#it's just... being an awful person with fucked up thoughts in your head shouldn't be a crime; I'm serious about that too

[knifegremliin]

turns out the ocd has been Symptoming for a hot minute and fucking up everything and I Didn't Realize 👍

[medicinemane]

Everyone's against cringe culture and shit like that, but pretty much everyone seems to have an arbitrary line they draw in the sand

I'm not talking concrete lines where like you have some quantifiable metric for it. You think I don't have lines? Of course I do, there's stuff that's blatantly stuff that causes direct harm to people, though at that point it's not about someone being weird, it's about someone doing actual bona fide harm

But that's the thing, a lot of people it's just they'll be like "no, we shouldn't make fun of people... but this person's being weird"

And it's like... you can say anyone's being weird. If that's where we draw the line then literally there's no reason for people not to make fun of you for innocent but slightly weird shit, and we're right back where we started

"Yeah, but this person's being weird", yeah, not shit, I think they're weird too but like... that's not the point, that's irrelevant. The point is that you can't just shift the rules. If it's wrong to shit on some people for being weird, it's wrong to shit on any people for being weird. You need to produce some quantifiable bad they're doing like say... going in to strangers in boxes to say stuff that makes them uncomfortable, now we've got a clear reason why what they're doing isn't ok

Though to be clear here, they're still not bad for being weird, they're bad for their other actions

Like... I don't want to give an actual examples, cause it honestly doesn't matter, but do you think I don't browse the internet and find all kinds of stuff where I think "could you fucking not"?

...but then I move on cause it's honestly not worth my fucking time. Either there's an actionable offense that needs reporting or I can just move on (or a need to change things so certain destructive or dangerous behaviors can be reported, though that requires being able to say why this needs to be a thing in concrete terms)

Just... I don't know... drives me nuts how people, including people I like, will talk a big game about cringe culture needing to die, but then do the exact same shit

"But you don't get it, this time they we're being too weird, it was creepy", yeah, but they weren't actually hurting anyone, and guess what? There's someone out there who'd be happy to use that excuse to shit on you

So there it is

[hobie-enthusiast]

UNLIKELY CLASH !

— rulebreaker!hobie brown x perfectionist!gn!reader

— enemies to lovers, swearing (more than last and fuck too), mutual pining, making out, small bit of harassment, rebellious teens, confused feelings, getting together

— hobie brown was everything you weren’t, so maybe that’s what attracted the two of you together so well (pt. 2)

— here part two gang! honestly i have an idea for part three in mind but if that’s something u honestly want pls lmk asap

— part 1 | part 2 (here) | part 3

The next couple of weeks were.. odd between you and Hobie.

Even after a heartfelt confession about the pressure you felt, you still had a reputation to uphold. You kept treating him the way you normally did; ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist.

At first, this didn't really bother Hobie. He was used to chasing after you, messing with you and poking fun at the student council president. But he was getting bored. The small bits of making you late to class or taking up your time were amusing, but he wanted more of a reaction from you.

When he started interacting less and less, you grew confused. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked the attention and small interactions.

Though it was small, being late and skipping class (very rarely at this point), made you excited. It made you feel.. alive in a way.

But all that was dissipating. And you were upset about it.

You sat in your room after a long school day, mindlessly scrolling through your computer. Your parents had asked that you try and find a prom outfit, but that became boring really quick. You could never wear something truly exciting; just some fancy outfit plain coloured with fancy hair.

A knock on your window startled you from your thoughts. Glancing out, you see Hobie looking in, motioning for you to open the window. You walk over confused, deciding to open the window.

"Brown? It's.." You glance back at your alarm clock. "..10 pm. What are you doing here?"

"Awe, come on sweetheart. After such a confession, shouldn't we be on a first name basis?" He says, inviting himself into your room.

You scoff. "One, no, as you don't use my first name. And two, you can't be here! My parents are right down the hall!"

Hobie shrugged as he looked around your room, analyzing the decor. He noticed the clean desk you had, along with a neat bookshelf of many scientific books and knick-knacks. It suited you, every detail down to the way your game console sat neatly on your TV stand, not a speck of dust in sight.

"Did you show up just to judge my room?"

Hobie shook his head. "Nah, came t' ask ya somethin'." He said, sitting on your desk chair. "Up for an adventure?"

"Excuse me?" You question, taking a seat across from him on your bed. "When?"

"Now."

You know Hobie was.. absolutely crazy in some ways. But this? Going on a random adventure on a Friday night, and asking the person he wants to go with by entering their room via window was.. not the kind of crazy you would categorize him as.

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms. "You serious right now?"

"As serious as I always am." He responds with a shrug. "'s up to you. We'll be gone 'till tomorrow. Either 'u're up for a challenge or not."

A challenge he says? Hobie knew that you could be riled up from being challenged to do something. Perfectionists always had to win in his eyes.

And he was right.

"Give me five minutes."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Next thing you knew, you were on a train from your isolated little town to Brooklyn itself. Hobie blindly led you onto a train, told you to not worry about tickets, then let the train take you both to the destination in mind.

Of course Hobie remembered what you said at the tree. He had been holding onto it for a while now. He knew you wanted to go to a city, do whatever you wanted, just for a little bit. And he was going to be the one to give that to you. Why? Well, that's a question he couldn't answer for himself.

"Brooklyn?" You questioned, looking out of the train window. "Why Brooklyn?"

"You said it under the tree. Ya wanted to go to the city, no?"

You nodded slowly, looking back out the window with a small smile. Of course you were flattered that he remembered your words. At least, you were hoping he did, you practically poured your feelings out.

Once the train stopped, you both stepped out of the station to admire the tall buildings towering over you. Hobie couldn’t help but be amused at the way your eyes shined at the new scenery. He practically came here everyday.

But he couldn’t tell you that. Not without plausible answers to the inevitable questions.

“So..” You turn to look at him, eyes still bright. “What do we do?”

He shrugs, hands in his vest pockets. “Whatever ya want. ‘s ‘ur day, no?”

"But I don't know where to go. I've never been to the city before."

Hobie's eyes widened for a moment, shocked at your words. You were really so sheltered you hadn't been to the city right beside your town? The thought alone was crazy to Hobie. He never understood why adults were so.. controlling.

He sighs, walking ahead. "Follow me then. I'll show ya ‘round."

And so you did just that. You followed Hobie around the city, taking in the sights he's showing you. All around the city, passing and weaving through people, making sure you had a nice time.

There was something you noticed. Before Hobie took you somewhere, he provided you with options on where to go. He didn't force you to go one place with him. He didn't strictly follow an itinerary. He always asked what you wanted to do, giving you full control of the day.

It was.. refreshing. This sense of freedom was exactly what you needed. To feel the fresh air of the city without worrying about impressing anyone. Hobie wasn't judging you, and you certainly weren't judging yourself.

The end of the day came quicker than your liking, and the two of you were on the rooftop of an apartment complex. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings, and Hobie brought the two of you some noodles to eat (he definitely didn't steal them).

You take a bite, setting the cup down with a sigh. "Today was.. actually really nice. I don't think I ever felt that, free before, if that makes sense?"

"Don't worry, you can say it." Hobie said, nudging your arm.

You roll your eyes with a small smile. "Mm.. guess I can. Thanks, Brown."

"Y'know, you can call me 'obie, swee'heart." He responded, shrugging. "'s better than m' last name, I think."

"I can't give you that satisfaction. Not yet."

Hobie raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating smirk crossing his face. "Yet?"

You're ready to correct yourself, but the words die in your throat. You couldn't help but like the sound of "yet". It meant more time with Hobie.. and you enjoyed that. Hobie's company was something you were starting to crave. Almost like a drug.

Hobie glanced over at you. "Gotta admit, didn't expect ya t' come with me. Considerin' 'ur parents don't know ya snuck out."

“Yeah well..” You sigh, looking out onto the building with a soft smile. “Maybe I just needed something different.” You finish, looking over at Hobie.

You’re suddenly very aware of how close the two of you are to each other. Hobie’s eyes flicker; your eyes, your mouth, and back a couple times. It’s almost like.. he was asking you for something. The longer you both stared, the more tempted he became, and you honestly couldn’t blame him.

So why did you pull away?

As soon as he started leaning in, you pulled back, clearing your throat. His eyes widen before narrowing, scoffing gently. Guess he misread the situation.

You really couldn’t tell him he didn’t.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next weeks Hobie Brown didn’t show up to school.

You had a feeling you were the cause. Brushing him off like that was such a dick move on your part. You knew that. You wanted nothing more than to find him and run to him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

But you couldn’t. You had an image to maintain. A reputation. All the trust you worked so hard to accumulate would go down the drain in an instant.

Of course.. Hobie may be worth that.

Hobie to you is worth that risk. All his rule breaking and crazed adventures are just what you need in your life. Something that gives you the freedom you longed for.

But you had to go and screw it up. And now here you were, three weeks after the incident, at your locker with a guy trying to talk you up.

“C’mon, [Name], just one night! It’ll change your life!”

You groan, slamming the locker shut. “Dude, I said no. Can you stop?”

“Why? I gotta know why!” He persisted, grabbing your wrist as you tried walking away.

You yank your arm away, trying to escape. “I don’t owe you that! Let me go.”

“Not until you-”

“Hey.”

You turn at the sudden voice, shocked at who it belonged to. There stood Hobie Brown, eyes filled with anger.

“They said, let go.” He said, grabbing the guy’s arm and yanking it away. “Learn t’ take a hint, aye?”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, Brown? Their boyfriend?”

“As a matter of fac’-”

Then, Hobie turns you to him, bringing your lips to his. No warning, no asking, nothing. Just does what he’s been craving after three weeks of disappearance.

Everyone in the hallway around you two watched with shocked faces. Nobody could have seen this coming, not even you.

A thousand thoughts rushed through your head as Hobie kissed you, but one screamed to push away. So you did, giving him a shocked look before grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the scene. You drag him to a storage closet, shutting the door.

“Brown, what the hell was that?!” You immediately ask, eyes narrowed. “What, do you disappear for three weeks then kiss every person you were hanging out with? What the hell?”

Hobie sighed, leaning against a shelf behind him. “Guy needed t’ be taught a lesson. Made sure he won’t bother ya.”

“I can do that on my own!” You respond, shoving an accusing finger in his chest. “Where have you been?!”

“Thinkin’.” Is all he responds with.

You groan. “For three weeks? Shit Hobie, I..” You words fall short. You want to say it.. squeeze it out. “I.. missed you.”

Hobie’s eyes widened as he takes in your words. You.. missed him? He never would have seen this coming; a confession from the president in a dingy storage closet? Not on his bucket list.

Your eyes watch Hobie, doing that same pattern he did on the rooftop; eyes, mouth, eyes. You wanted to kiss him again.. feel those lips again on yours. No.. you needed it.

You know what? Fuck this perfect image.

You grab onto Hobie's vest, pulling him in to connect your lips. Your rough with your movements at first, closing your eyes tightly and latching onto him with a white-knuckle grip. Hobie's eyes widened for a moment before they showed a more prideful look, kissing you back with just as much emotion.

His hands find placement on your lower back, pulling you into him as the kiss escalates from one to many. Hobie was like a starved man, slotting his leg in between yours to support you, pushing you back against the shelf and knocking over some cleaning supplies.

That could be fixed later.

Your original intention of one passionate kiss to show him how you felt turned into many heated kisses. The bell for class was drowned out by how into the moment you both were.

“Fuck.. Hobie..” You whisper, diving back in for another kiss.

Hobie groaned in turn, pulling you impossibly closer. “Shit sweetheart.. can’t say m’ name like that.”

“Hmm.. why’s that..?”

“‘s gonna drive me crazy..”

Suddenly, the doorknob to the closet rattles, causing you both to pull away. Your eyes go wide as Hobie grabs it from where he stands, bringing one finger to his lips to make you stay quiet.

The person on the other side tries to open the door, but ultimately fails. They groan and mumble something before walking away. Hobie looks over at your expression, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispers, planting a kiss to your jaw. “Or are ya gonna keep pretendin’ you’re too good for it?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. "Nah, not this time. Come on."

some ppl who wanted to be tagged (🫶): @serenn08 | @rksses | @youronlyauthor | @dotheyevenknowmars | @xoxobabe

[bartyssimp-riley-16]

Punches and donuts - Jason Todd x Wilson!reader

Bruce had hosted this year's holiday party at Wayne Manor and invited his entire extended found family, plus several members of the Justice League and their extended families in turn. Jason had been invited too. He hadn't really wanted to go, but his brothers had convinced him.

Well, it hadn't been. People had spent the night whispering about his presence. His brothers had all shot him apologetic looks. The air had grown tense. Jason had stood up mid-meal and left without a word. He'd probably made things awkward at the party, he didn't care.

"Stupid dinner. Shouldn't have gone." He wasn't surprised that the streets were nearly empty. The snow was coming down heavily now, and a fierce wind had picked up, blowing a flurry of white into his eyes. He blinked the snowflakes away and pulled his jacket tighter wrapped around him.

"F*ck me," he cursed, furious. The night kept getting worse. He didn't have a ride. Everyone was at that stupid party. He'd have to walk back.

A soft rustling behind him was the only warning he got. Jason spun around and his instincts kicked in, the adrenaline from his earlier anger propelling his fist forward. His knuckles collided with the persons face, sending his attacker staggering backward.

Wait. That wasn't an attacker. "Oh, sh*t. Uh." God, tell him he didn't just break someone's nose. "F*ck. I'm sorry."

i hiss holding my nose, "fuck, Todd!"

"Oh, sh*t. You're bleeding."

Jason's annoyance with the fact that he'd just assaulted a bystander vanished in an instant, replaced by guilt and panic. He stepped forward to get a better look at the person in the dim streetlights. His brain had registered that it was a woman. Her hood was pulled up, making it difficult to see her face.

He gently took her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. "Lemme see."

"Jason", i hiss softly, "careful"

It took a few seconds to register that he knew that voice, but when it clicked, Jason's eyes widened in horror.

"YN? F*ck."

He'd punched her. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. It could have been worse, but it didn't change the fact that he'd hurt one of the very few friends he had.

Jason held her chin in his hands, tilting her head up to inspect the damage. "I didn't see you," he started, trying to rationalize, his eyes filled with remorse.

"yeah, figured", i chuckle

Jason let out a heavy exhale, relieved that she seemed calm and not, say, homicidal. She was making light of the situation, which probably meant she was okay, but he still felt awful all the same. "I didn't mean to, I thought you were—well, you know what I thought."

There was no point in trying to explain himself. He'd f*cked up. He just hoped he hadn't done any lasting damage and winced when he saw the blood dripping from her nose.

i smile, "its fine Todd"

"It's not fine."

If anything, her being so casual about it made him feel worse. She was being so nice, and he'd hit her. Punched her in the face. If she was anyone else, they'd probably be furious right now.

"I hurt you, Yn. I should've—I should've been more aware."

He released her chin and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Here." He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

"thanks" i place the handkerchief against my nose," yah alright?" i huff softly.

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I'm fine. I'm worried about you more than me right now."

He watched as she pressed the handkerchief to her nose, feeling the guilt gnaw at him. He'd always had a short temper, but this incident was downright unacceptable.

"Is your nose broken?" he asked in a low voice, still watching her with a worried frown.

"nah, itll be fine, aint my first rodeo"

There was something about the casual, lighthearted way she talked about getting punched in the face that concerned him more than anything else.

"Yn," he said, his voice taking on a tone that was half-exasperated, half-serious. "This ain't funny, y'know. You just walked into a right hook. A heavy one, at that. It's probably not good that you're laughing right now."

i try holding back a smile, "aww are u concerned about me Todd?"

He rolled his eyes, his cheeks feeling a little warmer. "Don't make me regret worrying about you, Wilson," he shot back in a gruff voice, but there was no real annoyance behind the words.

"I punched you. This isn't fun and games. You—"

He stopped himself just in time before the word "deserve" spilled from his lips. He was grateful she was being so casual, but the fact remained that he'd hurt her.

