#it was so bad that people with their whole chests were saying they were COUSINS even after TLJ

[someoneintheshadow456]

This was literally how Reylo was written, and the way many people reacted to it was akin to that of gay pairing naysayers reacting to Destiel.

I think we should write more straight relationships with 2010s TV queerbait tactics. Let that man and that woman's lives be horribly intertwined, let them take bullets for the other, let them be each other's meaning but NO KISSING. They are holding each other platonically. You're crazy for reading anything romantic into it at all tbh

[simpjaes]

requested by: anon enemies to lovers, forced to sleep in the same bed [room] trope. wc: 1.3k tags: not rly enemies to lovers, more like enemies to enemies that fuck

Enemies to lovers Jay learning that this stupid fucking trip forces the two of you to interact. That alone is enough to piss him off and activate the petty part of his brain.

Enemies. That's a fucking fact.

Imagine how he felt when he learned his cousin is dating you and bringing you to the fucking family trip? Trust, he did just about everything to prevent it. Including sending you hateful messages, semi-threatening that if you showed up he would absolutely piss in your cereal.

Well, you showed up anyway. And unfortunately, no one bought cereal for the kitchen so it looks like he needs to find a different method of making you miserable.

What's even more unfortunate? His cousin has no idea that he hates you. And why does he hate you? Well, given that you rejected him all those years ago for prom in a hella humiliating way....does he really need to explain?

For years he was made fun of for it, and you laughed with everyone at him. Not with him, at him.

Fucking bitch. That's what you are.

And you continue to be that bitch this whole time too. Knowing he had a thing for you, unsure of if he still does but still acting like he does.You don't need to know that he'd definitely still hit that shit. In more ways than one. Across the head seems more appropriate at this point though.

"He needs to leave early." Jay's mother explains to him in a semi-whisper. "Guess the sea-food got to him."

Jay silently gives himself a high-five at the idea that you'd leave with your boyfriend, his cousin.Unfortunately, you don't. In fact, you over-stay your welcome solely because your boyfriend's family loves you so much and practically begged you to stay.

At least Jay has his own room, right? WRONG. Oh, his demise hits him in the chest that very next morning, learning that his bitch-ass parents replaced his cousin's room with a different family member. Apparently they had wanted to come but all the spots in the house were filled up.

Now, they're on their way and you're moving your shit to the living room.

"Jay, why don't you let her have your room? It's only polite."

"Fuck that" is what Jay would say if it weren't for his father looming with a death glare.

"No, no!" You gleefully cut in. "If he's okay with just sharing the room, I'll be okay!" He rolls his eyes. Just because there's a pull out couch in the room doesn't fucking mean he should have to share it. With you no less. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ Did you do that on purpose? Maybe.

Do you love your boyfriend with your whole heart? Not really.

What most people aren't aware of in this family is, well, your boyfriend isn't exactly the best person to be involved with. Oh, he left because he's feeling sick? No he didn't, you saw that text on his phone. Despite you loving his family, and his family loving you, neither of you really love each other these days. Additionally, neither of you really have the heart to break up due to the benefits you both get simply for holding the title of boyfriend/girlfriend.

So, you trying to pull one on Jay both before and after your boyfriend saw himself out the door feigning sick? Definitely on purpose. After all, if you and your boyfriend are past the point of even trying to make intimacy work, it's not so bad that you both find it elsewhere.

Kind of like a mutual relationship where's you're not dating except for when the family comes together and the two of you pretend that love hasn't fallen through the floor.

Imagine Jay's face when he found out, deep into the night where it's silent save for the rain pattering against the window.

"I'm not actually dating him, you know?" You blurt out of the silence, wanting to push somehow for Jay to admit that he still wants you. If anything, to boost your own confidence and force him to abandon whatever respect he has for his cousin to keep it under wraps. "He left to go fuck his actual girlfriend."

"Okay?" Jay huffs out, pretending he doesn't care but actually loving the juicy hidden secret. "What does that have to do with me?" "Well, Jay Jay-" You smile in the darkness, cuddling close against the pillow and lending a small chuckle at the way he's situated himself on the pull-out bed. "It has everything to do with you if you want to fuck me."

You hear him inhale at your words before breathing out in a shaking breath.

"You are so fucking full of yourself." He starts, lifting up so fast into a sitting position that he nearly feels lightheaded. "After the way you humiliated me? You think I want to fuck you now?!" You shush him quickly, wanting so badly to mock his inability of volume control. Which...that could be fun.

"Please, you've wanted to fuck me since you learned what fucking even was."

Fair, Jay thinks, as he narrows his eyes at your barely-visible figure in his bed.

"You're being ridiculous. I wouldn't stoop so low." He argues back, voice a bit weaker, like it's breaking. Then he flops back down onto the pull-out, ignoring the uncomfortable creaking of the bed.

"Relax. I'm just trying to get laid here, it's not like we have to date or anything."

As if that's not what Jay has wanted since fucking prom?! Casual sex?! With you? "You're kind of a whore, you know that?" Jay spits, aggressively rolling over to face the wall, not at all to hide the fact that he's absolutely about to shove his hands down his pants.

"Do you want me to be?" You encourage him to think like your boyfriend used to. "Want me to apologize for the way I treated you?" He remains silent, squeezing his eyes shut and willing for all of this to just be a dream, though he'd be fucking pissed if it actually was. "Don't you want to punish me for it?" You continue, softening your voice now, lifting yourself on the bed and crawling to the edge of it. "Make me say sorry? Make me regret the day I never let you do it in the first place?" "Fuck off." Jay tries to control himself. The need to absolutely fuck you into the mattress, shut that pretty mouth up? It's intense right now. "Stop trying to come onto me." And when you do, he's actually disappointed. He hears the way you crawl back into position and roll over in silence. The room stays quiet for a little while, but he can't sleep now. Arguably, you can't either. "You're so fucking annoying." Jay huffs, rolling off the pull-out and instantly getting on the bed with you, hovering over you, letting you feel how hard you've managed to get him. "If you're able to actually shut the fuck up, take your shorts off and roll over." You hum, delighted by his weak mind state. Loving that in a way, he admits it. Finally, he admits it. All those narrow-eyed stares at you weren't just from hate. He definitely wanted you, and he still does. You do as you're told with a mocking laugh, shoving your shorts down your thighs and rolling over for him. He makes quick work, already slapping his length against your ass cheeks before instantly pressing his tip into you with a pathetic, whiny little groan.

"Thought you'd be rougher." You smile against the pillow, only to feel his hand in your hair. He tugs you back with an uncomfortable arch now cramping at your back. "Thought you wanted to make me sorry.”

“Can you please shut the fuck up?” Jay groans, shoving his full and thick cock straight into you with a solid thrust. “Hm?”

Well, now you can. Because oh my god? He’s been this big the whole time? You could’ve been bouncing on this countless times already and you’re only now feeling how good it is? Crazy mistake on your part.

You couldn't mock him back if you tried right now, with the way he releases your hair only to push your head into the pillow, fucking into you so aggressively that you can barely even breathe. He really is making you sorry.

[icallhimjoey]

what about tupperware!joe and reader going to her cousins wedding that she asked him to join her for? what was that day like?

thank you for this request! our pasta babe is back 🍝 - read more than this here for context! Wordcount: 2.6K

---

More Than That

“Hey!” Joe popped his head around the corner and made you jump. “Sorry,” he was quick to apologise, unable to hide his smile as he stepped outside. “You hiding?”

You were hiding.

It irritated you a little that Joe found you. That he’d gone into the women’s bathroom to look for you. That an open emergency door had prompted him to just go and check outside to see if you were there.

Well, you were there, but that wasn’t the point.

You’d slipped into the bathroom and hoped no one had seen you sneak away. You needed a moment to yourself, just a minute to breathe, and when you saw the emergency exit propped open just past all the toilet stalls, you’d immediately favoured a bit of fresh air over locking yourself in a small cubicle.

“Yea,” you squinted into the low sun as you watched Joe step into place next to you, joining you there in the orange light of the golden hour as he leant back against the wall, using overstretched legs to keep him in place.

Joe grinned cheekily as he found a packet of cigarettes in his chest pocket and asked, “From me?”

You weren’t hiding from Joe. Not exactly. More so... just, the whole situation you’d found yourself in.

You'd placed yourself in.

That maybe was the worst thing.

You were wholly responsible for how you currently felt. There was no one else to blame.

“Of course I am. I’m upset that you found me.” You huffed a laugh through your nose, hoping it didn’t sound as deflated to Joe’s ears as it did to yours.

“Here,” Joe spoke around an unlit cig in the corner of his mouth and held out his packet towards you.

You didn’t smoke but hesitated for a second as you looked at what Joe was offering you. Bringing Joe to your cousin’s wedding had been a mistake. Not because Joe was Joe, but because... this was your cousin’s wedding. Your whole family was here. You weren’t hiding just outside the emergency exit of the women’s bathroom just because the weather was nice. So, you know, maybe a cigarette would actually help. Lord knew the open bar hadn’t, so far.

“Oh my God,” Joe snatched the packet away the second he thought you were going to go for one. “Is it that bad?”

He was never going to actually give you one; you didn’t smoke. He wasn’t going to be coaxing you into his filthy habit – he wouldn’t dream of it.

“Was it your dad? I probably shouldn’t have talked to him for so long, should I? I’m sorry–” Joe slid the packet of cigarettes back into his pocket, and in the same move, he managed to find his lighter there.

“No, you’re...” you took a deep breath through flared nostrils. “You’re fine, it’s not that.”

It was that, a little. Joe knew.

Watching Joe walk over to your dad at the bar and give him a friendly smack to the shoulder as they shook hands before ordering drinks they then cheersed had made your stomach churn.

Literally.

You were staring at them and had brought a hand up to cover your stomach to which your aunt had then said, “Aw, butterflies?” completely misreading what was happening.

“No. Just panic and anxiety, thanks.” you had answered in full truth but your family members within earshot had just laughed.

Bringing Joe to your cousin’s wedding was a mistake.

Your olive branch to Joe telling you he loved you and wanted to be with you probably should’ve been saying yes to going to see a film with him, or whatever. Something the two of you could do by yourselves, where you’d be in the dark with attention not on each other, where other people’s attention was not on the two of you.

You weren’t really sure how you thought this was going to pan out.

In what world had you expected this to go any differently?

Why the fuck had you invited him?

You leant your head back against the brick wall of the wedding venue and stared at the glamorous view of the grimy carpark.

“Then what is it, hmm?”

Joe was pushing this being-kind-in-the-daytime thing a little too much. Granted, it was actually evening by now, but you’d never seen his face in the sunshine for so long before today, and it was unsettling how you hadn’t had your hand down his trousers yet.

You’d been hanging out together for hours by now.

“It’s just that,” you started, sighed deeply, and then finished with, “The pasta buffet wasn’t the best.”

That made Joe laugh.

There was no way you were going to tell Joe that it bothered you that taking him as your date to a wedding meant that everyone assumed you were a couple. One with a serious relationship. They all wanted to meet him, and they all asked you how long you’d been together, asked him why they’d not seen him around before, asked you how the two of you had met and...

