how it has evolved into something beyond friendship and into a firmly romantic territory.

“Well,” Courtney says. She reaches out and adjusts the collar on the t-shirt, smoothing down the fabric on the shoulders. “It looks good on you.” She winks, thankfully taking mercy on him and not dragging out her questions or suspicions.

Ian adds his minimal sweetener to his coffee, plucking out a spoon from the drawer and stirring his coffee until it shifts from a deep black into a pale tan.

Anthony is at the office today and it isn’t too long before Ian finds him in their shared office. Ian slinks inside and shuts the door with a sigh.

“What’s up?” Anthony asks, looking up at Ian from his computer. “Coffee troubles?”

“Why didn’t you tell me I put on your shirt this morning?” Ian asks.

Anthony raises an eyebrow and then scans over Ian. He laughs brightly and fondly.

“Shit, you did, huh?”

“Yes, and Courtney absolutely noticed.”

Anthony doesn’t look nearly as panicked by this information as Ian happens to feel.

“Okay, well, it was just Courtney. She likes fashion, of course she noticed.”

“How do I reasonably explain why I’m wearing your shirt?”

“You don’t tell them it’s my shirt,” Anthony says.

Ian goes and sits at his desk, setting his cup of coffee down on the desk.

“I told her we owned the same one.”

“So,” Anthony says, amusement on his face, “I gotta buy a second one?”

Ian laughs, “I guess so. Unfortunately for both of us, our styles are pretty opposite so when one of us is wearing the others clothes…it’s noticeable. I don’t think anyone expects me to wear a Junji Ito shirt.”

“Tell them I influenced you. You know, the way you and Shayne own the same shirt.”

“Well, no one is going to think I’m dating Shayne since he and Court hard launched their marriage.”

Anthony shrugs, “You could be their third.”

Ian wrinkles his nose. “Don’t ever say that to me again. They’re like our kids at this point.”

Anthony laughs, “Our married kids.”

Ian shakes his head, “You’re so stupid, dude.”

“Not stupid enough to wear my boyfriend’s shirt to work,” Anthony mumbles, sipping his protein drink he typically has for breakfast.

Ian groans. “Okay, new rule. We’re establishing a ‘fit check’ before we come to the office from now on.”

Anthony wipes his mouth and sets the protein drink on the low coffee table in front of him and grins.

“Maybe I like you wearing my shirts.”

“Anthony,” Ian says warningly.

Anthony shrugs, “What can I say? I do. You look good in them. It makes me feel like a part of me is with you all day.”

“You sappy fuck,” Ian teases.

“Hey, you knew this about me when we reunited,” Anthony says with a shrug.

Ian abandons his coffee and moves across the interior of his office, going to drop on to the couch next to Anthony. He tucks himself against Anthony’s side.

“Yeah, I did.”

Anthony’s hand reaches out and runs down the line of Ian’s back, warm and comforting.

“Let ‘em talk,” Anthony says, as he draws Ian in and presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.

[hackervoice-im-in]

CIS GUY I AM FRIENDS WITH CALLED ME BROTHER. DOES HE EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME AND SUCH. HAS HE EVEN CONSIDERED THIS COULD MEAN SOMETHING TO ME AND STUFF. OH THE LITTLE THINGS. I WOULD DIE FOR YOU THE LITTLE THINGS.

[thranduel]

astarion, the man who was dying and offered eternal life, but had no idea that it meant becoming a slave to a sadistic master.

astarion, the man who had his freedom and bodily autonomy ripped away from him.

astarion, the man who was forced to befriend, seduce and sleep with people to lure them back to his master, resulting in severe sexual trauma and the struggle to form any sort of intimate relationship.

astarion, the man who was horribly punished whenever he refused his master’s orders (one punishment being sealed away in a dusty tomb, starving, for an entire year. he scratched his hands raw trying to carve his way out).

astarion, the man who was forced to eat rats.

astarion, the man who hasn’t even been able to see his own face since he turned.

astarion, the man who had his body mutilated as cazador carved scars onto his back, which he later found out was to bind him to a ritual.

astarion, the man who is so severely traumatised that he admitted he doesn’t know how to say “no” or ask for help (and he feels guilty when he does).

astarion, the man who waited two centuries to be helped and freed from torture, but no one came.

astarion, the man who was always treated like a monster when all he wanted was to be treated like a person.

astarion, the man who came up to you in the middle of the night just to thank you for defending him and allowing him to make his own decisions.

astarion, the man who said that no one ever looked out for him or showed him kindness, and that you’re the only one. “other people don’t have a heart like you. you’re you. no one is like that.”

astarion, the man who broke the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago thanks to the love, care and compassion that you showed him when no one else did.

astarion, the man who confessed that he loves you and feels safe with you; something he has never felt with anyone before.

[valewritessss]

What are some fanfiction pet peeves or icks?

I specifically had percabeth in mind but other ships or fandoms is fine too

[strangenessandcharrn]

something so personal about the parallel that is travis saying "quit acting like such a saint" to natalie (someone who is constantly being thought guilty of sin- though they never had sex) and shauna loving the saints because 'they were all so tragic' and then eulogizing jackie as a saint (someone who travis had sex with before her death)

they're so who is the lamb and who is the knife coded

[metalcorebarbie]

x

[hesfromsomewhere]

tag ramble pt.1