""you" what?"

He froze for a moment, mentally kicking himself for letting the word almost slip out. He clenched his jaw, trying to find the right words.

"You...deserve better than this," he said finally, his voice low and quiet. "You deserve better than someone who can't tell the difference between you and a..."

An attacker. He swallowed the word down, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. He didn't want to explain why he'd been on edge, not that it would justify punching her in the face.

"can u stop? u sound like some sappy teenager, im fine, really - i am, okay?"

His shoulders slumped a bit, the tension leaving him as he realized that she wasn't going to let him beat himself up over this. He sighed, a hint of irritation in the sound. "Fine," he begrudgingly agreed. "I'll stop, but can you please stop acting like getting punched in the face is just another Tuesday?"

"-but it is, being a vigilante isnt easy, u should know"

He gave her a deadpan look. "I know that, Yn" he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not some newbie vigilante who hasn't taken a punch or two."

His expression softened a bit. "But just because we're used to getting hurt, that doesn't mean it's okay to brush it off when we do get hurt."

i smile," im okay, but are u? u left the dinner very...abruptly"

He averted his gaze, trying to act casual. "What's there to be okay about?" he quipped, shrugging. "Dinner was dull, the people were dull, and I had a damn headache. Had to get out of there."

"cmon, lets go be gloomy on a rooftop", i say in a mock deep voice

He couldn't help but snort at her silly imitation of his usual demeanor. "You're so damn annoying, you know that?" he said, but there was no genuine annoyance in his words.

"Alright, let's go be all brooding and edgy on a rooftop," he agreed with a light chuckle. i watch him amused.

He noticed her amused expression and shot her a reproachful look. "Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "like what?" i poke his arm

He sighed at her playful poke, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. "Like you're enjoying this, like you find it amusing that I'm bothered,” he said. “I accidentally punch you, and you just laugh it off. Anyone else would be angry. But not you. You just find it funny."

"it is funny". His expression darkened at her nonchalant response. "Funny? It's funny that I hurt you? What's so funny about that, Yn?" he demanded, his voice rising with frustration and disbelief.

"u were so caught off guard" i chuckle softly, i nudge him playfully, "im okay"

He grumbled, letting out a long sigh. "Yeah, I was caught off guard, but that doesn't make it amusing." He looked at her, his expression still showing traces of irritation.

"I just...I don't like the fact that you're so casual about it. You didn't even get mad at me. Any other person would've been furious."

"want me to yell?" i ask jokingly

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at her offer. "No, don't be ridiculous," he retorted. "I just...I don't get why you're not angrier about this. You're just so...calm."

"if u wanna make it up to me, u can buy me donuts"

He raised an eyebrow at her request, surprise mixing with irritation. "Donuts? You want me to make it up to you by buying you donuts?" He shook his head incredulously. "Seriously, Wilson? Donuts? That's all it takes to make you not mad at me?"

"jelly filled, raspberry" He rolled his eyes, a scoff escaping his lips. "Jelly filled, raspberry, fine. Any other requests? Want me to tie a bow on the box too, while I'm at it?"

"sure", i muse

He could have strangled her with how blasé she was being, and now she had the audacity to demand a bow too. "You're insufferable, you know that?" he growled, a hint of a smirk on his face. i smile, "of course"

He shook his head, fighting back a sigh. "You're lucky you're cute," he muttered under his breath, realizing he was begrudgingly enjoying their banter. I grin at him, "think im cute?"

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but a hint of a flush crept across his cheeks. "Don't fish for compliments, Wilson," he grumbled, looking away from her gaze. "You know damn well you're cute."

i smile "damn right"

He rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the hint of a smirk that tugged at his lips. "Arrogant, aren't you?" he retorted, but there was no genuine annoyance behind it.

"arrogant? me? yes" i joke.

"...can u buy me my donuts...tomorrow morning?"

[bitingcatshark]

BestFriendSimon Riley x Femreader NSFW content mentioned

< Distance >

Chapter 1

(Bit of context, this is inspired by an interaction I had with my crush, and AHHSHDHSHSJSJDN yes anyway enjoy y'all lovies <3)

The past few weeks were the same. Pointless interactions with peers, the usual bump-ins with acquaintances at the grocery store, a constant flicking of the wrist to check the notification bar on your phone, hoping for that one name to pop up on the screen. To be honest, it's been keeping you on edge as of recent. Ever since the video call, you couldn't help but get nervous whenever your best friend, Simon, sent you a message. You've been friends for quite a while now, meeting through online interactions, ever since then you both just seemed to click. Until that one fateful night, Simon, the big guy who didn't like talkin' too much, went out for a few drinks with his team. You haven't heard much of these friends of his, only hearing them in the background laughing whenever you called Simon, with a few, "shut the fuck up Soap"'s.

And on that night he got a bit too drunk for his own good. Calling you in the middle of the night, beggin' for something more. Switching over to video call, portraying that hunk of a body of his, and the noticeable buldge in his pants, pleas falling from those scarred lips to help his poor soul. "Please, it hurts luv'. I can't- can you please help me," as he slowly undid his pants. So you did. Although all of it felt wrong, something tingled in places you haven't felt in a long time. What could you lose from this? He was just a friend. 'Just a friend'. Just someone you met online. Pulling your bra off for him, displaying your breasts, having the poor guy practically beg for more, putting his length on display, calloused hands rubbing with desperation to release itself from the pain. "Please, please, luv'. I can't take it any longer." The sight left you in awe to say the least, so you gave him a show that he'd never forget. Nonetheless he finished, and passed out..for quite some time.

Weeks passed and Simon didn't talk much about that night. Rather he seemed almost embarrassed, avoiding too much conversation with you, heading straight into work, or to bed.

"Good morning, Im heading to work, talk later."

"Good night, hope you had a good day."

It left a bitter taste in your mouth to say the least. Because you, as the person you are, ended up catching feelings after that night. So the way he avoided your texts or kept it short, kind of broke your heart. So you thought it for the best to do the same.

You couldn't help but grow more upset about the messages, the empty promises of calls, being left on delivered for hours. It started feeling like perhaps he..replaced you. But being hardheaded as you are, you confronted him about it. Calling him right there and then, making sure he'd pick up. Feeling heavy in your heart.

"Hey, how are you?-"

"Shut it, you ought to start explaining yourself."

"There's nothin' to explain."

"Tell me then why you have seemingly just, disappeared? We hardly talk anymore, we hardly call. Why are you acting like this ever since.."

"Because it was a mistake. A big fukin' one. I don't normally act like that and I overstepped a fuckin' line. I shouldn't have asked you for that. You didn't deserve that."

You could hear him sigh across the phone.

"I was, ashamed to face you, thinking you'd hate me."

Changing strats.

"Simon..you know, I just really wanted some advice, and since you're a guy..there's some guy I really like."

Some silence followed. Almost sounded like a grunt came through.

"Now who's this wank stain supposed to be? And don't back out of it, you mentioned it so now I want to know."

You beat around the bush for as long as you could. But Simon was hardheaded. (And no we're not talking about his peni-)

"Well, his first initial starts with, uhm, shit. Starts with..fuck, this is hard."

"Can't be that hard. C'mon. You can do it."

"It starts with an 'S'."

His tongue clicked. Hopefully he was oblivious. You started regretting your life's choices. Hasta la vista-

"I think I maybe know who this guy could be. Let me send a picture."

And oh shit he wasn't as oblivious as you thought. There bright on your screen you opened the picture and it was the one and only, 'Simon Riley.'

F u c k. Pretty sure he could hear how hard you had to swallow.

"That's, uhm, yes, that's him..! Do you, perchance, know this guy?"

"I kind of do actually." He scoffed. "Seems like a pretty sweet guy if you ask me."

"Ah yes but..I surely do wish I could talk to him more, get to know him even more. Do you think he'll..like someone like me?"

Simon was quiet for a moment. Contemplating perhaps. Maybe afraid to answer. But he finally breaks the silence after what seemed like ages, and oh gosh did you become giddy.

"I think he'd be a pretty lucky lad if he had someone like you, but he's a bit stupid for his own good."

"Well, he's a lucky lad then, because I love stupid big boys."

You could almost hear him smile behind the screen. But even you couldn't hold back your own smile, cheeks hurting.

[james-silent-hill]

(Make sure to read part 1, 2 and 3 first !!!)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Enjoy:

It takes a bit of internal bargaining until you fully come to understand it.

James left you.

You were hopeful in the first few minutes after waking up the next morning, even the first few hours you tried to stay positive but.. He didn't come back. Sure this place is somewhat safe but it doesn't change the fact that you too are stuck in this town. How could he just leave like that? You genuinely thought the two of you had some type of connection.

Not just because of the quick and rough sex, but this almost whole night of talking. Laughing. Sharing stories while trying not to gaze at the other for too long, you actually started believing that he liked you and would keep you safe.

You're scared to open the door, you shouldn't look for him to begin with but there's still a small echo in your head that says 'maybe something just happened to him'. Maybe he didn't leave to be a dick.

Pushing the door open and being almost blinded by how thick the fog is isn't helpful.

You wander around just as lost as you were before you found him, it's hard to know where you already were and which area is new for you. You can't yell out for him either, you have no idea who or what may be listening around here.

You are strangely starting to miss him, you miss his soft and calm tone, the way his jacket smelled when you had it on. You miss his gaze on your legs and thighs, the one look that always seemed to undress you with his mind.

You miss his perfect lips and slightly imperfect teeth, even the soft bump on the bridge of his nose. You wonder if he ever looked at you that intensely, noticed everything unique and pretty about your face. Or if you were just a little distraction for him.

You round some corners. Temporarily get lost in a scary much more run down Apartment building but it's all to no avail. Not a single sight of him, as if he was never real. Fuck. What if he wasn't real?? The more you search in the thick fog the more it feels like you are losing your damn mind.

But swinging open another door carelessly .. the sight makes you scream.

It's that thing again.

Triangle shaped helmet... long blade... this is it, you are going to die. You are really certain this time.

You try to run but it grabs your shoulder, arm, holds onto your clothes until you fall onto the floor. It drags you off into the darkness by your feet and your horrid screams are the only Sound that remains.

Echoing through Silent Hill.

______

"Did you hear that???" James asks the little girl he was talking to but when he looks back she's suddenly gone.

Those were some loud screams. A sickening feeling sets into his stomach. It wasn't the Direction of Heavens Night right?

It wasn't....

But that thought doesn't leave him alone, he brings the puzzle and riddles to an end. Whatever their purpose was, another door opened, he could go in deeper, further, jump down that awful looking pit. But something in his chest tells him 'not yet'. He needs to make sure that you are okay, he owes you that much.

He manages to return to Heavens Night but there is no sight of you, no sight that you two were actually even there. Shit. His search doesn't get him anywhere either.

"You are wasting your time, you know? She's not gonna help you, she can't. She's not even good for you! You never loved Mary if you keep looking for this other woman" The little girl taunts sitting on a brick wall.

"That's not true! I cared! I cared so much..." James protests but the girl disappears again.

'Brat' he mumbles to himself.

The search for you doesn't go unnoticed, these monsters seem so much more aggressive now. Every door is closed and needs some kind of key or puzzle. This town is really trying to make him stop looking for you. But he won't. Mary is always on his mind but he can't let you get hurt, you were the first person to genuinely make him laugh again after....

He got to forget for just a few hours. Got to be himself again, got to feel comfortable in your presence.

When he rounds another corner of the Hospital he enters a room that doesn't have much, just some strong prison like metal bars. The other side is too dark to make anything out yet.

"James?!" You claw at the bars.

"I found you!" His face shows nothing but relief.

You try to awkwardly hug him through the bars, breathing in deeply, that false scent of safety.

When you end the hug a soft wincing escapes you.

"Are you hurt?!" He worries, both hands holding onto the bars. They certainly won't budge.

"What happened?" He asks worriedly.

But you slowly come to your senses, sitting back some.

"You left me. Didn't you? You just took off." You frown, you regret showing him so much joy when he first came in here.

He left you.

You could have died.

"I'm sorry." James looks away.

"You're sorry?! God. It's not like you did it accidentally right? You thought about it. Then you did it. You actively made that decision to leave me alone, let me fend for myself. And look what happened! That fucking thing...He grabbed me, I Fell, he dragged me off, threw me in here. In the dark. I've been going crazy! Crazy! Thinking I’d have to die here. Behind bars. In the pitch black" You huff.

It still feels as if he isn't understanding this properly. How scared you were. How disappointed you were when you woke up and he was just gone, how scary this thing was that dragged you off and threw you in here.

He seems conflicted about the fact that he cares and you can see him so clearly battling with himself about this.

"You're right. Okay? I shouldn't have left, I should have kept you safe, I thought you'd stay in that club I didn't think you'd wander around." He frowns deeply, yet he can't look into your eyes.

"I did it for you. I thought something happened to you" You lean against the bars, taking a deep breath.

"You went out there with no weapons to look for me? Why?" He huffs. "Why would you care that much?" His hands keep a white knuckling grip on the prison bars.

"You don't even know me." James points out.

"I guess I just....-" You shrug, moving your hand to lay it on his.

"I guess I like you or something. From what I know so far about you. You don't drink. You are scared of huge spiders.." You chuckle softly.

"And behind all that guilt covering you from head to toe and that sadness in your eyes is just someone else. You know?" You squeeze his hand a little.

"Someone I feel comfortable with." Your eyes search his and that fairly new expression on his face makes you want to form into liquid so that you can squeeze through these bars and wrap around him for as long as he needs it.

James' vision gets clearer, the room doesn't appear so dark and scary anymore. He runs his thumb over the back of your hand.

"Can you forgive me? For leaving you? I didn't do it because I don't care about you. But I came here for someone and the more I ignore that the more desperate and helpless I feel, I couldn't bear it anymore. The flashbacks. The memories of her..-" He cuts himself off.

"I am sorry for leaving." James rests his head against the bars, staring at you, no longer avoiding your gaze but rather begging it for forgiveness.

"Just get me out of here okay?" You lift his hand up, giving the back of it a soft kiss before you drop it. But that apology? It felt deep. It didn't feel like he didn't mean it, you understand what it feels like to be haunted by flashbacks.. the darkness in here reminded you of everything you've done wrong. Especially on that night of the accident.

"I will." James straightens up. Walking towards the door on his side.

"Don't worry, okay? I will get you out" He throws you a little smile before he's gone again.

And you are left in the darkness again.

______

You don't have any track of time but it did take a while, a long while until you hear him on the other side of your door.

Your weight shifts from one foot onto the other, the anxiety is sitting deep in your stomach. You really do hope it's him tempering with the lock….

It takes a few more minutes and then finally that door is swinging open. Oh thank god you won't have to die there, in a room full of darkness and prison bars.

You can't help but to hug him tightly.

"I won't leave like that again I promise" James lets a hand run over your back but when it nears your hip you wince softly again. "You are hurt.." He moves himself out of the tight embrace, a careful hand slides up your shirt looking at your hip.

"Don't be upset but I rather not hear anyone make any promises, it disappoints me too much" You take a step back, rolling the shirt back down. "It's nothing, just a bruise, god knows I had plenty of those" You huff. That's where you fell when that thing grabbed you and dragged you away holding your legs.

"I gotta earn your trust back?" He asks a bit worried at first but then he agrees. "Right of course, it makes sense, don't worry I will." He takes another hold of your side to take another look at that bruise.

His fingers are gentle and slow trying to feel if your bone might have taken some damage too but the noise that Slips from your lips is not a pain strained one.

"I'll just never fall asleep around you again so you won't even get a chance" You chuckle a bit.

"We should get you something for that pain, let you rest a bit" He moves to pull his hand away but you move yours onto his, keeping it there.

"I want you to bruise me like that" You sigh.

"I think I might be hearing voices again." James looks at you worried.

"No, I actually said it." Your hand presses his strongly into your hip and you huff out a soft moan.