It was all just... a lot.

Having to skirt around answers because Joe was stood right next to you, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings and lie, but you also definitely didn’t want to tell the truth.

You didn’t want to tell your mum he wasn’t your boyfriend, because then why take him as your date to your cousin’s wedding? But you also couldn’t tell her he was just a friend, because by now you had sort of established that you were more than friends, hadn’t you?

You had let him fill your fridge up with his Tupperware, and that wasn’t even a euphemism.

A plus one to a wedding was just too soon.

Way too soon for whatever the two of you were, anyway.

It sucked that this only really occurred to you after you’d arrived.

Joe didn’t think so.

Joe was really excited that you asked him to be his date for this. He’d told you so on the way there. And then you’d held his hand for a little while after he’d reached for it. You’d let him fidget with your fingers, let him link his arm with yours before he moved the hand he was holding up to his mouth to kiss.

“You can’t do that when we get there.” You’d told him sternly, and he’d just smiled and had said, “I’m surprised you’re letting me do it now.”

You’d frowned at that and looked at how your fingers intertwined and noticed how the sun was reflecting off the skin. The sheen of your nails. How the light caught on the metal of one of his rings. Then Joe’s thumb moved to softly rub at your skin, and you recoiled.

Too soft a moment.

Best to avoid those.

You’d shaken your hand from his then, and Joe’d pursed his lips into a smile, sarcastically said, “Yea, you’re right. Thirty seconds is plenty.”

“Don’t complain. I’m taking you to a wedding.” You’d smirked right back at him, and definitely didn’t know how heavy those words were going to be weighing when you got there. When you had to introduce Joe to people.

Disgusting.

You should’ve never told him the colour of your dress.

Joe perfectly matched you like you’d gone and shopped for your outfits together. Four separate people had complimented you on it, and whilst lovely, it had ruined your appetite a little. Or a lot.

Hence why the pasta buffet hadn’t impressed you.

“The pasta buffet was all right.”

“No it sucked.”

“Hmm. Not as good as I make it, I get it. You’ve gotten used to the good stuff now.”

Joe was trying hard to make you smile, overacting his confidence in his cooking. It worked, sort of, but every little raise of a corner of your mouth only lasted a second.

Today had been difficult.

Still was difficult.

“Hey... are you okay?” Joe’s voice lowered, softening for you. “You look like you need a hug. Can I hug you?”

“No.”

You turned your head to look at Joe, your hair catching on the brick, and you were met with a crinkled forehead filled with worry and a pouty mouth that exuded disappointment.

Joe really wanted to hug you.

“Let me help?” Joe tried again, turning a little into you, the shoulder of his jacket creasing against the rough surface of the wall.

An idea.

“You can fuck me up against this wall if you really want to be helpful.”

Joe froze, mouth slightly agape, and ended up dropping the cigarette from his lips when you pushed off the wall and got right in front of him. Joe fumbled, patted down his jacket to make sure that if any of the ashes got caught on his clothes they wouldn’t do any damage. He barely got a look in, because you planted both your hands either side of him on the wall and made him shrink into his shoulders a little.

“Oh my G–,”

“Want to be helpful?” You got your face right in front of his, voice stern and eyes on where the hair of his mustache curled onto his top lip a little.

“Hmm? Kiss me.”

Joe could feel your breath on his face and in a moment of weakness he gave in. Got his hands on your face and moved you back a little, only to then lean forward himself and meet your lips with his.

Risky behaviour.

You’d just spent all day trying to be vague about if Joe was your boyfriend or not, and now you were kissing each other pressed up against a building by the carpark. Out in public. Where people could see you.

You let your whole body sway forward and Joe happily accepted your weight against him, your hip bones firmly pressed up against his own. Your hands moved from the wall to curl around his neck, pulling Joe into you more as you did.

Yea, this was more like it.

If Joe kissed you for long enough, maybe you could forget about the way you stumbled through, No, he’s just... he’s not my- that’s Joe. He’s just Joe, you know? several times earlier that day.

And Joe gave into your affection easily.

Into he way you pressed up against him.

The way your arms tightened around his neck.

How you sighed into him when he started giving you more.

More of his tongue.

Of his touches.

More of the noises that he knew you loved - little hums, smacks of lips, hard inhales whilst his nose dug into your cheek.

Hands squeezing your ass.

Oh yea, you were getting into it.

You would go in for a kiss, and he would stick his tongue out a little, meaning you'd essentially get a mouthful of tongue before your lips met and, yea okay, so you weren’t going to actually let Joe fuck you up against this wall, but just inside there were a lot of lockable cubicles to slip into for some quick action.

But then you slid a hand down to feel if he was getting as into this as you were, and you were abruptly stopped.

Two strong hands grabbed you by your biceps and pushed you back.

“No.”

“But–”

“No.” Joe spoke to you like you were a child, eyebrows raised and lips jutted out.

You frowned deeply and groaned a little in protest before letting your head fall and bumping his chin with your forehead.

Having sex would have made this day so much better.

Joe smiled a pressed a small kiss right onto your hairline, before he wrapped his arms around you and forced you into a hug.

A hug.

You didn’t hug him back, but let him embrace you without fighting him on it in your way of compromise.

“I asked,” Joe stressed, stretching the word, “If you were okay. Hm? Are you? Do you want to leave?”

An idea.

“Yes,” you moved to kiss Joe on the lips once more, just a peck. “Let’s get out of here.” you bit into your bottom lip and smiled as you grabbed Joe’s hand. It was obvious what you were insinuating.

Let’s get out of here, go somewhere more private, wink wink, nudge nudge.

You were about to step back inside, but Joe didn’t move, still leant up against the wall, and you were pulled back by the hand that held yours.

Joe gave you a look, one that made you slump your shoulders before begrudgingly mumbling, “I’m fine.” through an eye roll.

“Oh yea, because that’s convincing.” Joe rolled his eyes right back at you and you had to really fight to not smile at that.

“I am. Promise. But I do want to leave, please. This was–...” you stopped yourself before you finished your sentence with something that could potentially hurt Joe’s feelings.

You’d never really minded that before, but you had taken Joe to a wedding. Things were different now.

“Yea,” Joe sighed, reading you right and agreeing a little. “I know.”

Joe got it. Joe got it plenty.

You’d been miserable for most of the day, but hadn’t faltered in giving him smiles whenever you caught him looking at you. Joe had to try really hard to make sure his eyes didn’t do what they always did when he really adored someone. Well, what they always did when he looked at you. He knew his eyes always gave him away.

He had to be casual.

Normal day-time-activity casual.

But, listen. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fuck you up against this wall right here, but you know, he’d said he was going to not resort to just having sex the whole time with you anymore. That he was going to hang out with you and keep his clothes on the whole time, because there was this want to connect past that. He wanted more than that.

Still wanted that too, though.

But maybe not in a carpark outside of wedding venue that held all of your family inside, you know?

You knew.

“I know.” Joe said again, a little solemnly, eyes finding the cigarette he dropped earlier and staring at that for a moment.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come today. He definitely shouldn’t have spoken to your dad for so long. Joe’d seen you look, but you dad was a nice guy. There were lots of things to talk about.

An awkward silence followed before Joe suddenly pushed himself to stand up straight.

An idea.

“You were right.” he said, before squeezing your fingers with his. “The pasta buffet sucked. Want to go find some proper fettuccine?”

You broke into a slow grin and took a moment to process Joe’s reaction to your unkind unfinished sentence, but weren’t given enough time to mull it over. Joe stepped past you, back inside, into the bathroom where you then heard a confused, “Oh sorry– I thought this was the ladies–”

“It is.” Joe smiled at your mum as he dragged you past the mirrors.

“It was lovely meeting you.”

“Are you–”

“Bye mum!”

And off you were.

Off to find some proper fettuccine.

You hadn’t lied when you told Joe you were fine. Today had just been too much, too soon.

You wanted revert to just seeing each other in either your or his bed for a little while before you’d try your hand at this again, because the unpredictability of the day had been nothing short of torture.

But, ultimately, you were fine.

You knew.

Joe wasn’t as convinced though, but he’d been removing forks from the left overs in his fridge for long enough now to know that some good pasta would help.

Pasta would make this day so much better.

Joe knew.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[askinkiskarma]

say you'll remember me

➳ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader

➳ warnings: angst, mentions of lucy gray, some violent imagery, no happy ending, allusions to smut, snow should be a warning by himself honestly

➳ wc: >1000 words

➳ a/n: i'm back from the dead after ?? months ?? because much to my dismay, i have fallen prey to movie coriolanus snow's charms (tom blyth the man that you are). i need that man biblically. no i have not read the books, please don't come for me, i don't care how unhinged he is, in the movies he's pookie and i love him and i could change him i KNOW it. anyway please enjoy x

He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. Barely a man, when you really stopped to think about it, but it didn’t look like it right now, as he was sitting in the empty auditorium of the university he just left behind, with the stature and poise of a titan… or a god. His time in district 12 changed him. It brought out a side to him very few people knew him capable of, least of all his beautiful, gentle cousin, Tigris. The boy you once knew, golden curly locks of hair inundating the space on his face his azure irises usually lit up, wit and ambition so clearly displayed in them, the boy who, despite it all, despite all that stood against him, still had the remnants of a gentle heart in an environment that thrived on beating such a needless thing out of you… that boy seemed gone, killed by the person who stood tall in front of you, who desperately fought to let bygones be bygones. 

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. He had to be, to get to where he wanted, to become who he knew he was always destined to be. He had to be, to forget - the war, the famine, the hurt and pain, the loss of love, the loss of hope, the loss of innocence. His blood-red coat was still and unmoving, the fabric as rigid as the persona he skilfully embodied, even as the wind blew past him and circled the room you were carefully eyeing, noticing every detail of it, of him, as you tried your hardest to gauge a mood, or hear a thought, through the unwieldy silence that met you like a careful, long-lost friend.

“So curious, aren’t we, little bird?” 

It shouldn’t have, not when he was the one whose back was turned to you, whose head lost in rumination, but his words, soft and whimsical, took you by surprise. As it always happened, your heart jumped in your chest in quiet anticipation, yearning to catch a glimpse of the one only you were fortunate enough to see. 

“Is it less intimidating… now that you’re done?” 

He turned then, his bright eyes finding yours immediately, drawn like a moth to a flame, and he smirked knowingly, the facade slipping away little by little, chipping like the paint on old walls. It’s funny. Out of the pair of you, you’ve always thought that was you. The moth. Forever risking your life and wings, for the beauty of it all, for the fire that you knew would either consume you or breathe new life in you. It was always a gamble, being in his presence, a game of Russian roulette you were addicted to, because how could you not be? How could you not… when he approaches you, slowly and methodically, his eyes never leaving yours, hungry and needy, speaking all the words he refused to say out loud, allowing you to see it - the glimpses of the boy. The boy you loved, the boy who survived somewhere inside of him, begging to be let out in the presence of someone who wouldn’t hurt the frail, withering existence that still clung to life the best way it knew how. 

“Who says it was ever intimidating, huh?” 

