#loll I have so many thoughts about him he's great

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

-

part two

[thefoxtherapist]

hello! hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself! if it’s alright with you, could I request hcs about Calcharo (and/or other characters of your choosing if you’re interested) with a S/O with dogs?

Calcharo’s hobby voiceline makes me so sad bc if it weren’t for his job, he would definitely have half a dozen dogs (at least). like, I 100% believe he struggles not to adopt every stray he sees and tries to find them all good, safe homes (maybe most of his informants have dogs bc he knows they will treat the dogs well, if only because they owe him). and maybe after he gets comfortable with his S/O and knows they’re okay with dogs (maybe the S/O already has a dog/dogs, maybe not), he starts bringing strays home with him regardless of whether or not they stay there temporarily while he finds suitable homes for them or become permanent members of the family (as long as it’s okay with his S/O ofc). I like to think the strays all follow him around too, so whenever he’s with his S/O on dates or smth in the city, it’s like that one meme.

S/O: “whatcha got there?”

Calcharo: *being followed by Jinzhou’s entire stray dog population* “a smoothie”

thank you for reading my aimless ramblings, I just have a lot of thoughts about him and wanted to know what you think!

I am doing well thanks for asking! I was sick yesterday but I'm doing better now. I hope you're well too.

And don't worry about 'aimless' ramblings. I quite enjoy seeing what you all think of the media we're all interested in :)

Anyways, I hope you still like this, it isn't exact to your request but same ballpark I hope.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Calcharo watched the german shepherd tilt her head to the side, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she stared up at him. He quickly looked around the living room, your living room, before he broke a piece of his ration bar and fed it to the dog. With a small bark, the dog swallowed the biscuit quickly.

“Sh-”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. Things are fine.”

Calcharo stood quickly from the couch, stuffing the remains of his ‘dinner’ wherever he could in his uniform before you entered the living room. The dog barked once as she ran up to you, circling your legs quietly. 

“Did Cal give you another cookie?” You cooed as you knelt down, petting her ears. The mercenary’s expression didn’t change but he was surprised you managed to bust him so easily. Though, he quickly supposed, that was one of many reasons he’d fallen for you. You played off him well.

She barked, eyes closing, head tilting to the side.

“Ghost Hounds don’t take betrayal lightly.”

You couldn’t help the sharp laugh, immediately coughing as if to cover it up. “Oh you’re just the worst, Mei.” You bit the inside of your cheek as you grinned at your blissfully unaware dog, her tail going crazy. She was the cutest.

Calcharo had a soft spot for dogs for as long as he could remember.

The mercenary exhaled sharply when a dog barrelled into his legs, its leash attached to its collar but no owner. He quickly caught the leash, wrapping it around his wrist with ease to stop the dog from getting any further.

“Mei!”

Silver eyes flicked up as he watched the stranger quickly approach, out of breath. “Is she yours?” He questioned, voice gruff as he stared down at you. You keeled over slightly, hands on your thighs as you panted.

“Yes, I’m sorry, did she hurt you?”

“Not at all.”

“Mei.. You shouldn’t run off like that..” You inhaled air before bending down, the german shepherd immediately sitting pretty for you to pet her ears. “I honestly just found her recently so her training isn’t that great yet.” You looked up at him with a bright smile as Mei panted happily.

“She’s a stray?”

“Sure is! Jinzhou and the surrounding area have quite a few strays.” Your smile turned far more solemn as you turned your expression back to the overexcited puppy. “We take care of all the strays around but when I saw her face.” Mei whined softly, flopping onto her stomach and stretching out.

“You had to take her home.”

You nodded. “Yeah! You get it! Oh! I’m-”

“Calcharo.”

You stood up and he offered you her leash, which you took. “Do you keep dogs? You definitely seem like the type.”

Calcharo rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I don’t, no.”

Mei flopped into a lying position before rolling onto her back, paws in the air as her tongue fell out of her mouth again. Calcharo crouched down, rubbing her stomach much to her joy. “Good girl.” He mumbled, stroking her fur, soft even under his gloves. 

“I found a home for the dog you picked up by the way.”

He lifted his head to you, waiting for you to continue. “Jingling, she’s a Patroller.” You leaned your head against his shoulder and he returned his attention to Mei. “She wanted a cat but I convinced her that her active lifestyle is perfect for a dog like Kanna.”

“Thank you.” 

You laughed, Mei whining when Calcharo’s hand on her stomach stilled. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy finding homes for all the dogs you manage to wrangle up. Plus it's good for Jinzhou.” You turned your head to kiss his shoulder instead.

“Does the same apply to my recruits?”

“Oh no, did Meneo get lost again?” You couldn’t help your giggle, Calcharo had told you of his latest recruit’s utter inability to traverse the Huanglong landscape.

Calcharo pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I could try to find him a partner but I don’t know.” 

“Don’t even joke… Let’s stick to the dogs.”

You laid your head on his shoulder once more, sighing softly, contented. 

“I’m sure we will. Don’t think I don’t know about the dog you have in the bathroom right now.”

“How do you-”

“I’m dating a mercenary, I learned quick, Ghost Hound.”

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking of all the ways you can be intimate with the Spot | 18+, MINORS DNI

Content tags: use of strap ons,

Ever since the accident happened and his body changed form, Spot never thought he’d be able to be intimate with someone.

However everything changed when he met you who was rather experimental in the bedroom and never afraid to try something new.

So it was to no surprise when you came up to him one day and told him about this idea that you had.

It all started when the two of you were getting intimate. He had you bent over, fingers thrusting into your aching hole and murmuring about how he wishes he could feel like he used to before.

Ever since then you’ve been thinking about ways to make it happen and one day you came across an article stating that strap ons were a great addition to the bedroom for all parties involved, thus giving you the idea that you should try giving him a blow job while he’s wearing a strap.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, head tilted in anticipation with a strap hanging between his legs

“You sure this will work ?” Spot asks and looks down to where you’re sitting on the floor, voice careful and unsure as he fidgets with his long lanky fingers.

You shrug in response “honestly? I don’t know but it’s worth a shot“

Despite taking a new form you can still tell by his body language that he’s nervous.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to Jonathan” you say as you squeeze his thigh in reassurance.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I haven’t done this in a while and it’s much different from what I’m used to, you know? “ Spot says whilst shuffling around on the covers.

You did know.

The color of the strap was a stark contrast to the color of his skin, the size wasn’t something he was used to having and on top of that he was guaranteed not to feel a thing.

You nod your head in understanding and smile up at him. “How about this; if you really want to do this we’ll give it a go and if it turns out that it’s not your thing we forget about it. You and me can order pizza watch some movie and cuddle on the couch instead yeah?”

Spot takes a moment to consider it before he nods in agreement and you see the tension leaving his body as he relaxes on the bed.

Although his body can no longer feel the way it once did, he appreciates the way you trail kisses down his chest, the way your hands gently rub circles into his thighs and the way your eyes stay glued to his face, making sure he’s alright with everything that you’re doing.

The sheer attentiveness of it all has him lolling hishead back, chest heaving as his big hand gently drags along the expanse of your back.

“Still alright?” you ask as you pause your ministrations, voice careful and gaze gauging his every reaction.

Spot nods in response ”It’s really nice “ he says, voice shaky and breaths labored as his limbs twitch from your touch “keep going please”

As you kiss and caress him, you stumble upon one of the many spots decorating his body.

“Has anyone tried touching them?” you ask, eyeing what seemed to be a bottomless pit with curiosity.

It takes him a moment to respond, brain still affected by your touch “Only by accident “ he says, voice slightly cracking as he turns to the spot that you’re eyeing.

“May I?”

“You want to touch it?” He says, voice full of wonder as he adjusts himself on top of the covers.

You nod in response, still eyeing the spot.

“Alright, go ahead “

Spot doesn’t have to tell you twice as your hands sprawl over the expanse of his thighs, curios fingers skating over spotted skin as your eyes eaglery drink in the sight of the many dots on his body.

Some are big, some are small, some edges are very frail and some are very sharp. You trace each and every one of them with your finger as you gauge his reaction. “How does that feel?”

“Ticklish” he chuckles and you can’t help but smile at his reaction.

“What if I did this?” You ask as you slowly inch your hand closer to his inner thigh, fingers experimentally tracing around the edge of a spot before sliding two fingers inside.

“Oh-oh- woah” Spot gasps in surprise and falls back onto the bed “sorry sorry so sorry”

“That's alright, maybe it’s better if you’re laying down instead” you say with a chuckle, never once stopping your caresses “does this feel okay?”

He tries to form words, tongue stumbling over syllables as he squirms.“feels - feels good uh yeah good fuck -how are you doing that” he squeaks out as he gently ruts his hips against your hand.

It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You can hear the whirling sounds coming from the portal, and you can feel the way the cold air caresses your bare skin but you can’t see a single thing. So you do your best to navigate your fingers in what seemed to be an endless pit, gently moving them in a back and forth motion as you keep your eyes trained on him.

“This?” You ask as you curl your fingers experimentally.

“Fuck” he cries out before he bites down on his arm, thigh twitching under you touch.

“Still alright?” You say with a smile on your face.

“Yeah, yeah still good” he pants, nodding his head, limb still twitching under your hand.

You give a few more experimental thrusts to his hole, watching the way he gets worked up only to suddenly pull away from the spot.

Spot whimpers at the loss of contact but you’re quick to console him with a squeeze to his thigh.

“I’d like to try something. Tell me if you want me to stop” you say to him as you inch closer to the strap hanging between his legs. “And keep your eyes on me okay?”

“Yeah alright -“

You wrap your lips around the strap as you sink down on it before you plunge your fingers back inside the hole on his inner thigh, doing your best to match the pace of your mouth with the movements of your fingers.

Spot gasps in surprise at the sight, back arching off the bed and heels digging into the bedroom floor for support. “Fuck oh- fuck” he cries out, voice full of wonder as he rocks his hips against your face “it’s like- it’s like you’re actually doing it”he whines out again , hands fumbling to grasp onto something and settling for clawing at the mattress.

You continue your movements, and you even tease him by pulling out your fingers only to trace the edge of the hole before plunging them back inside of the portal.

“Oh god- “ he sobs as you continue your ministrations.

“You sound so pretty you know? Love to see what more sounds you can make while I fuck your holes” you say as you pull away from the plastic, fingers still thrusting inside his hole.

“Don’t- don’t say stuff like that” Spot whines as he buries his face in his hands but still keeping a watchful eye as you drag your tongue over the plastic.

“Why? You don’t like it?” you ask with a smile on your face, already knowing the answer to your question. “Jonathan answer me “ you say in warning as you crook your fingers.

He sobs at that, fingers digging into the hole on his face as he furiously bucks his hips against your hand.

“I do” he wails, as he continues to rock his hips . “Feels so good feels so good feels as if - as if “ he pants, unable to finish his sentence as he starts clawing at the mattress again, slowly losing control of his senses

You sink down on the plastic again as you continues crook your fingers inside the hole on his body.

His head shifts from side to side so fast he looks like a moving blur, too far gone in pleasure to be able to look at you anymore as he rocks his hips against your face, the movement so sudden it causes you to gag around the plastic.

You pull away from him with a cough and blink back in surprise as you wipe your mouth.

Spot springs up so fast he almost tumbles over in the process. “Oh god- god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah don’t worry about that, just a bit surprised “ you say with a soft smile on your face, swallowing down the discomfort that was making itself known at the back of your throat.

“So- sorry” Spot says again. “Here let me-“

You just shake your head before you gently push him back down on the bed and sink down on him again. Your fingers return to the spot on his body, making sure the pace of your fingers matches with the pace of your mouth to keep the illusion going.

His hand goes back to your head, gently cradling it this time as he lightly rocks his hips against your face. “This is - this is so nice - thank you so much for doing this”

It’s clear that he’s trying to restrain himself, body shaking from restraint as he shoves fingers into the hole on his face to muffle the whines and whimpers escaping him.

As much as you appreciate the gesture you don’t want him to hold back and you make it known with a tap to his thigh.

His fingers fall from his face, body going completely still as he turns to look at you instead. He must’ve thought you wanted to stop because he goes to pull away but you’re quick to put a hand on hip, halting his movements completely.

You relax your mouth around the strap, body going slack as you guide his hips against your face.

Spot gasps at your movements, lanky fingers clumsily grabbing onto your hair as he guides your head all the way down to the base. “Fuck oh fuck please -“

What started off as a controlled pace quickly turns into a feverish mess and he wails, blunt nails dragging along your neck as he slowly loses control of his senses.

As you continue to sink down on the plastic and fingering the portal on his body , you notice the holes expanding in size, and even moving around

You’re amazed, eyes wide and mouth halting its moments as your fingers trace the many shapes of the holes of his body.

All of a sudden he stops responding, body going completely still and you turn your gaze towards him.

“Jonathan? Is everything alright?” You say, worry dripping from your voice as you pull away from the strap.

He’s got his fingers shoved back into the hole on his face, an attempt at silencing the whines and whimpers escaping him that only seem to grow louder as the spots morphe and move around on his body.

“Nonono don’t stop don’t stop please please“ he urges, hand clumsily grabbing onto your hair as he shoves you back between his legs.

Oh

Now that's a reaction you’re familiar with and you quickly wrap your lips around the plastic dick as you sink down on it, fingers plunging back into his hole and continuously curling inside of it.

You see the way the spots on his body continue to shift and change, and you feel the way his fingers yank onto your hair as he frantically rocks his hips against your face.

“I think I’m-I think I’m —“ Spot mutters into the palm of his hand before he comes with a cry, back arching off the bed as the spots on his body finally stop moving.

It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before, an orgasm accommodated to his newest form and you can’t help but want to see more.

Spot flops back down onto the bed, hand thrown over his eyes as he exhales heavily

“That was- that was woah”

“Should we do that again?” You ask with a smile on your face.

[mxdarling]

["did you miss me? because i really missed you" / "no! i'm not going anywhere and neither are you! we're stuck together now, i'll make sure of it"]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: the greatest detective, will never leave your side and neither will you leave his.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 1.8k

ೃ⁀➷: reference/inspiration: n/a

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] my first bsd work LOLL god when I say I was writing this with trembling hands I wouldn't be lying, I was so scared to write for him even though he's one of my favs fufuu I just hate mischaracterization and i don't wanna fuck this up, anyways thank you anon for requesting ranpo with #30 and #22! it has been my pleasure to write for him LOLL enjoy!!