"I didn't get you out to hurt you." He takes a good two steps back trying to catch his breath. Hearing you...seeing you like this? It makes him ache in places he didn't know he could ache.

"I know! I know, it's just, I want you to use me. I want you to have your way with me” You can’t help but to feel this way. “I want you so hard that I can't stand anymore, James." You move your hands over your own stomach and chest. "Please don't overthink this, I need this. To calm down. To survive this fucking town." You are close to begging.

"Why?! Why do you want me to hurt you" He asks worriedly, that isn't normal. It shouldn't be like this.

"I don't know! Okay? I can't...- I can't explain, I just do. Pain helps me to focus I guess and it lets me breathe, it grounds me." You take off the thick Black security jacket, letting it fall on the ground.

You open the zipper of the skirt, letting it slide down your legs.

Now you are only in a top and a pantyhose with that special knitting and those flat half leather boots.

James feels like he's being torn apart on the inside, it's something that helps him too, god knows having a woman liking it rough is quite the nice experience but.. actively hurting someone for their pleasure still feels wrong. He wants to make you feel good, he wants to admire your body and Touch your skin gently while you want to be handled rough and violent.

Either outcome feels wrong.

But you look so desperate, when he sees your hands run over your own body to undress yourself. When you stand there trying to show off your body... He doesn't hear that voice anymore since he first gave in to you, but doing it again? In a room like this?

"You have no idea how much I loved it the first time do you? When you shoved yourself into me like that, god, when your hand closed around my throat.” Your body remembers and it sends a chill of excitement down your spine. “I need you" You take off your top too, revealing a lacy bra which hasn't been the best supporter but at least it looks kind of cute.

James drops his jacket, tossing his weapons and whatever else he kept in his pockets onto it.

"You promise? You promise that you love it, you promise that I'm not really hurting you or your feelings?" James asks, he takes a step closer to you, hand opening his belt slowly.

"I promise James." You sigh, hearing him rip the belt out of its loops. Fuck, that's a sound you like hearing. The sight of him folding that belt between his hands makes you gasp softly. There is a certain look of determination on his face, he knows what you need now, he knows he can't really hurt you.

It's a dangerous game every time.

He wraps the belt around your throat and all you want to do is say 'thank you'.

His leather belt against your skin, the focus in his eyes when he closes it, tightens it.

When he admires the way it looks on you, traces your collarbone and chest with the back of his hand before he reaches around you and easily opens the hooks of your bra.

His gaze while taking in the sight of your bare chest, that pure, raw, unfiltered lust dripping from his features. The rough swallow in his throat....

Everything is perfect about it.

Your hands tremble with excitement before you reach out, opening the buttons on his shirt one by one. His fast breathing is Interesting, you can't tell if it's just excitement or if there's a ton of anxiety in it too.

But when you open the last button and his chest and stomach is revealed you smile wide. You didn't take him for the ripped muscle guy type to begin with. You love the softness. Not unfit in any way just not someone who hits the gym. His body matches his face and the way he carries himself. But he doesn't let you take it fully off, he's busy with something else before you get a chance.

His head moves down to press a heated kiss against your chest. It doesn't take long before his lips and tongue find your nipple, teasing it intensely before he uses his teeth to softly pull on it. "Fuck...-" You stroke your hand through his blonde hair.

When his head moves up again your lips are insanely close. But before you can kiss him he roughly spins you around.

He shoves you into the metal bars and god that cold rough metal against your breasts opens up a whole new kind of turn on. You stay exactly like that, every movement makes your nipple rub against the bars.

He really found his spirit this time. He knows what he's doing now.

His hands slide down your pantyhose and underwear, a dark Red blush creeps onto your face. There should still be some evidence left of your first time together.

He even goes as far as teasing you, his hips are pressed flush against your ass while he's still in his jeans and all you can feel is that denim outline of his cock.

"You want me to hurt you?" He asks surprisingly carefully.

You nod and whisper "Yes...please..." over and over again.

The smack he brings down onto your butt makes your entire body jolt forward, bars pressing into your breasts again.

You would have liked more of that but you don't say a word when you hear his zipper and the clink of his jeans dropping to the ground. He's giving you everything you asked for and then some.

He takes a hold of the metal bars next to you, his other hand moves his aching hard length into you. No warnings. No hesitations.

Your legs shake when he pushes all the way inside.

But this time he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

And then his hand takes the long end of the belt around your neck. He pulls his body with the grip on the bars and the grip on the belt to thrust into you as hard as he possibly can. Nobody ever made you feel this way, out of all the rough sex you had this is it, this is the hardest thrusts your body had ever had to endure and you love every single second of it.

The belt tightens around your throat while every forceful thrusts makes your tits and nipples rub along the cold, hard metal bars.

Your hands hold onto the bars for support.

And despite his thrusts, despite the belt being so tight around your throat...

His hand covers yours on the metal bar.

God. Fuck him for still giving a shit while he's screwing your brains out. You can't even help the loud and desperate scream like moans anymore. Or whatever sound gets out of a tightened throat.

His low groans and moans however catch you a bit off guard. He sounds so desperate every time, it's almost like a whimper while he's thrusting. It's hot, it's as if he can't help himself. He's a vocal guy and you love hearing his deep pathetic moans... They don't match the force of his hips at all which makes you squirm against him even more.

Due to the tight grip on the belt around your throat your vision quickly darkens. Your legs wobble for a moment and he slips out of your drenched core. But he doesn't still his hips to readjust; he simply presses his cock between your folds and you can feel his tip rub against your clit.

Thankfully he does let go of the belt and your hand can untighten it a bit, you wouldn't want to actually pass out.

You stand up a bit straighter, squeezing your legs together while he's thrusting between your lips.

It feels so insanely good. You love hard and deep penetration but this way your entire sex is getting a good treatment. It's so filthy. The sound of it, the feeling of it... his moans while doing it.

His arm moves around your stomach pulling you closer, god he feels so good, but as nice as this is you are way too desperate. You need him where he belongs. You need to have him as deep inside as possible while he holds you so tight.

"Please....I need you James, I need you so bad" who's whimpering now.

His hand leaves a drag of his fingernails on your side and your hip before his hand readjusts. Shoving himself back as deep into you as he can, the grip suddenly on your right hip, on that exact bruise has you gasping harder for air than when you were choked by that belt.

"That's a good girl.." He breathes out.

God that talk! It's so unexpected, you are a good girl for him! There's no shame in that. You just moan in agreement.

His hand wanders from your hip upwards over your stomach. Squeezing your breasts between the bars, his breathing is shaky, he's starting to work up some willpower not to cum any second.

His hard thrusts slow down just a bit, he doesn't want to cum too soon and it's dreadful. The teasing. You want him to but he drags it out and it feels so sweet, it makes you desperate for him, completely at his goddamn mercy.

His hand lets go of your chest and then you feel a hard smack against your cheeks again. You want to come so bad, you just need a bit more, you need it harder. "Fuck fuck..." You squirm against him some more and then he finally picks up that pace again.

You nearly pass out when you finally clench around him, when your legs shake and all you can do is moan his name loudly. You tightening around him makes him grit his teeth, it takes everything in him not to cum inside you, again.

He doesn't want to make something like that a habit.

When that last wave of orgasm is over your hands still tightly hold onto the metal bars. He feels incredible. He fits so perfectly inside you, you don't ever want to feel anyone else in you ever again.

You audibly whine when he pulls out.

But he doesn't go far, he simply returns to do what he did earlier when he pulled out accidentally. He moves his cock between your folds so that at the right angle you can feel his tip rubbing over your clit.

You squeeze your legs together some more to make it tighter for him, and the moans coming out of that man make your jaw drop. He sounds so pretty, it's like music, those breathy shaky, incredibly needy moans.

His chest is flush against your back and both of his arms wrap around your middle when he finally cums too.

Rows of his cum land on the cold hard floor in front of your shoes, but you're distracted. You're distracted by his arms around you, the way he's holding you so tightly. Even though you miss the feeling you're glad not another pair of underwear is going to be ruined. It's better this way. Even if you crave the feeling of his cum deep inside of you.

He's done. Why is he still holding you?

“What are you doing?” You ask a bit confused, cum and go is the usual thing for you. Not linger in a tight embrace.

“I'm..- Holding you?” James carefully puts his chin onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, I can tell, but why?” You feel a little uncomfortable.

“Did no one hold you after they had that kind of sex with you?” He asks and the undertone in that question almost makes you sick. It feels like pity or something equally as bad.

You just shake your head. You don't know how to answer this without feeling a faint scent of devastation. Because no one held you after they used you like that, not once.

“Is it okay for you if I do?” He asks.

You nod, reluctantly.

It doesn't feel bad, it just feels so new, it's truly something you have to get used to first.

“It's important to me, part of the package for… sex like that.” Rough and almost violent deserves gentle and sweet after. At least in James' book.

His body is so warm, he's so comfortable. You just want to lean back further and further until you lay on him like a mattress. His hands are soft and kind to your body now, you even almost forgot about the way he's still between your legs. It just feels right. Skin to skin. Sex to Sex.

God if this damn place had candles in this room, this might be the most kind anyone has ever been to you.

“Thank you.” You huff a little.

“No, not for that, that's not something you have to thank someone for okay? It's called aftercare, it's important…” James places a soft kiss behind your ear.

“I do it because I care.” His voice seems wavy at that sentence. Not as in he didn't mean it, but as in he had to prove one too many times to someone or something that he did In Fact care.

“Okay, it's just new, that's all. A whole new world” You point out.

After standing like this for a few minutes longer you decide at some point that it's been enough. Mr. ‘I don't even kiss you but I feel the need to give you aftercare’ can pack it up now.

Maybe that was a bit harsh, he cares and there is a good reason as to why he isn't the kissing and making out type.

Sleeping with someone new for the first time after you lost someone is not nearly as hard as kissing someone new. You erase their lips from yours forever in a way.

So you really do understand.

It doesn't take too long for you to put all items of clothing back on, though when he reaches to take the belt off your neck you can't help but to give him a soft wink, he chuckles and looks away as if he's shy about his previous confidence.

Cute.

“Wanna get out of here now?” He looks around the scary room, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah I've been dying to” You follow him outside, grateful that you won't have to stay a second longer in that room. That strange metal bars room, you still wonder what it meant, what its purpose was. It probably wasn't meant for steamy, rough sex.

You follow him anywhere, stopping when he stops, pointing at a square shaped hole in the ground.

“No! No you're not really thinking about jumping down there right?” You huff.

“I think we have to go deeper.” James isn't a huge fan of that idea either, but it's almost as if it's calling him, he can hear a soft sound coming from it. He knows it's calling for him.

“You don't have to, you can wait for me somewhere.” He suggests but the longer you stare at it the more it feels as if he's right, you should go with him. Don't get split up again.

“No, I don't wanna get separated again. I don't want to be alone James” Your voice is dripping with anxiety.

“Down we go then…” He takes a shaky breath himself. What if the two of you are jumping to your deaths now?

“Guess so, see you on the other side?” You say jokingly but his eyes are big, that terrified look in them haunts you a little.

“Right.” James takes the first step, letting himself fall into it.

You follow right after, everything is pitch black.

____________

Hey thank you for reading!

(Show this some love here on Ao3 if you like ♡)

[w2soneshots]

Actress -KSI

words: 0.5k+

warnings: angst with a happy ending, online hate.

summary: you’re an actress, you and JJ are spotted by paparazzi and the public aren’t happy.

notes: this was based off of this request!! I love this idea so much, thank you for your ask anon😊🤍.

y/username

Liked by y/nfanpage21 and 4,209 others

enews: actress y/n y/l/n and youtuber ksi were seen yesterday leaving a restaurant. An eye witness stated that they were 'getting cosy and seemed to be a couple'. (📸: Getty)

-comments-

sidemenupdates: omg!!

y/nfanpage21: iconic couple🔥

user3524192: she deserves so much better than him!

user9812034: absolutely not he's so ugly.

user2470195: who tf even is that?🤣

I met JJ a month and a half ago at an event. He was so sweet and despite looking slightly intimidating, he is the cutest little softie I've ever met. He asked me out and I was officially his girlfriend two weeks later. We decided to keep our relationship private as I'm an actor and have had relationships ruined in the past, due to random strangers on the Internet and their opinions. But yesterday we went out for dinner and were pictured by paparazzi on our way out. We have been so careful and were also wearing dark clothes but I assume someone in the restaurant recognised us and so told the paparazzi where we were.

Since our relationship became public the amount of hate JJ has been getting it is crazy. People are spreading stupid rumours and Twitter is full of people talking shit about him and our private life. I feel absolutely awful. He has dealt with lots of hate in the past just from being in the sidemen, but it's nothing like this. He has stopped appearing in more sidemen videos, along with sidemen reacts just because the comment section is completely ignoring the videos and just talking about JJ. We're both confused on why people care so much and are so outraged. JJ is a YouTuber, musician and boxer but people still believe I shouldn't be with someone like him because he's not 'famous enough'.

Today I sat in my apartment when I got a call from Tobi: "hey, what's up?" I asked. "Hi um- JJ... he's been acting really strange today, like really quiet and sorta just kept his head down. We're a bit worried about him." He said quietly. I sighed "I think everything that's been going on has started to get to him. I'll talk to him when he gets home. Thanks Tobs." I said. "Alright, in a bit." "Bye." I put the phone down and quickly clicked on instagram.

y/username

Liked by dualipa and 3,128,904 others

y/username: this boy is the kindest person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. If you have a problem with him you've got a problem with me🙂

-comments-

ksi: ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

miniminter: 🥹

y/nfanpage21: so cute!!!

user30597182: I seriously don't know why people cared so much about their relationship, it's their lives?😂

user51932678: I think they look nice together.

"Hey!" JJ's loud voice traveled through my apartment. I stood from the sofa and ran towards him, pulling him into a massive hug. "I saw your insta post." He said as we pulled away. "Yea... I know I should have asked you first before posting that but I-" I rambled. "I thought it was really cute. Thank you babe." He cut me off. I smiled up at him "hopefully all those idiots shut the fuck up now." I said. He laughed "I love you so much." He pulled me into a kiss.

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

I was thinking... what if Jason Todd/Red Hood had a really close f!friend, and then he starts having thoughts with her (+18 thoughts), and he doesn't know what to do, since he has a strong desire, and she is a close friend.

Like, she is doing something simplesmente as drinking water and his mind go imagining things he shouldn't be imagining

So, someone also asked me to do something gym related so I'm chucking them in together.

Gym Buddies.

Warnings: 18+ONLY, implied smut, pining.

"Nice of you to finally show," you shout at Jay who's making his way through the large glass doors at the front of the gym.

"Yeah, you like to run for 30 minutes and I am not about the cardio life," he replies, throwing his bag down near the weights area, "want to get into the heavys?"

"Are you going to spot me?"

"I am and then you're going to spot me."

"Ok, but I don't know how much help I'm going to be if you drop 150kgs on your head."

You lay back on the bench as Jason racks up your usual 45kg rack, rubbing your hands together you reach for the bar, "ready."

"Off you go then, I'll count you out," you look so pretty like this, Jason thinks, your hair up in those cute little buns, "1," your mouth slightly parted as you attempt to breath evenly, "2," your legs spread out over the bench, stabilizing your core, "3," your eyes scrunching in concentration, "4" your muscles straining with the weight, "5" you open your eyes as he takes the bar from you and you look up at him like that. Fuck, he stands in awe of you trying not to imagine what pretty faces he could cause with his finger, his mouth or his cock.

"You just going to stand there?"

"No," he lies, "I was just giving you a chance to rest."

"Right, did you get that video I sent you?"

"Yeah, that was a weird one. Who's actually doing that?" He wonders, recalling how badly he laughed when he saw it this morning.

"Oh, so you don't think you could do it?" You tease him, standing up and wiping your brow with your towel.

"That's not what I said."

"It's what I heard."

"Fine, lay back down on the bench." He directs you, while he starts to stretch out his shoulders, your eyes tracing the thick veins that seems to be popping out of his biceps and forearms, "good, now stay still." He says, his hands sliding under your back and legs as he starts to curl you, "dude your wiggling!"