Your smile was enough to thaw the ice, enough for his hand, cold and calloused, warm and calming, to find your face, his thumb caressing the supple skin of your jaw, tracing the soft lips he dreamt about in whispered nights and wildest dreams. He tasted like roses and desire, and he kissed you like you were the breath he’s been denied his whole life. It was easy to forget in those moments, who he was, who you were, all that stood against you, the ghost of the girl he was trying so hard to banish from his mind. 

“Let’s go for a walk, just you and me.” 

Long walks in the city that was still reeling after the war you could barely remember felt intimate and almost like for your eyes and ears only, for only your bodies to feel and touch, for only your minds to wonder about and wander through. Through them, you knew Coriolanus - his many strengths and few weaknesses, his outright dreams and closeted desires, the depths of his soul he felt reluctantly comfortable to bare to you… and in turn, he knew you, more and more each day, as he found breath in the drowning sea that was once Lucy Grey and was levitated to better and never-seen before heights, away from the pain that haunted him every moment of his life.

“I think I loved her.” He tells you one night, his fingers massaging your back, tracing patterns onto it only he could understand, patterns you could spend the rest of your life trying to decipher. 

“I think you loved her, too.” You sigh, happy that his walls, tall and reinforced in layers of heavy, indestructible brick, were slowly chipping at the seams for you, but sad at the ghost that tormented his every breathing moment, and, as a result, yours, too. 

“I think I love you.” His voice was dark, serious, plagued with a twinge of uncertainty and fear, for the feelings he wanted to bury but couldn’t, that he wanted to hide from you and from himself, but decided against. It was short and simple, the confession, barely a few words whispered in the dead of night, while his glistening body was trembling softly under your touch and under the weight of the confession. It was short and simple, but it was enough to knock the breath of your lungs and any semblance of thought from your mind. 

“You wouldn’t… leave, right? You won’t leave.” 

You smile in his chest, and it almost hurts, the need to feel him, closer still, to touch your lips to his and pour it all into a kiss and watch him do the same. 

“Never.”

In these moments, he wasn’t Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, the heir to the Plinth fortune. In these moments, he was your Corio, and you were his little bird. When you are done, the disjointed song of the city coming to life falls upon deaf ears as you hold each other, reluctant to let go and face the harsh realities of the world that surrounded you and seeped into every aspect of your being, no matter how unwelcome. You hoped you could stay like this forever, safe in his arms, in the arms that welcomed you, in the arms that held onto you and thus, onto the inherent goodness born into him that he was forever struggling to subjugate, that you hoped he never would. 

But… Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. And when he inevitably left you one fateful night, you tried to forget the tears that stained his pillow, the last remnants of the boy who gave his dying breath in his soul, that cried and screamed for the life he could have had, a life that was taken from him, a life that the world and the man whose presence still inundated the now lonely, deserted room, conspired to end. And as you lay on the empty bed, your own tears mixing with his own as they drenched the fabric you knew you’ll never see again, you couldn’t help but wonder if the man he would become would remember you, and all you shared, or if to him, much like the boy you loved, you were already dead. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams

[wisteriagoesvroom]

drabble request! feel free to tweak/change especially if the pairing isn't your cup of tea: logan/oscar and morning coffee?

thank you and have a great day today!

okay!! i didn't think i'd have much to say about this pairing but. it turns out i'm a liar.

(ignore the fact that oscar won f2 in covid...in bahrain... and i don't think logan was in the same championship that year. something something artistic liberties)

-------------------

The carpet tickles Oscar's neck. He blinks his eyes open.

F2 celebrations were a blur. Logan dragged Oscar to some godawful nightclub, all bright lights and sweaty bodies and people pressing on him. Last night comes back in sparks. Jagerbombs, shoulder bumps, arms in the air like they just don’t care. Electro beat so loud it rattled his brain. 

They both ended up on the floor of Oscar’s hotel suite. Oscar’s not sure why that was, or what logic there was in that decision when they fumbled with the room key and tumbled in at the wee hours of the morning. 

Logan tosses a red team polo at Oscar’s face.

“Get up, dude.” 

Oscar makes a noise that sounds lot like ngggh.

“That was a total shitshow.” Logan says.

“Yeah. I know. Told you not to go, didn’t I?”

“C’mon man. Last day of F2 and you weren’t gonna celebrate?”

“I feel awful. This feels awful.” 

“But winning F2. Bet that doesn’t feel so bad.”

They both stare at the trophy, sitting sideways on a nearby sofa. Thankfully Oscar had the wits to deposit the silverware in his room before he went out to the party last night.

Oscar also thinks at some point that Logan’s arm ended up around his waist last night. Like really tight for some reason, but he can’t really remember. 

The trophy winks at them in the morning sunlight, as if in on a joke. 

Logan points at the trophy. “You should totally name it.”

“No.”

“Yeah you should.”

“My head hurts. What will it take to shut you up right now?”

Logan’s chest rumbles as he laughs. He’s spry, still, but Oscar knows from their training together that he’s getting stronger every month. There might be a day soon where Logan’s going to stand taller than him. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that. 

“McBreakfast, maybe.” Logan nods to himself as if he's just invented a great new concept. “A McMuffin with double hash browns. Yeah.”

“You’re so predictable.”

“I feel like you like that about me.”

“Humility is a good look, Sargeant. You should try it sometime.”

Logan barks a laugh, and stands up. He reaches an arm out to help Oscar up. Oscar still feels like someone’s dropped a ton of bricks on his head, but at least there’s someone here to help. Or commiserate. Whatever. Maybe they’re the same thing, sometimes.

“What is it that adults are supposed to do?” Logan says, adjusting his shirt. 

“Get a coffee,” he adds, in a deeper baritone.

“Disgusting stuff. Don't get why people like drinking it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You drink stuff like my kid cousin.”

“Don’t chocolate-shame me.”

“I would never. You loser.”

“Who’re you calling loser?!” Oscar exclaims. He darts at Logan, and ends up pulling the other driver in a headlock. Logan’s hair is warm and a bit sweaty under Oscar’s hands. Also Logan screeches like an eagle the whole time. They’re probably going to get a noise complaint, but whatever. Oscar will take his F2 Championship privileges, if only to bully his friend. 

"Take that back!" Oscar says.

“Nah!”

“Right now!”

"Fuck's sake, man! Okay, okay."

Oscar releases the other guy, and Logan stands up again. His cheeks are very red. 

"Like I said. Feral. And I'm from Florida."

Oscar rolls his eyes as they both go get ready. He has to suppress a grin as they brush their teeth side by side.

Later, he and Logan end up going to a nearby McDonalds. Logan ends up getting his shitty coffee. They order McMuffins and three hash browns to share, and Oscar spends a full minute lecturing Logan about the health benefits of Milo. 

Logan doesn’t look like he believes a word of what Oscar's saying. Yet he listens the whole time, and laughs in all the right places anyway. 

And tomorrow, Oscar has meetings with F1 teams. Proper ones, to talk about his future, where he might actually have a chance to race. Mark's the one arranging them, and Oscar's supposed to be the star player now.

It's your time, Mark had told him, eyes sharp but patient. 

But today: Oscar still has a day left in F2. And he’s going to spend it, cosy in a booth at an unremarkable McDonalds, getting brain freeze from a milkshake, shooting the shit. Laughing until he snorts.

With one of the few people in his small circle who knows what it's like to be young, hungry, and maybe a little bit stupid.

[thesummerstorms]

God, I have so much reading and/or research to do to see if this actually makes sense. But my rough/working outline for Heroes of Olympus Wonder Family goes like:

> The Titan War/Second Titanomachy ends

> Diana sees enough when the Justice League is sent to clean up and investigate the remnants of the three day battle in Manhattan to demand answers of the Gods

> Diana, along with Donna Troy and Cassie Sandsmark, get answers. They do not like the answers. Too bad, so sad, Zeus already made them swear, so no take backs.

> Diana and co. start seeing the early supernatural disturbances that indicate Gaia's rise, which were previously hidden by the Mist

> Artemis of Bana-Mighdal has started figuring out the whole demigod thing on her own with the Mist having been weakened by Hecate's defection, but assumes Diana already knows, which pisses her off

> All four Amazon's respective teams/ superhero friend groups are perturbed by their sudden, seemingly random disappearances and their refusal to explain what's happening (Diana & co. because of their oath on the Styx, Artemis because she's playing her cards close to her chest until she finds out who already knew about the dying children.)

> This continues, gradually escalating and getting tenser, until the Gods seal themselves in Olympus and Thanatos is captured. None of the Amazons actually know where either Camp is specifically so they can't ask for answers unless they find a demigod in the wild.

> Cassie Sandsmark takes a blow that should have killed her in front of Kon and Tim. She revives similar to Gwen from Camp Jupiter. Her friends freak out. She freaks out. Diana shepherds her away without answering any questions.

> All three of Diana's Amazons go dark overnight. Donna and Cassie's absence isn't really noticed by the civilians, but the press does eventually put it together that no one's seen Wonder Woman.

> Artemis the Amazon has also gone missing, but most people who notice think she's gone back to Bana-Mighdal. She has not.

> She may actually find Sadie and Carter Kane at some point, but I know even less about their books

> Elsewhere on Half-Blood Hill, the Roman and Greek demigods eventually destroy Gaia. A lot of clean up/mopping up is done after the funerals.

> Diana publicly reappears with grey inexplicably threading her hair. When Bruce and Clark demand answers, all she'll say is that the Gods can take back anything they freely gave. The implication is that she angered her father Zeus and is no longer immortal.

> Bruce and Clark realize she can't speak about whatever happened, but are disturbed enough by the results that Bruce starts digging.

> Donna Troy shows up first to bother Dick Grayson in Bludhaven specifically and then to the Titans. Unlike Diana, she is still actively looking for loopholes and starts bugging the shit out of them to return to Manhattan, hoping to lead Dick specifically to discover the demigods without revealing enough herself to get zapped by her oath on the Styx.

> Kon and Tim just walk in one day and Cassie is sitting there without any warning. This is one of the weaker bits for me because I haven't read enough source material, but right now I imagine it leads to Cassie having some sort of break down that Tim and Kon don't know how to handle. If that's OOC, I'll revise it later.

> Artemis has voluntarily relocated herself to NYC, though she vocally hates it, due to the proximity both to CHB and the Brooklyn House. She reached out to Jason starting to ask for aid gathering specific information, not knowing that he's already been tipped off by his brothers that something is up.

> Somewhere in the midst of this growing mess, Annabeth Wayne Chase, only a few months returned from Tartarus, is spurred by a chance reunion with her cousin Magnus to go home to Gotham for closure.

> She doesn't intend to contact any of her family so much as observe them from a distance, as her own Oath not to reveal the Gods and their children to the superhero community is still in place.

> ...good luck with that, Annabeth. It's not like they're all already more suspicious of the Greek gods right now or anything....