[warnings:] lowercase, ooc ranpo, yandere behavior, they/them prns, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, ranpo sits on reader's lap, mentions of stalking, implied reader being blackmailed by ranpo, reader is taller than ranpo, non consensual kissing (cheeks & lips), ranpo licks reader's fingers, eavesdropping.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

RANPO EDOGAWA, the greatest detective in the world, one who could solve a case in under 3 seconds, your annoying and childlike coworker, the one who has no ability, is currently following you around like a lost child. this has been going on for—at least, 4 minutes max—just him trailing a few centimeters behind as you continue to walk to your destination. in all fairness, when he found out you were going to the grocery store, he immediately jumped into the conversation and decided by himself that he's going to join you during your trip.

"areee weeeee there yet? i don't remember the journey to the store being this long!" a loud whine comes out of ranpo's mouth, worsening your mood as you hear his whiny voice, the kind you'd hear from a 6-year-old child who is simply too impatient to wait for their turn. from your peripheral vision, you could see several people looking at the two of you, ranging from confusion to judgmental stares. his shoulders are down, making him have a slouched body posture as he walks behind you in a more lazier manner than you, who is so close to speed stomping and leaving him behind.

"are we ther- hey! wait up!"

scratch that last thought, you're going to have a pleasant trip to the grocery store and you're going to leave him behind if that's what it takes to have peace of mind.

(fortunately for him, you didn't. your dislike for attention proves to be something he could use to his advantage, seeing how you crumbled under the feeling of many eyes turned towards you two when he whined and cried in the middle of the sidewalk, making a scene in broad daylight, taking his wrist in your grip, and dragging him along to your destination, making him match your speedy pace. he'll definitely keep this in mind for future use.)

the office was quiet, and you were alone in the room—switching between writing and reading a bunch of papers piled up near where you're sitting. despite having gone through just a few pieces of paper, the weight on your shoulders and back has gotten rather heavy, like you didn't stretch your limbs beforehand after waking up from your 5-hour rest. the silence was odd, to say the least, not that it wasn't unwelcome; it just made you curious about what your co-workers were up to, which made you not present in the office today. maybe yosano is out shopping, maybe kunikida and dazai were out chasing down criminals, and whatnot? maybe atsushi is helping out to solve a case with... him. the oh so great detective, fucking ranpo.

as much as he preached about how great he is and how everyone else in the detective agency respects and admires him, you were quite indifferent towards him in general. you aren't sure what everyone sees in him or what makes him so interesting that he's able to get this much attention—in other words, he's just plain boring in your eyes. actually, scratch that; he's more than boring; he's an absolute brat. he's whiny, always munching on his snacks so loudly, refusing to do work or cases sometimes, and acting like his super deduction is an ability. what's even worse is that he seems so determined to bother you constantly, every chance he gets. rarely are you left alone and left to breathe from the overwhelming detective—even if you are given a moment of peace, he'd come running back acting like an even bigger headache for you.

"(nameeeeeee)!" filling up the room with his shout, he pushed open the door with such force that it banged so loudly that the noise echoed to the other side. you could feel his attention on your back as silence once again filled the room. in the most coincidental (and worst) timing, the headache you were talking shit in your head comes into the office—a dreadful pit building up in your stomach as you mentally pray in your head for whatever ranpo is going to put you through this time. you could hear the skip in his footsteps. every step you take, more sweat starts rolling down your cheeks as you close your eyes and imagine a life without ranpo, without the suffocation of love and attention he gives you, without the anxious thoughts of being followed on your way home (you have major suspicions that it's ranpo but have nothing solid to prove it's him), without him blackmailing you into compliance, without-

dragging you out of your inner thoughts, the headache makes impactful contact with your back. "did you miss me? because i really missed you!" he says in a cheerful tone, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight grip and rubbing his cheeks against yours like someone would greet their lover when they miss them so much (he's doing it on purpose to make you uncomfortable, you think). to further prove your point, he smashes his lips against your cheek, not once, not twice, but multiple times in the same and adjacent areas of your cheek. if this had happened to you several months ago, the simple act of him trying to wrap his arms around your shoulders would make you go away from him as fast and as far as possible—even more so if he tried to kiss you, your water bills would skyrocket through the roof for how much time you would spend in the bathroom trying to scrub away the kiss on your cheek.

"no i didn't, actually" having gotten used to his (non-consensual) affection towards you, his actions do not faze you; on the outside, that is, there still remains that pit of disgust you used to have all those months ago. those urges to swat his body away from yours to give yourself some space are still there, yet you do nothing to act on any of them. you simply decide to indulge in whatever antics he has up his sleeves this time for the next few hours of your day—not that you had a choice, anyway.

(several times you've expressed discomfort at the physical touches he gives you during work hours, and several times you've expressed discomfort at the physical touches he gives you during work hours, and several times he intentionally ignores it for his own benefit. the one time he went overboard was when he made himself comfortable on your lap, handed you several sweet snacks you assumed he got from his secret stash, and forced you to hand-feed him until he was satisfied. to say this stunt of his hindered your productivity would be an understatement. you were way behind your planned schedule by the time you finished hand-feeding him all the sweet snacks.

just as you were about to ask him to get off, he suddenly grabbed your wrist, saying something about "there's still some crumbs left!" which confused the fuck out of you until you felt the wet sensation of a tongue licking your fingers. the horrors expressed on your face seemed to further encourage the amused ranpo, as he started sucking on your fingers too! neither of you two brought up that incident again, though you're glad he hasn't done this again; you aren't sure how well you were going to handle the next one.)

"i guess you could say smart men are my type," you say rather subconsciously without any thought or care of your co-workers' reaction to your answer, instead putting all your focus on your computer screen and continuing to type away as you hear several gasps and 'no way's from your left side.

"(name), are you.. sure smart men are your type?" there was hesitation in their voice, disbelief even—like they didn't believe you the first time. "uhh.. yeah? i didn't really give much thought, but intelligence is hot, i guess," you said once again, answering in the same manner you did the first time. you weren't sure what they were trying to get out of this conversation, but if you had to guess, most likely they're attempting to set you up on a blind date. "..alright, if you say so.." they say, ultimately ending the conversation and switching topics to avoid making the awkwardness linger in the atmosphere.

(little did you and your co-workers know, the great detective was listening in on the whole conversation. hearing every word that came out of your mouth, to say he stumbled upon your little talk on accident would be a lie—he doesn't go to such lengths without a reason. to say he's surprised by your type of men like your co-workers were would be another lie, but he's quite puzzled. if smart men are your type, why do you always seem to give the expression that you're disgusted by him? no matter, as a detective, it's his job to uncover every bit of mystery and solve for all the missing pieces.)

stepping out of the building, bidding farewell to your co-workers, and parting ways as you walk to your house, taking extra caution by putting your keys between your fingers in case you were to be stalked by someone, especially a certain someone you've been trying to avoid all day long...

"(naaameeeee)!!" and speak of the devil; he shows up to come and ruin your day just when you're about to go home—how fun. you let out a tired sigh and turned around to see ranpo running towards you at full speed. the sight set off alarm bells in your head, so on impulse, you tried to get out of his way and hoped he ran too fast that he ended up hitting a light pole straight in the face. yet it seems this day of yours wouldn't be so lucky, because suddenly he grabs your shirt, pulls you a little lower to his height, and then kisses you on the lips.

your eyes widen in shock, momentarily stunned for a second, before you feel your instincts kick in and roughly push him away.

"ranpo, what the fuc-!?"

suddenly you feel an unexpected impact hitting your chest, emitting a surprising noise from your mouth, making you cut off mid-sentence. ranpo buries his face underneath your chin, rubbing against your skin with his cheek like it's a pillow—opening your mouth. you tried to protest once more against him, but nothing came out. the sudden feeling of a pair of arms wrap around your torso and your arms holding you in a tight grip, sending the message that he doesn't want to let you go. after what felt like eternity to you, he looks up and shows you the poutiest expression you've ever seen him make.

"no! i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you! we're stuck together now; i'll make sure of it!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 4

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: Blow job, drug use, swearing, angst, noah getting humbled

Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

________

“Fuck,” Noah whispered. “Just like that.”

Noah couldn’t remember who was sucking his dick. He could barely remember how he got upstairs. He thought her name might begin with an S? Maybe? But her mouth was so warm and inviting. And wet. And when she hummed, it vibrated.

His head lolled to the side. Had the couch always been this soft?

She pulled off him with a “pop” and stroked his shaft a few times.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, letting out a soft giggle and allowing his lids to close.

He’d have to ask Jolly what that pill was. He wanted to feel like this all the time.

“You like that?” the girl asked. What the fuck was her name? Sarah? No… Savannah? Something like that. She looked up at him and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a face more vibrant or beautiful than hers.

Except for maybe yours. But he didn’t want to think about that, because it was bringing down his vibe, and he had someone right in front of him who was so, so beautiful, and whose mouth was the warmest mouth he’d ever felt in his life.

“Yeah,” he said, marveling at the tingling sensation in his fingertips as he rubbed them together, paying special attention to the calluses on his fingers. She squeezed his dick again and his focus was brought back to her. “Do it again please?”

She enveloped the head of his dick in her mouth once more. He didn’t think she could get a tighter seal around him. His eyes rolled back. Noah was certain if she kept up at this rate, she’d rid him of whatever negative energy dwelled in his body, and he’d walk away an enlightened man.

“You’re so fuckin’ warm,” he muttered, noticing for the first time that his own voice carried many layers to it. He hummed out a note, feeling his vocal folds vibrate with such a pleasant intensity that he forgot all about the woman whose mouth he was currently in and began practicing his vocal warmups. He could hear his voice getting better in real time.

“They’re right,” he giggled between warmups.. “I should do my vocal exercises more. These are great.”

The woman said something that Noah didn’t catch, but his awareness was once again brought to his dick, and this time, his focus was locked in. All the sudden, he was on a sensation train that was approaching its crescendo. When it did, Noah’s body blasted into a liminal space, where he was met with a wave of warm, glowing light.

Was he crying? He thought he might have been crying, but he didn’t know what about. Surely it was nothing sad, because no sadness could exist here. He was wrapped in pure love and light.

“It’s like heaven,” he slurred.

And then his body slipped away and he was nothing more than divine consciousness, floating in the ether.

_____________

“Noah!”

Someone was shooting off fireworks in the hallway.

No, that wouldn’t make sense.

Someone was knocking on the door. His eyelids were too heavy for him to lift.

“Noah, wake up, man.”

He vaguely registered the sound of the door opening. “Aw, gross! Get your pasty ass off Jolly’s couch.”

Noah groaned, feeling for the waistband of his boxers, realizing they were still pulled down around his ankles.

“What happened?” he rasped out. His throat was beyond dry. His head pounded with every pulse.

“You tell me. Last thing I remember is you disappearing with that Tiffany chick.”

Noah’s eyes flew open. “Tiffany?” He scrubbed a palm over his face. That girl had been after him for months. Showed up to every party and clung to him like a barnacle on the side of a boat. Always interjected herself into conversations and has cockblocked him on more than one occasion. Despite actively ignoring her when she’s around, she never took the hint to leave him alone.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Why did you let me go upstairs with her?” he asked, finally looking up to see Ruffilo standing above him with his hands on his hips, looking very much like a disappointed mother.

“It’s not my job to babysit you, dude. Plus, you insisted it was fine.”

Noah rolled over and clenched his throat to stop himself from hurling.

“How much did I drink?” he rasped out.

“I don’t know. But whatever you took clearly didn’t mix well with it.”

“No shit,” he said, rolling off the couch. His knees smacked against the hardwood floor, the impact ricocheting up to his head, forcing him into a wince.

“Can you please put some pants on?” his friend said, rolling his eyes as he turned his back toward Noah.

With great effort, Noah hoisted himself off the floor and into a semi-standing position so he could pull his boxers and jeans back up.

“My eyes are killing me,” he croaked.

“Yeah, no shit dude. You still have those weird-ass things in.”

Noah stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, the acrid feeling of bile crawled its way up his chest, intensifying the closer he got. He threw the toilet lid and seat back, knees hitting tile as he curled over the lip of the bowl to vomit the remainder of last night’s drinks. 

His head pounded, every heave forcing blood up into his face, the vessels in his eyes straining under the pressure.

“Help me get these out,” he sputtered between heaving breaths, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He rolled over to lean his back against the vanity unit, hands falling into his lap as he worked to catch his breath.

“Let me see,” Ruffilo sighed cupping his chin with one hand to tilt it back into the light. He took care to wash his hands before he made any attempt to touch the massive black contacts that spanned the entirety of his friend’s eyes.

“Ow, fuck!” Noah shouted, causing his head to ache with his own volume. “Don’t use your nail, asshole!”

“Sorry dude,” his friend said, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. “This shit’s hard to do. Hold still.”

With careful precision, Nick maneuvered the large disc around until he found purchase on it.  Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger,  he gently peeled  it out to reveal Noah’s bloodshot eyes.. After doing the same with the second, he tossed both in the trash, then stood to wash his hands once more. “Damn,” said Noah. “I liked those. I wanted to use them for more shows.”

“We’ll get you new ones,” said Nick. He grabbed an empty Solo cup on the sink counter, rinsing it out before filling it with cool tap water. He handed it to Noah before lowering himself to the ground, sighing as he leaned against the opposite wall. “Sip slowly, or you’ll throw up again.” Gingerly, Noah raised the cup to his lips.

Ruffilo was not easily affected by the actions of others. In fact, he had a calming disposition that set many at ease. But at that moment, Noah could feel his friend’s gaze burning a hole into him. He stared at the rim of his cup, the acrid feeling returning as he did everything to avoid looking at Nick.

“You okay, man?” The pity in his friend’s tone sat like a brick in Noah’s gut.“I’ve never seen you get that fucked up before. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t be doing that shit,” Nick said, crossing his arms over his chest and clicking his tongue against his teeth.. “Do you even know what you took?”