"Can't help it. It feels weird."

"I told you it was weird."

"Ok, ok, put me down." He doesn't want to, he wants to keep holding you, "Jay," you start to wiggle more, "I get it, you're strong. Put me-" you catch his eye when he stills, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wanna kiss me."

"Pssh, you're nuts." He carries you over to the leg press, needing to put some distance between you, "why don't you work on this, I'm going to go and fill my water bottle. Don't crush yourself, k."

"Yeah, whatever."

Jason leaves, his ass hugging so tightly to those short red booty ass shorts. Those thighs so fucking thick and you can feel your mouth watering, "I don't hear that pressing moving!" He yells out before he steps into the locker room, "get going."

The door shuts behind him and he wonders if he should just get in the shower right now? He can already feel his cock growing hard, he's been so good at keeping it in his pants. There's no way he's going to push you away, by being a fucking creep and coming onto the only person who is actually awake late enough to come to the gym with him.

He can't get the picture of you laid out on that bench out of his head though, or the cute little giggles you made when he was pressing you, "just a quick shower," he whispers to himself throwing his bag down and stripping his clothes off.

The steam from the shower fills the locker room, Jason's head hanging in front of him as his huge hands pump his cock. The water burning his back, relaxing all the tight muscles. His eyes closed as he imagines your pretty lips wrapped around it, those glaze eyes that you get after you've run a mile staring up at him. "Fuck, take it pretty girl," he moans, biting down on his juicy lip and sucking in some of the hot water.

"You having a good time?" You surprise Jason, laughing when he turns around with a guilt ridden look on his face.

"I can explain."

"You wanna explain to me why you're jerking off in the gym showers?" You give him an apprehensive look, well you think it is. But as your eyes take in every well defined muscles, every vein that's popping out of his skin and the huge tree trunk resting between his legs-

"Enjoying the view?" He asks, pumping his hands down his cock, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when he sees how your looking at him, "it's better from over here," the words come from somewhere inside of him and he can't seem to find the fucks to give, because you look like you might actually take him up on his offer, "come on, the waters really nice."

You throw your clothes off faster than you ever have before, leaving them on top of Jason's bag as you step into the warmth of the water. "You're right, it is warm. Too warm."

"I can fix that," his strong hands slide under your ass picking you up and pressing you into the cool tiles, the warm water in the front evening you out. "Is this going to change anything?" He asks, his cock grinding right along the seam of your pussy.

"Only if you want it to."

Part 2- Go for a Hike

[pizzaqueen]

I've had this scene in my mind of Eddie encountering Steve’s dad at the hospital post S4 for a while but I didn't know what to do with it. I've written it up, anyway, and I'm posting it here instead of letting it languish. Maybe I'll do something else with it one day?

Just over 800 words, warnings for being in the hospital, I guess and maybe being a little angsty

The first time Eddie meets Steve’s dad, it’s at the hospital, after everything. He’s seen Steve’s dad before, of course he has, everyone knows the Harringtons. But it's always been from a distance, and Mr. Harrington has always seemed arrogant and out of touch.

Eddie waits until Wayne is asleep in the chair beside his bed to get up. Between the shit he's hooked up to and the tightly bandaged wounds, it's not easy, but he needs to do this.

He pulls back the edge of the curtain dividing his bed from Steve’s, then pauses. Steve is lying there, dark circles under his eyes, unconscious and pale and looking less like one of the heroes from Eddie's stories and more like a boy who's seen too many awful things, given too much of himself to them.

Guilt wells up beneath the cotton wool feeling of the painkillers that have been pumped into him. It’s not because it’s Eddie’s fault, but Eddie’s here, on his feet, and Steve isn’t. He will be, though. He has to be.

There’s a vague memory playing in Eddie's mind of Steve carrying him out of that fucking place, Steve's breathing labored, his arms strong but trembling. He'd barely made it out of there before he'd collapsed to the ground with Eddie still in his arms. Everything goes kind of dark after that.

Eddie’s about to step forward, say something—thank you, would be a start—even if Steve can’t hear him, but then he notices that Steve isn’t alone. There’s a man sitting by his side, in the twin of the crappy plastic chair Eddie’s uncle is hunched over in on Eddie’s side of the curtain. He’s wearing a gray sweater and he’s got a sweep of dark hair that looks like he’s been running his hands through it and his nose is the same sharp line as Steve’s.

"Jesus Christ, Steve," he says, voice small and broken, "what the hell did you get yourself into?" His hand rests by Steve’s on the stark white hospital sheet, his pinkie finger hooked over Steve’s.

Steve’s breathing is deep and steady and Mr. Harrington chews on his lip, watching Steve so intently he doesn’t seem to have noticed Eddie standing at the corner of Steve’s bed.

After a few minutes, Mr. Harrington sucks in a deep, shuddering breath and says, "C'mon, slugger, you gotta wake up before your mom gets back from terrorizing the doctors, okay? You know how much she worries…” He trails off, looks away, puts his head in his hands.

And Eddie knows he shouldn't be watching this, but he's frozen. If he ever spared a thought for Mr. Harrington, it was just to think of him as some rich asshole Eddie didn't give a shit about. He has no idea if he's a good dad or even a good person but, right now, Eddie feels bad for him. It makes him miss his own dad and then he feels guilty about that, too. Wayne is right there, sleeping by Eddie's bed because he didn't want to leave him alone and he's a better dad than Eddie's father ever was.

Mr. Harrington makes a small frustrated noise and Eddie finally comes back to himself. He goes to turn away, but, as he does, his foot catches on something and the sound is small but it's loud in the hush of the hospital room.

Steve’s dad looks over, brow furrowing.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, “I wanted to… Sorry.” He shakes his head, which makes it spin. Or maybe it’s the whole room that’s spinning. “I’m Eddie,” he says, and he doesn’t know why. “Munson.”

“The boy wanted for murder?”

“No, I— I hope not.” Eddie breathes out and it feels harder than it should be. “That wasn’t… I didn’t…” His legs feel weak and he should just turn around and go back to bed but he keeps talking: “Steve, he— Saved me.” And it’s only part of what happened and it’s more complicated than that but it’s the truth.

“He—” It looks like Steve’s dad doesn’t know what to do with that and then Eddie’s legs give way and the only thing stopping him from falling is Steve’s hospital bed. “Whoa, hey,” Steve’s dad says, pushing himself to his feet, “you should, um…”

“Dad?” Steve’s voice is croaky and confused. His unfocused gaze slowly moves from his dad to where Eddie’s slumped by his bed. “Eddie? You’re—” He coughs, then winces, and his dad forgets all about Eddie.

“Steve,” is all he says, leaning over his son, hand hovering.

And then there’s a hand at Eddie’s elbow, guiding him away. "C'mon, kiddo," Wayne says, "you shouldn't be up," and he gently helps Eddie up onto the bed.

On the other side of the curtain, there are voices—Steve’s dad, a woman that’s probably Steve’s mom, doctors—but it’s quiet on Eddie’s side. Wayne is there, awake now, watching as Eddie finally lets himself fall asleep again. At least he knows Steve’s awake now. And he’s not alone.

[delopsia]

Silver & Gold | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Bob's in deep internal debate, mentions of wedding planning, setting up a Christmas tree (no religious themes included, we're doing it for the ✨vibes✨), domestic fluff, protective Rhett if you squint, usage of a ribbon for light bondage purposes, cunnilingus, hand jobs, and thigh fucking. Brief Summary: Bob's having a crisis over whether he wants a silver or gold wedding ring. All you and Rhett want to do is set up the new Christmas tree. Shenanigans on the couch involving a ribbon ensue.

There goes that damn snowman again. Moving across the screen in all of its vintage, stop-motion glory, strumming his banjo, singing that infuriating song about silver and gold. Like it's so simple. Like you just get to up and have both. All willy-nilly, fully embracing the concept of childish indecision, ignoring the constraints of society, and normalization of picking only one.

...or maybe Bobby has simply fallen into the curse of overthinking. 

It shouldn't be that hard. Silver or gold? It's simple until he's once again struck with the fact that he will wear this ring for the rest of his life. He had such an easy time picking metals for you and Rhett; he knew your favorites inside and out. 

So why can't he make a decision for himself, the person he should arguably know the best?

"You're lookin' at that phone awful hard," Rhett grumbles from his left. Snug against the naked mattress, jeans clinging to his hips, tattered cowboy hat resting atop his belly. An offhandedly placed thing that both adds to his rugged, cowboy glory and conceals the softness he's acquired, hard muscle a little squishier now. Thicker.

Healthier.

"Like you haven't had your nose in that notebook all month," there's a pop in Bob's neck as he tilts his head, muscle, and bone protesting movement after being still for so long. "What are you working on, anyhow?" 

Rhett's mouth closes, teeth audibly clattering together. Soft blue eyes darting up to the ceiling, "It's nothin'."

Those furrowed eyebrows suggest otherwise, but in the back of his mind, Bobby supposes he'll leave it there. Rhett'll talk about it when he's ready. It doesn't alleviate the genuine curiosity that has been brewing ever since that notebook appeared last month, but alas.

Door hinges squeal. Bare feet padding across the floor, a bundle of sheets concealing the face of the third person in the room. But he recognizes those arms as well as he does the ring on that dainty little finger—perfection, in your favorite metal and all.

"I thought one of you was gonna fix the door?" You chirp, dropping the sheets onto the bed in an unceremonious heap. Pillow cases and a stowaway face cloth spilling out, still warm from the dryer. 

Rhett's eyes dart to meet with Bob's. Who's plan was that, anyway? 

"I'll take a look at it in a minute," Bob's thumb blindly feels its way to the power button of his phone. Turning the screen off before he can be caught staring at rings for the umpteenth time this week. 

But even though he's no longer staring mindlessly at his phone, those little rings sit in the forefront of his mind. Burned into his eyes, as he helps pull the sheets onto the bed. Silver and gold, and a make-believe third option, rose gold. All of them menacing with their ridiculously high numbers; within a reasonable price range, but still strange to think about. That much money for a uniquely shaped hunk of metal.

"Bobby."

Whatever happened to simpler traditions? A fancy rock would do him much nicer. Free of their metal confines and special in their own natural way, unhindered by the standards of man and artificially constructed value. Blue lace agate would quite suit him, or a nice geode, picked out with the vague guide of what felt right, then split into three. 

"Bob?"

What ever happened to simplicity? Marriage sounded awfully simple as a child. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Who can even settle on just one flavor for cake, and who the hell decided that more than two flavors were too many? Why can't there be multiple small cakes that each suit them, rather than fighting to even out clashing styles? Why must there only be one big cake?

"Robert Benjamin Floyd!" 

"What?" Lifting his head, not quite expecting to find you and Rhett staring back at him. Rhett's hand is still outstretched, offering up a corner of the comforter. "Oh."

"Thought we'd really lost ya this time," Rhett's chuckling, a softened tease that he's uttered three times today. A newly formed habit, triggered every time Bob's mind slips down the slippery slope of what-ifs. 

Your eyes narrow a little suspiciously; always have been the one to catch on to his internal stresses before Rhett does, or anyone else, really. The voice in the back of his head openly wonders what triggers the alarm bells, if it's the spacing out in thought or some minute shift in his expression. 

For a couple of hours, he's able to forget about the concept of wedding rings entirely. Preoccupied with tackling the task of fixing the squeaky doors that were supposed to have been repaired before the house was sold to the three of you. Jumping from that and straight to dinner, bustling about the kitchen, gingerly guiding Rhett's wary hands in a feeble attempt to teach him how to knead dough. 

Then there are the dishes to be cleaned, flour that needs to be ruffled out of a cowboy's hair, and the movie you three agreed to watch under the assumption that someone else had one picked out. As it panned out, nobody had a single title lined up, and it fell back on Rhett's number one Christmas default.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

In fact, Bobby doesn't catch himself thinking about the rings for the entire night. Until two tiny rings clank against the bedside table as you and Rhett remove them for the night.

Will his ring sit on that table, too? 

"You're thinking again," he doesn't remember when you got into bed, but you're right here next to him. Pawing at your nose with the side of your hand after an itch that seems to have been bugging you all afternoon. 

The pains of getting dusty Christmas decor out.

"I'm always thinking," he murmurs, blindly reaching out to curl a hand around your cheek. A daunting task without his glasses. Can see just enough of your face to know where all of your important features lie, but the finer details have gone blurry. Left with no choice but to move based on the terrain of your body, roaming up the soft skin of your cheekbone and up the hill of your nose. 

There's movement from behind his back. The weight of a cowboy settling down, throwing a heavy arm around Bobby's waist, as he squirms closer. "Ain't we s'posed to be always thinkin'?" 

Your eyes roll so hard that Bob worries they'll get stuck in the back of your head. "Something like that."

Rhett hums, the soft whiskers of unshaven scruff tickling Bob's shoulder, his head perfectly snug in the cap between shoulder and neck. In the very place he will stay for the rest of the night until Bob inevitably pries himself free come morning.

For now, though, he's not going anywhere. Making it so, so easy for you to snuggle in, your legs tangling with his and Rhett's, just close enough to steal some of their body heat but not enough to melt. A comfort that has taken you months to perfect and only works when Bob's body is there to block Rhett's burning velcro hands. 

But you do take the liberty of blindly stroking your cowboy's arm beneath the covers, soft ups and downs that trace an exposed vein until you're certain he's smiling. 

Sleep comes early, but then again, it always does when all three of you are here. Free of life responsibilities and the incessant call of the Navy, determined to take your favorite backseater away. Dreams burn a little sweeter when the three of you are crammed up against each other, even with all the space granted by this oversized Alaskan king mattress.

You're caught between the edges of sleep when you feel Bobby's hand against your cheek. Gingerly stroking something free of your skin, an eyelash, you suppose. A movement that sealed with a soft kiss, like it'll keep anything else from disturbing you.

Rhett whines. Bob shifts. Audibly giving him a kiss, too. Always keeping things equal.

It feels like your eyes are only closed for a couple of seconds. One moment, Bob is sliding his arm over your waist, and the next, you're snug as a bug in his arms, squinting against a bright beam of light. Aren't quite sure what woke you, but you're more than content to sleep a little bit longer. Squirming closer, readjusting your head against the pillow.

Thump thump thump.

One eye opens. 

Thump thump thump.

Is someone at the door?

You don't have a clue who it could be. Nobody mentioned coming over for a visit, and you're more than certain nobody would invite themselves over without asking first. Not after you've made it clear that this weekend is reserved for setting up the—

shit.

The Christmas tree is here.

Your feet hit the ground before you can even comprehend what you're doing. Stepping into the pajama shorts you left on the floor as you scurry out of the bedroom. A slow-motion race that you're hardly awake for, darting down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen.

The front door opens so quickly that the delivery driver jumps. Caught halfway off of your porch, ready to head back to his truck and mark it to redeliver another day. 

 You can feel his eyes raking across your body as you sign the little box on his tablet, but you're quite frankly not awake enough to find the words to do something about it. Sleepily resting against the door frame as he begins to head back to his truck, chirping that he'll even carry the box into the house for you. 

His smile drops before he's finished turning around. 

Rhett. 

Forearms crossed over his chest, a protective, looming shadow that settles up behind you. His palm bracing against the frame next to your head, scruff tickling as he leans in to press his lips to your cheek. 

"I'm glad you heard 'em," he grumbles, voice still at that deliciously low tone, rough with sleep and unspoken perfection, "'cause I sure didn't."

"That's because you could sleep through the rapture," you're speaking through a yawn, halfway into leaning against him when the driver comes back around the corner, oversized tree box in tow. 

He leaves it right on the doorstep. 

Evidently, carrying boxes into the house is a courtesy reserved for the single-folk. Yet, you can't complain too much because now you get to watch Rhett's biceps bulge as he lifts the box. A sight that could damn near make you drool this early in the morning. It's almost unfortunate that he doesn't have to carry it further. Is it too late to request to move the tree upstairs?