[bellamer]

I'm gonna get this off of my chest and then probably be done with this discourse but it's basically just what I feel and some shit about the adultification of black males and black people in general, my rant is below the cut

I have cousins and a younger brother who are teens and look similar to Hobie ie being darker skinned and tall, my younger brother even has some of Hobie's characteristics which I have seen shine when he's with his friend, moments that are similar to the when Hobie dapped Pav up and called him "Big Steppa !" which is why I don't see his characteristics as "adult" or get "adult vibes" because my brother and many of his friends who are black teens look like and have similar characteristic to Hobie's, My brother who has darker skin, hair although not in wicks, is wild and similar to Hobie's because he grows it long and blows it out and it takes similar shape, is tall, has a deep as voice that actually startles people when they hear it, has had a major dislike towards authority figures like cops and people in charge in general and would do absolutely anything to protect his friends.

I've seen many black teens, mostly friends and family in Hobie Brown although they aren't punk like he is, kids I've literally watched grow up

And I bet if Miles didn't have his age explicitly stated and they didn't show him going to school, people would try to claim that he's older than he actually is

And although this might be unethical to rope in horrifying situations that actually happen with a stupid discourse about a fictional character in a superhero movie but it reminds me about how black people in general are always labeled as "adults" when something bad happens with them because as soon as we hit a growth spurt and start to look threatening, we're no longer kids to them. It's suddenly "Black man arrested by police" and that "man" is a 16 year old or "Black woman shot and killed" and that "woman" was only 17 and still in school, hell I've seen articles with label these black kids as "men" and "women" when they were only 12 or 13.

That's all I've gotta say on the matter. And if you see Hobie as over 18 ? Fine, whatever, I don't care as long as you're not constantly commenting on people's ship art or posts or on the posts of those who use his confirmed comic age as their interpretation, harassing people with "he's a grown man !!!!" with no proof to back up your claims except for and edited clip that was taken out of context some dickweed on TikTok posted

And the adultification is even affecting a black female character too because people are claiming that those who ship Margo and Miles are pro shippers and claiming that Margo is an adult woman

And don't get me started on the people who just desperately want Hobie to be a grown man so they can justify sexualizing him and thirsting over him because that is a whole different form of adultification of black men that I am way too tired to get into

But I hope this is the last thing I'm gonna say on this stupid ass discourse

[6thofapril1917]

don't wanna be alone anymore [ken lemmons x oc]

A/N: the first in what will (hopefully) be a series of maggie/ken drabbles and one-shots. this one is pretty stream of consciousness and shifts tense so i apologize if it's incomprehensible. in my defense uni has been kicking my ass lately (one more week of the semester left, thank GOD) ken lemmons x oc. word count: 1.3k. crossposted on ao3.

For Maggie Zielinski, romance is something that she watches other people get to experience. She’s long been resigned to the fact that it isn’t something she’s meant to experience herself.

She doesn’t know what it is about her. She certainly isn’t bad looking, she understands that much. Clear blue eyes, full lips, and an even fuller chest. Still, that had never stopped her from becoming the butt of all the boys’ jokes back in grade school.

And it’s not like she’s never had friends. No, Maggie’s always had loads of friends. She knows how to work a crowd, how to say the right things at the right time to set the whole room laughing. Even before she met Vee, Loretta, Mabel, and the rest of the ground crew, she’d had a whole gaggle of friends back home in Detroit. 

Her main circle was a raucous group of six—Ida and Annemarie, Nina, Victoria, Victoria’s brother Paul, and Ida’s cousin Vinny. They’d been friends since the very first day of junior high, maybe more out of the novelty of the experience than anything. For all that Detroit was a metropolis, its neighborhoods could be as insular as any backwater town. In Maggie’s world of newly-arrived immigrants and babcie who watched the streets like hawks, where everyone worked at the same auto plant and everyone knew everyone else’s business, it was nice to see some new faces.

Maggie loved her Detroit friends. She loved their laughs, their smiles, their inside jokes and their secrets. She tried her best to help them out when they needed it, to offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk off. She gave her friends everything she could. It was just a shame that they never did the same for her.

As the years passed, Maggie found herself confronting a terrifying reality—that for all she was devoted to her friends, they would never love her as much as she loved them. 

Sure, things were fine when it was just two or three of them alone. Catching a matinee with Victoria, or going out to lunch with Ida and Annemarie—here, Maggie felt comfortable. Victoria would always riff on whatever movie they were seeing, making her dissolve into giggles. Ida and Annemarie would insist on paying for Maggie’s meal, and they’d stay in their booth for hours on end, just chatting the day away.

But when it was the six of them all together, Maggie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. That there were things that the other five were privy too that she wasn’t—and to which she maybe wasn’t meant to be. There’d be some new in-joke that nobody ever bothered to explain, some party that she hadn’t been invited to, some other get-together that they’d forgotten to tell her about. 

Well, two could play at that game.

When Maggie enlisted as a technician with the Army Air Force, she didn’t tell any of them what she had done.

Nina and Vinny, newly engaged, spotted her the day before she left for basic training. The image of the couple stopping dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in Maggie’s new uniform and fully-packed suitcase, filled with a determination that would carry her thousands of miles away from Poletown, was forever burned into her mind.

Maggie wasn’t sad that she’d be missing the wedding. It wasn’t like she was going to be chosen to be a bridesmaid. Money was still tight, after all. There was only enough in the budget to get dresses made for Annamarie and Victoria. Ida, of course, would be the maid of honor.

(She understands, Maggie says. No, Nina, really. It’s fine. She understands completely.)

(She cries herself to sleep into Agnes’ shoulder that night.)

When she meets the Mavens in basic training, she spends the first few months of their friendship waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It’s not that she’s awkward around them; in fact, it’s exactly the opposite. The four of them get on like a house on fire. Loretta with her witty comebacks and shining black curls, Mabel with her dry wit and hands that always smell of chain grease, and Vee with her earnest modesty and the snapping lens of her Kodak 35. For all her faults, Maggie’s never had a problem charming people. It’s getting them to stay that’s the difficult part. 

Is she boring? She doesn’t think she’s boring. Especially not here in the army, where stories of home practically form a currency among the enlisted women and men. Besides, Maggie knows how to spin a yarn, to make even the most mundane story from a life spent in auto plants and dim garages seem like something out of an adventure magazine.

But that’s never enough, is it? It wasn’t enough to keep the people she thought were her friends, the people she loved more than life itself, from leaving her in the dust. It wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming a veritable untouchable among the boys in grade school, the kind of girl you would ask out to the pictures on a dare, only to leave her stranded at the ticket booth. Even the boys who considered her friends were just that—friends. Never anything more. While Ida and Victoria and Nina and Annamarie were busy with first kisses and sneaking out of bedroom windows late at night, Maggie sat in her room and watched them grow up without her.

There’s only so many rejections you can take before you start to think that romance, hell, even reciprocated platonic love, just isn’t something that you’re made for. Only so many missed engagements and plans made behind one’s back until you start to think that maybe there’s something, some reprehensible quality inherent to yourself, that pushed people away. 

So, she holds her breath and waits. Waits for the Mavens eventually grow tired of her. 

But they don’t.

Because it’s there, isn’t it? The love.

It’s in the filmstrips Vee develops late at night after their shifts, holed up in the makeshift darkroom she’s set up in an abandoned storage closet. It’s in the magazines Loretta always passes to her once she’s finished reading them, telling her to use it for the scrapbook, there’s some great stuff in there. It’s in the way Mabel taught her how to ride a bike way back during basic training, shocked that she had never learned, but oh so willing to help her try. Maggie can never forget the way Mabel had cheered when she finally got the hang of pedaling.

And then, of course, there’s Ken.

When she kisses him that night on the floor of Rosie’s Riveters, she burns with shame and tears, shed and unshed for her siblings and for Cleven and for Ken and for herself. She waits for him to recoil, to glare, to tell her not to do it again. At best, she waits for him to let her down easy. But he doesn’t.

That night he kisses her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it just makes her want to cry harder, because she doesn’t deserve it. Her brother is dead, her sister is missing, Major Cleven is God knows where, and she completely lost it at Rosenthal, so what right does she have to be touched like this, to be held like this? None. None at all.

At the same time, she doesn’t have it in her to fight herself. The floor of the nose is cold, and Ken is so, so warm. The kind of warmth she wishes that she could crawl into and live inside of. East Anglia is chilly this time of year.

She shifts, opening her mouth to his, and for a moment wonders what sins she’s committed to have had this feeling denied to her for twenty-one years. Yet there’s no use wondering, is there?

Ken loves her. That much is clear.

She just has to be ready to accept it. And after two decades of loneliness, that’s easier said than done.

[babygirl-riley]

Funeral

Anything Ghost touches death follows. So why did you have to go? Why did he touch you? Looked at you?

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

Warnings: typical cod violence, not a happy ending, death, memories, marriage, angst, and blood (callsign: rose)

masterlist

simon x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guns went off around the cemetery, black covered around the grave that they stood at. Uniforms to dresses. It wasn’t suppose to happen, not like it did. Ghost stood in the back trying to damn hardest not to draw attention. Naturally however it happened, little kids (he assumed were your cousins or nieces and nephews) would stare for a while trying to figure out what the hell they were staring at.

Soap and Gaz were part of the firing squad, with both of your brothers. Ghost was asked but quickly declined. He wanted nothing to do with it, since he had everything to do with your death. Your mom tried to talk to Ghost but if she was in his line of sight he would disappear. He didn’t want anything to do with your family, he didn’t want to explain. Hell he didn’t even show up to tell your family that you were gone. That you died.

“Get the civilians OUT!” You yelled over the shooting. The building was surrounded by enemy, Ghost and Soap barely made it out with the civilians they carried, ushered out. You were the only one left with another soldier and civilians. It was too much. Too much for you to get out.

Ghost snapped his head up while carrying a younger boy, he held Ghost like it was his last time. “Soap here gra…”

“No,” You yelled at him through the radio. “Simon please.”

Ghost froze and shook his head like you were here. “No I am comin to get ya.”

You sighed through the radio. “Riley that’s an order.” An order he was about to break until he froze again when your voice came through. “I love yo…agh!”

When he came to the level you were on the civilians, the solider, and you laid in blood. Not in enemies blood, your own. Eyes glossed. Chest still. Gone. He held you with no emotion when leaving, a boarding the helicopter, all the way up to wrapping you body in a fucking bag. Ghost stood over the bag for hours, placing his hand in where your forehead would be.

He didn’t say a word until Price asked him to be in the firing squad. The arguing didn’t stop for hours, Price telling him that it wasn’t his fault and that the firing squad was asked by your mother. How the hell was he suppose to shot the damn gun let alone face your parents. Especially your mother. “Simon you should be in it.” Price said looking concerned at his lieutenant.

“No. And that’s final.” Simon said slamming the door behind him.

Before standing outside, friends and family said their beautiful speeches about memories. When your father went up he didn’t speak for a solid 2 minutes. Simon didn’t look up as he talked about how you always wanted to go fight bad guys. How he would have nerf wars with you in the living room to paintball in the backyard. Your father didn’t look at Ghost the whole time, he didn’t blame him either. Ghost wouldn’t either. He was suppose to protect you and he failed. The closest he was to your family was when he carried your casket to the car.

Price stood by him as they gathered up until he had to handed your father a flag, the American flag, due to that’s where you were from. Your father held it close as tears stained his cheeks. That’s when people were laying your favorite flowers on the casket. He held the white rose clenched in his hand. “Simon.” He looked down to see your mother. “It’s time honey.”