Noah paused for a moment. Scenes from the previous night flashed through his memory: the red lump on your cheekbone, the slight gasp that left your lungs when he parted your legs, the absence of your warmth after you left.

“No,” Noah rasped out, leaning his head back against the counter and closing his eyes.

“That’s not like you, man.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on,” he sighed, grabbing Noah under the arm to lift him off the floor. “Let’s get you home and in bed.”

“Thanks,” said Noah. He brought his hand up to comb his fingers through his hair and found the demon horns still on his head. A bitter taste coated his tongue and he ripped them off, chucking them in the trash.

It took a monumental effort for Noah to stagger the six blocks to his house. The sun was far too bright and the traffic was much too loud. Even with Ruffilo helping him, he struggled to keep his balance and had to pause halfway through to vomit into a set of bushes lining the street.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. One moment, he was collapsing onto his bed, and the next, he woke to the sound of something hitting his nightstand. On a tray sat a mug of coffee, scrambled eggs and toast, with two painkillers on a napkin. Ruffilo was already on his way out the door when Noah spoke.

“Thanks man,” He managed to mutter. “I owe you one.”

“This is done on the condition that we talk about it when you’re ready.”

Noah sighed, jaw clenching. “I know. Just not today.”

________

Halfway through Noah’s day-long hangover nap, he was woken up by another knocking. This time, when he opened his eyes, he found none other than the drummer of his band looking like the cat that caught the canary.

Nick sidled past him, inviting himself into Noah’s room, tossing a wad of cash down onto Noah’s bed before turning to face him.

“Here you go, killer. You earned it.”

“What are you talking about?” Noah muttered, consciousness slowly growing clearer as he struggled to wake up. His head felt like it was in a vise.

“I saw you and the virgin Mary go into your studio last night. When she came back out, she looked absolutely wrecked,” he said, snickering to himself. He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you did it, but damn. I never thought that chick would put out. Her friend was a pretty good consolation prize though, I have to say.”

Noah grabbed the wad of cash and threw it violently back at his friend.

“Whoa,” Nick said, head pulling back defensively. “What was that for?”

“Man, fuck off. I told you I wasn’t part of that.”

“You still won,” said Nick with a shrug. “I’m a man of my word. Should have tried a little harder with her last night, but her friend was practically beggin’ for it the whole time.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Noah was aware that he should exit this conversation. But in the moment, his stomach rolled with a heavy mixture of shame and anger that he couldn’t digest, so he spat it at Nick.

“You’re a fucking bottom feeder, man.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Nick bit back, unflinching as if he’d been waiting. “Don’t sit there on your high fuckin’ horse, acting like you’re better than everyone when you did the same thing to Tiffany, knowing how down bad she is for you. Grow a spine and reject the girl so she can move on.” 

Noah squeezed his eyes together and rubbed his temples.

He knew he’d run out of defenses, and hated that Nick was right, but his brain had only just started thawing out from the onslaught of chemicals he’d fed it, and the last thing he needed was a lecture.

“Man, just get out. I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“Clearly, since you’re fucking being a little bitch today.” His eyebrows and jaw were hard set, but when Noah finally locked on to his stare, Nick must have seen the defeat in his eyes, because he began to soften.

“Get some sleep, man. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Thanks.”

__________________

Normally, Noah didn’t mind his job at the factory too much. It was repetitive, which was boring, but also regulating. It allowed him to move on autopilot while he wrote music in his head.

Today though, as the remnants of his headache clung to his periphery - he was Sisyphus, and the lathe was his boulder.

Worse though, whatever he had taken at the party had dumped all the serotonin and dopamine from his system, and there was nothing left to get him through the day.

“This,” he muttered to himself, barely audible over the whirring of the machines surrounding him, “this is why I don’t do drugs.”

He’d known this would happen even before he took them, but at the time he didn’t care. He was focused on escaping from the reality of his situation. It worked for the night, until that reality came back with a vengeance.

His confidence was shaken. He’d been so sure that you wanted him in that moment. He’d have bet all the cash Nick had tried to throw at him that you wanted him. But when you were an inch away, just barely in his grasp, you shot him down and left. And here he was, tearing his hair out because he could not, for the life of him, figure out why.

Maybe you just couldn't accept his feelings about religion. Your beliefs were so important to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was something you just couldn’t get past. Like you’d mentioned earlier that night, the whole evening was out of your comfort zone, you were overwhelmed by it all. Perhaps you just weren’t ready.

But maybe he was overthinking everything. Maybe inviting you into his world was a bad decision.

No God. No religion. 

Just bad, bad decisions. 

He scrawled the words into the margins of  the notebook used to write down measurements for whatever the fuck parts he had to check for inaccuracies. For the rest of the day, the words ran through his head over and over again like a mantra, following the rhythmic clunk of the factory machines. He fished the silver ring out of his pocket and fidgeted with it for the hundredth time since you left the studio. It barely fit past the first knuckle on his pinky finger, but every time he touched it, it felt a little easier to breathe.

______________

“So, I feel like I owe you an apology,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Several apologies, actually.”

“Okay,” Tiffany said, sitting across from him at the small bistro table in the corner of the local coffee shop Noah frequented.

His stomach clenched. He’d been nervous for the last few days leading up to this conversation, but it was time for him to stop being a coward and settle the matter.

Tiffany was not an unattractive woman. She had long blonde hair that she wore in loose waves. She was on the thicker side, which Noah liked. He could see himself being attracted to her if their personalities meshed.

Tiffany’s fatal flaw was that she tried too hard. Noah preferred to do the chasing. And he probably wouldn’t have ended up chasing after her regardless, and so he understood that she felt the need to chase after him if she liked him, but he had no inkling of feelings for her.

“First, I wanted to apologize for last Saturday. I wasn’t in the best state of mind, and I shouldn’t have invited you upstairs.”

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “That became clear when you started doing vocal warmups mid-blowjob.”

Noah snorted into his coffee. He forgot about that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to bite back his grin.

Her tough façade cracked into a smile. “No worries. In hindsight, it’s pretty funny.”

“Okay, so question then,” He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. “If you knew I wasn’t sober, why did you continue?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “As soon as I realized you weren’t right, I stopped.”

Noah looked at her, taken aback. “You left?”

She nodded.

“You mean I didn’t…I could have swore…,” he trailed off.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was excited about the idea of hooking up with you, but not like that.”

Noah looked at Tiffany with a newfound respect. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

“Secondly,” he continued, “I wanted to apologize for never making my intentions clear. I feel like I led you on and allowed you to have hope because I was afraid of confrontation. That wasn’t cool of me. I should have told you from the beginning that I wasn’t interested.”

“Ouch,” she said, wincing slightly, “but thanks.”

He shook his head. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table.. “You probably don’t deserve it, but honestly I’d rather you be straightforward with me so I can actually move on. It takes a lot of energy to walk away from something you want if you still think there might be a little hope. I probably would have wasted a lot of time.”

His stomach began to feel the weight of his actions. Tiffany’s only crime was not deciphering the vague signals he’d given her, and yet he’d treated her like a pariah, going so far as to badmouth her to his bandmates. And for what? Because she refused to give up hope until she received a solid answer?

He’d been an even bigger asshole than he’d realized.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Tiffany looked at Noah with a face that hinted at pity. Perhaps she saw the inner battle he was having with himself.

“Why did you take me upstairs?” she asked.

Noah felt like he owed her the truth. He didn’t have romantic feelings for Tiffany, but he did like her. And there was something about her that made him want to trust her. Perhaps it was how she’d prioritized his consent, despite her feelings for him. Or maybe the way she’d responded to him when he told her he wasn’t interested took the edge off his nervous system. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed that feeling.

Noah launched into the story, telling Tiffany about how you’d met, your differences in beliefs, how you’d wound up at that party, what happened during the set, and how it had played out in the studio afterwards.

Once he finished his retelling, Tiffany narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you always react so poorly when you get rejected?”

“What do you mean?” asked Noah.

“Like, after a girl rejects you, do you binge drink and take unknown drugs and hook up with other people? Is that how you handle it every time?”

Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Wait. Is this your first time being rejected?” she asked in disbelief.

He took another sip of his coffee, ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth, and then gave the tiniest of nods.

Without hesitation, Tiffany burst out laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to clarify, holding her hands in front of her as if to pause the conversation. “This is so inappropriate and I shouldn’t be laughing. Forgive me.”

She didn’t stop laughing despite her apology.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wait,” Noah said, snark creeping into his voice.

“This feels really great to hear, honestly. I know it sucks for you, but I’m absolutely loving it.”

“Can you not rub it in my face, please?” he asked.

Tiffany did her best to calm her laughter and then smiled genuinely across the table at him.

“Noah, being rejected is not the worst thing that can happen. Trust me. I’ve been rejected many times. It builds character and toughens you up. Plus, I think your ego could use it. You’re totally full of yourself.”

“How so?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know. Didn’t you say you were going to fight god a few weekends ago during your set?”

Noah chewed on his lip. “That was performative.”

“It comes from somewhere.”

“Not necessarily true.”

“Noah, come on,” she said, fixing him with an imploring stare. “Be for real right now. You got rejected one time and you completely lost your shit. Total self-sabotage. Do you know how many girls you’ve rejected? A lot. And we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep fighting the good fight, because shit happens.”

Noah, mid-humbling, stayed quiet and let her continue. As uncomfortable as it was to acknowledge his shortcomings, it was also refreshing to hear. He’d never experienced a lecture from a loving mother, but he imagined this was what it felt like.

“Plus,” Tiffany continued, “it sounds like she didn’t even reject you. She just wasn’t ready to fuck you in that moment. And why would she? Considering how you’d treated her.”

“How did I treat her?” he asked. He thought he’d been kind. Certainly more attentive than he’d been to other women in his life.

“I mean, do you even like her?”

“Of course!”

“Really? Because it doesn’t sound like it. You sent her into a mosh pit totally unprepared and let her get hit in the face.”

Noah winced. He did do that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to mention it to you.

“You didn’t warn her about the content of your music and allowed yourself to get peer-pressured into playing a song that deliberately shits on everything important to her,” she continued. “And what? You’re surprised she doesn’t want to give up her virginity after a month of knowing you?”

Noah had to sit back after what felt like a massive blow to the center of his chest.

“I put more effort in with her than I have with anyone else,” he said, feebly trying to defend himself, though he knew he had no defense to stand on.

“Are you honestly telling me that was the best you could do?”

Noah didn’t answer, reluctant to say the words out loud, and Tiffany sighed. 

“Look. If you really like the girl, go earn her.”

Noah fidgeted with the sleeve on the paper to-go cup. The concept of earning someone’s affection was new to him. He’d always been on the receiving end.

“How do I do that?”

Tiffany blinked back at him. “I mean, it’s not really my job to figure that out for you. I’m already giving you more emotional labor than I owe. But if you’re asking me, I’d start by figuring out why her faith is so important to her, rather than focusing on how you can get her to abandon it so you can sleep with her.”

“Ouch. I mean you’re right, but do you have to be so mean about it?”

“Trust me Noah, I’m doing you a kindness.”

He exhaled heavily through his nostrils, realizing that the magic pill to fix his problems was indeed, the toughest to swallow.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “I appreciate you saying this to me.”

Tiffany nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“Can we be friends?” he asked. He meant it. Tiffany was clearly a positive influence in his life, and even if he didn’t want to be with her romantically, he still wanted her around in some way.

“No,” she said flatly. Noah’s face fell. “At least… not right now. This conversation helped, but I still need to lick my wounds. It isn’t fun being rejected, after all.”

“You can say that again,” he said.

“We can be friendly, though. I’ll still come to your shows because despite all your shortcomings, I unfortunately like your music.”

He chuckled, finding Tiffany’s candor refreshing. “You’re really enjoying the opportunity to insult me, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. He saw a glimpse of the beauty he’d been so focused on in his drug-induced state. She truly was prettier than he’d given her credit for.

“I hope you find someone better than me,” he said. “I want you to be happy. You deserve a good guy.”

“Thank you,” she said, softer than before and he could tell she believed him.

Noah paid for both their coffees. It was the least he could do. They parted with a warm handshake that Noah had the urge to turn into a hug, but he could tell from her body language she wouldn’t want it.

For the first time since the party, he felt a little lighter in his chest. He fished around in his pocket for the silver ring, hooking it onto his pinky finger and rubbing his thumb along the “true love waits” inscription he’d memorized earlier. __________

Waking up on Sunday was an ordeal. You hadn’t even been drinking, but it still felt as if you’d had a stimulation hangover. Your ears rang from all the noise, and there was a deep pressure behind your eyes from all the crying you’d done.

You wiped away the crust from your eyelids and were immediately met with tenderness at your temple.

Oh, yeah. You’d been elbowed in the face last night.

Crawling down from your bed, you made your way over to the mirror above your desk to see just how bad it was. An ugly, angry red lump with purpled edges glared back at you.

The rest of your face hadn’t fared much better. Your makeup was smudged all around your eyes and your lipstick smeared down your chin.

You’d slept in your clothes, having been too exhausted to change into anything else when you got back around at around two in the morning.

The alarm on your phone rang, signaling it was time to get ready for church.

You sank down into your desk chair, having no motivation for anything.

You never skipped church unless you were sick. One of the things you prided yourself most on was your regular attendance. Plus, church was where you did all your socializing. All of your friends went. It wasn’t just church you liked, it was going out to lunch afterwards with everyone. It was treating yourself to a luxurious coffee drink beforehand. It was dressing up in your favorite outfits and performing on stage. And it was the satisfaction of knowing God was pleased with you.

Was God still pleased with you?

You stared at the lump on your head.

You’d resisted temptation. That didn’t count for nothing. You’d also allowed the situation to go much further than you should have, but you still listened to your gut when it told you to get out of there. That was enough of a success in your book.

Your thoughts drifted to Noah.

He’d been so forward last night, truly put himself out there, and had looked so dejected when you’d pulled away. But then again, hadn’t he said a few weeks ago that it was important to risk rejection? He seemed aware of what the stakes were.

You didn’t know exactly why you pulled away at that moment. Something told you it wasn’t the right time, but part of you worried that you wouldn’t get another opportunity like the one you’d had, and that perhaps you ruined your chances with him.

Maybe you did? Was that the worst thing?