The box hits the ground gently, right by Rhett's feet; you wonder if he's realized that he only has one sock on. 

Based on how he's hardly got his eyes open, you're beginning to wonder if he's even awake. His jaw pops as he opens his mouth, "'Y reckon we should wake up Robby?" 

"He'll wake up soon enough," though you're the only one speaking, you're fairly certain that both of you are sharing the same thought.

Bob's always been quiet, keeping to himself on most occasions, but the silence that's overtaken him as of late isn't the kind you've come to know and love. His eyes going unfocused when he thinks you're not paying attention, wandering off into his own sort of world. There are no rules defining when it may happen: in the grocery store, in the middle of a movie, hell, he's done it in the middle of a conversation. 

Just like he did it last night, with making the bed.

Surely, it can't be second thoughts about this whole wedding thing. No, that wouldn't make sense; he's the one who proposed. 

You'll have to worry about it some other time; him, his thoughts, and Rhett's curious notebook be damned, there's a Christmas tree that needs to be set up, fluffed, and decorated.

A very big tree. Ten feet sounds a lot smaller on the screen. 

"We either get one too big," Rhett's eyes flick over to the tiny tree sitting on your left. Scrawny, hardly two and a half feet tall, and happens to be last year's lesson about reading the dimensions, "or too small."

Your head tilts up. Straining to get a look at the top, still crooked from its time spent crammed in the box. "Do we still have them ornaments in the garage?"

Rhett's sigh echoes. "We're 'bout to find out." 

Locating the ornaments is the easiest part; they're still sitting in a neat stack on a shelf, stacks, and stacks of unopened bulbs and a box of garland—silver, gold, fake popcorn,, all tangled with the neverending red ribbon and faux pine that decorated the banister last year. It's a lot, but it felt like so much more when it was just a memory. 

"Where did the silver come from?" You don't remember those making their way onto the list of ornament colors, but unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, those on the bottom right are certainly silver.

In an instant, Rhett's face drops. "Was I not s'posed to buy silver?" 

"We were only doing red, pink and gold, remember?" The color list Bobby wrote out last year is still taped to the box of ornaments you're holding. A long ranking of colors, all crossed out until it left you with three. Silver never even made it onto the list. 

Rhett's eyes dart away, suddenly too embarrassed to look down at the offending color of bulbs he's collected in his arms. "Oh." 

"Did you..." you're still connecting the dots as you speak, eyes flickering between Rhett's fading smile and the plastic decorations, "want silver?" 

Wordless, he nods. 

Okay. Silver it is. But as you go to put your armload of gold decor back, his frown only deepens, like that's not what he was expecting in the slightest. 

"Why can't we do both?" He asks, brows furrowing.

You don't get what he's on about. "Silver and gold?" 

His head tilts to the side, and you can almost see the puppy ears flopping with the movement. All big blue eyes and pure confusion. "Ain't they s'posed to go together?"

"What makes you think that?" Maybe it's the sleep still clouding your mind that's making it so difficult to understand what he's on about. 

"They got that song," he's nodding in the direction of the living room, like that'll help him explain, "in that Rudolph movie."

So it's a Burl Ives song that gets a fourth color added to the tree—red, pink, silver, and gold. 

Two dozen bulbs were perfect for the strangled excuse of a Christmas tree that you had last year. But with every bulb that you take from Rhett's hands, curling its brand-new hook into an artificial branch, you begin to wonder if there are even enough. The boxes of red disappear quicker than planned. Then come the pink, and now you're grabbing for the silver and soon the gold. 

And it's still not enough. This tree is so large that it swallows up every ornament you hang from its branches. The massive gaps between bulbs are impossible to ignore, even from across the room. 

"Y' think puttin' the garlands on will make it a little less...?" Rhett doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already get the picture. 

"It can't hurt?" What's the worst that can happen, you make the tree look a little less baren? 

Though it's easier said than done. 

The bottom half of the tree is relatively simple: passing the garland back and forth, trying your best to keep previously placed bulbs from dropping to the floor. They fall regardless. One after the other, clanking across the floor and rolling every which way. 

Then comes the middle portion, and suddenly, you're standing on the tips of your toes. Have long since given up on caring about what being knocked off, the muscles in the back of your neck straining to keep looking at what you're doing. Then comes the top of the tree, and neither of you can be bugged to even begin to try that without a second ladder. Instead reaching for the silver garland, beginning to wrap it in the opposite direction of the gold. 

"Getting festive without me, huh?" 

That isn't Rhett's voice. 

And it certainly wasn't yours.

"G' mornin'," Rhett's smiling at the half-awake figure standing in the threshold. 

Bobby's eyes aren't even halfway open, leaning his weight up against the wall. His sleepy grin doing nothing to distract from the short hair sticking in every direction, cheek still imprinted from a fold in the sheets. 

He's heard Rhett. You know he has because his eyes dart right to him. But he doesn't react. Staring aimlessly at the shimmering tinsel in Rhett's hands, eyes seeming to conceal every thought in the world and nothing at all. 

Right as you're about to call his name, his mouth opens. 

"What if we got rings in both metals?"

Your hands freeze. "I'm sorry?" 

"I mean—" His eyelashes are fluttering, pale pink tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. "Rings in silver and gold."

"You fixin' to put another ring on us, Robby?" Rhett's quicker to catch on than you are, thin lips twisted into a wild grin. Slowly spreading across his cheeks until his eyes curl with it. 

Your attention darts back to the tinsel in your hands, silver overlapping gold, then to the thin golden band clinging to Rhett's ring finger. Your own is still bare, the ring sitting safely in its dish on the bedside table. Forgotten again. 

Nobody ever talks about how hard it is to work up the habit of keeping a piece of jewelry on.

Bob doesn't realize it, but his thumb is idly stroking his empty ring finger. Not yet brandished with jewelry like you and Rhett because he hasn't even answered your question about what metal he prefers for his ring—

"Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" You blurt, hardly able to fight the urge to spring to your feet. 

He doesn't need to even open his mouth. You know you've gotten your answer the moment his face turns a brilliant shade of ruby. Socked foot kicking at the floor, suddenly unable to look at you or Rhett any longer. 

"I didn't..." his face only seeming to grow redder by the second, as he shakes his head back and forth, "you..."

You're so fortunate that this isn't your first speechless rodeo with Bobby. Have seen him fight to translate thoughts into words so many times that you have already put together what he's trying to say. 

And you've only got a half second to realize that Rhett is bolting across the room before your ears are being met with an earth-shattering thunk. The house rattles as Rhett all but tackles Bobby to the floor, with no regard for the fragile decor sprinkled about around them. 

Bob's feet are scrambling for purchase on the hardwood, socks giving him nothing but a smooth glide as he squirms beneath Rhett, squealing something you can't interpret. His big hands clutching Rhett's biceps, knuckles whitening as he tries to shove him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, downright smothering with his weight. 

"That's what you've been on about?" Rhett's shout is broken apart by his own giggles, knees thumping against the floor as he tries to straddle the wriggling hips below him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Bobby's still kicking up a fight, hips bucking up hard enough to lift Rhett with it, if only for a second. "Like you ain't been secretive with that notebook, Abbott." 

"It ain't secretive. It's a surprise!" Rhett's arms cross in front of his chest, frowning. 

Did you miss the memo that you were supposed to have a secret project to be working on, too? 

"Baby," Bobby begs, reaching aimlessly in your direction as if he has any hope of reaching you from a few feet away. "Help me."

But you're not entirely sure if you can do that. As you scoot closer, Rhett's attention darts to you, excited eyes daring you to try him. He's figured out how to win recently, and it's only a matter of time before he has you pinned on the floor, too. 

You can't be bugged to even try fighting him for Bob's honor. Not only because you would lose horribly but because you're already preoccupied with leaning down and pressing your lips to the side of his cheek. Feeling the warmth of his flushed skin, the way his face wrinkles with that content smile. 

"'s this what we're doing?" Rhett's asking as if he's not already leaning in, too. Audibly pressing kisses to the soft underside of Bob's jaw, where he's garnered the slightest bit of stubble overnight. "Kisses?"

And this room is far too quiet for Bobby's soft inhale to go unnoticed, his uneasy hand gliding up your arm. Always has to be holding on to something. In the corner of your eye, you can already see his other hand making a grab for Rhett's bicep, greedily squishing the thick muscle between his fingers. 

Rhett's blindly reaching off to the side, mouth only briefly leaving Bob's flushed skin as he produces a thick, red ribbon. The silky soft one that had been hiding in the box of garland. 

"Huh?" Bob's nose wrinkles, unable to do anything but watch as Rhett collects his wrists together, wrapping them in that smooth material. Only begins to squirm when it's too late. Rhett's already cinching the knot closed, forcing those pale arms back together as he finishes it off with an obnoxiously fancy bow. Perfectly pinned over his head.

"There we go," Rhett's grinning, leaning back in to nip at Bob's jaw, "first present of the year."

Bobby's eyes roll so hard that you briefly lose sight of those pale blue irises. Arms flexing as he tests the strength of Rhett's handiwork, frowning when he finds no give at all. 

Not a word spoken, you flip to the same page that Rhett is on. Resuming your peppering kisses, tongue poking out to lick down Bob's pretty neck, working your way down to his collar. Nibbling where he's most sensitive, relishing in that surprised grunt. There's hardly any room for Rhett to fit, but he's squeezing in any way. Shoulder bumping into yours as he torments the opposite side, peering at you through the corner of his eye. 

"In the middle of the floor?" There's no way Bob could have seen that look, but he's already understood what you two are up to. Wasting no time, with the way your unruly hands dip beneath his shirt, roaming over the soft expanse of his belly. Not quite as defined as Rhett, but equally loveable and squishy. 

Rhett's beating you to it, shoving Bob's shirt up without a single shred of grace. "Y' got a problem with that, flyboy?" Thin lips wrapping around a soft pink nipple, yanking a gasp out of him.

"My back does," Bob's words are more of a mumble than anything else. An uneasy confession of the one thing he's guaranteed to suffer with in his career. 

There are a number of solutions to this. Migrating upstairs to the comfort of the bed, grabbing a couple of the many decorative pillows off the couch and propping them beneath Bob's back, or even standing up and backing him up against the wall, perfectly cornered while you and Rhett have your way with him.

That list of solutions did not involve you sitting on the edge of the couch, with Bobby kneeling between your legs and Rhett sidling up behind him like the minx that he is. Wasting no time with peeling that thin t-shirt from Bob's pale body, exposing miles upon miles of lightly freckled shoulders and pale skin. And all Bob can seem to think about is getting his mouth on your inner thighs, daring to start right where the fabric of your shorts ends. 

"'s this better?" Rhett downright purrs with those half-lidded eyes. 

He doesn't get much of an answer. Just a weak 'uhuh' that's muffled by your inner thigh. 

Idle, your hand combs through Bob's short hair. Has had enough time to grow past the rigid constraints of Navy regulations, the perfect length to curl around your fingers, tugging gently. Drawing his eager mouth closer, hot tongue trailing along your skin. Sending superheated bolts of lightning rippling up your nerves. Familiar warmth blooming between your legs, head beginning to spin the slightest bit.

That soft mouth of his is the definition of heaven. Sucking gently, adding his handiwork over top of Rhett's extensive assault from a few days ago, so dark that they've hardly faded at all. A mottling of patches that only worsen the further he works, all too eager to mark you up. 

But it's a far cry from Rhett's vigor, working away at the crevice of Bob's neck. Loud. Reckless as he sucks a darkened mark into the thin skin stretched over his collarbone. Crafting a sinful trail leading down his back, a soft mark over every little knob in his spine. 

Fingers curl into your waistband. Wordlessly urging you to lift your hips to let them slide past the soft curve of your ass, yanking the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side, underwear and all. 

But Rhett's hands are on Bobby's hips, and they're certainly not yours. Which can only mean...

You're cut off before you can even begin to speak. Bob's flat tongue stroking between your folds, peering up at you from beneath his lashes. Dark, hardened gaze daring you to call him out on his antics.

He's slow. His hands dropping onto his lap, quietly concealing his newly found freedom, working with his mouth alone. Leaning in until his glasses fog with his own breath, lazily lapping at your sex, roaming feather-light over your clit, a ghost of what he could be giving you.

"Bobby," you gasp, and though your thighs are squishing his cheeks, it's impossible to miss the way his lip upturns into a grin. 

Rhett bumps into him from behind, and that's all it takes to have the tip of his tongue pressing directly into that rapidly swelling button. A sudden pressure that damn near makes you squeal, yanking a hand out of his hair to muzzle yourself with. That darkened gaze hardens into a glare. Craves the sound of you whimpering his name, but there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Not if he doesn't want Rhett to see his untied hands. 

He's pushing harder now. Aggressive strokes, swiping invisible x-shapes with this audibly wet noise that threatens to make your head float right off your shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's a lot all at once. 

Rhett's hand bumps into yours as he tangles his fingers in Bob's hair. Gently yanking him back with this absurdly loud pop, chin already glistening as he's hauled back to lean against Rhett's chest. 

But it's not to torment Bobby or for Rhett to steal his fair share of attention. No, he's shoving Bob's pajama pants down his hips. Half-hard cock bouncing the moment it's free of its confines, a sight so distracting that you can't bring yourself to look away. 

Until you realize that Rhett has long since lost his pants, that is. Your thighs squeezing together from the sight of them alone. 

Rhett's brows knit together, suddenly perplexed with a realization you've already made. "When did y' get your hands—"

The end of that sentence never comes. Cut short by Bob's sudden burst of energy, blindly reaching behind himself to grab a handful of Rhett's dark hair. And it's like the fight immediately dissolves from Rhett's bones. Face softening as he's held in place until Bob can get behind him. Nothing but an unruly puppy that got put back in his place.

"Thought you knew better than to tie a sailor with a basic knot," Bob's chuckling into the shell of Rhett's ear, reaching forward to wrap Rhett's pliant arms in the ribbon. Not as decorative as before, opting for an intricacy that has you tilting your head, unable to keep up with what his nimble hands are doing. 

You should have seen it coming. But quite frankly, you can only think about one thing right now, and it's certainly not the intricacies involved with tying a ribbon. Speechless as Rhett's pretty head is pushed between your legs. The scruff of his jaw scraping your mottled inner thigh, peppering it with a kiss. 

"Sweetheart, can you look under that pillow for me?" Bob's pointing toward the decorative throw in question, the small square one that used to sit in his apartment, "Think we left the lube under there last time." 

Blindly, your hand reaches behind it, patting against fabric and cushion until your fingers graze the cool plastic of the bottle. 

But then Rhett's tongue darts to lap at your clit, suddenly too hungry to wait anymore, and you're fumbling with it. Nearly dropping it onto his back before Bob can even reach out to take it from you. 

"Jesus, Rhett," you breathe, falling back to rest against the couch cushion, gazing down at the new, messy sight you've gained. The too-eager cowboy who doesn't have the strength to string you out like Bob does, so content that his eyes seem to smile as he gently sucks on your clit.

"'m sorry," he grumbles directly into your pussy, unable to draw himself away for even a second, "couldn't help it." 

He's everywhere. Laving your clit with all the attention he can give and then dipping down to nudge his tongue against your neglected entrance. Shallowly working his tongue in and out, downright drooling into you, short little jabs that make you flutter around him. Only for him to break away the moment he's found a rhythm. Licking his way back up and over your clit once more. Collecting every bit of you, and yet he's still not satisfied.

Your hand settles against the back of his head, tangling your fingers in those long locks, pulling until you can guide him right where you want him, holding him in place. "Right there," you murmur with a shiver, "right there."

Though your grip is strong, it's not enough to stop him from jumping at the sudden appearance of Bob's lube-slicked hand dipping between his thighs. Carefully spreading the cool substance against the thin skin there, working his way up to his balls and the underside of his cock. 

"What..." the rumbling of Rhett's voice sends sparks racing up your spine. Sends you involuntarily jolting up into his mouth, "are y' doin'?"