Ghost looked back up at the casket. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. This was the last time you would be near him. He just wants to hear your voice, laugh, hell fucking cry. Just something that made you be here with him. “I can’t.” He whispered.

Your mother smiled up at him grabbing his cheeks to force to look down at her. “You don’t have to Simon but if you want, I will walk with you…” She inhaled deeply trying to choke back the sob. The tears.

Your mother loves him, he knew that. She treated like her own son, which made him miss his own mother. Your mother was so much like his. You were very similar to her as well, the smile, the kindness, the soft touch, the understanding. He watched as more people placed the rose on your casket.

“I’m not ready either,” He looked back down with tears staining her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze before turning, started to the casket.

“Simon,” You said holding him close, both of your naked bodies clinging to each other. “We should start a family.”

“A family?” Simon said eventually after a long pause. He couldn’t it wouldn’t be a good father.

“Yeah. I think once we settle,” you chuckled. “My mom would love to see a mini us.”

Simon smirked. “Your mom? What did she plant in you? Doesn’t she hate me?”

You lifted your head up. “She loves you Simon. If I disappeared she would make sure you were taken care of until the day she dies.”

Ghost placed the rose on your casket and stood there for a moment. Your mother grabbed his arm giving it a quick squeeze. Ghost followed her to stand next to her, as her casket lowered, the whimpering came. Ghost didn’t move or shoved the emotions down. Everyone started to disappear, Soap and Gaz said goodbye as they went to go pack everything up. It was only Ghost and your mom, your father went to start the car for her.

It kept raining as Ghost held the umbrella for your mother. Price came to say goodbye as well, making sure Ghost will be okay. It quiet besides the sobs that came from your mother. He wanted to do something but didn’t know how to, hell when you cried he would just hug and hold you. With anyone else, he couldn’t. It was awkward for him. It helped that he was trying to push down any tears that would threaten to come.

“She would want you to have this,” He looked down once more to find her hand grabbing his to place the silver ring with the one diamond. “You did give it to her after all.” She smirked, then she sobbed.

“Marry me.” Simon said as he stood in the safe house.

You chucked thinking it was a joke. It had to be. Why would he announce a statement like that after the hell that both of you went through. “Yeah right Ghost.”

You knew to use his callsign on the field. There wasn’t a time or place to use his real name. “No Y/N,” Making you snap you body to him. “I am serious marry me.”

You gave him a quizzed look. “Ghost you realize we are in the middle of nowhere, in a dark snowy ass forest, and you are telling me you will marry me. Whilst having blood, dirt, pretty sure snot…” Simon came to kiss you, lifting his balaclava in the process.

“Rose I want to marry you if you were covered in snot and blood. I want you and only you.” He explained softly holding your cheeks rubbing circles.

You kissed him hard, crashing your teeth to his. After parting you smirked. “I think this is the best way to propose Mr. Riley.”

“The only way Mrs. Riley.”

Ghost looked down at the ring the tiny thing in his hand. That’s when he broke. He sobbed. Sobbed hard enough to make the most horrible gasp for air. All the emotions came out. He was a reaper, killed anyone he loved in his path. He shouldn’t have touched you. Got near you. Kissed you. Talked to you. He should have left you alone. You would be alive and well, with your family. Married to a normal man that could have given you…He froze when he felt tiny arms wrap around him.

Your mother sighed and brought him into a hug, rubbing his back. “It’s alright my son, it’s alright.” Simon didn’t do anything stopped crying even, the warmth that wrapped around him. The same way you would. He started to cry once more, wrapping his arms around her.

Simon knew you were around, smiling knowing that both your mother and him would be okay. That both of you will take care of each other. Make sure to heal the grief that came to losing a daughter and wife.

[seehisbriefs]

Logically diapered

I'm not sure what category I fall under, as I'm not into wearing diapers or being little specifically. But being pressured or forced in to wearing them is so hot to me. Especially if there's a slow burn until a guy that doesn't really need diapers can't deny that he should wear them. For example, a guy wetting his pants because he's stuck somewhere for hours without access to a restroom - in his panic, he ends up wetting his pants instead of finding a cup or a plant to pee in. When he exclaims that it was just an accident and he doesn't need diapers, his dom holds up his wet pants and tighty whities and chuckles as if the guy just made an absurd statement. The sweet spot is when all the evidence that he should wear diapers piles up to the point that any attempt to explain why he doesn't need diapers, or how the accidents were just because of crazy circumstance, are laughed off or seen as denial or immaturity. Even hotter is when he's told that the only way he can show his maturity and get out of diapers is by behaving and being a good boy and wearing his diapers without complaint. Delicious. Anyway, saying or hearing the example below would have me absolutely melting:

sighs and gives a sympathetic look I know it feels unfair, sport. Believe me, I get it. shakes head No guy wants to be treated like a helpless baby, especially by his own family. It's embarrassing, it's humiliating, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. nods understandingly

leans in and speaks softly But here's the thing, kiddo - your dad and your cousin? They're not doing this to be mean or to make you feel bad. smiles gently They're doing it because they care about you and want to make sure you're safe and taken care of. pats shoulder

sits back and explains Think about it, champ. You've been having accidents, throwing tantrums, and acting out like a little kid. shrugs That's not the kind of behavior that inspires confidence in your ability to be a mature, responsible adult. raises eyebrow

continues in a kind but firm tone So really, can you blame your dad and cousin for stepping in and taking charge? tilts head They're just trying to do what's best for you, even if it doesn't feel like it right now. smiles sympathetically

leans forward and looks you in the eye I know it's hard, sport. I know it feels like the whole world is treating you like a baby and there's nothing you can do about it. nods understandingly But the truth is, the only way to prove that you're a big boy is to start acting like one. taps your chest

speaks encouragingly That means no more tantrums, no more accidents, and no more fighting against the people who are trying to help you. smiles warmly It means being brave, being mature, and showing everyone that you can handle your business like a grown-up. nods firmly

stands up and pats your head I know you can do it, kiddo. I know you've got it in you to be the kind of man your family can be proud of. grins confidently But until then, you've just gotta roll with the punches and accept that this is how things are gonna be for a while. shrugs sympathetically

walks away, calling over shoulder So chin up, little guy. smiles encouragingly Wear your diapers, mind your manners, and show 'em all what a big boy you can really be. waves and disappears from sight

yells from a distance And hey, if all else fails, at least you'll always have a soft, cushy place to sit! laughs good-naturedly and fades away

[storm-flyer]

Ok it's time to rewatch Dragons: Riders of Berk (Or DreamWorks Dragons, as Google lies to me that it's called)

It's wild to me that there are people who've only seen the HTTYD movies and not the TV shows. Because what is HTTYD without Dagur? Without Heather?? Without Gustav??? Without that old man that causes problems that I can't remember the name of????

Anyway, episode one. God knows I have absolutely no memory of what it's about. It's been a hot minute.

"How to Start a Dragon Academy"

- well I can guess what it's about now

- oh my god that intro. I'm getting mental whiplash from how instantly I was thrown back a decade

- 'This is Berk. For generations it was viking against dragon. The battles were ferocious. Then one day, everything changed. I met toothless.'

- 'Im alive?? I'm alive!!! ... Of course I am' oh snotlout

- 'You might wanna take notes.' she's so cocky I love her

- 'Yep, dragons. Most people here would say life is better since we made peace with them. Unfortunately, dragons are still, well. Dragons.'

- 🌟Mulch and Bucket🌟

- 'Most of us here on berk are willing to take the good with the bad. But there are those who will never accept the dragons, and will do anything to drive them away.' that old man

- Fungus the sheep!

- 'Ah, here's Mildew with the complaint of the day.' maybe not the best thing to say in his earshot, gobber

- 'Those devils are not built to live among civilised men.' 'Neither are you Mildew. Why do you think we built your house so far outside of town?' gobber

- 'Toothless, stop that fight! I'll put out the sheep!' sentences hiccup never thought he'd say

- 'Wow... He could really use our help.' 'We'll get to it.' 'In a minute'

- 'So, how was your day?' 'Ah, uneventful. Hung around the plaza, you know.' 'Yeah, I do know. We saw you out there. Hard to believe you're still standing'

- 'So you do have a plan?' 'I do. Of course I do!' like father like son

- 'Actually, the dragons do seem a little nervous.' 'Thats because they're very sensitive, Meatlug especially. She lost a cousin here. We try not to talk about it.' I love fishlegs and Meatlug so much

- 'Wait, so we're going behind your fathers back?' astrid. That can't be a surprise to you. That was the whole first movie.

- 'When I want hookfang to do something, I just get right in his face and DROP THAT RIGHT NOW, YOU HEAR ME?' *hookfang grabs snotlout with his mouth* 'see, he dropped it' I can't argue with that

- 'Stormfly?' 'Hookfang?' the sheer betrayal

- 'Its gonna be weird... I got used to stormfly's face being the first thing I see every morning...' 🥺🥺

- 'Its their nature. And nature always wins.' mildew that is the single most suspicious thing you could've said

- 'Feels like big sharp teeth are tearing at this thing in my chest.' 'Thats what it feels like when your heart is breaking.' 'I don't have a heart, I'm not a girl.' deep in snotlout's repression era I see

- 'Dragons are gonna do what they're gonna do, it's their nature. We just need to learn how to use it'

- 'Im too pretty for jail' I refuse to believe berk actually has a jail. At most there is one room with a metal door.

- 'I told you we were gonna get in trouble.' I mean, you didn't actually, Astrid. In fact you were thrilled to go along with the plan

- 'Dragons can't change who they are. But who would want them too?'

Well that was great! Onwards to episode two.

[rockingrobin69]

Colour-full

It was the hottest Saturday in July and Teddy had been climbing the actual walls before Harry broke and said, “Okay, okay, to the park then.”

(The wall thing was new. Ron said it was quite ‘Spider-Lad’ of him; Hermione laughed so hard she kinked her neck. Teddy’s magic, still so new and boundaryless, often manifested in ways that were either literal, or just plain wild).

And so to the park they went. To ride the stupid ‘pirate ship’ (“just one more time!”) and chase after dogs (“Teddy, no, it’s their ball!”) and get ice cream (“Please please please Uncle Harry”). Harry was, at his core, a big softie, and for Teddy all the more; so, yes, he located the nearest stand, and marched to take his place in the queue with all the resolve of a godfather on a mission.

Waited a veritable ever with Teddy’s order on repeat in his mind (chocolate with strawberry syrup, chocolate with strawberry syrup) until he was face to face with the ice cream display and—oh no, he felt faint.

Draco Malfoy should not be allowed to wear magenta.

Not because he looked bad, per-se (he looked ridiculous, like, fuck-me, ridiculous. With the hat, magenta, and the uniform, magenta, with his hair and his nose ring and a thick black choker). Mostly because the effect was a bit much, and Harry lost his ability to form speech when grey eyes finally deigned to grace him with a look.

“What can I get you, Sir?”

Blinked and blinked and sweated and blinked. “Malfoy,” Harry tried. “It’s me.”