Perhaps this was God’s way of telling you that Noah was not the right person for you. And if that was the case, you would need to get over the idea of him so you could continue to interact with him at community service without getting hurt.

You kicked your foot up on the desk in front of you and leaned your chair back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to find the central point of balance.

It was 10:30. If you were going to make it to church, you’d have to get up now and start getting ready. You’d have to leave no later than 10:45 to make it to the 11:00 service on time.

You continued to balance on the back legs of your chair, seeing if you could get it to balance on its own for five seconds.

10:45 came and went, and you did not leave your chair. You couldn’t make it to five seconds without it tipping, but you made it to four and a half before you gave up and went back to bed.

__________

You were awoken by a rapt knocking at your door. It definitely wasn’t your roommate, Stevie. She went home every weekend and didn’t come back until late in the evening.

You rolled out of bed and looked at the clock - 1:00 PM. Yawning off the remaining sleep, you opened the door. The first thing your eyes landed on was the white, deep v-neck that gave a peek to a tanned chest.

“Isaac? What are you doing here?” you asked. Isaac had walked you to your dorm before on nights when practice ended late and he insisted it was inappropriate to allow you to walk home alone, but he had never visited you before.

“I wanted to check on you. Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, hesitantly moving aside to let him through. Once inside, he leaned against your desk, crossing his arms as he observed you.

“So…,” you trailed off, sitting on your bed cross-legged.

“You weren’t in church today.” It was not an observation, but an accusation, and it immediately set your nerves on guard.

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your tone even. “I didn’t feel great.”

“Are you hungover?”

“No. I didn’t drink.”

He fixed you with a stare that let you know he didn’t believe you. You met his eyes, unwilling to back down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, likely figuring he wouldn’t get more out of you.

“Do you know where Ava is?” he asked. “She didn’t come either.”

“She didn’t?” This was news to you. You’d looked for her briefly after you’d left but had been unsuccessful in finding her and assumed she’d gone home.

“What happened last night? You look like you’ve been through it.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning up and down your face.

Instinctively, your hand went up to touch the bruise and Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

“It was just a mosh pit,” you said.

“Yeah?” he asked, tone laced with suspicion. “Is that why your purity ring is gone?”

You checked your hand to see it was, indeed, gone. Left in Noah’s back pocket. You sighed and tipped over sideways onto the bed.

“I lost it. But not like that,” you said.

“Sure,” he said, absolutely not believing you. You’d never been seen without the ring, and it was unlikely that it slipped off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“What is ‘anything’ to you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, look. I don’t owe you this information and it is in no way your job to make sure I’m pure, but I didn’t even kiss anyone last night. I seriously just lost the ring.”

Isaac’s eyebrow lifted up and he pursed his lips, staring you down to see if he could detect any signs of falsehood and when he found none, he deflated.

“Alright,” he said. “But in the future, could you not stay out so late? It was hard to carry the praise and worship service without you and Ava.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll be there next week.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise.”

“So how was the party?” he asked.

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded. “Not great. Definitely not my scene. I got full-on elbowed in the face. Plus, everyone there was drunk and I couldn’t relate to anyone.”

You could tell Isaac was enjoying hearing your confession, the look in his eye now sporting a condescending glint. But, to his credit, he refrained from giving you any sort of ‘I told you so’ kind of lecture. After a beat of silence though, he started to chuckle at your misfortune.

“Does this feel good to hear?” you asked. He smiled in return and it was genuine.

Isaac wasn’t terrible. He seemed to truly care about you, and though he could be intrusive and overbearing at times, his heart was in the right place.

“Alright. I think I’m gonna let you get some more sleep,” he said after several minutes of catching up, tapping a knuckle on your desk to punctuate his visit. “I’d like to meet sometime this week to go over this Christmas showcase. Thursday night good for you?”

You nodded. “Thanks Isaac.”

You puffed out a mouthful of air as soon as you heard the door close, feeling like you’d just been the subject of an interrogation. It was clear now that your actions were being watched. Anything out-of-character could easily be reported back to your father, and while Isaac let you off the hook easily this time, you couldn’t be so sure he would continue if your behavior turned into a pattern.

You’d have to tread much more carefully if you wanted to fly under the radar.

_______________

The week passed quickly. Ava hadn’t returned any of your texts and you grew worried, but figured she would talk to you whenever she was ready. You wondered if something had happened at the party. Was she upset with you? Was she avoiding you?

Thursday’s meeting went well enough. Isaac had a lot of good ideas about the songs he wanted to perform and how to get the word out about it. The two of you worked closely together and you were starting to wonder if perhaps you’d judged Isaac too harshly for his actions the other week.

It was possible that Noah was just a distraction after all. Someone that helped you shake some of your delusions about Isaac so you could see him as an actual person instead of putting him on such a pedestal—because now that you interacted with each other as equals, he wasn’t all that bad. He was actually easy to get along with.

He didn’t give you that warm pooling sensation in your lower abdomen that Noah gave you, but connecting with him was enjoyable. You could see yourself working well as partners together.

“So you’re going to have to take the solo for Mary Did You Know, as well as O Holy Night,” he said. “You’re our top soprano.”

“Got it,” you said with a curt nod. “Are you going to do O Come O Come Emmanuel?”

“You know it,” he said, grinning proudly. His voice had a great timbre for that one and he knew it.

“Is Ava going to be participating?” you asked.

Isaac sighed. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“Me either. I’m starting to get concerned.”

“If she doesn’t show up at church again on Sunday, maybe we should visit her,” he suggested.

“I think that would make me feel better,” you agreed.

As it turned out, however, you didn’t have to wait for Sunday. Ava was waiting outside your dorm when you got back from your meeting with Isaac.

“Hey,” she said, sitting with her knees curled up in front of her. She wore baggy sweatpants and an oversize hoodie.

“Hey,” you said. “Stevie’s home. If you want to talk privately, we should probably go for a walk or something.”

Nodding, she stood up.

You had walked out your dorm hall and halfway down the block before she got the nerve to speak.

“Sorry for being MIA,” she said, hands pushed deep in the pockets of her hoodie.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“I think,” she replied. “I just needed some time to sort my feelings out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. She nodded.

“What happened on Saturday? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” You tried to keep any judgment out of your tone.

“I had more to drink than I meant to,” she began. “I didn’t know my tolerance.”

“That’s an easy mistake to make, especially for your first time drinking,” you said.

“Yeah, but that’s not all that happened.”

The two of you had reached the edge of campus. A left turn would lead you past the party house. A right turn would lead you to the church grounds.

You let Ava take the lead, patiently waiting while she weighed her options.

She turned left. You nodded and continued walking with her.

“I want you to know that I don’t regret any of my decisions,” she prefaced. “I just had some complicated feelings about it.”

“Of course,” you said.

“Nick and I hooked up on Saturday night.”

Your footsteps faltered, but you recovered quickly. “How far did you go?”

“We had sex.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you stopped walking. “What?!” Your voice came out as a shout. 

Ava inhaled slowly through her nostrils, nervously looking around. “I need you to make less of a deal about it than you’re making right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, tone hushed as you leaned closer to her. “But that’s a whole consent issue. If you’d been drinking…,” you trailed off.

“I was drunk when we were making out,” she said, “but I had sobered up by the time we went back to his place.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” She confirmed, with an earnest look in her eye.

“Okay,” you said, calming down a bit. You’d been about to find Nick and strangle him. “So you really don’t regret it?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But… I feel awful about not regretting it. I feel like I should, like it makes me a bad person for not. Like, we were always told that if we made a mistake like this, we’d feel terrible about it. And I don’t feel terrible. I liked it, even. And I want to do it again, if I can.”

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say. Growing up, you and Ava had always been on the same page about sex, frequently discussing what it might be like on your wedding night. Ava had always been a bit on the wild side, but you had no idea her opinions had changed quite this much.

“But I feel like I’m not allowed to feel this way and continue being involved in the church.”

You understood where she was coming from. Even after you and Noah barely touched each other, you felt weird about going to church the next morning. It was actually quite refreshing to hear that you weren’t alone in questioning the validity of your chastity pledge. You thought you were alone in that.

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you confessed. “It feels like there’s an expectation there that if you attend, you have to feel the way they think you should feel. Like if you have sex or something like that, and don’t immediately regret it afterwards, you’re not good enough.”

“Right? Yes!” she said, more lively than you’d seen her all evening. “And I just feel so disconnected with that message.”

“You’re not wrong for feeling the way you feel,” you reassured. “Honestly, I’m also learning that faith is a lot more complicated than they’d have you believe. Noah might be a good person to talk to about it.”

“You mean Nick’s friend?”

“Yeah. He’s helped me see a lot of blind spots that I’d had before regarding religion and sexuality.”

“Did you guys…?”

You shook your head. “No. But we’ve been talking a lot about some of the problems in the church, especially around sexuality. How did you feel immediately afterwards?”

“Well, I went to the bathroom and cried about it, because I initially was hit with a lot of guilt. But after I processed that, I felt kind of happy? Like I was finally living the life I wanted to live for once.”

“I’m glad you got that experience,” you admitted. “I’m sorry that you felt so guilty.”

“To be honest, I thought you would handle this information way worse.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty closed-minded.”

“I think we all started that way.”

“I’m glad you told me,” you said. “I was really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she admitted. “I was afraid of what you’d think. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I didn’t want you to hate me. And I didn’t want to have to pretend to feel guilty about it to you, or lie about the fact that it even happened.”

You paused the walk to look at her. “I know I haven’t always been the most accepting person. I’m working on that. But I could never hate you. Ever.”

Ava looked back, eyes glassy. The two of you embraced in a lingering hug, of which the significance was not lost on either of you.

When you pulled back, you realized you weren’t too far away from the party house. It was Ava that continued walking towards it.

As the two of you approached, you heard music blasting from the house. You were one or two houses away when you heard Noah’s singing voice.

“I think they’re having band practice,” you said, and sure enough, when you got to the front of the house, you could see inside the basement windows. The light was on and the band members faced away from you. All of them played with intensity—though less intensity than they had done the previous Saturday, when they had the crowd’s energy to feed on.

Noah wore a cutoff black shirt and you could see that his tattoos extended across his back—what looked like flowers on each shoulder and vines connecting them. You couldn’t see anything else, but it piqued your curiosity.

At some point, someone in the band made a mistake and they stopped the song halfway through. Noah turned around to face the drummer and you only had just enough time to dash out of sight before you caught his eyes flick up to the window, squint, and then redirect to the guitarist.

“So how was it?” you asked Ava, resuming your walk.

“Honestly?” she began. “It was incredible. Like, definitely awkward, but also one of the coolest experiences of my life.”

“What happened?”

Ava launched into a (very detailed) retelling of how Nick made sure she was coherent and could give enthusiastic consent, and then how he didn’t judge her for how new she was. He walked her through it every step of the way, made sure she had a great time, and even allowed her to crash at his place afterwards, going as far as to cook her breakfast the next morning.

“He wasn’t the best cook, mind you,” she said. “But the gesture was very sweet.”

“Huh,” you said. “I might like Nick a little more now.”

“That’s their house, by the way,” she said, pointing across the street to a tan single-story home with an unkempt front porch and an overgrown lawn. Beer bottles littered the side of the porch. You could see the blinds were broken in some areas. And yet, you couldn’t help the warmth and affection from growing in the pit of your stomach imagining all the good times that had been shared between the men that lived here.

It was evident from the way they interacted with each other at the party that all of the band members were close with one another. For a moment, you had felt welcomed into that world. At least until you had a panic attack.

“Want to turn around?” you asked.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“So what do you think of their music?”

Ava laughed out loud. “I appreciate Nick’s passion, but I don’t think I ever want to be in a crowd like that again.”

“Same,” you agreed, linking your arm with Ava’s.

This time, when you passed the party house, the lights were off. For a brief second, you wondered what Noah was doing, but then brushed the thought away easily, because it didn’t really matter. You were more than happy simply spending quality time with Ava. Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls

Click here to be added to the taglist! As always, I would love to hear your feedback! I eat it up, so pls feed me.

[cu7ie]

I’m obsessed with both of Tokyo Revengers hybrid fics, do you have any intention of writing many more?

👉👈🥺

⋆⸜(ᐢ˙꒳​˙ᐢ)  I did want to talk more about shepherd shinichiro. (keep beasts of burden in mind, but i didn’t write this reader to be the same as that reader.) 

cw; hybrid!shinichiro. humping of furniture, reprimanding, intimidation (from shinichiro) and panty kink

I really do think he’s a good boy! He had a moment of . . . weakness is all. 

Like he’s the kind of doggy to bring you a cup of coffee fresh in the morning, water if it’s a hangover, aspirin if you’ve got a headache. He is reliable end of, an encyclopedia of everything you more or less. Most of the times, it's great. Shinichiro fetching you your favorite snack after a hard day at work, knowing just what show will cheer you up and he gets to see you smile all wide, sing out of tune to a theme song he’s heard probably over a hundred times,

and all he wants is a pat on the head in return! Run your fingers along his scalp and hear a throaty groan pry itself from his chest, settling into a soft hum as you massage along his head, touching his black furred ears and petting, scratching gently along until you reach the tip. Everything starts at the top. 

From his head he likes when your hands slide down his chest and caress his abdomen, makes his tail thud hard against the side of the couch whenever you got a good pet going, twists and turns into your touch until he’s exhausted your patience and you’re trying to shoo him away.

He just starts putting your hands wherever he wants you to pet him. 

Starts at his head, of course. 

And the touches never felt intimate until you realize how his excitement manifests in new ways now. Sometimes if your session is really really good for him, you’ll catch him humping pillows or furniture, taken over by an animal lust that deepens his desire for not just contact, but that bit of friction that relieves his aching cock, smears precum over the side of your couch covers and he’s never heard you bellow

“SHINICHIRO! NO!” like that before.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, humping his dick nice and rough and fast and when he looks up he sees your horrified gaze, a spray bottle of water in your hand that makes his lip curl. 

The beginnings of a snarl as you brandish it, his claws digging into the cushion of the seat as a groan cuts through his train of thought, and he can only stare at you, your face wrinkled in abject terror. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as he rolls his hips teasingly slow, a breathy whimper escaping him as he gets closer to finishing, still refusing to look away from you.