Your eyes are just open enough to catch the way Bob grins. "You'll see," is all he provides. Kneeling down to place his hands on the sides of Rhett's thighs, pushing them together so quickly that Rhett squeaks. 

The first pass of Bob's cock between Rhett's thighs is a thing that surprises all of you. Rhett at the sudden appearance, you with the obscene sight, and Bob's muttering something about those pretty thighs being so fucking soft. His dick just long enough to brush against Rhett's heavy balls, gives him the slightest amount of attention. 

And oh, does it have him whimpering into you. "Keep doin' that," he stutters, pushing impossibly closer into your cunt. Working you in earnest now, swirling his tongue around that swollen bud, punctuated with a soft suction that has your heart jumping in your chest. His body rocking with Bob's deep thrusts, bound arms helplessly pinned against the couch.

It's so much. Oh, it's so much. Your hips are beginning to squirm, legs clamping down around his shoulders, squeezing impossibly tight. Yanking on his hair, pulling him closer, only to try dragging him away. Don't know if you want more or less or exactly what he's doing right now, or, or—

"Untie me," Rhett's babbling all of a sudden. Sounds as far gone as you feel. "Please. Want, want...wanna hold..."

His biceps flex, straining against the thin ribbon with everything he can muster, the threads of the fabric audibly ripping as it's stretched beyond its limit. And it's all Bob can do to lean down and yank on the knot. Undoing it before it can be torn in two; technique doesn't always outweigh pure strength.

Rhett's arms are around your hips in an instant. Hugging you close like a man starved, and it's all you can do not to fall apart right here and now. Frantically pawing at his biceps, pushing at his head, unable to stop his hungry mewl from vibrating up your core. Impossible to avoid the pleased smile that plasters across his face, lightly sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy. 

"Rhett," you're whining, squirming helplessly as he downright eats you alive, tongue so sloppy that it's loud, has a sickly wet noise ringing in your ears,"Rhett I...I'm—"

"Cum on my face," pleading in that hopelessly deep voice of his, "Please, please, please." 

You hardly feel it hit you. All you know is that your head is falling back against the couch cushion, and you're cumming on his burning tongue with a strangled whimper. Legs damn near locking around his scruffy face as your back arches up, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it has to hurt. And yet he licks you through every jolted spasm, hot breath fanning out against you, humming in tune with your noises.

Bobby's pulling him away right as you grow oversensitive, pulling on those soft brown locks of hair, but you hardly expect him to haul Rhett up onto his feet. Blindly pushing him forward onto the empty space next to you, his back flat against the cushion, head falling haphazardly into your lap. Unshaven jaw glistening with you as he pries his eyes open, gazing up at you with that far-gone emptiness you've seen so many times. 

Doesn't react as Bob squeezes into the little bit of space available, pushing Rhett's thighs up and together, guiding his cock through the small gap in them. Pretty pink cock head bumping right where Rhett's weeping length begins.

And Rhett's whimper sounds like your name. Big hand pawing around until he can get ahold of yours, squeezing it gently. 

"Ain't you two a sight," Bob's grunting. Has only just begun to find his pace, but he's already begun to shake. Too close. Too fast. 

It's enough to get Rhett's eyes fluttering, hips jolting upward, "Y' like my thighs too much." And he's going to be so sensitive once Bobby's done with him, thighs red and tender from the abuse, but fuck is all of that worth this. The sight of his trembling legs being held together, flushed cock leaking against his belly as his thighs are fucked for all he's worth.

On its own, your free hand lifts, traveling down to wrap around his neglected length. Letting the weight of Bob's thrusts push him in and out of your grasp. A shallow, lazy motion that makes his mouth fall open.

"You like that, cowboy?" You're teasing, voice a touch hoarse. Thumb finding its way beneath his plush head, swiping back and forth at the precum-covered underside. 

"T-tighter," his hand squeezing yours a little harder as if to demonstrate what he's craving. And as soon as you follow his instruction, his back is arching off the couch. "jus' like that, jus' like—fuck."

But that's not enough. No, no, he's opening his mouth again. "Harder," he begs, pale feet defiantly kicking where Bob's got them held in the air, "Robby, fuck me harder." 

"You're purty demandin' for a pillow princess," you don't know what's made Bob's accent slip out so suddenly, but it damn near makes your head spin. And though he's complaining, he wastes no time hardening his pace. Balls smacking against Rhett's flushed skin as his thrusts become heavier. Rough, just how Rhett likes it. 

Knocks the rest of Rhett's words right out of his mouth, silences him right and proper. Dissolving into nothing but pitchy whimpers and hitched breaths. Noises growing higher and higher, until he's beginning to twitch in your grasp, your only sign that he's close.

"Cum for us," Bob's egging him on, pulling those shivering legs up to his chest, drawing him back into every thrust, "c'mon, be a good boy 'n cum." 

Rhett's head lolls backward, eyes rolling, gazing up at you and nowhere at all. Eyelashes beginning to flutter and fall closed, cumming with a feather-light gasp that ought to knock you off your feet. Ropes of white paint his spasming belly and your hand, coating his spasming length. 

And Bob's still fucking him, rhythmic pace dissolving into something sporadic, rubbing right against Rhett's oversensitive balls with every push and pull. Rhett's whines rising into hopeless cries, squirming, fighting to escape the way Bob's still railing into him. 

Only takes a few shaky jerks of his hips for him to stall, too, staining Rhett's thighs and cock with rope after rope of cum. Glasses obscuring the way his eyes roll, head tilting back to show the new mottling of marks on his collar. 

Everything is still. Quiet, except for two labored breaths, intertwining like the tinsel on the tree. Bob's shaky hand dips down, collecting some of the mess he's made of Rhett's thighs, lifting his cum-covered fingers to Rhett's swollen, parted lips. And all your cowboy can do is open his mouth and lick it off, too far gone to fuss. 

Two pairs of exhausted eyes peer up at you as if to check that you're on the same page as them.

"What 'bout Floytt?" Rhett's blurting, all of a sudden, evidently unable to keep the silence for too long. 

Bobby's eyebrows furrow, tilting his head down. "Pardon?" 

For a moment, Rhett flounders. Mouth opening and closing. Seems to have completely forgotten how to conjure up the words he needs to speak. "Remember, the uh..." he tries, "las' name thing?" 

You can't help but giggle. "You two are horrible at bringing up your ideas." Because what are the chances that you'd wind up with not one but two fiances who can't seem to give context to save their lives. Wildly blurting what's on their minds, under the assumption that you'll know what they're talking about. 

"I take it that's what the notebook was for?" Bob's question is more of an observation than anything. To which he receives a nod and a faint 'uhuh' from Rhett. Can't be brought to provide a proper 'yes.'

It's not the solution you'd expected when it came to this last-name debacle. Debating on whose last name to take, the three of you are too passive to insist that your name be taken out of fear of hurting feelings. But the concept of picking an entirely new one didn't feel so personal. There's no special weight to the names you've found online.

"Floytt." It feels strange in your mouth and yet oddly familiar, as if it's been present from the moment you all met. Lifts your tongue like it does for the beginning of Floyd, still carries the short and sweet ring of the Abbott family name. 

"Floytt." Bob's parroting you, pausing if only for a moment to think, and then opens his mouth once more, "I like it." 

For a three-month-old debate, it sure did end abruptly. You can see it now: a pretty new name engraved on a plaque hanging below the mailbox. An obnoxious, cursive sign in the kitchen, as if you and your families can possibly forget something like a last name. Bills and new dog tags with the name stamped in pretty letters. 

"Now we just have to plan the actual wedding," your smile wavers; you've got a little over seven months to figure out a theme, outfits, finalize who is being invited, and, worse of all, figure out the cake situation.

How is anyone supposed to layer Bob's beloved lemon on top of Rhett's affectionately chosen bananas foster? And then still have space for yours as well? Who gets to be the biggest layer? Who draws the unlucky straw to have the smallest? And how do you even begin narrowing down three icings to one? And themes. How the hell do you get a cowboy and a pilot theme to look good together on the same damn canvas?

You wonder if they'll object to three separate cakes. 

"And finish the tree." Bob's nodding his head toward the half-finished decor; you've got to make another ornament run if you want to get anywhere close to having it done. 

Rhett's resounding "ugh" resonates to your core. "C'n we take a nap first?" He grumbles, punctuated with a big, whining yawn. Batting those long lashes of his up at the two of you like it'll earn him some favors.

It does. 

You're snuggled up with him in an instant. Squeezing in on one side while Bob takes the other, barely fitting onto these wide couch cushions. Your arm splayed out across the soft fat of Rhett's belly, squishy until he intentionally flexes the thick muscle there. Has rounded out in all the right places, in the chest, cheeks, ass, and cum-covered thighs. 

A clean-up should have come before the nap, but you can't be bugged to get back up. And by the looks of it, neither can Bob. 

"You're really gettin' us more rings?" Rhett's asking, half-lidded eyes flicking between the two of you as if he can possibly garner an answer from your expressions.

Bob's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "Why not?" 

And it's only now that you tune into the soulless drone of the television. A familiar, festive song chiming to life as a stop-motion snowman twists across the screen, mindlessly strumming his banjo, singing about silver and gold. 

Quietly, Bob begins to hum along to it. A soft rumbling that draws a heaviness into your eyelids until you can no longer lift them. Drifting off to the tune of an old song and the deep rumblings of a Navy pilot who reaches over to stroke an eyelash from your cheek. Your wonderful little unconventional trio, with your extra partner, two colors of rings, and three separate wedding cakes. 

Something pops. Hitting the ground with a shrill clatter; ornaments bouncing across the floor, twinkling lights flicking off within an instant.

One eye opens, peeking at your newly fallen Christmas tree. 

It closes. 

Rhett's elbow finds its way to nudge Bob's chest, "you're settin' it up this time."

"I wouldn't have to if you two woulda woke me up," you knew Bob would hit you two with that eventually. Always does, at some point. 

"We were tryin' to let you have yer beauty sleep, flyboy," Rhett's chirping, in that taunting sort of fashion that can only mean one thing. You don't need to open your eyes to feel the playful glares being fired back at one another.

And then comes Bob's too-calm warning. "Don't start that."

"Well, I'm startin'!" And there they go, tumbling off the couch in an instant. Ornaments knocking around as they tussle about on the living room floor. Fighting to see who's stronger, as if this outcome will be any different, swearing between giggles as they twist and turn.

You don't get to take that nap.

[captain-mj]

Would you be interested in writing about Simon being hit by a love potion / chemical that makes him not inhibited and he is so openly in love and affectionate with Johnny and Johnny doesn’t believe it and of course he has feelings for Ghost but Ghost is clearly compromised (his feelings are real) by the chemical and Soap doesn’t want to take advantage of him? ���😩😩

Oh? Someone being afraid of taking advantage of someone and being overly respectful of their boundaries? I love it thank you

Soap watched the dart slam into Ghost. It was from some sort of sniper rifle clearly, even though it was clearly just a dart.

He panicked, of course, expecting it to be poisoned.

Price went after the person while Soap tried to see if Ghost was going to drop dead.

Ghost did not drop dead, of course. He hummed instead.

"How do you feel?" Soap had forced him to the ground, a little surprised that he had been able to do that.

"You're gorgeous." Ghost said softly, staring up at him. His eyes were a bit wider and softer, the perfect puppy dog eyes.

Soap paused and stared at him. "What?"

"You're gorgeous." Ghost repeated. "I love your eyes. They're so blue." He sounded wistful.

"Uh... Maybe... don't talk..."

Ghost continued staring up at him with his puppy dog eyes. They were... so big and so soft and Soap had to look away before he did something they'd both regret later.

Clearly, they had dosed him with an aphrodisiac of some kind. While yes, Ghost may not be showing the typical symptoms, it made the most sense. If he felt very turned on, he may act flirty.

"Do you feel hot?"

"My face does but I think that's because I'm blushing."

"Why are you blushing?" Okay, that was helpful. If he had a flush that imply fever and he was sure the medics would

"I always blush around you." Ghost interrupted his thoughts.

"I said don't talk."

"You asked a question." Ghost protested and moved, spreading his legs and stretching a bit. Soap looked away immediately, a habit he had a feeling would be forming.

Price came over the comms, telling him he had the guy. He hadn't killed him, but before Soap could even protest, he answered the unspoken question. "We need him alive so he can tell us what he gave Ghost."

Soap grumbled, but conceded. He glanced at Ghost to see him looking straight at him, almost hungrily. Desperate for Soap's attention.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"So I can't talk or look at you?"

"Exactly."

"I'm your lieutenant, shouldn't I be giving you orders?" Ghost said softly, head tilting back. "I feel so hot."

Soap looked at him, worry for his health fighting with worry of doing something... untoward to him. To Simon. He had read Ghost's files. Knew that there was things that happened to him in the past if Soap ever.... ever was looped in with those things. Those people.

Fuck Ghost's forgiveness, Soap would never forgive himself.

"Let's walk to evac and you can get out of your gear."

Ghost looked up at him, head no longer tilting but instead lolling back. He straightened before Soap could ask and he stood up. Soap went to walk beside him but Ghost grabbed him, leaning weight on to him. It made Soap's heart skitter in his chest. His nerves were bad. Too bad. He couldn't...

"Let's get your feet under you, Simon." Soap stood up a bit straighter and tried to help him. Ghost stumbled but managed. "What are you feeling?"

"Dizzy. Lightheaded. Butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Soap frowned and looked up. Their eyes met and they were so close. Ghost's were half closed but stared into him.

"In my stomach. I feel like a little kid. You remind me of the football player at my high school."

Soap couldn't get a word out.

"I lost my virginity to that guy. He was awful in bed. I bet you'd be better." Ghost leaned forward as if to kiss him.

Soap quickly turned his head and hurried them along, ignoring that Ghost's feet stumbled.

He needed to get him to Price.

What if Ghost acted like this with Price?

What if he acted like this with everyone??

Price, himself and Gaz would never judge Ghost for what happened while he was drugged, but if he acted this way in front of the others, Soap wasn't sure they wouldn't. Ghost may not be quite scary enough to ward that off.

They got to evac and Price joined them. Ghost looked at him and just... nodded before moving to look at Soap again.

Thank God.

"You okay, son?"

"I'm fine." Ghost leaned into Soap, arm going around him. He pulled him closer and Soap winced. "My gear."

"You can take it off now. Doubt you'll need it in the air."

"Help me take it off?"

Price wheezed. "Yeah, you can handle that Soap." He started to walk away.

"Wait! Captain! Captain!" Soap whispered desperately but Price was already gone. "Alright... let me help you." He turned around and started to gently unbuckle Ghost's tac vest and slid it off him.

Ghost let out a sigh of relief as the weight left him. He stretched and then took off his helmet, relaxing into Soap again.

Soap couldn't do this! Ghost wasn't in his right mind! He tried to gently push him away and Ghost adjusted, nuzzling into his neck. The cold feeling of his mask pressed right against him.

"Simon, come on."

"You smell nice. Do you wear cologne?" Ghost took a deep breath, hands on Soap's hip to keep him close.

"No." Soap wheezed, looking away.

"You're gorgeous, Johnny. Has anyone told you that recently?"

"Yes. You. Ten minutes ago."

"..........well you deserved to hear it again." Ghost nuzzled into him. "You're warm too. So warm."

"Weren't you just complaining about being hot?" Soap finally managed to get some space between them.

Ghost looked at him and Soap swore his pupils were in the shape of hearts. "Feels okay when it's you."

Our father who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.

Soap felt so flustered. "Simon. You're not..."

"I've loved you so long."

THY KINGDOM COME

"Ghost, you're not in your right mind."

"I just didn't know how to tell you. I didn't think you'd like me back."

Oh dear God.

Soap put his hand over his mouth. "You... You don't mean that. This... poison will wear off and I won't bring this up, okay? I don't..."

Ghost watched him before moving Soap's hand away and slipped off his mask. He leaned forward and kissed him and Soap froze.

How many times had he thought of kissing Ghost?