“Indeed. So, ice cream, or…?”

Like a kick to the shin. “What? It’s—what are you even—it’s me. Harry Potter. Your, er, I mean, what are you doing selling ice cream in my park?”

One pierced eyebrow hitched. “My apologies. I wasn’t aware they’d made it your park.” With an overly-dramatic huff: “am I still allowed to work here, Mr. Potter?”

“What?” was really all he could give.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you order your ice cream, I’ll get it for you, and even refrain from spitting in it, as a personal favour. Then off you go on your merry little way and maybe get a new shirt because, sorry to say, but this one is painful on the eyes.”

“This shirt is painful on the eyes?” Harry growled, pointing at the magenta uniform, the magenta hat, the magenta backdrop of the cart.

“You’re right. Probably not the shirt. The face attached to it seems to be the problem. Now, Potter, there are people behind you, and it’s hot as fuck, so. Ice cream or sod off?”

For the longest moment he considered sodding off, but Teddy was sitting on that bench and looking very hopeful, and—charming little bubbles in rainbow colours all around him? Shit. “Erm, chocolate with raspberry syrup. Please.”

“Always were a man of high tastes,” Malfoy smirked, but he gave Harry a couple of scoops and a generous dousing of syrup, then charged him something exorbitant, then winked. Harry—had no time to deal with this.

Running back to Teddy (“hey, buddy, so, those bubbles, are you making them on purpose or…?”) with an already-dripping ice cream cone and a strange, swooping feeling in his belly (not hunger). By the time he’d spelled Ted’s hands clean, he already forgot about Malfoy and the whole thing.

Only remembered that night after bedtime. The back of his eyes when he shut them shone oddly magenta.

*

Went to the park the following week without Teddy (spending some time with Remus’s cousin). On his own, in a fairly-nice shirt and smart shoes. Not because, erm, just, he had to make sure. Right? Had to make sure.

The cart wasn’t where Harry’d seen it last week. Possibly he imagined the whole thing? He was overheated and terribly sleep-deprived. But on his way back to the car park, a different ice cream stand, where the staff seemed to be dressed in neon-green, and one of them was flipping Harry off.

Oh. It felt just like that in his chest: an oh. There he was.

Marched over with wholesome indignation, fist ready for the shaking. But Malfoy stepped out of the cart, leaning in its shadow. “Back for another go? We’ve got a new apple-kiwi flavour.”

“What happened to the,” big hand gesture, “magenta place?”

“Hmm? It’s still there. I just think green’s more my colour,” head titled back, long throat bare. “What do you want, Potter? Don’t tell me you came here for ice cream.”

“What if I did?” asked Harry, who didn’t.

Malfoy sighed. His eyes opened, large and startling. “Then I’d recommend you get in the queue and leave me the fuck alone.”

“And—” hand reaching out to stop him, no, Malfoy can’t leave, that’s not how this worked, “and what if it wasn’t ice cream I came for?”

“Then you need to make a decision. If it’s a brawl you want, you’d have to wait till after my shift. If it’s—something else,” suddenly he was very close, huffing warm breath on Harry’s face, “then you should really get here earlier.”

“What? Why?” paralysed by the proximity, buzzing on Malfoy’s sharp smell, apple and citrus and—kiwi?

“Potter, this is the ice-cream world. First come, first serve.” And he was off, back to the cart with his choker and his arse, for which such tight trousers should be made fucking illegal. Put his arm around his coworker, winked again. Harry didn’t like it, didn’t know what to do with the whole thing, with any of it. Took himself back home and sulked at the walls until too late at night.

Decided. It was even fairly easy. Fell asleep and dreamed of a forest, of the sea.

*

Continue reading on Ao3 - or below the cut

“Brawl,” he announced when he finally found Malfoy, now wearing all yellow. “I want a brawl. You need to be punched, and I could take a few kicks, I reckon. Let’s brawl.”

“Hurray,” Malfoy smiled. “I finish at six. Meet me behind the pirate ship. And, Potter, you should probably wear something a little less nice if fisticuffs is what you’re going for.”

Not grinning (Malfoy thinks his shirt is nice?) Harry went back home, made lunch for Teddy, dreamed a little with his eyes open. Cleaned the debris of the cabinet Ted’s magic accidentally exploded, releasing candy flying everywhere, changed into joggers and a tee.

“Where are you going, again?” asked Ron, who came by to babysit. He settled down in the living room with a hand on the remote and the other around a huge bowl of popcorn.

“Nowhere special. Just a little walk in the park or something. Going to watch the new Spider-Lad?”

“Paw Patrol!” Teddy exclaimed, his whole face a toothless grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Paw Patrol? Again? Teddy, there’s a whole world of cinematic goodness for us to discover, and Auntie Hermione still thinks I’m full of it but there are whole films about animals who can talk!”

“Full of it,” Harry said.

“Shut up, mate, I’m serious! What do you say, Ted? A lion that can sing, or those pup detectives again?”

“Paw Patrol!”

“Okay. Paw Patrol it is.” A desolate, commiserating look to Harry: “Honestly, what is it tonight? You can’t stop smiling.”

“Nothing, nothing, I promise.” Nearly ran to the park, was there well before half-five, antsy and giddy and nervous. Walked around and around in circles, oblivious to the kids and families and shouts from the pirate ship. To anything that wasn’t—

Malfoy appeared, still in yellow, making him look slightly sallow and lanky. Coming closer. Harry’s heart was rioting in his chest, was going to deafen him.

“You came,” Malfoy said. He looked pleased. It was shaded behind the ride, a grassy area empty of trees. Malfoy dropped his backpack to the ground, pulled something out of it. Still crouched: “Do you want to count us down, or…?”

“Erm. Sure.” Harry’s never really done it like this before. Scheduled like a play-date or something. Malfoy was still on his knees near the bag. “Three… two… one?”

What attacked him was too soft and too cold to be hands—oh, Malfoy just dumped ice cream on his head, quickly melting into his hair, sticky down his throat, under his shirt. Tongue darting out to taste it: yuck, lemon.

“Bastard!” Harry cried, half-blinded with the soft substance, lunging at him with his eyes closed: “come here, you fucking, arsehole, let me,” found Malfoy’s hair and pulled. “You think this is funny?”

“Ow, ah, ha ha,” fucker, he really did, folded nearly in two in Harry’s arms, “it, gods, just too much—”

“Yeah? How would you like it if I,” scooping a dollop out of his hair and shoving it in the general area of Malfoy’s face, hopefully where the choking sounds were coming out of.

“Potter, stop, stop, I can’t,” laughing like a maniac, not even trying to kick Harry off. “Potter!”

Harry somehow managed to shove them both to the grass, where they’d started rolling, sticky and covered in horrible melting cream, both of them swimming in it, both of them laughing. “You’re such a git,” smearing as much as he could on Malfoy’s face, on his uniform, on his neck. Climbed atop him and pinned him down, laughing, laughing.

“You,” Malfoy sputtered, “P-otter, ha, I can’t, ow, ah—”

“Am I hurting you?” asked Harry, who only earlier today planned on punching him. Slid on top of Malfoy’s slimy clothes until he had one sticky cheek in his hand. “Malfoy, are you okay?”

He was still laughing. “Is this,” his chest heaving, “is this what you, ha, wanted?”

“No,” empathetically, laughing too. “You’re a lunatic. It’s—grand.”

“Honestly, when you came and, haha, brawl, I couldn’t—” wiping his eyes, it must sting, all this melted ice cream where it really shouldn’t be. “Ow, this was a terrible idea.”

Harry didn’t know if he agreed. Sticking his pinkie finger in the welling of liquid gathered under Malfoy’s collarbone, bringing it to his lips: “It’s actually not that bad.”

“Hmm?” looking up at Harry, those bright eyes. “Yes?”

“Here, have some.” It was half surprising, how gentle his finger was, tracing Malfoy’s bottom lip till it opened. How carefully he fed Malfoy his own ice cream. Half a surprise and half… not.

Malfoy licked his lips, made Harry’s whole body shiver. “Mm. Not the best. Come back tomorrow and I’d give you something really nice.”

“Can it maybe come in a cone?” this hopeful thing igniting in his belly. “You know, like normal ice cream?”

Malfoy was still laughing. Harry could feel it between his knees, where Malfoy’s ribs were shaking. “Sure. In a cone. You chicken.”

“I’m the—” incensed, Harry leaned down to swipe a big lick from Malfoy’s neckline all the way to his jaw. It tasted awful and slightly electrifying. Forgetting all about the rebuke, Harry did it again.

“Po—Potter,” a moan, when Harry sucked the salty-sweet skin. “Potter!”

“Sweet,” Harry said nonsensically. “You—it’s sweet.”

His smile, when it stretched in yucky, sticky lines on his face. Made Harry’s chest sort of spark. “I can be sweet, too. Just you wait.”

When he kissed him, he tasted like lemons.

*

The next day Teddy accidentally grew a tail and two ears while arguing another rewatch of Paw Patrol. The nice witch from Mungo’s said it was no issue, that they would probably spell off in a day or two. Gave them a very odd-looking hat and advised them to go out and enjoy this brilliant, sunny day.

What else could they do, then, but go to the park?

Walked around and around, rode the pirate ship three times, searched in every ice cream stand until, by total accident: “Potter,” with a tilt of his head. All in blue, a truly unfair sight. “And his little monkey, too.”

“I’m a pup!” Teddy shouted, running towards him. “Paw Patrol!”

“Indeed,” Malfoy agreed with a strange smile. “It’s good to meet you, Edward. I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy!” Teddy already knew? Somehow? “Uncle Harry talks about you all the—”

“Ha ha,” covering the whole little face with his hand, “he’s joking, of course. No, I, erm, probably told him a thing or two about the—ice cream, or something. Teddy, do you want some ice cream?”

“Mm-hmm!” from behind Harry’s hand. Pointing at a flavour that didn’t look much like anything, a blue blurb. 

Malfoy nodded, considering. “Excellent choice, young pup sir. Blueberry bubble-gum, coming right up. And for the gentleman?”

Teddy pointed at something that looked even less like it should be edible. Malfoy’s devilish grin told him he was correct in that assessment. “Hmm. Naturally, naturally. In fact, and if I might add—sprinkles?”

Ted started jumping up and down. His hat shifted slightly, showing what now were—

“Oh my,” Malfoy covered his own mouth, and what turned out to be laughter, “blue ears, Edward? That’s not something you see every day.”

Teddy came forward to watch how Malfoy scooped up the ice cream with the big spoon, eyes round. “Can I do that?” he turned to Harry. “Please, please, can I—”

“Why not? Hop in. I’ll show you how to do it so even your Uncle Harry is impressed.” And he guided Teddy’s hand to scoop up Harry’s ice cream, in what had to be at least twenty different health-code violations. “Do you want to do the sprinkles too?”

Was how they all ended up covered in sprinkles, and Malfoy closed off the stand (“smoking break, something, whatever,”) and they took a walk around the park till they found a slightly shaded area.

It really was a brilliant day. Teddy was happy enough even with the weird, itchy hat, and Malfoy was—bright blue. This thing melting in Harry’s chest felt uncomfortably close to ice cream.