You spray him.

He growls. It is bare animal, thundering in his chest and it feels like you’re treading on his territory - a wild wolf is before you, you're holding a gun and his hackles rise to the occasion. 

It’s just water, but his whole demeanor changes. It's like the weather, a pleasant afternoon flipped on its head by an unexpected storm, and your house is flooding.

With tension. He's pulled so taught you think he might snap. He's making you nervous, and your shout of his name sounds too uncertain for him to take seriously. He's more interested in you now, looking to get back at you for your graceless slight, but you retreat to your bedroom faster than expected. 

He scratches at your door, doesn't beg but tries to see if you'll submit again. 

When you don't, he gets bored and forgets what he was mad about when he can go back to humping things around the house, without your meddling.

I think he can be petty though. He''ll act all nice when you do pop out, bow his head and whimper for belly rubs and treats, like normal. The house won't look different. Maybe a stain or two on the couch - nothing unfixable. 

It's only when you go through your laundry that you noticed something's fucked, and you know it's bad when some of your panties are stuck together, the perverse musk thick enough to make you gasp, dropping them with a crude plop.

When you try and confront him, he's wagging his tail and smiling at you like he doesn't know exactly what you're thinking. 

Shinichiro just had his moments of weakness… he just has needs you know? You should have taken that into consideration more before you got him ❤️

[frozenjokes]

An Exercise In Wishful Thinking

a fic about HotGuy, and his pathetic little (MASSIVE) crush on an ordinary guy, an ordinary guy who kind of couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

Scar’s face smashed against the pavement, his visor splintering against his head and pinching the bridge of his nose as momentum carried him rolling forward, toppling like a ragdoll across the top of the small apartment building. He groaned, disoriented as he finally landed on his back, but CuteGuy’s boot against his stomach forcibly pushed the noise out, leaving Scar wheezing.

“You’re off your game today, HotGuy,” CuteGuy sneered, sharp teeth visible just below his mask, though it wasn’t a shocking thing, sharp teeth, practically everyone had some kind of fangs, and really, it was a bit boring; if Scar was meant to be intimidated, he certainly wasn’t, “Something the matter?” CuteGuy cut through his thoughts, which was rather rude, Scar wasn’t done thinking badly about him yet, but, “We all have bad days. How about you take a day off, get some rest, nap a bit, and leave me alone for once, hm?” Cuteguy pushed again against Scar’s stomach, using more force, enough to shove his entire body back. Scar was only aware of how close he was to the edge of the building when his head hung over the side, half limp. Hm. Not great.

Scar raised his hands, shaky from the strain, “Well, since you asked, I guess, yeah, I’m not really feeling too great. I dunno. It’s just hard to be adored and famous all the time, you know? Life’s starting to feel less like fun and more like business, brand deals, work, work, work. I just feel like I don’t have many friends, y’know? Real friends, god forbid, human friends. Hardly a human even lives in this dumb city anymore, too dangerous, too many assholes with wings enacting petty revenge on their landlords from like ten years ago. I-”

“Shut up, I don’t care.”

“You asked! And while we’re on the subject of things you did, I was minding my own business up here before you attacked me! You can’t tell me to leave you alone if you started it!” Scar would have said more, but CuteGuy pressed his boot harder into his stomach, almost stomping, just without the wind up.

“You were looking for me. Thought I’d just send you home on my terms before you decided to become a problem.”

Scar’s head lolled a bit more off the edge of the building, eyes squeezed shut, “I’m not always looking for trouble,” he wheezed, managing to open his eyes just in time to catch a sight of what he’d actually been looking for tonight, just a glance being enough to restore the air back into his lungs. Not tearing his eyes away, he pushed against CuteGuy’s leg, admittedly, a little pathetically, but his priorities were elsewhere, “Pause, pause. Off.”

“Pause?” CuteGuy squawked, bird-like as he tended to get when he was particularly surprised, “What do you mean pause, this isn’t a game you-” HotGuy gathered all the strength he had left tonight to grip CuteGuy’s boot, heaving up and unbalancing him while he was distracted, then rolling away and stumbling to his feet.

“I have to go! Emergency! We wrap this up tomorrow?” Scar hurried over to where he’d dropped his bow when CuteGuy ambushed him, then back to the building’s edge, bouncing in place on his andriod legs.

CuteGuy hissed, and Scar wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen CuteGuy’s feathers so puffed out; even the bits of his face that weren’t covered by a mask were beet-red, “You are not seriously just going to leave! I’m not done with you!” CuteGuy lunged forward, but Scar’s arrow was nocked just as fast, the shot just barely grazing one of CuteGuy’s wings as he awkwardly sidestepped to avoid it. Scar was over the edge before CuteGuy could recover, rolling as he hit the pavement, then running down the street.

The civilian didn’t seem to hear him coming, or any of the other commotion for that matter, clearly oblivious to the danger so close by. It was a good thing that CuteGuy had never been slighted by this particular civilian, or he’d surely be dead by now, walking so carelessly by himself by night. Thank goodness HotGuy was here!

“Cub! Cub!” Scar called, still running, but Cub did not respond, the wires of his earbuds dangling loosely from his ears. Ah. Classic. Cub was fiddling with his phone, brows furrowed as he held it up toward a street sign- taking a picture, maybe?

“Hello! Sir!” Scar called as he got closer, and mercifully, Cub seemed to hear, taking out one of his earbuds and turning around. “Hello!” Scar said again, feeling his heart flutter, though, now was not the time.

Cub looked a little nervous; reasonable, anyone might be intimidated by a superhero running their way. “Hey, man, what’s up?” ‘Man’ Oh, Scar adored how Cub addressed him, so casual, so familiar. It was exciting to be ‘man,’ like he was a friend, oh, could they be friends?

“Hello there! I thought I should warn you, there is a very angry supervillain out and about right now, so we should probably be running in the other direction!” Scar kept a light tone as not to frighten Cub, though the other’s demeanor hardly changed.

“Oh, which one?”

Scar couldn’t help but stumble over his feet and words in his surprise at that question, which was apparently more emotion than Cub felt at being told he could be dead in the next couple minutes if they weren’t careful (though, of course, Scar would never allow this to happen). “Uhm- CuteGuy.”

“CuteGuy..” Cub furrowed his brow in thought, a bit of a distractingly adorable look if Scar was being honest.. hm.. something was different about Cub’s face today. Actually, something was definitely off. Had he gotten a haircut? Scar jumped when Cub spoke again, “Don’t think I’ve wronged any short blonde avians in the past week. I tend to try not to, so I think I’ll be alright.” Cub kept walking. Scar gaped.

“I- well I- I mean CuteGuy doesn’t exactly like me very much, so we may still have a bit of a problem.” Scar had to jog to catch up, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

“Oh man, well, good luck then. Sorry ‘bout that,” Cub glanced back, and didn’t look entirely too thrilled to see Scar still following him, which, maybe that was fair. Though, Cub never looked too incredibly thrilled about anything most of the time; Scar had only seen him smile once. It was a delightful thing, Cub’s smile, one Scar was sure he’d never forget. Like, come on, it’s not every day you see someone with flat teeth-

“Hey, could you read that street sign for me?”

Scar blinked, too stunned to do much else but follow Cub’s gaze, “Uh, that's Wright Street.”

“Thanks, man,” Cub said, and then he just kept walking, kept walking like there wasn’t a supervillain just a block away, probably seconds away from being very rude and interrupting all this chemistry!

“Cub,” Scar stressed, “I just think maybe-” but Scar stopped when Cub startled, whipping around to face him with wide eyes.

“Shit- I didn’t- I don’t have my glasses, I dropped them on the,” Cub floundered, and Scar threw up his hands in a placating motion, surprised by the sudden change. Cub squinted, looking a little distressed, and Scar wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind reading the street signs!”

“I-” Cub struggled, and with him, Scar’s heart ached, “What’s your name, again?” Oh. Oh. Scar stopped short, stuck somewhere between shock and confusion. Was- Was he not in costume or something? Scar looked stupidly at his own clothes, dumbfounded. How bad was Cub’s eyesight?

“I’m HotGuy.”

Cub stared. Scar stared back.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Cub kept walking. Scar struggled to feel normal about that. Well, maybe he was just embarrassed! Everyone dealt with emotions in different ways, and Cub tended to deal with them by not emoting at all! Nothing wrong with that! Sure, they had only met twice, but Scar had been properly embarrassed not recognizing the faces of fans who had spoken with him before- he couldn’t imagine how Cub must be feeling now, especially with HotGuy being as recognizable as he was (even a little bit blurry).

“It’s nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about at all! My face is plastered just about everywhere, but I still look different in person I’m sure, and it's dark out, and you don’t have your glasses, of course.”

“Oh, not that, I was thinking of the CuteGuy thing,” Cub didn’t even look back as he spoke, not harsh per se, but extremely.. Honest. “Lots of people look kinda like you, all colorful and dressed up. I thought you might be cosplaying or something.”

Scar struggled to keep his smile, unable to do much else but stare. Cub wasn’t looking at him anyway. “..Do they now?”

“Yeah.” Cub continued on. Scar was beginning to suspect they did not live in the same city. Maybe not even in the same world. Cub was starting to get a little far, and once Scar remembered to stop gaping, he had to jog again to catch up. Cub seemed a little more confused by his presence, fiddling with his earbuds again (surely he hadn’t turned his music back on, right?) before turning, “You said CuteGuy was close, right? Are you going to.. fight.. him?”

“Oh!” Scar jumped on his toes, “No, probably not again. At least not right now, I hope. I’m guessing if he was going to he already would have- well, actually, I beat him so badly he’s probably still licking his wounds, like, metaphorically. I kind of embarrassed him, there was a crowd and everything.”

“A crowd?” Cub sounded surprised- no, amused when he turned his head. He had a little smile on his face, gosh, what Scar would give just to be able to look at that forever. “Just a block away, right? On this empty, quiet road?” Cub stopped walking, and Scar was so thrilled to have his attention, it took a couple extra moments to process the words he was saying.

“Ah-” Scar felt his face heat up. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to hide his embarrassment, “Small crowd. Quiet crowd. I mean, you know CuteGuy, if he feels slighted by anyone, he’ll probably get his friend Poultry Man to egg all their houses or something.”

“Oh yeah, petty guy.”

“Extremely so!” Scar lit up, though Cub still didn’t look like he believed a word Scar said. Scar pursed his lips momentarily before continuing, “You know, you could say my glasses are broken too! We’re like, totally on the same page right now. CuteGuy put up quite the fight, well, a little bit. He didn’t put up that much of a fight, but he did smash my visor. Again. Seriously, someone needs to figure out his identity so I can start sending him my bills, I hate replacing stuff.”

Cub cocked his head to the side, and even without the glasses, Scar felt like he was looking right through him. It was vulnerable, in a magical kind of way. “Can I see it?”

Scar startled, missing the question. “What?”

“Can I see your visor? The place I work manufactures this kind of stuff, I might be able to hook you up for something a bit cheaper.”

“I-I can’t just take off my visor, Cub, you’d see my face. Secret identities, you know how it is.”

“I can’t see anything right now. If it makes you uncomfortable, you could just cover your face with your hands or turn around. Doesn’t really matter to me. I’m not going to steal a look; I couldn’t care less about superhero stuff. It’d be nice if you came by, bought something, then let my manager know who referred you though.”

“I- ah- Well of course! But I-” shouldn’t, was the word he meant to say, and couldn’t would have been even more accurate. Scar could not take off his visor, no matter how many cracks it had. It would be completely irresponsible! And for all he knew, CuteGuy was still around- everyone knew avians had impeccable eyesight. But on the other hand… Cub, Cub removing his visor. His hands in Scar’s hair, undoing the mask, gentle and kind and not sharp, goodness, someone without claws touching his face, peeling back the mask and (not really) seeing him. Scar felt himself melt into that non-existent touch. “Be my guest, then.” He closed his eyes. … He opened his eyes. Cub was staring at him.

“Are you going to take it off?”

“Ah-” Again, Scar felt his face heat up, and suddenly, he wanted much less to remove his visor, “Sorry, just nervous! Never done this before, haha!”

“I can cover my eyes if you-”

“Yes. Do that.” Scar nearly hissed, struggling to contain his own embarrassment. Cub didn’t hesitate, his expression almost crushingly neutral as he closed his eyes, then turned around. Scar bit his lip. The mask wasn’t easy to remove- it was important it stayed on during a fight, so despite doing this thousands of times, Scar still had to fiddle with it to get it off, practically shoving the thing into Cub’s arms so he could properly cover his face, feeling stupid as he cowered with his hands over his eyes. If Cub was paying him any mind, he didn’t know.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Cub mused, “It’s only the screen that’s shattered; the frame is a little beaten up, but still sturdy. Shouldn’t need replacing, but I guess you’d know better than I would. You want another orange one? Come by after 12:00 tomorrow and I’ll have it ready for you to pick up?” Scar felt the mask bump against his hands, and when he snuck a peek through his fingers, he saw Cub’s eyes were firmly shut. The gesture, benign as it was, made his heart flutter.

“Blue works too. As long as it matches.” Scar took the mask, quickly refastening it to his face. God that was stupid. Why had he done that. He already had suppliers, why did his brain have to be so dumb? “Thanks,” he choked out, “It’s back on.”

Cub opened his eyes, though they didn’t focus much; damn, he really must have awful eyesight- whatever. Fine. But he’d get to see Cub again! He’d have a real excuse, oh, maybe this was worth it. Wait a minute!

“Could I get your number?” Scar felt himself blurt out the words, flustered enough for the extra bit of awkwardness to embarrass him further, “For- ah- directions.” He tried to smile. Cub might have smiled back in his own way; which is to say, not actually smiling at all or making any sort of expression that might ease Scar’s nerves.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if I gave you the address?” Genuine. Honest. Fucking brutal.

Scar pursed his lips, an expression Cub almost certainly didn’t see. “Yup. Probably.” Hopefully, tomorrow Cub would have another pair of glasses, so at the very least if he wasn’t persuaded by an extraordinarily attractive man desperately vying for his attention, he might just take pity on him. Though this didn’t quite feel like rejection, more just misunderstanding- Scar still had a chance here. Cub gave him the address and Scar wrote it down, still unable to squash the lingering disappointment as Cub, entirely unconcerned, waved goodbye, beginning his walk in the other direction.