Ghost tasted like smoke. Not cigarette smoke or the smoke from explosions. Smoke from campfires. Something sweet underneath it. Soap didn't kiss back. He couldn't.

Ghost pulled back, so soft. Unbearably soft. Soap let himself look at him. Scarred and broken, but still Ghost.

"Johnny."

Soap swallowed. "Simon."

"Do you not love me back?" Simon's giant doe like eyes staring at him. Staring into him.

"You're not... I can't... Listen, what if we talk when you come down?"

Ghost shook his head slowly but he moved closer. He put his head on Soap's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. Soap slowly hugged him back and patted his back.

Ghost ended up falling asleep which was very unusual and Soap made sure to slip his mask back on him.

Price helped Soap get him to medical and they quickly checked his vitals. Next, they put him on an iv just in case.

Soap stayed with him. He couldn't let him be in the hospital alone.

Ghost just... kept staring at him. Giant eyes.

They ended up holding hands. Ghost looked very happy about it. Soap felt flustered.

It was a gradual change. Ghost straightened a bit more. He fixed his mask. He grew agitated and complained about being in the hospital.

Their hands stayed linked.

"Fucking embarrassing." Ghost mumbled.

Soap laughed.

"Meant it though."

Soap stopped laughing. "What?"

"I do love you. Johnny MacTavish."

"You're probably still..."

They made eye contact.

"Oh..."

Ghost blinked at him slowly.

"I love you too Simon Riley."

[bonefall]

I’m not sure if you talked about it, but what do you think about A Thief in Thunderclan? I actually liked it, though it definitely had a few ehhh moments

Eh, honestly? Im kinda disappointed that James Barry had to go out on such a low note. I did not like it, it felt like a waste of time.

It wasn't like... offensively bad but I have very little good to say about it. It was fine. If you want to see more ThunderClan you can check it out?

(A lot of Thief in ThunderClan critique below the cut, I didn't like it much)

First of all, the mystery was just bad. I'm sorry. An owl? Swooping in at night for dead animals and leaving perfect scores in the dirt? It felt like a real "running out of ideas" type plot.

Brightheart was NOT fun to follow. She was uncomfortable for most of the story and secondhand embarassment is an emotion I really don't enjoy. Even moments that were supposed to be thought-provoking (like the Brambleclaw name confrontation) just felt like cringe because they were written so poorly.

Like, seriously? "Firestar why did you name Bramble after his father who disfigured me?" "Oh its because i uhhhh wanted to remind ppl of it so they would stop being reminded of it eventually" WHAT? That was a brainless enough choice when it was FIRST made, you can't fucking tell me any cat with a brain cell would go "wao... really makes you think... hngsociety"

I disliked the fact they decided to give Brightheart serious suspicion towards people like Longtail and Brambleclaw, I strongly disagree she would be like that. She feels so much to me like someone who would feel awful for doubting people she logically knows are innocent, and express to Cloudtail that it makes her feel like a bad person, but she CANT help it. She is such a kind, loving, and self doubting sort of cat... or, was, I guess? Or maybe it was never there at all and I'm the fool.

On that note? Her character arc was a mess. As much as I hate Shadow in RiverClan, I can say that Feathertail's arc was a competent *story*. Brightheart is having nightmares, suspects Bramble and Long of treason, is trying to figure out this mystery, trying to help train Rainpaw, the fact she resents not being his mentor is mentioned and dropped, she is pregnant... so much shit is going on and it feels absolutely unfocused.

And even worse, because it's overlapping with the beginning of Firestar's Quest, we end up having to Show Off The Continuity instead of telling a cohesive story. Oop Willowpelt died and Rainpaw is kind of sad about it! But wait we have to say bye to Firestar, make sure to squeeze in the Brambleclaw name confrontation before he goes! GO BACK Longtail has been blinded!! ALSO THE OWL! HERES WHY THE OWL WASNT MENTIONED IN FQ!!

And DUDE if there's anything that's a SERIOUS problem, it's Brightheart's stupid ass cutesy "look who's being USEFUL in here!" When blinded Longtail is helping out in the medcat den

First of all fuck you for the wording of that line! Second of all, GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD that disabled people shouldn't have to find a way to be "useful" to belong to their society.

The fact we're getting a book from Bright's perspective as a disabled person and the whole thing is chock full of "useful" language as she struggles with PTSD makes the fact this is COMMON in WC sting so much more.

Anyway back to just, normal critique and not frustration with ableism in wc.

I feel like they really wasted Brightheart's family. I enjoyed finally getting Cinder and Bright hanging out as sisters, but we got a MENTION of Frostfur, and barely anything with her brothers. It's already a mess so why not go the whole way?

Ashfur also has his post-TBC personality retcon which absolutely kills me. Why do we need this shitty "foreshadowing"? Why do we need him to have been so obviously controlling and argumentative? Why are these writers fucking allergic to having a villain that people thought was nice and normal once?

NITPICK: if i have to see another cat gently picked up by a large bird of prey without at LEAST getting a cracked rib I will shapeshift into 10,000 crows and fly away forever

I have some good feelings towards it though, and I have to be clear, this is actually Ambivalent Bones. I'm only mad at the "Usefulness" rhetoric, the rest is just my normal amount of whinging lmao.

I do really like Cinderpelt and Brightheart finally getting some interactions. It's long overdo lmao

I like Cloudtail and Brightheart as a ship so it's nice to see them hang out.

Uhhh this is a bit of a backhanded compliment but I liked how she was upset at not getting one of Whitestorm's children to mentor? I don't like how it bodes for the wider narrative though, because we know this ends in her getting shafted FOR YEARS and unable to get an apprentice. But I liked the plot setup of her having resentment for Cloudtail because of this. I thought that would make a really good plot point for putting a wedge between them to work through. Like, stop being cowards, LEAN INTO Firestar making some very serious, insulting, short-sighted mistakes, and it interfering with Brightheart's ability to heal. Kill your darling.

There were some nice lines. I do remember Ashfur's lame "greedyclaw" insult, which was funny.

I enjoyed the cute moments between the cats in ThunderClan. Ferncloud chasing after her kids, Brightheart convincing people to help her investigate, the Willowkin being upset about their mom. It's a mess but there's some nice stuff in that mess, y'know?

Overall, my memory hasn't been kind to it. I think I was giving it a 6/10 when I first saw it, but it's dropped down to a low 5/10. Not (very) offensive but too messy and pointless to revisit.

[angelsanarchy]

Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 16

Tagging: @ophelialaufey@madamemaximoff06@forever-not-gonna-sink@ajmiila02@liquidsmoothdomme@shady-the-simp @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27

TW: Mentions of blood and suicide

After Pelle had killed himself and Necrobutcher quit the band, Oystein knew he had to make his next moves very carefully if he wanted to keep it together. Finding Pelle like he did broke his heart. He knew he had pain. He knew that he was down and out but a part of him never truly expected he would go through with it.

He knew the needed to get out of this house. After sensationalizing Pelle's death, the rumor mill about him being a brain eating occultist was running rampant which only served to give Mayhem more publicity. No matter how much he wanted to capitalize on it, being in the house now just felt wrong.

Most of their stuff had been cleared out, he was still packing up his own room but Hellhammer had already gotten his shit out. He said the house felt haunted and even though Oystein gave him shit about it, he often found himself standing at the doorway of Pelle's room, staring at the blood stain on the floor. The path of blood that led to the stained wooden boards that his brains were still embedded in deeply.

He knew that what he was doing was wrong but if he stopped and let himself feel this, he wasn't sure he would ever recover. The sound of tires screeching outside snapped him out of his thoughts and he could see Y/n's car carrying dust from how fast she just came to a halt.

"I don't need this right now-" Euronymous was carrying a box in his arms when Y/n's hand slammed into the side of his cheek sending him stumbling backwards into the car, dropping the box from his hand.

"YOU PIECE OF ABSOLUTE SHIT! HOW COULD YOU!?" She was screaming and crying as he brought his hand to his cheek that was throbbing. He couldn't believe she had just punched him.

"Jørn told me what you did! Skull necklaces? Have you no fucking soul at all?! He was a fucking person Oystein! He had people who loved him and cared about him!" She continued to cry through her anger and disgust.

"Please tell me this isn't real. I need you to tell me that this is all just to keep your image because I can't-" She started to hyperventilate and Oystein panicked.

"Y/n breathe, you're going to pass out!" He reached out and tried to steady her by the arms.

"Tell me they aren't really Pelle. Please tell me that I didn't have feelings for someone who would do something so callous and disgusting." She pleaded with him and Oystein nodded his head.

"They aren't! It's not him, I promise! Please just breathe." Oystein tried to comfort but she pushed him off of her, falling to her knees. He knelt down in front of her and extended his hand only to be slapped away.

"Don't touch me!" Oystein set back on his ass away from her so she could settle down but she just resumed crying silently.

"He was your friend...how could you let this happen." She gritted her teeth. The truth was, Oystein did feel responsible. He knew how bad Pelle was. He knew that he was experiencing an extra low-low and he had left him by himself to go see his parents for a free meal.

"There was nothing I could do Y/n. You know Pelle didn't want to be alive. He was fucked up-"

"Yeah! He needed help! Not encouragement. Not half-assed friends." Y/n wiped her face tearing a picture from her back pocket and tossing it at Oystein. It was the photo that Pelle let her keep all those years ago when they had done the corpse make up for the first time. Oystein felt pain in his chest. Thing's felt so simple then. He missed when he could terrified people with Pelle and actually make Y/n smile at him.

"You have become such an awful excuse of a human being." She looked up at him and he took his eyes off of the photo to meet her disappointed gaze.

"You shouldn't be here. There's nothing here for you." Oystein said keeping his tone calm knowing that there was nothing he could possibly say to provide her any comfort. They were too far gone now.

"You're right. There isn't." She pushed herself off the ground and Oystein rises to his feet in front of her, leaving the picture on the ground.

"I just had to see for myself. I had to know that there was no going back." Y/n had wiped her face again, this time leaving a smear of dirt from the ground on her chin. Oystein wished she hadn't come by. He wished he could have left this house and all the pain with it.

"I hope the world you've created burns to the ground and when it's all over, you realize all the people you burned with it. I hope it's all worth it in the end." She sniffled and turned her back on him, walking back to her car.

"You just don't understand Y/n. Please let me-" He tried but she cut him off.

"Go to hell Oystein." She gritted through her teeth before starting her car and peeling back down the road away from him, not bothering to look back.

Oystein knelt down to pick up the photo and all the things that had spilled out of the box when he was hit. He didn't think he could hurt anymore than he already did but this felt permanent. This felt as permanent as losing Pelle. He could feel pieces of him dying and how alone he was. He didn't need to go to hell because he was already there.

[animentality]

(Leaps in askbox now its clear) Howdy! I'm curious about your opinions on the companions, like initial thoughts and now that you've clocked in an unhealthy (affectionate) amount of hours? We know what you'd change but how about everyone as is? Thanks!

Alrighty, I can finally answer this one...

Ok.

Man. This is gonna be a long one.

We're gonna start with the shorter opinions first.

Minthara:

I have not done a run where Minthara was alive in Act 2. I literally know almost nothing about her.

I think she's hot and has the sexiest voice of all the female characters, but I know nothing about her story, other than she was a lesbian with Orin. I do wanna try and romance her, but.

Who knows if I'll ever get around to it.

Minsc:

I get that he's a fan favorite from the old games, but I kind of hate him. He feels like fanservice, and I didn't get a nostalgia boner for him, so he does nothing for me as a character.

I honestly kill him. Not out of malice, just more out of, why even have him be here?

Plus I tend to go through the entire game without swapping my party members, because I'm pretending it's a real dnd campaign.

And I ain't changing my team comp for this weirdo who only shows up at the very end.

Sorry to his hamster when I kill him, though.

Jaheira:

She's ok. I don't hate her, but she doesn't do it for me. I don't get why she's Russian. And apparently the only Russian in the whole game.

She also feels like fanservice.

Plus she fucking drops ice storms on everyone's goddamn HEADS when they're already in Hunger of Hadar, and honestly?

We have beef. I let her die sometimes, for that crime specifically. I also skip her house, because it doesn't have good loot, besides the scimitars, and I don't play races or classes that use scimitars. like ever.

Halsin:

I like Halsin generally, he's inoffensive to me, but his "romance" is so bad. It's shallow, it feels tacked on, which it was, and everyone knows how much I HATE how little his sexual trauma is focused on.

I romanced him twice, and both times, I was underwhelmed and kind of shrugged him off.

He should just be a fling option like Mizora. He shouldn't have become a "romance" option. It's fine for him to be a big buff bear hippie that you can fuck, but a companion?

He's got nothing to do with Act 3. It's a detriment to his character and the game, tbh.

Ok, that's the smaller ones out of the way. Now mains:

Astarion:

I got into BG3 for Astarion.

I fully admit it. I saw a scene of him screaming at Tav for blasting him with the sun beam from the githyanki creche, and it was funny as fuck.

Neil Newbon is highly charismatic, and truly elevates a character I don't find that physically attractive. His personality and enthusiasm shine through, and his voice acting is superb. And I am a sucker for angst and redemption and themes of abuse and breaking free of toxic relationships. And darkly, I admit. I do like the more twisted nature of his backstory, the way he had to use his body to survive, has a bad relationship with sex, and was tortured repeatedly. As anyone who reads my writing knows...I am a disgusting sadistic pervert.

That being said.

I no longer like Astarion. Well. No. I like Astarion.

I don't like his fans, or his rhetoric. Astarion has the better writing of BG3, but the lack of nuance from his fans annoys the shit out of me, and overexposure to him as a character, since Tumblr and TikTok are obsessed with him?

No me gusta. I don't hate him as a character, but I can't stand to see Astarion is so perfect posts. He's not, and that's the whole point. He's awful, but you people don't appreciate that. I don't want to see Astarion x Tav headcanons. And I especially do not care about the BookTok crowd being obsessed with him because they just like a dommy vampire, and disrespect his narrative with absolutely no self awareness.

BookTok Astarion is SO GODDAMN BORING. They really just reduce him to a hot dommy vampire daddy, and that's why I never take BookTok recs. Pure garbage.

So. TL;DR - I got BG3 for him, but overexposure to his fans made me be significantly less interested in him. It's a good thing. If I was obsessed with Astarion, I'd be forced to interact with his fans. Thank god for Gortash... I'm free of that prison.

Lae'zel:

I loved Lae'zel the minute she was mean to me.

She's hot as fuck, like seriously, so hot, her neck makes me sweat something fierce, and her voice is sultry and raspy and hostile. just how i like my women.

But I admit...she's too fucking meta. gameplay wise, she's probably the strongest companion you can have for DPS...so I admit...I've had her on my teams so much, that I am sick of her.

And again! It's not because she's badly written. I actually think her character is really strong, and really awesome. I also think her arc is amazing, going from this devoted cult member to basically saying I'm going to fucking kill a god.

I actually teared up a little at the creche this one time, when I had to beg her to stay, and she was like, you knew I had no other path to follow, but this one, or something like that.

But.

But I have beaten the game with her in my party like three times. I've had her in my party on Honor mode like...a million times.

So, tl;dr - I love her to death, but gameplay wise, she's so strong that I can't play her anymore.

Shadowheart:

Ok...I admit it.

I don't like Shadowheart. I find her boring visually, because she's just this generically hot white girl. She was designed to be the companion that all straight cis white men would want to see naked, and that's fine but uh.

Does absolutely nothing for me.

I don't care for her personality either. I don't like her lines, all coy and vaguely condescending. I don't really like how mean she is to you, and it's different from Lae'zel, because at least Lae'zel came from a warrior culture that doesn't put much value on flowery language. Lae'zel makes sense.

Shadowheart is an amnesiac who's just mean to you because.

I also don't care for her story, at all.

Don't care about Shar's Gauntlet or her kidnapped backstory. Don't give a shit about her parents. Don't care that she's scared of wolves or that her hand hurts.