*

On his lunch break the next day, Malfoy was wearing orange. He wondered if it was his ice-cream business, and he’s the one who changed colour every day; or if there truly were so many rivalling stands, each with their own theme. It didn’t matter. None of it did, besides for Malfoy’s lips, which stretched into a smile, and his eyes, crinkling with it too, and his hands, reaching out for Harry.

“So?” he asked when Harry was close enough to take one. “Did I pass. The test. The—dogged deliberation.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry laughed, pulled him closer.

“Teddy, of course! You brought him as your expert judge, I expect. What did he say? Am I allowed to do this?” brought Harry’s hand to his mouth, kissed it. “And, this?” pinched his side painfully.

“Ow! Bastard! I didn’t—Teddy was just off because of the whole, ear thing. I didn’t bring him to judge you or whatever.”

“So why did you come here?” eyebrow rising, rising. With that piercing that made Harry want to lick it. “I mean, there are many other things you could do on a day off, but you keep coming—here.”

“This is my park,” Harry reminded him gently. Malfoy scoffed, turned his face away. “Hey—”

“No, no, you’re right. Your park. I suppose that makes me your employee? Kinky shit, Sir.”

“Malfoy.” Tugged his chin up, made him look. “I keep coming here because I like you. Because you’re deranged and I don’t get you half the time and I like you. Is that enough, or do you want the whole song and dance?”

This half-smile he kept chewing on springing loose. “Ooh, there’s a dance?”

Harry kissed him, helpless with it. “You’re such an arsehole,” into his neck, and today Malfoy smelled like orange blossom and like mango, something addictive and crushing, unbearable. “How do you even,” inhaling deep, deep, “do this?”

“Magic, of course,” Malfoy laughed, and kissed him back.

The problem was it was magic. The problem was Harry couldn’t get enough. The main problem was, he couldn’t remember why that was a problem.

*

The next day he couldn’t go to the park again (something about staying an hour past his lunch break? Something about barely showing up to work in a week. Something about being an adult and having responsibilities, something silly). Harry texted the number Malfoy gave him, which might have been a joke, or a hoax, didn’t hope for much.

Got a reply a little too quickly. A photo of an ice cream stand, all in pink. Then an emoji with the tongue sticking out. Harry thought: this man is mad, and I might be head over heels for him. Smiled into his coffee cup and thought about what to cook for Teddy tonight. Maybe he’d invite Malfoy over? Maybe it could be a thing. God, could he make it a thing, could he build something out of it, this colourful whirlwind of a spark?

Closed his eyes: everything was pink, like a mouth puckered for a kiss, like cartoon hearts. Decided, and it was even fairly easy.

*

“You have to try the lavender.”

“Yes, Uncle Harry, try it, try it!”

Harry rolled his eyes, prayed for mercy. “Awfully suspicious, the two of you are being.”

“What! Teddington, I think your uncle just insulted us. Show him how we feel about that.” Teddy tried to pout, but he was smiling too much. “Very good. Now, come on, Harry, we made it especially for you!”

It was purple. The whole cart, the whole world, behind his eyelids and the silly suit Malfoy was wearing. Harry opened his mouth and let them stick a spoon in. Swallowed: lavender. Oddly nice, just a little sweet, just the way he liked it.

“You both are,” Harry tried, couldn’t find the word. Mad and brilliant and purple. “Ach, come here.” Wrapping his arms around all the sticky limbs he could find, this rumbling in his chest still, to this day, close to toppling him over.

It was very colourful, being alive.

In the distance Ted’s bubbles were distinctly purple, too. 

For the brilliant @purplehotmess who gave me such a sweet prompt! 

[saturnscode]

PART 1

Pete's skin is soft.

And Vegas has tasted every bit of it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he wasn’t supposed to be lying on the bed with Pete's arms wrapped around his waist and the sunlight coming through the window kissing his bare back. Vegas wasn’t supposed to be brushing his hair from his eyes feeling like he’s running out of air because he has finally come to the conclusion he's been avoiding for weeks.

But last night, as he fucked Pete, slowly and tenderly until their muscles were sore and their heads were spinning, he knew it was too late for him. He was already in love.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Pete was just a tool to get close to Porsche and piss his cousin off and ruin the deal of the hotel's new branches. He just wanted to mess with their heads like he’s been doing his entire life, Pete was a mere link, a fun fuck. Because that’s what Vegas does to gain trust, that’s how he has snatched all Kinn’s boyfriends before. With sex.

But it all went to hell when Vegas kissed those lips in the dirty alley behind Porsche's bar. His mind went numb when he heard Pete's little noises every time he touched him.

Vegas was so fucked he felt suffocating.

He closed his eyes when he felt Pete's eyes wandering on his chest and he felt out a breath when his lips touched his jawline.

"What's on your mind?" Pete asked in a whisper as he was trying to maintain the quiet atmosphere of his Uni dorm.

You. He wants to reply, but it’s more than that.

"Nothing," he smiles, "work stuff, sorry."

Pete smiles, excited. He gets on top of Vegas biting his lower lip, placing his hand on top of his chest, and resting his chin on top of them.

"Porsche is getting back tomorrow from his vacation," he says and his eyes shine so bright it breaks his heart, "we can have dinner with him and his boyfriend at night, what do you think?"

Vegas has been pushing it, trying everything in his power to avoid Porsche and Kinn the moment he started enjoying Pete's company a little too much. He didn’t want it to end, he's been hanging by a thread and he doesn’t know how long it will last when the end seems so near.

"I don’t know, pet." He replies, playing with his hair. "I'm pretty busy lately."

"Oh, c'mon, Grey," he whines and Vegas closes his eyes.

He hates that name. At first, he spitted out when he introduced himself that night in the bar and he's been cursed with it since then. It's the name Pete knows, it's the name he calls and moans, it's the name of the man he loves and Vegas hates.

"It's been eight months already," he pouts, "he’s starting to think I'm faking this whole 'boyfriend' thing since you don’t have any social media and you won’t let me take a picture with you." He pouts and Vegas wants to bite his lips off.

Instead, he stares. He brushes dust from his cheeks and enjoys the little smile Pete gives him. He’s too good and too naïve. It was easy to make him fall in love, but it was easier for Vegas to lose himself in him. He became an escape from his father’s expectations and his self-hatred, he made him forget about who he is with gentle touches and dumb jokes.

He would keep his secrets and treasure them deep in his heart, and then he would try to make Vegas laugh because he couldn’t bear seeing him cry. He cried on his lap as he played with his hair and he felt safe. And he knows he doesn’t deserve him, he knows he started a game he is bound to lose and now, there are no more cards to play.

"Do we have to prove it to him?" He replies like he’s been doing for the past few months.

He would do this thing where is questions Pete’s love, making him feel bad so he would drop the subject alone for a couple of weeks before trying again.

"No, but he is my best friend," he frowns and Vegas wants to kiss it away. "I want the most important people in my life to meet each other."

Vegas smirks, trying to change the mood.

"Oh, are we in the same place in your life?" He says as his hand wanders over Pete's skin, gentle touches from his back to the soft skin of his ass.

Pete holds his breathe, "no, I just-"

He cannot finish the sentence because Vegas' lips attack his, the same moment his fingers wander into the crack of his ass and grab, tightly.

Vegas turns them over, Pete's wrapped around his body, whimpering and crying as he scratches Vegas’ back the moment he thrusts into him.

"Grey," he groans and Vegas hits him deeper, faster.

He hates that name, but he loves the man under him.

*

"He'll be here," Pete says, stealing glances at the door behind him.

They've been waiting for his boyfriend to arrive for 40 minutes. Even when his best friend doesn’t say it, Pete can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t think Grey is coming, but he promised, and Pete trusts him. He has never failed him, yet.

Porsche is sitting with his boyfriend in front of him. They're holding hands over the table in this fancy restaurant and Pete feels a little - very much - alone.

It's incredible how much Porsche's life has changed. He went from having three different jobs only to support his little brother and trying to keep his house, to changing his major to help Kinn in the future because that’s how certain they are about being together for the rest of their lives.

At first, Pete was reluctant. At Kinn, at his friend's life choices and the entire relationship, but after nights of crying and Kinn doing everything in his hands to prove himself to Porsche, Pete started to believe Yok's bar was magical.

That’s where Porsche met Kinn, and where Pete met Grey.

Pete smiles to himself. He didn’t think they had any future. It was just a one-night stand for him, but then he started bumping into Grey everywhere he went like it was destiny.

He made him feel like no one has before. The way he looks at him, the way he talks to him, and the way he touches him. It's like he was handmade only for Pete to enjoy, to please, to love.

"Ugh," Kinn says, looking annoyed. "This can't be real."

Porsche raises an eyebrow and follows with his eyes to the place Kinn is staring now.

"Oh, great," Porsche mumbles, squirming in his seat.

"What happened?" Pete crouches down on the table, whispering to Porsche.

"Nothing, just Kinn's cousin walking in."

Pete has heard of him. The 'pain-in-the-ass' cousin named Vegas. The guy who is always trying to mess with everything Kinn has or does.

Pete starts to turn his back because even when he has heard plenty of stories about him, he has never seen his face and he would be lying if he says he's not curious.

"No, don’t turn!" Porsche whispers, "let's not look at him so he goes to another table."

Pete nods, standing still in his chair until he sees the displeased look on both Kinn’s and Porsche’s faces.

"Great," Kinn says under his breath.

But their expressions change, suddenly dropping at the same time he feels a hand squeezing his shoulder.

He recognizes the touch, damn, he even recognizes the scent behind him, so he wraps his hand around his wrists and turns to look at him. He's dressed in all black, just like the night they met.

"You're here," Pete smiles.

"I promised I'd be here." He says, his eyes never leaving Kinn's.

Pete frowns because, suddenly, something feels off.

"What is this, Vegas?" Kinn asks, laying back on the chair.

"Vegas?" Pete asks, confused, his eyes going from Kinn to Grey, not understanding the situation. "No, P'Kinn, this is Grey, my boyfriend."

He smiles and turns to Porsche. That’s when his heart drops. Porsche is shaking his head, looking at him with pain in his eyes. Pete turns to Grey once again.

"Grey?" He asks, trying to make him look at him, but he doesn’t move, his jaw tightens up and his fingers start to play with his rings.

That’s when he sees it, a ring that looks a lot like Kinn but in silver. Pete can't breathe.

"Grey?" He asks, softly, with his heart on his throat and his fingers wrapped around his arm. "Why are they calling you Vegas?"

"Porsche," Kinn says and he nods, standing up immediately, grabbing Pete's arm.

"Pete, let's go home." He pleads, but Pete is not having it.

"Grey, what is this?" He shakes his arm but he won't flinch. So he licks his lips, letting a trembling sigh out, "Vegas?"

He turns, slowly, tilting his head to the side, looking at Pete.

He freezes, beside him is the same man that kissed every inch of his body just this morning but his eyes are empty, dark, and soulless. Pete feels like he cannot breathe anymore.