But just as Scar turned around, “Wait!” and just like that, he had never stopped so quickly, spinning right back around to face Cub, who had also stopped. “Sorry, I just forgot, I wanted to get a picture-”

“A picture!” Scar cut him off accidentally, excitement taking over, “Why of course! I’d love to!” Scar trotted over, and Cub looked a bit put off, but no matter! Scar was great at taking pictures. Maybe once he managed to get Cub’s number, Cub could send it to him!

Cub shifted his weight, clearly a bit nervous, but that was nothing new. Honestly, it felt incredibly normal, a welcome feeling, and Scar felt right at home bending to Cub’s level as the other fumbled with his phone, flashing a practiced grin. Cub did not smile in the picture, looking nothing less than bored- utterly bizarre, but to each their own! With any luck, they’d get to take many more pictures.

“Thanks,” Cub mumbled, somewhat sheepish, “This is like the third time I’ve met you, and my roommate still doesn’t believe me. Didn’t take my word for it the first time, didn’t believe the picture I took the second time, but now that I’m in this one, he’ll have no choice but admit it.” Cub ended the sentiment sounding deeply pleased with himself, and that.. well. That made a little more sense. That was fine though, Scar wasn’t deeply wounded or anything that Cub didn’t actually want a picture with him just to have it. All good. Normal feelings.

“Well, if they don’t believe you, I’ll march right over there and tell them myself,” Scar joked, somewhat halfheartedly, but Cub didn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks. I’ll tell him that. Bye, HotGuy.” Cub waved, then kept walking, a look on his face that Scar hoped was contentment. Preferably, it’d be something like awe, admiration, or some amount of being utterly starstruck, but contentment would have to do. Hopefully next time, Cub would at least recognize him.

Part (all) of Scar hoped he and Cub would look back at the same time, catching each other’s eye in a moment of romantic tension, but after looking back several times, Scar was pretty sure Cub was just not looking in the first place, and then certain when he started to walk backwards to make sure. Cub didn’t turn around once.

That was fine. That was okay. Scar would win him over eventually- no- tomorrow. Tomorrow at noon, Scar would win him over. Cool! Great! Everything was cool and great. Up until, still walking backwards, he ran into someone else, a clawed hand wrapping firmly around his neck.

“It’s rude to leave a guy hanging, HotGuy, did you know? Or do you just not care. You don’t have to answer, I already know.”

“CuteGuy!” Scar half laughed, forcing as much energy into his tone as he could possibly manage, “It’s getting late, you know. I’m tired, aren’t you tired? You know, we’ve already fought tonight, and you bested me fair and square, so how about I give you a deal?”

CuteGuy’s talons tightened around Scar’s neck, the villain clicking his tongue, “I’ll humor you.”

“You won, you won, definitely not unfairly by ambushing me for zero reason, and I respect you CuteGuy, I respect you. So here’s the deal. You beat me, so tonight and tonight only, you do whatever you want, beat the piss out of whoever for whatever petty slight they committed against you like twenty years ago, and I’ll turn the other way. Won’t give you a single bit of grief! Like it never happened. A generous offer, CuteGuy, one I don’t extend to just anyone. An offer you can’t refuse, truly.”

CuteGuy hummed, and Scar felt his breath close to his ear. It took everything in him not to scoff, but CuteGuy didn’t keep him waiting long for an answer.

“You’re right. That is an offer I can’t refuse. You have a deal, HotGuy. You have a deal.”

“Great! So let's put the claws away then, shall we?”

“Mhm!” CuteGuy released his hold on Scar’s neck, and Scar rubbed it with his own hand, sighing at the pinpricks of blood. That grip would probably leave a mark tomorrow. Well, nothing a little makeup couldn't fix. But something clicked at his back, and Scar felt the absence of his bow right before he was kicked to the ground, yelping as he fell hard to his knees.

“What-”

“Take a guess which idiot I have a vendetta against tonight, HotGuy?” CuteGuy played with Scar’s bow for a moment before tossing it carelessly in the other direction, and Scar was beginning to get a pretty good idea of exactly who CuteGuy was angry with.

…

“Look. See? It’s me and him, super close to our apartment.” Cub held up his phone so Grian could see it, the other taking it from Cub’s hands and examining the picture with so much scrutiny, he almost looked like he was glaring. Something sly crept up Grian’s face after a moment, and he pointed decisively at the photo, tapping the screen with a talon.

“Photoshopped.”

“What?”

“As much as you claim not to care about heroes and villains, you sure do seem awfully insistent on convincing me you’ve met HotGuy. What is this, three times now? Come on, Cub. This is getting sad.” Grian cackled as Cub gaped, giving his roommate a hard shove before snatching his phone back.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe you! Especially when you’re this desperate!”

“I am not desperate. You’re either insane, or fucking with me. At this point, I’m pretty sure you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got some secret obsession with HotGuy. What gives? I thought we agreed we hated that guy; total arrogant piece of shit if you ask me. Complete idiot.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Cub! I can’t believe you!” Grian crossed his arms, turning away with a huff, but Cub only laughed, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, you can be nice and an idiot. Listen, I understand you’re jealous and all, but rest assured, he told me if you didn’t believe me this time, he’d march right up here and tell you himself. You’ll get all the HotGuy you’ve been missing out on.”

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Have fun pretending, then. I’ll see him at work today, so I’ll make sure to let him know you’re just dying to see him.”

“You- you’re what?”

“Yup. He broke his visor, or CuteGuy did at least. Told him I’d get him a new one if he put in a good word with my manager. You know she loves that guy.”

“I-You-” Cub wasn’t exactly sure what the expressions flashing across Grian’s face meant, but he managed to stop spluttering for long enough to say, “You are not allowed to make friends with HotGuy.”

“Uh, sure, I don’t think it’ll be hard. Don’t think he’s short on friends.”

Again, an odd expression crossed Grian’s face, but Cub dismissed it as one of Grian’s Moments; which is to say, exactly what he was in therapy for. To get a handle on the anger, reduce the frequency of flare ups at odd times, all that jazz. For now, best to change the subject.

“See any cool stars while you were out last night? It was pretty cloudy, so I didn’t really get much on the walk home.”

“Oh, right,” Grian relaxed, looking momentarily embarrassed, but the rest of their conversation was pleasant, Cub smoothing out the feathers on Grian’s wings so he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Lots of things tended to set him off, and embarrassment about getting worked up was a big contributor. Best to let him know he didn't have anything to feel bad about, not around Cub.

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 6)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: T for Teen (Canon Typical Gore)

Chapter: 6/??? (<- Prev Chapter)

Word Count: 1596

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Tav, Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, the meat of the matter, oops turns out this is also a sickfic, budding feelings, Tav mini lore drop, Shadow Cursed wounds are the best kind of wounds don't you think?

"Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast."

———————✨🌿✨———————

“Well,” Halsin coughed “that’s curious.”

He took an uneven step forward, about to explain himself or theorize the nature of his previously uninfected wound. What came out instead is something between a cough and a groan.

The strength left the Druid’s body before Tav could get a word in. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, Nature’s Snare clattering to the ground. It took the majority of Tav’s strength to catch him and prevent them both from crashing onto the cobblestones.

Halsin regained his senses at the sudden jostling. But it was clear that the Druid could no longer stand on his own two feet, not without help at least.

“Easy, easy, easy! Let’s sit you down for a moment. Gods Halsin! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt so badly?!” Tav hissed incredulously as he set himself and Halsin down against the low stone barrier beside them.

Halsin’s his head lolled back against the wall, grimacing, breathing heavy, trying to piece together a reply.

“Your wounds… from the fall… more urgent… did not know, though it was a flesh wound. Clearly… I was mistaken.” The elf spoke between labored breaths. Letting out a half chuckle that dissolved into a wheezing cough.

Tav couldn’t even pretend to be amused, they were both in danger now because Halsin had put his needs above his own, the selfless oaf.

Then again, Tav had been unconscious when they hit the bottom of the cliffside.

Tav had assumed he’d died, perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth. Halsin had looked unusually relieved when he came to, maybe he feared the worst… maybe…

Tav shook his head, he had more important things to worry about than a personal brush with death. Those were a copper a dozen for him. It was Tav’s fault they were down here anyway, a healing potion was the least he could do.

“Looks like some kind of poison, I thought you told me about all the dangers of the shadow curse already?” Tav glanced up at the wound as he rifled around his bag. Looking much stranger and angrier than it had as he watched it made by those accursed Thorn Blights.

“This is new… I have neither suffered nor seen a wound like this before.” He turned to look at Tav now. “There are a great many things that have changed since I last saw this place, not just the landscape. When the Curse first fell, most were either transformed, killed or were the precious few like myself who escaped with minor injuries. Perhaps the sun cured whatever ails this wound, or perhaps… I shudder to think-”

Halsin’s conjecture was interrupted by a coughing fit. Tav finally unearthed a potion of lesser healing from his bag. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. He uncorked it for the Druid, prepared to help him choke it down if it came to it.

“The curse may be evolving.” Halsin finished soberly, gingerly taking the petite glass bottle in both hands. Emptying it in a signal swallow.

They waited with baited breath, Halsin’s breathing did not ease, nor did the narrow, angry gash in his side show any signs of closing. Not even a fading of bruises, not a thing done by such a valuable vial of magic. They looked at one another, Tav didn’t have to ask whether or not he felt any better.

“Bone Chill.” Tav realized with a nasty feeling in his gut. So much for the least he could do.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. Can you stand?”

“I will try.” Halsin breathed.

It took the staff and Tav’s help, but he was able to get back to his feet. Their travel speed now slowed to a crawl. Though he would if asked, Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast.

Slim pickings to put it lightly, less searching for a decent shelter and more so “which one of these ancient buildings is the least derelict”. Tav eyed a large silo shaped cobblestone building with barely any roof. At least the walls were intact, and he didn’t know of anything that would attack them from above.

It would have to do.

“Come on, just a little further to go.”

The Druid only nodded in reply.

Tav helped Halsin ease himself onto the dirt floor of the strange old silo, relieving himself of his pack. Rifling through it for bedroll, torches, anything that would help, he had one more health potion but obviously that wasn’t going to do any good until the Bone Chill wore off, if that was even what it was. Up until recently Tav had been a complete stranger to necromancy.

He wished he still was.

Four torches, they’d have to be relit every few hours but that could last them two, maybe three days, not counting using the Mace for backup. He had enough rations for the both of them for much longer than that thanks to raiding the Creche.

Halsin obviously needed the bedroll more than he did, he’d sleep on the floor, lightly, sitting up, just in case a torch died. Now, if only he could put a flare together to show the others where to find them.

No, bad idea, that could draw the Absolutists right to them, not to mention all manner of light hating beasts that slathered these lands in their ravenous pitch. No matter how ominously Halsin had described the Curse it was nothing compared to actually being inside it yourself. It was oppressive, if only you really could cut air with a knife. Then maybe he could think straight. He already had enough incomprehensible forces gnawing on his grey matter as it was!

“You should rest.” A shallow voice rasped from the corner.

Tav gasped, immediately putting hand to mace hilt, he almost didn’t recognize the elf’s voice.

It bothered Tav how slow he was to take his hand away from the mace although he knew full well even if Halsin were well, he’d never lay a hand on him. Even as he thought that, his mind wandered to the thorns in his chest… The mace clearly wasn’t enough, he really must light a torch!

So he did, and all the anger and fear washed away in face of a new and more powerful force. One that he’d become all too familiar with in Halsin’s presence.

Care. Not only that but the self assured sense of protectiveness he felt for all their companions, something he hadn’t quite realized was ebbing away in face of this gloom.

“Are you… well?” Halsin asked wheezily, half-conscious.

Beads of sweat speckled the Druid’s brow despite the omnipresent chill the Curse bestowed on the land, one of its many gruesomely charming features.

“I am. But you’re not.” Tav brushed Halsin’s hair from his forehead with the back of his hand “Gods Halsin, you’re burning hotter than the Hells. You’ll be competing with Karlach soon enough. You should lie down.”

The Druid not argue, perhaps he couldn’t. Strong, warm, dry hands were made cold and trembling by the strange poison running through Halsin’s veins. A hand in hand to ease. A hand laced through russet hair so that the weakened elf would not hit his head too harshly on the ground.

Gingerly, tenderly, his hands did what was necessary, what was right, as they always did. It took no real effort, so why was his heart pounding so violently in its cage then? Why did he feel as though he needed to catch his breath? He had practically been ready to cave this man’s skull in not moments prior just for startling him! Gods it had been a long day.

Tav took out his canteen.

“Drink.”

Halsin abided, with a bit of propping up.

“Thank you, Tav.” Halsin managed, followed by yet another coughing fit.

Tav was no healer but, you don’t become a Flaming Fist without getting some rudimentary first aid training. “No bleeding out before the Clerics show up!” His drill sergeant used to bark.

No Clerics around here Tav thought bitterly. Removing a water jug and a bundle of clean linens from his pack.

“I’m going to have to remove this.” Tav spoke mechanically, gesturing to Halsin’s armor. Trying focus on the task at hand and not the sudden return of that same rush of feeling from before.

Halsin nodded his understanding, doing his best to make it easier for Tav. The wound looked even worse beneath the cuirass. He wasn’t particularly squeamish given his line of work, but this wound was magical, alien, and Tav couldn’t help but wince.

The initial shock passed Tav got to work, methodically, gently cleaning the dirt and blood and ichor away until all that remained was what continued to well-up from the wound, which was quickly tapered off by the makeshift bandages he’d rustled up.

Tav had done what he must, and Halsin had finally given into exhaustion. Hopefully what people said about Elves only sleeping to heal was true. All that could be done without magic had been.

Despite his efforts, despite the Blood of Lathander, despite the lit torch, one haunting lingering anxiety for which no curse could be blamed lingered in Tav’s mind.

That fever, the dark magic in that would could kill Halsin in his sleep, and there would be very little Tav could do about it.

He fought his own tired body to the last, just to watch his breathing.

Just in case.