I like the overarching thematic bridge that her character exists on, specifically that the gods will demand everything of you, and will hurt you for their own amusement.

But as a companion...no.

I have never been interested in romancing her. I never have her on the party, except to get that achievement.

I also don't like clerics. I think they're kind of weak, tbh. They're heal bots. They're really only good for spirit guardians, glyph of warding, and removing status effects. Just don't care for that. I'm an all dps team, we have no room for healers.

TL;DR: I don't think Shadowheart is interesting design wise, story wise, or gameplay wise.

Karlach:

I loved Karlach the moment I saw her, I fell deeper in love with her the second I heard her voice, and I knew I would die and kill for her, when I saw her excited "I love you" confession scene.

Seriously.

I have said this before, and I will say it again.

Out of all of these characters, romanceable or not...

I would only marry Karlach in REAL LIFE. I'd never date a man like Gortash or Astarion. I might be friends with Gale, but he's too smart to be my boyfriend.

But Karlach. She brings the wife energy. She could throw me over her shoulder and bash me against the concrete, and I would say thank you, ma'am.

she's also so fucking fun to play. barbarian options in bg3 are so goddamn funny. you can intimidate everyone and just break shit. it's great. you can also constantly throw people AT PEOPLE. And it's great. She's way more fun than Lae'zel because of it.

No notes. Top tier character design. My wife.

But also FUCK the developers for only giving her two fucking quests, one of which is a FETCH IT quest and the other is just a lame boss fight.

And FUCK THEM for only originally giving her an ending where she either dies or becomes a mindflayer. WHY.

And the Avernus ending still annoys me, because the ENTIRE PARTY should be there too.

FUCK YOU LARIAN. Why do you hate Karlach???? You're monsters. She's never done anything wrong, and yet all you do, is wrong her.

Bullshit.

Wyll:

Ok.

Hard truth time.

Wyll is the hottest male companion.

Like.

No cap. Everyone who says Gale, or Astarion, or Halsin-

Incorrect. It's Wyll. He is literally so hot, with the white eye and those sexy throat scars. Hrrrrrrr.

Also, controversial opinion. I actually like his devil form.

I think it makes him even hotter. I do wish he had wilder hair, though.

That being said...

He's horribly underwritten.

I went in, thinking, he's so kind and nice and hot...and then I was disappointed by how little they gave him.

He, like Karlach, got hit with the cut content curse.

And it's so ugly.

And gross.

And honestly, I suspect it's racist.

But yeah.

I think he's really sweet and I like romancing him and all. But they didn't dedicate any time or effort to his romance, and I hate that. But not him. Never him.

TL;DR - my first impression of Wyll was wow, he's hot, I wanna know more about him, and my last impression is, wow, he's so hot, I hate that he has nothing going on because Larian simply didn't bother to give him shit to do.

Gale

Alright, I left Gale for last, because he has the MOST complicated relationship with me.

So I initially missed Gale, because my friend failed the strength check to get him out of the portal.

So for a while, I didn't even know he existed.

Then I started to see more of him on Tiktok and Tumblr, and I was like oh...ok. So...we missed him. Damn.

So I decided to try romancing him fairly early on....only to find out...

I absolutely despised that when he dies, he killed me with necrotic damage.

That pissed me off. In the early days, when I was new to the game, I think I once had a whole team wipe, because Gale and Lae'zel went down, and then Karlach went rampaging, set me on fire, and then died to Gale's necrotic...which is funny in hindsight, but it was annoying at the time.

The eating magical items thing was mildly annoying, but that was far worse.

I pretty much never ran Gale for a long period of time.

As the Dark Urge, I'd often kill him, in fact, just so I wouldn't have to deal with his Arcane Hunger.

And honestly, initially, I kind of disliked his personality too.

I think the first scene I ever saw of him was when you tell him he's ok in bed, and his response is like, I guess I'll go kill myself.

And honestly, I thought he had incel vibes because of it. Then add to the fact that he's rude to you, no matter what, when he needs his third item...and also add that to the annoying gameplay, PLUS the fact.

That I was rocking Sorceror and Warlock for most of my early runs, so didn't need a wizard...I said, no. No Gale.

I don't like Gale.

BUT.

Here's the thing, right?

I got into Gortash... and then I stepped away from Astarion. Started being obsessed with the Dark Urge...

And then I noticed that all of my Durgetash friends were super into Gale, and I didn't get why...

But then weavewithshadow specifically alerted me to the fact that... there are Gale and Gortash parallels...specifically, that they're both brilliant, scruffy, are blinded by ambition, can't appreciate the things they have, and keep chasing after things they can't quite reach.

And then I was like...ok, maybe I've been harsh on him...

So I did his romance...and I felt bad.

Because he's actually very sweet.

And his voice is reallllly lovely when it's soft and fond.

He's a poet...and then I felt bad for all the times I had chewed off his arm.

And honestly, with experience...I now know what to feed him. Mostly garbage magic items like Komira's dumb locket or the ring of color spray from the harpies' nest, or those dumb boots that electrify the water you stand in.

Plus, I'm smart enough to know how to keep Gale alive now, so the necrotic thing isn't an issue.

So.

So. TL;DR I had a very complicated relationship with Gale, first with his mechanics, then with this random out of context scene where he's kind of nasty to you. But I came around, and honestly...right now...I like him more than Astarion.

All he wants to do is...live.

And I relate to that.

And his romance scenes are nice, and he has more of an arc than most of the other companions, Astarion aside.

So there you go, anon.

This took forever to write.

Thanks for the ask, though.

[selineram3421]

*screams into the void*

Isekai'd

Part 3: Presence of An Angel

Part 2

~

Vash (Tristamp) X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ cussing-again, blood, all caps for screeching, Vash being a bit of a weirdo ⚠

The paper that smacked your face ended up being Vash's wanted poster.

Oh shit! This is so cool! You thought looking at the paper with sparkling eyes.

Eventually you had to put it away. You didn't want it to get messed up.

The coat you bought worked amazingly well, keeping you cool from the heat and protected from the random hot gusts of wind.

The Tomas you rented was slightly more blue than green. It was honestly fun though, probably the closest thing you got to riding a horse.

"I'm gonna name you Kevin!"

Then after a long while of riding through the desert in silence, you got bored.

I wish I had a music player. You sighed. Well I could just sing.

Singing for you only happened when no one was around. And since it was the desert, there was no one.

Yeah, why the hell not. You decided and started singing.

"I can't see where you're comin' from

But I know just what you're runnin' from

And what matters ain't the who's baddest but the

Ones who stop you falling from your ladder

When you feel like you're feeling now

And doin' things just to please your crowd

But I love you like the way I love you

And I suffer but I ain't gonna cut you 'cause

This ain't no place for no hero"

You sang out, geeking out a bit how this was the perfect song to sing in the desert.

Then the night rolled in and you had to stop, setting up camp after making sure the area was safe enough to do so.

"I hope there's no worms around.", you mumble while trying to figure out how to set up the tent. "How the fuck do I do this?"

Kevin was chilling out by the camp fire you made, sitting like a chicken resting in a nest, feathers all ruffled up to keep warm. Leaving the tent unmade, you make your way over to the Tomas and sit next to them, pulling your coat closed as you leaned back on them.

"Good night Kevin.", you pat the bird. "Peck anyone trying to rob or kill me.", you say with a yawn before knocking out.

✴

Blinking your eyes open, you saw the glass ceiling of a familiar ship.

"Ah fuck.", you grumble and sit up.

Why am I always lying down on the ground? You wonder.

Looking around, you find yourself alone.

Not wanting to sit around, you stand up and start walking. The flowers were swaying slightly, like a breeze just passed by recently. As you continued, you noticed that you were walking to the tree that you first woke up by.

Now standing under it, there was an odd need to close your eyes, so you did.

All of a sudden there was a tug on your clothes from behind. Turning to see who did it, you find a small boy with blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and a beauty mark just under his left eye.

"Wow.", you end up saying.

"Wow?", the boy repeats, tilting his head to the side.

"Oh, sorry!", you let out a small laugh and give him a closed eyed smile. "I just couldn't hold back my awe about how pretty your eyes are!"

What you don't see is the boy smiling at you.

✴

"How pretty.", you mumble, slowly blinking your eyes open.

Only to see blue-green eyes staring into yours.

"AAAAAHHHH!", you screech and kick the person in the face on instinct.

"AAH-OW!", the man yelps and holds his nose as he falls back.

You scramble to stand up, now wide awake and take in who the hell thought it was a good idea to watch you sleep.

"Ow ow ow OW!", the guy says in pain. "That really hurt!" He was curled up into a ball, squirming around like a worm out of the dirt. "Geez, you've got a good kick."

Blonde, red jacket, prosthetic arm- You listed off. Holy shit, I just kicked Vash The Stampede!

"Oh shit! Are you ok!?", you say and rush over, kneeling down next to him. "What the heck man, you shouldn't ever be that close to some sleeping stranger!"

"Now I know. Hahaha..", the blonde laughs and cringes in pain. "Thank goodness I didn't have my shades on."

You didn't notice that his signature yellow shades were off, but that didn't matter at the moment. "Let me see your nose.", you say and try to move his hands away.

"No no! Its bleeding and that's not a pretty sight.", he tries to wave it off.

"Oh please, I've seen worse.", you roll your eyes and move his hands. "Being a medic and all, there's a lot of gross things that I see."

He lets you move his hands a bit reluctantly.

You try your best not to blush when seeing all of his face.

Damn this man is beautiful.

His nose isn't broken from what you can tell, but it does need to stop bleeding.

"Excuse me for a moment.", you say and pinch the bottom of his nose. "Lean forward.", you say and guide him. "Can you hold your nose like this while I get something from my pack?", you ask.

He nods, staying in the position you told him to.

Letting him take over, you rush to your medic backpack and dig through it to find the cold compress that you made.

After getting it, you crack the rectangled compress like a glowstick and shake it. Making your way back to the blonde, you see that he's looking at the item in your hand curiously.

"Its like an ice pack.", you say and kneel down, carefully pacing it on his nose. "Sorry for kicking you in the face."

"Sorry for giving you such a spook.", he smiles.

Did not expect to meet the main character like this. You beat yourself up and cry internally. I kicked him in the face.

"Gotta keep it there for fifteen to twenty minutes.", you say and let him hold the cold compress.

It was early in the morning, the suns weren't even up yet but the sky was slowly turning a lighter blue.

Ah damn, I forgot to look at the starts last night. You frown, looking up at the sky. I've got tonight, so no worries.

Then you remember that the man in front of you was watching you sleep.

"Hey mister.", you look at him with a confused glare.

"Hm?", he looks up at you.

"Why were you watching me sleep?", you ask.

...

"Oh, hahahaha!", the blonde laughs nervously.

He'd probably be rubbing the back of his neck if his hands weren't busy. You thought.

"Its not every day you see a sleeping beauty!"

Brain functions are at a halt.

You look at him in shock.

Did he just-? The feeling of your face heating up creeps forward, and you even feel your ears turning red.

"I thought you were an angel! Hahaha!", he continues.

This mother fucker-! You feel yourself puff out steam from the top of your head. Wait, I can do that?

"What is this? You trying to sweeten me up so I don't beat the crap out of you?", you grumble.

He just smiles at you like the dork he is.

"Whatever.", you huff and get up.

Putting your camp stuff away, you tie the tent and sleeping cot onto Kevin's saddle. It being easier to have there than on your pack all the time.

.

Vash had been on the run again, narrowly escaping being shot at from behind.

It didn't take long for the sky to go dark.

After a few hours of walking in the desert, he noticed a camp fire in the distance. Hoping it was someone who could spare food, he made his way over.

"Hey there friend! Sorry to interrupt but could you-", he then paused after seeing that the person was out cold. "Ah shoot."

The Tomas they had turned to look at him, letting out a squawk.

"Hn.", the sleeping person started to shift.

"Ah! Sh! Shhh!", Vash hurriedly went over to keep the bird quiet. "Hey now, you don't wanna wake them up!", he whisper shouted.

The giant bird let out another shreak before pecking him on the head.

"Ow! Hey, I'm not doing anything!", he fought with the bird a bit before it finally stopped trying to hurt him. "Whew.."

Taking another look at the sleeping traveler, he saw that they were now lying on their back, face now visible.

As if in some sort of trance, he made his way over, kneeling down just to the side of them.

The camp fire went out but it wasn't long till the sky started lightening up, signifying that the suns would soon show up. The light seemed to help the sleeping beauty glow, as if they were a fallen star.

"Wow.", Vash mumbled in awe, taking his shades off to get a better look.

"How pretty."

He didn't noticed they woke up until they screamed.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"AAH-!", he screeched but it soon turned into a yelp of pain. "OW!"

They kicked him in the face.

Poor Vash. But really, he should have been more careful.

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 4

Taglist@

@summerdazed @+?

Song: Short Change Hero by The Heavy

ML Vash | ChL Isekai'd

[liesmyth]

Okay but when John says "all of them" in response to "how many babies died" I think like, there's also some tragedy in the fact he's probably not lying at all. Like, obviously everyone died when the bombs went off, but what about the resurrection? I think it's like, extremely possible that John just didn't really bring back anyone other than adults. We're shown that even with his godlike powers there are limits, and Harrow especially I think gives a hint children might be one of them. He seems more in awe about what Harrow's parents did than anything, he talks about how he tried doing it and failed, and I think he feels some regret about his abilities.

We're only given a small idea of what life is like after resurrection, but from what we understand it's a lot of learning and a lot of weirdness. Additionally like, kids and babies have weirdness. They have parts of their brains that need to change levels depending on the lifespan, they have hormones that need to start more and stop more as they get older. They have bones that are soft bones that merge together and bones that form. We also know small scale is where God has some trouble, like being able to stop tumors but not blood cancer

I think it's really likely that John didn't attempt to resurrect kids, or was unable. He didn't want to put newly resurrected people in caretaker positions, he didn't want to risk messing up or causing problems. I think it's likely that later on he even tried, and just outright failed and has some guilt over it

My personal head canon is that he might have even tried to create a kid for himself in the past. The way he specifically calls out what Harrow's parents did as something he knows the logistics of tells me he's probably thought of it. My like, theory is that while he was killing planets and stuff he at one point attempted to try and use the bloom to create a kid for him and Alecto or to resurrect kids, and just had no idea how to make it work SO yeah TLDR: I think God talking about how all the babies died has actually some guilt on John's part, and ties into his guilt he angrily refuses to release himself from. Both that he's potentially unable to resurrect kids, but also that he was potentially unable to make a kid of his own like Harrow's parents did

THIS FUCKED ME UP. THANK YOu.

Ok. Listen. I actually never considered "he couldn't bring back children" before (or "he tried and went horribly wrong") but this is a 10/10 chef kiss heartbreaking headcanon. Terrible. All of them. Wow

Also. I lowkey think that John's bone crown is made of baby fingers specifically for a purpose, and IMO it's as a reminder to himself. I know this is somewhat #controversial, but I really don't read the baby bone crown as an Evil Symbol of Evil — House culture seem very much to be pro carrying around bits of your dead. I think it'd be a very John thing to make a symbol of office out of the dead children of humanity, and then interpret it as a memento to himself that there can be no forgiveness, as long as I have breath in my body etc, instead of a reminder that he shouldn't fucking nuke a planet. Anyway, I think the bone crown is, like, 40% a way to show respect to the dead and 60% because he thought it looked cool.

(Doylistically, the bone crown absoluely exists because Taz thought it looked cool)

Anyway. Before seeing this ask, my personal interpretation of John's familiarity with the details of what Harrow's parents did is that he understands the mechanics because resurrecting humanity + necromancy involved using some of that death energy, and possibly souls as fuel, to introduce necromancy to humanity. I'm not married to this theory because IMO if John had been able to pick and choose who was to be resurrected as an adept, we wouldn't have ended up with quite the same necro/cav pairings, but I'm not married to this guess either... it's just a whole bunch of guessing. Now this sad headcanon rerooted my brain so I'm again Considering Things