So he releases his arm and lets Porsche drag him out of the restaurant. His eyes never leave the man on the table until the elevator’s doors close on them. He blinks a couple of times and now, he is inside a car, his head in Porsche's chest as he whispers 'sorry' and 'we'll fix everything, don’t worry', but he doesn’t worry, even with the tears running down his face, he can’t feel anything.

[salty-dracon]

hsr 2.5 quest yeeeeeee

feixiao is fun, she's chill but not in a boring way. she's chill in a fun way

marchieeee you've gotta do important thingsssss

love how jing yuan hears lingsha spouting some shit and gives lingsha basically a giant ap xianzhou history lesson on what politics actually went down

WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY???

jiaoqiu: listen guys I can't just give you drugs and call it a day. I gotta do this shit to you link breath of the wild tears of the kingdom style.

jdjskdghddhkd jiaoqiu's two options were 'taunt them' and 'turn them against each other'

game be like IF YOU ASK FOR HELP YOU WILL DIE DONT ASK FOR HELP YOUR ENSLAVERS WILL KILL YOU

this guy sucks. I hope he gets bodied in a really boring way. by a foxian. I hope yukong hits him with the homegoods concrete brick.

writers be like "we're gonna psychologocally torture this fox guy because we really need the fandom to like him"

hey what are you doing? hsr characters can't climb trees! that's illegal!

feixiao is so epic lmao

LET HIM COOK (LET HIS ENGLISH VA COOK!)

also shoutout to hoolay's VA because his work is unique in these sorts of games and it fucks severely

they got coca cola ads in the wardance ring LMAO

I wish feixiao's battle intro was longer and had more oomph to it lol (2seconds later) LMAO HER TECHNIQUE

ngl I kind of find the xianzhou generals' similarities a little boring. "they're good leaders with high respect for the chain of command but they're a little bit silly" gets boring after a while. need more random weirdos from this locale who have nothing to do with the military or government. need xianzhou sampo. the independent unlicensed dentist

feixiao wields awesome power and she keeps showing it off in funnier and funnier ways

dude you cannot bring American capitalism into this. the coca cola ads are just gonna be "limited wolf edition"

I knew the moment they announced owlbert was here that hoolay would arrive in 0.9 seconds. he doesn't have an ingame model, if he did it would have been leaked weeks ago

xianzhou stories be like: and actually jing yuan thought of everything and this went all according to his plan because he's so good at this (both affectionate and derogatory)

and so the fate of the xianzhou lies in the palms of two fifteen year olds and the nineteen year old cousin they taught swordfighting to last month

I want my gender to be big werewolf with sword so bad. AND his animations are insane

HEY DOES HE DIE??? DID HE PUT POISON INSIDE HIS OWN BODY AND LET THE GUY EAT HIM. IS THAT WHAT HE DID. THEY MISTRANSLATED PEPPERS AS CHILIS

YANQING I KNEW YOU WEREN'T COMPLETE TRASH

oh. oh that's not good. that's not good. I think that's not good at all. how did you fit a whole moon in your chest

oh okay she's got some kind of divine beast in her body. that's unreasonably cool

ohhhhh she's a boss fight. that's hot

yeah I figured this out once he did the crimson moon trick. if feixiao has borisin blood and she eats his heart, she'll become a new warhead, similar to the line of succession in laceron

hoolay: foxian and borisin are just labels, be who you want!

feixiao: then why do you keep calling people slurs

KILL THE MONSTER WITHIN YOURSELF BE THE HUNTER EARN THE GAZE OF A GOD YOOOOO

[screechthemighty]

Speaking of mentor figures, how about grieving the loss of one? Bit of a short update, but hey, an update's an update. AO3 link will be in a reblog, but here's the full chapter!

crash and burn (and then return again) | a titanfall 2 fanfic part three

.

The next day brought paperwork.

So, so much paperwork.

His recounting of Typhon could be given entirely in writing since he still struggled with being verbal. Writing it down was hard, but even the thought of giving a verbal interview, of having to actually talk about what he’d gone through, exhausted him. In writing, he could be concise, dispassionate, pretend it happened to some other poor SOB named Jack and he was just recounting it.

It didn’t really work that way, but at least he ended up crying in private and not on camera.

After the paperwork, it was time for another exam. The medic remembered him from last time and kept the AAC tablet out in case he needed it, which he appreciated. Fortunately, he was able to work his way up from one-word answers to short sentences as the exam went on.

Physically, he needed rest and to eat well. Psychologically, there were people he could speak to planet side that would help him out with this “difficult period.” He was given leave papers and a referral to a therapist who had experience working with autistic clients. “I’m not sure how much time you’ll be able to take, but take as much as you can,” the doctor said. “I’ve seen too many pilots burn out from overwork, and you’ve been through something unique.”

Not that unique after Broadsword, Cooper thought, but didn’t say. That was a bit too much for him to get out of his mouth at the moment, and at any rate, it felt a little too dark. You got used to gallows humor when you were in the military, but…

No, it was too soon to comment on either situation.

Cooper was walking from the med bay and debating whether he should risk getting food or just go back to sleep when Sarah Briggs rounded the corner. “Cooper, there you are,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

Bad was the first word that came to mind, but he shoved it back quickly. “Physically fit, ma’am,” he said instead.

“Glad to hear it. Did they get you set up with leave papers?” Cooper showed them to her, but kept the psych referral tucked in the back. “That’s good. Any family on Harmony?”

Cooper shook his head. All his family were still on Persephone, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the whole gaggle of his cousins, anyway. “I might.” Cooper paused to fully form the sentence in his head. “Someone I know might be stationed there. She’s with logistics.”

“She’ll probably be there, then. You’re more than welcome to visit. I know the head of R&D wants a word once you’re planet side. And…” Briggs hesitated. “Cassie…Captain Lastimosa’s niece, I don’t know if you knew about her…she may not know yet.”

Cooper’s chest ached. He did know about Cassie. Lastimosa had talked about her more than once. He was a little surprised that she didn’t know by now, but maybe they wanted to tell her in person. “She’ll probably have questions,” Briggs continued. “I don’t know if you’ll be up for it, but…”

“I’ll talk to her,” Cooper said. It would hurt, but… “She should hear it from me.” He’d been there when Lastimosa died. Stepped into his gear, his Titan, his mission. It was only right that she got the whole story from him.

Briggs nodded. “That’s kind of you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Appreciate probably wasn’t the right word, but Cooper didn’t want to think about that right now. A new question was gnawing at him, demanding some kind of answer. “What happens to me after, ma’am?”

Briggs didn’t hesitate. “Like I said, you’ve more than earned your pilot’s certification. They’ll probably want to run you through all the entrance tests, just to check where you need additional training, but that’s it. You’re one of us now, Cooper, if you still want to be.”

If all that stuff about parallel timelines was true, there was a Jack Cooper who was overjoyed to be getting that news. A Jack Cooper who had earned his way in under less bloody circumstances and felt he had the right to celebrate. The Cooper he was, though, could only feel a hollow ache.

He would have given up his dream of becoming a pilot in a heartbeat if it meant Lastimosa and BT could live.

But it didn’t work that way, and backing out now felt like spitting on everything Lastimosa had ever done for him. So, Cooper nodded. “I do want that,” he said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He had to be worthy of Lastimosa’s sacrifice now. Worthy of all the trust and belief the man had put in him.

Worthy of all the trust and belief BT had put in him, too.

No matter what it took.

[beegoould]

I want to share how my mom died. I’ll hide it below.

If we’ve been mutuals for awhile you probably know that my mom was a jerk and a narcissist, so our relationship was complicated and I didn’t speak to her for several years. Over the last few years she drove away the rest of our family - my brothers, their kids, aunts and uncles and cousins - which makes the whole thing even sadder.

One day she told my dad she wanted to go to an estate sale. Dad said he thought it was a bad idea because she had balance issues and her asked her a few times to stay away. She insisted, and immediately fell while climbing the porch steps and hurt her knee. Dad took her to the doctor to get it looked at and everything was ok.

A week or two later her knee was painful and swelling. She went to the family doctor and he said it was arthritis and injected cortisone into the area. A week later her knee was even more swollen, red and warm to the touch. They went to the family doctor and he gave her another cortisone injection. It’s arthritis, it’s going to hurt, he said.

The next day she couldn’t get up and dad found out that he couldn’t lift her anymore. They called an ambulance and went to the ER. The doctors determined she had an infection and removed a CUP of puss from the area. Turns out cortisone can hinder healing and recovery from infections, and sometimes even cause them. Who knew. Thought maybe a doctor would but oh well.

She was admitted into the hospital and had surgery to remove the rest of the puss and remove dead and infected tissue. It was pretty awful and she was in a lot of pain. The infection had spread to her blood so she was getting iv antibiotics. She immediately alienated herself from the people providing her care by complaining about everything, including them, all the time. She insisted that they change rules and regulations for her. My sister in law talked the her nurse who was trying to explain some of the treatment issues they were running into without saying anything negative about mom. SIL reassured her by stopping her and saying, “I’m really sorry.” and that was enough.

Mom moved to a rehab center, the worst one in town because that was all that was available. She refused physical therapy for a long time but eventually gave in. She was still on antibiotics for her infection. While she was at the rehab center she caught pneumonia, and she was admitted into the hospital again.

By this time she was done doing what the doctors said, and the next day she went home with a chest full of phlegm and a wound that needed care but with no scheduled nurse visits or physical therapy appointments. The hospital gave them oxygen and a loaner wheelchair. The oxygen tank ended up being empty.

They got a portable toilet and put it next to the bed so she wouldn’t have to go all the way to the bathroom. That night, my dad told her to wake him up when she needed to use it and made her promise to turn on the light if she went anywhere. She got up in the middle of the night and tried using the toilet without dad’s help as well as in the dark and fell.

The next day they got a full oxygen tank and all seemed well. Dad went on a quick errand that ended up not being necessary. The bank called and said they needed some information and asked for dad to call them. She told him they needed him to go to the bank in person. This happens often because mom didn’t listen when people spoke. She filled in the gaps in her memory of the conversation with whatever her mind came up with.

Dad went to the bank, found out he didn’t need to be there, came home and found her dead. He called 911 and did cpr. An ambulance took them to the hospital. A doctor worked on her a few minutes, but she was gone.

There’s so much about this that fills me with rage. The family doctor ignored her pain and symptoms and his treatments probably made the infection worse. His dismissal meant that she didn’t get treatment for the infection until it spread into her blood. The hospital sent her home with an empty oxygen tank. When I think about how much pain she was in and how scared she must have been, I can’t breathe. But at the same time I’m angry at her. She made so many selfish decisions, and if that sounds crazy maybe it is, sometimes I feel like I am. She fought at every step of treatment and went home against medical advice and hurt herself doing the one thing my dad asked her not to do. And all of these things contributed to dad finding her dead in their bed. Can you even imagine? And my brother telling everyone “We’re going to tell dad that she knew she was going to die so she wanted to come home.” So we could all get our story straight.

I’m probably a huge asshole. I’m probably a giant pile of shit for being mad at her. And her being gone makes me question everything all over again. Was she really that bad? Was I just too sensitive?

Anyway. That’s my story. If you read it, I’m sorry.