[domaslut]

LOVE ME LIKE YOU.

Starring: Merula Snyde x f!reader

Warnings: none, just fluff!

Plot: you have to pick a date for the incoming Ball and all of your friends seem to have suddenly picked an interest in you. No one, however, made you feel as alive as Merula did. After a tormented night spent wide awake in your bed, you finally confront and confess your feelings to the lovely brat you have fallen in love with.

REQUESTED BY: @btvdc

VALENTINE’S DAY EVENT: “LOVE ME LIKE YOU”.

Quote: “Last night, I laid in bed so blue 'Cause I realized the truth They can't love me like you I tried to find somebody new Baby, they ain't got a clue Can't love me like you”.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Let me guess… You haven’t picked a date yet, have you?” Tonks quizzically inquired, plopping down on the empty seat next to you.

“Bingo” you shortly replied, fidgeting with the umpteenth note you had received since the beginning of the week. Where did all of these secret admirers come from? Further more, why did they not sign their gushing letters, if they desperately yearned to be your date for the Ball? You were officially done with them and the absurd situation they were putting you through.

Your pink-haired friend chuckled and propped her chin over her hand, her bright eyes scanning the Great Hall in search for a potential candidate to accompany you to the infamous Ball “What about Andre? He has declared countless times that you’re his muse… I wouldn’t be surprised, if one of these notes has been sent by him?” she observed, pursuing her lips at you.

You averted your droopy eyes from the note to your ravenclaw friend, who was currently showing a new, expensive fabric to a rather joyful Penny. Well, maybe Tonks was not wrong about Andre… But the blonde potioneer was probably one of the other anonymous senders. You thought you had recognized her calligraphy earlier and, judging by the languid glances she was directing to you from across the room, there was no doubt about it. Penny had a crush on you.

“You’re probably right, but I’m not interested in him… And, for what can matter, I’m not going to choose Penny either. – you said, folding your arms over your chest – She’s way too sweet and pure to be my perfect match” you clarified, lolling your head back in dispair.

At this point, you had almost given up on going to the Ball. If a romantic experince had to turn into a stressful loop of anxiety and dissatisfaction, you would have rather spent the night locked up in your dorm, cuddling your pets.

Tonks snickered and stood up, shooting a knowing look at you “Ouch, poor Penny... Well, then I guess I should probably let you know that Tulip heard Talbott and Badeea talking about you in the ravenclaw common room yesterday. – she casually informed you, stretching her arms over her head – Actually, they were arguing. I mean, isn’t it weird? They’re both so calm and rational, then again they’ve lost control over you!”.

Your left eye twitched, your hand ripped up the note in your hand at the shocking revelation. When did she think it was the right time to let you know about it? Not that you were going to consider them as an option in the first place, but you would have surely avoided them down the corridors earlier. Any kind of interaction would have been detrimental in your desperate search for the right date.

“Tonks! – you whined, stomping your foot as a sign of irritation – Is there something else you wish to tell me?” you rhetorically asked her, palming your forehead.

She shook her head and turned her back at you “Nah, I’mma go to bed. And you should do the same!” she replied, ambling towards the exit calmly, as if she had not just dropped a bomb.

She was right. Maybe you were just too tired. And, maybe, you had already made up your mind. You knew who your heart desired, who you enjoyed sharing your meals, or butterbeers with. You had a fling with her. Nothing official, yet something important. You had not kissed many times. Actually, you had barely kissed. However, the way your lips brushed over hers, and the fact that the spark igniting your heart that very night was still vividly stuck in your mind were a clear sign that you were in love with her.

Dragging your feet along the floor, you made your way to your dorm and slipped under the covers without even changing into a proper attire. You were too stressed, too nervous and you struggled to fall asleep for hours. You tossed and turned continously, as you tried to make up your mind. You were conscious that, if you decided to pick her as your date for the ball, this time it would have been forever.

“Fuck it, alright?” you cussed, rolling on your back and staring at the ceiling.

Did anyone else make you feel the way she did? No. Was there someone else residing 24/7 in your mind? Of course no…

“Well… Maybe Barnaby? Argh, who am I kidding? He is always so sweet with me. Just stop, Y/N! I love her! There is no going back. I choose her” you said, maybe a little bit too loud, considering it was 2 o’ clock in the morning. One of your roommate groaned out in frustration and threw a pillow in your direction, that you easily dodged.

“Shut the hell up and ask her out. I wanna sleep...” she ranted, slithering back underneath the blankets to try to get some sleep.

The morning after, you met her at breakfast. You had a very hard time to approach her, especially when Ismelda shot daggers in your direction and seemed to be a minute away from jinx you. Your purple-eyed crush, on the other hand, had no troubles in glaring at her and making you the center of her attention.

“So, what’s the matter? Have you slept last night?” she commenced, cocking her head to the side.

You rolled your eyes at her and rubbed the back of your neck in distress “Please, Merula, don’t make things so damn complicated. – you complained, locking eyes with her – Be my date. I … I’d very much like it, if you just said yes” you blurted out, cheeks flushing up as she stared at you dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” she asked, blinking skeptically at you.

“Yes, I am”.

“Prove it then” she challenged you, folding her arms against her chest.

You chewed on your lower lip in nervousness, fists clenched at your sides as you pondered her request. You were there, opening your heart to her, making the first step, and she had the audacity of teasing you? Was it not clear enough that you were serious about your proposal? Yet, that side of her personality, what most of your friends loathed about her, was exactly what drove you crazy.

“I love you” you simply quipped then, watching her lips parting in disbelief. Yet, you were done playing games. Sticking up to your intent to make your relatioship official, you cupped her heart-shaped visage in your hands and smashed your lips against her ones.

That was the kiss you had dreamt about for years. That was the kiss you craved and the one you could not wait up until midnight to finally steal from her. Merula was completely shocked, as if a lightning had struck her and she was left fuzzy and disoriented right after it.

“No one is quite like you” you breathed out, pressing your forehead against hers.

She blushed, pulling you in for another brief kiss “I get to have the last word, though. Don’t forget it” she joked, winking at you.

You chuckled and took a step back, bowing your head as a sign of resignation to her umpteenth declaration of her supremacy “See you tonight, miss Snyde”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there!

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys! This is the first request I had got from my “Valentine’s Day Event”. I will publish the other ones in the next few days. I hope you have enjoyed this drabble♥️

And, if you cannot find me online on tumblr, just text me on my wattpad account: Domaslut! I hang on that platform quite a bit❤️

x o x o

[darkcircles4lyfe]

Hii I’ve stumbled across a few of your posts and haven’t even gleaned the tip of the iceberg that is your blog, but I would love to hear a more fleshed version of your Bakugo with AFO post (if you have more that you wanted to share), because that is such a cool concept???

Like, it’s such a nice way to address the symbiotic nature of the two quirks + Bakugo’s relationship with Midoriya at the same time, and there’s also so much to explore in terms of the repercussions of that (not just the symbolism of it, but also the parts you’ve mentioned like what that would mean for people who’ve had their quirks stolen, how they will deal with all the stockpiled quirks, or even on a wider scale of how the media would react if AFO/OFA is leaked/ revealed to the public).

Just imagine the amount of continued exploration in terms of the nature of quirks v nurture of society, because AFO/OFA has so far been (imo) one of the few evidence that quirks carry personality, which is so awesome because it’s like saying a quirk literally holds a part of you through the vestiges while demolishing this idea through basically the entire plot of the manga loll. (To phrase it slightly better, the manga is sort of reaching the conclusion that a quirk is a part of you and you only, without being all of you, and that it’s exactly what the name says it is: a quirk.)

The thing I don’t really like about this conclusion is the blatant disregard for the quirkless community, which was the initial point of discussion and social commentary in bnha. This is why I think Bakugo being given AFO would be great fuel for the debate of should we be allowed to mess with the quirks we are given.

As in, who gets to decide? Who gets to play god? How will it be regulated? Should it even be regulated? How do you do all that without dehumanising Bakugo the same way society dehumanised pro heroes? (Bonus points for linking this to real life because I’m all for social commentary/ reflections in fictional media)

And then on a personal level, what will it take for Bakugo to be able to control AFO’s personality (hello, eye symbolism + name symbolism) within the quirk? How will All Might handle this info? How does this all relate to the conflict of children in war? The development of the league of villains’ character plots (esp Tomura’s)?

I have a lot of questions with very few answers loll, I would love to hear your thoughts on this!!

this post, for reference

Gosh, I am so sorry for taking forever to answer this. But you ask so many good questions! And I think this is actually a pretty good time, after 419.

I guess where I stand with the idea now is still somewhat ambiguous. All for One as a power is too big and interesting to go away--or at least, if it did go away, it would speak volumes. It feels like an almost elemental, fundamental, and even spiritual power, something beyond the man himself. So I'm still wondering about its future.

While a lot of other characters' narratives, including Katsuki's, are about this "nature of quirks vs. nurture," with the original Japanese name for quirks literally meaning "individuality" ("個性" or "kosei"), All for One (the power) oddly represents a lack of individuality. Like a shapeshifter with no form of its own. With that in mind, might we actually compare it to quirklessness? This is worth considering if we're trying to guess who might be a fitting person to inherit it.

I'm at least certain that Tenko shouldn't keep it, since he was literally groomed for it, to be a vessel. For him it represents a lack of individuality in the absolute worst way: a lack of agency, and an identity determined by/in the image of someone else since before even the moment of conception. Actually, as of 419, it seems like if there is any echo of him left after being possessed again, Tenko needs to get rid of the quirk. If he is able to regain control for even a second, the most logical action he can take to save himself and do something of his own free will for once, is to pass the quirk on to someone else.

What I'm a little less certain about is who should get it. On the one hand, Katsuki has a very strong sense of self, especially now. As I said before, this would make him an interesting candidate because he wouldn't want AFO, and thus wouldn't use it for his own gain, on principle. However...

In between now and when I wrote that little post, the future of One for All has also become ambiguous. Does Tenko have it even though All for One does not? (because of Izuku's intent in passing it on?) I've wondered for a long time what would happen if OFA and AFO combined. Would they become more than the sum of their parts, creating something new? Maybe something that can connect with other people and build them up? Perhaps it would develop some aspect of agency that takes away its capacity to exploit people. I'm just speculating...

And I haven't wanted to talk about it, but I'm ambivalent about Izuku becoming quirkiness again. As in, I think Horikoshi could pull it off either way. So this is just an idea:

Izuku could also be a candidate for AFO because he lacks a sense of self, in his own way, as I've gone into before. At best, this means a lack of an ego, the opposite of AFO's personality. In AFO's words, Izuku is the boy born with nothing, who now has less than nothing. There's also a nice symmetry to this idea: Izuku giving OFA to Tenko, then Tenko giving AFO to Izuku. It would be interesting to see what the power would be like in the hands of its antithesis.

But like I said, if you ignore AFO's own selfish interpretation of the power as a tool for domination and a sign of his natural superiority, its essence is a lot more comparable to quirklessness. Just as one's quirk does not encompass one's entire self even though it is unique to them, so too does the quirk have potential beyond its user's point of view. It is potentially ideal for someone who wouldn't make it a part of who they are or use it to enforce their desires, and this applies to both Izuku and Katsuki.

The final thing to mention from your question is the possibility that whoever received AFO would have to deal with overcoming his possession. Maybe this is too much for one person to handle. Maybe Katsuki plays into this either way.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

May 5th

My good friend Jonathan has made it to Dracula castle at last! Although his travels were a little more stressful than he would have liked. I’m not worried though!!! He’s always sooo dramatic!!!

So what do we start with?

There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.

Of course. 🤦‍♀️ I sure hope this love for food won’t be used to quiet his survival instincts later in the evening…!

I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were "Ordog"—Satan, "pokol"—hell, "stregoica"—witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions) (😢)

As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger's "Lenore": — "Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.") (😡)

THIS IS NOT NICE!!!!! We don’t judge people based on appearances!!! So what if he has fangs and claws and turns into a bat when he thinks no one’s looking? Down with these unrealistic beauty standards!!!

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. […]

Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness, which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. […]

The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. […]

It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall (!), so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. (!!!)

Environmental storytelling… snow like a shroud over my good friend Jonathan… I’m not worried at all! ❄️

[…] but just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair.

🎶 TAAAAALE AS OOOLD AS TIIIIIIIIIIME 🎶

Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? (Completely customary. Please carry on.)

Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. (🥺) Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake.

Oh so we do find out what he came here for!!! I love that Mina supports his career and that the thought of her brings him comfort… even though there’s nothing to fear:

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!"

"Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!"

For this is perfectly normal alive human behaviour!!! 🦇

The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper.

You may fascinate a human by giving him a piece of cheese 🧀

His face was a strong—a very strong—aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. […]

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

MY GOOD FRIEND JONATHAN YOU HAVE A FIANCÉE/GIRLFRIEND/MINA

You know what, I’m sure it’s just exhaustion talking. He’ll see more clearly after a good night’s sleep! 💤

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[lackablazeical]

Addams! AU snippet 5: 'Kidney'

FULL CREDIT TO WRITER NewFallenLeaves ON A03! SHE HAS SO MANY BANGERS, THIS IS JUST A TINY TASTE OF HER TALENT!!!! PLEASE GO READ HER STUFF AND SUPPORT HER!!!! I SAY PLEASE BUT I AM DEMANDING NOT ASKING!!!!! GIVE HER LOVE!!!!!

As always, additional art! I'm sure this is what Mikey thought he looked like in this snippet, lol!

Full snippet below the cut! ⬇️⬇️⬇️

“Donnie!” Mikey dashed into the lab without knocking and flung himself onto the dissection table. “Take out my kidneys.”

“Not that it’s going to influence my answer either way,” said Donnie, already unfurling the blades on his mechanical hand, “But why?”

Mikey dug through his pockets and unrolled a burlesque magazine. He pointed to the front cover and a model who was wearing an orange, pink, and black laced corset with frills and embroidered sugar skulls, reminiscent of ‘Day of the Dead’ festival decorations. “I wanna wear that.”

“So wear it,” said Donnie. He filled a syringe with a noxious-looking yellow fluid. “You dress in that tawdriness regardless of how many times we’ve said it makes you look asinine. What’s that got to do with your innards?”

“I tried a corset from the costume bin at Mama’s, like the highwire dancers wear, but it doesn’t look the way it’s supposed to.” Mikey leaned down to buckle his ankles into the dissection table’s straps. “I read that human ladies got their ribs and kidneys and livers and stuff taken out to get the shape right. So you can do that for me, right?”

“Of course I can, but removing your internal organs will have no bearing on the forms of your carapace and plastron, those are inflexible.”

“Wait, you mean you ca–aahhhhhnnn’t…” The word trailed away as Mikey slumped backwards, limbs slack, head lolling.

“Oops,” said Donnie, removing the syringe from Mikey’s neck. “Did I accidentally administer sedation before you could retract your request? What a shame.”

He set the needle aside and snapped a surgeon’s glove onto his hand, ignoring the puncture that already marred the palm and the stains from the samples he’d been working on previously.

“Well, the subject volunteered and is already fortuitously in a prepped state. Might as well make sure the opportunity to harvest doesn’t go to waste. What was that, Mikey? How many organs did you say I could take?”

He strapped Mikey’s arms in place and straightened his head by locking a clamp around his neck.

“As many as necessary?” Donnie said. “What a generous offer! I always knew you wouldn’t hold out on me. Not like Leo.”

Donnie clicked one of the bone saws on his mechanical hand into place and it began to spin, pitching into a piercing whine.

“This is why you’re my favorite brother!” Donnie said, raising his voice above the noise. He slid his goggles into place and peered at the armored ribbing along Mikey’s side. “And because of that, while I’m at it, I’ll see what I can do about the plastron and the carapace. What do you say?”

He reached his free hand up to Mikey’s head and gave it a nod.

“Great! We’ll make this a quick outpatient procedure. You’ll be on the highwire by the end of the night, and my freezer will be stocked.”

And with that, he got to work.

***

Barely three hours later, Leo watched as Mikey twirled through the living room in his corset, imitating the routine he’d seen the highwire dancers perform. Unfortunately, he seemed to lack their grace. His feet dragged clumsily across the concrete and each dip and sway made it appear as though he were drunk.

“Leeee-ooooooh,” said Mikey, “Do I look preeeeeettttyyyy in my corset?”

Leo eyed him thoughtfully. An intoxicated Mikey was a completely normal occurrence. So was the choice of clothing; he was always wearing showy outfits for the circus. This one seemed to fit a little more snugly than usual, but not in a way that looked out of sorts.

No, what alerted Leo was something else entirely.

“Mikey,” said Leo. “Why are you yellow?”

“Hm?” Mikey tried to spin on one foot and wound up tumbling into Splinter’s chair. “Whaddya mean?”

“Your skin should be green. Not the same color as your spots.”

Mikey held up one arm and twisted it in front of him, as if looking at it for the first time. “Oh!” he said. “That’s the jaundice.”

“And why are you jaundiced?”

“I think,” said Mikey, scrunching up his face like a toddler thinking very hard about something. “Donnie said…it was because of my kidneys. No! My liver. That thing. Wait, maybe both! Because they’re gone now. To make room inside my plastron!”

“Uh-huh.” Leo grasped Mikey by the wrist and hauled him up out of the chair, towards Donnie’s lab.

“Did you know,” Mikey giggled, allowing himself to be dragged, “That human ladies take out their ribs and stomachs and lungs and stuff so they can wear corsets?”

He was still sniggering when Leo toppled him back onto the dissection table.

“Hey,” said Donnie, “Don’t clutter my workspace with little brothers.”

“Fix him,” said Leo.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Put Mikey’s organs back.”

Mikey gasped and sat up. “But then I won’t fit into my corset!”

“See?” said Donnie, “He doesn’t even want them!”

“Donnie…”

“I was just about to put them in the embalming jars!”

“If I can’t wear a corset then what’s the point of living?”

“All the experimentation timelines will go to waste! I have them prepped!”

Leo folded his arms. “Put Mikey’s organs back, or I’m telling Mama.”

“Gasp!” said Donnie.

“Snitch!” said Mikey.

“You’re bluffing,” said Donnie. “You despise talking to her, you would never.”

“I hate you groveling over her approval more, but I’ll leverage it if I have to,” said Leo. He spun his sword to open a portal, and through it, they could clearly see Mama’s plush office. He took a step towards the gateway. “I don’t think she’d approve of you jaundicing her favorite little circus pet.”

“Okay okay okay!” said Donnie, desperately. “Mikey, sit still.”

“No!” Mikey lurched like he wanted to roll off the table, and looked ready to run. “I won’t go back to being a corset-less turtle!”

Donnie extended the titanium arms from his shell and grappled with Mikey as he began to thrash. “Leo, quit with the blackmail. Be useful and help me.”

“You made the mess,” said Leo. He swiped the portal out of existence. “You fix it.”

If Donnie was being completely honest, his efforts were not completely wasted. He did get to do exploratory surgery and pioneer a plastron/carapace shaping technique that did, in the end, make Mikey’s waist a bit narrower. Plus, he got to strap Mikey down and sedate him twice in the same day.

Small victories.

[boltgunkiller-archive]

Brittany S. Pierce for the character ask?

favorite thing about them?

she is so layered and complex. idk i think her lines are funny and all but also there is a lot more than that. like people often mistake her for being ‘dumb’ but she’s actually like really emotionally intelligent. and she’s a good friend, she tries her best, etc. i also find that she’s very open in general, which gets mistaken for being naïve, but it’s not she just views the good in people rather than the bad (seen especially with santana. like artie insinuating santana’s a bad person and brittany getting defensive, but then britt not holding a grudge against him either bc even though it wasn’t cool, she knows he’s a nice person and didn’t mean it, etc. like people need that patience that she has in her life) but also if she’s particularly upset with something, she doesn’t know how to handle it which like. idk. i find her character very interesting to analyze so. But i also think she’s like funny and relatable so i guess that’s another big reason LOL.

least favorite thing about them?

honestly i can’t think of one???? i’m genuinely stumped here. because either things make sense from a storyline standpoint or it was just like a random thing that happened/a writer being weird thing. so i can’t think of one hffhfhhf

favorite line?

“ugh i love saltwater” i think about this quote literally constantly. i don’t know why it’s always in my mind but. it’s just so solid to me. i accidentally misquoted it as ugh i love rock salt so i say that a lot too ❤️ sunshine twins reference

brotp?

ooooh. hm. i feel like brittany didn’t ever really get to interact with that many people? on fondue for two in s4 i thought her and kitty had fun together so that’s a nice friendship tbh! & i love quinntany a LOT even tho there’s like zero canon content of them istg LOLL they could’ve been such good friends guys i can’t with rib

otp?

this is the brittana blog. it is brittana ❤️ amen. they will forever be my otp. my favorite ship of all time. my soulmates my best friends etc etc my Angels, actually. so

notp?

i neglected to mention this pairing in the brotp section because well i just felt like i didn’t need to mention it twice… SO anyway it’s bram! i dislike them as a ship. but i think they’re great friends and i like them as a friend duo. but in s4 they very quickly twisted it into a romantic thing which is annoying for me but it’s okay. bram friendship is great

random headcanon?

i’ve said it already before iirc but Legos. idk i just know she loves legos okay because i do. she’d give santana a lego bouquet. and also a real bouquet but you know. also i think she’d be a kesha and ayesha erotica fan and i don’t really know why but she would be

unpopular opinion?

i mean is it unpopular to say i wish her emotions were more of a topic of conversation? i wish they didn’t just discard her like they often did and force you to find scraps to figure out what’s going on with her lol. maybe that’s just me and just what i saw but you know. irritated me a lot

song you associate with them?

i’m sure i have several bbut omg. nevermind okay by sunday cruise. specifically for s4 brittany

favorite picture of them?

i have a lot but i think about these ones the most. she is so shakeable here

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Oasis Rarepair zine! Well, this ship was a rarepair when I first wrote this fic XD Which tells you just long this has been buried in my to post folder.

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Jean was heavy. Not in the way a real person was, all bones and flesh and sinew, but in the way a rock was, a concentrated gravity that sank to the bottom of a lake. Diluc adjusted his grip on her legs, keeping his back angled so she wouldn’t slip off and fall. Her arms were looped too loosely over his shoulders to be of any help if she tipped over.

He wasn’t sure what he’d call their relationship. They had too much history to be mere acquaintances and too much distance to be good friends. Whatever word fit, it certainly wasn’t one where he expected to carry her across Mondstadt in the dusk.

Jean’s head lolled, her soft hair brushing his neck, and Diluc fought the urge to stiffen. They had never been this close, not even before. He had never let it happen. He certainly would never let it happen again, not when it sent a shiver down his spine, not when his neck still tingled from the contact.

As though sensing his discomfort, Jean stirred. Her head slowly rose, her hands weakly grasping his shoulders. “Master Diluc?” she murmured, voice still husky from sleep.

She was too close to his ear. Diluc tightened his grip in anticipation. “Yes?”

“You’re—” Her breath hitched, and Jean jolted straight up as she realized her position. For a precarious moment, he wasn’t sure if they could both stay upright, but then her training kicked in and she leaned forward before they fell. Her nails dug into his shoulder like little daggers as she quickly took in the situation. “What—where—how—?”

“You collapsed on patrol,” Diluc answered slowly, plodding forward now that she’d regained her balance. A cool evening breeze blew, ruffling his hair. Small lights lit up the path to Mondstadt, their glow only getting brighter as the sun slowly set. “Again.”

“That…” He didn’t have to look to know that she was chewing her lip, her expression a cross between embarrassed and ashamed. “Sorry.”

Diluc shrugged. At least they weren’t far from the city. He could just make out the bridge’s outline from where they were. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” Jean wiggled, pulling back. With her sense of decorum and pride, he wasn’t surprised her first instinct was to hop off. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I can walk the rest of the way.”

He tightened his grip in response, forcing her to hold his shoulders lest she fell off. “It’s fine,” Diluc repeated.

“But—”

Forgetting how close they were, he shot her a sharp look over his shoulder. Even in the late light, the sun’s rays painting the sky a soft purple, he could make out the bags under her eyes, the tired droop of her smile, the soft red blush of her fever. Her eyes met his and Diluc quickly turned back. “You’re sick. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.” Sensing she was about to argue, he added, “Jean.”

She stiffened. It was unfair, he knew. Diluc had seen the way Jean looked at him when she thought nobody was looking, the way she said his name, the way she leaned closer when he spoke. He was many things, but blind wasn’t one of them.

But if saying her name was enough to make her listen, to make her stay still, then he didn’t mind playing dirty.

Jean sighed. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his back. Even through the thick material, he could feel her heat, as though her vision was pyro and not his. Softly, she uttered, “Sorry. Thank you.”

He kept his gaze firmly on the path. “No need.”

“Still.” She sighed again, her breath tickling his neck. “Sorry.”

Diluc clicked his tongue. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll stop working so hard you faint.”

By now, it was common knowledge in Mondstadt. Jean was a great fighter. Jean was the acting grand master. Jean overworked herself on a daily basis. Kaeya would sometimes drop into the bar and leave hints about Jean’s well-being, his sharp eye on Diluc’s the entire time.

Knowing his former friend, this was yet another one of Kaeya’s games. The worst part was how it worked every time—no matter how composed Diluc forced himself to stay, no matter how blank his poker face, Kaeya’s eye would crinkle, his lips pulling back into a sly smirk, and he’d leave looking like a cat that caught the canary.

Perhaps he should look into putting a ‘no Kaeya’ sign on his door.

Jean chuckled, light and airy and utterly oblivious to his thoughts. Wryly, she asked, “Are you sure you should say that?”

He grunted, not arguing the point. “I’ve never fainted.”

“No, I suppose you haven’t.” There was a soft rustle as she shifted on his back, her hands still gripping his shoulders lightly. “Barbara says the same thing.”

Considering how much her sister loved her, Diluc wasn’t surprised. The deaconess always looked worried whenever she left the Knights’ headquarters. “Then listen to her.”

“I’ll try, but…” Jean’s fingers dug into his skin. “No promises.”

He stopped walking. Ignoring their proximity, he looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

Jean smiled tiredly. “You remember how it is. There’s too much work and not enough hands. I…I can’t let our people down. Not when they trust us so much. I can’t…”

Let their faith shatter like yours did. Diluc could hear the unspoken words, feel them curl around him like a familiar cat. No wonder Jean was so heavy, he was feeling the weight of all of her expectations, of all the dreams and hopes pinned on her.

“You’re just one person,” he replied. That had nothing to do with you.

Jean hadn’t covered up his father’s death. Jean hadn’t clogged up the requests, delaying even the smallest task behind a mountain of red tape and paperwork. Jean hadn’t accepted loss as an acceptable result to a mission.

If there had been any reason to stay with the knights, it would have been her. But a single person wasn’t enough to stay and fight the corruption. Not even one he used to watch from the corner of his eye.

“I know. But…I thought…” Her voice grew softer, fainter. Diluc strained to hear it. “If I work hard enough, maybe you can rely on us again.”

His breath hitched. No matter how hard he craned, he couldn’t see Jean’s expression properly. And he wanted to, needed to—she had never been good at hiding her emotions. Even without asking a question, he’d find the answer on her face.

“It won’t make up for what happened but…” She closed her eyes, slumping forward. Her chin rested on his shoulder, her cheek brushing his neck. “I want to ease your mind. If only a little.”

Her breathing evened out, her fever finally forcing her aching body to rest. Diluc, however, couldn’t move, still frozen by the sudden confession.

Jean had been a workaholic since they were kids. Whether it had been training, schoolwork, or even just a children’s game, she had always put in more effort than was necessary. When Diluc had seen how seriously she’d taken her position as Acting Grand Master, he hadn’t thought of it beyond her usual behaviour.

But the woman collapsed on his back wasn’t pushing herself for any of her usual reasons. No, it had been out of an unwarranted guilt. A sense of duty.

And now that he had heard it, he couldn’t unhear it. Diluc gritted his teeth. “Why are you always like this?”

There was no response. Her hair tickled his skin as she slept. Diluc sighed as he glanced up at the starry sky—the night had finally fallen, leaving behind only the darkness of the universe.

Leaving behind only the light of the universe, the millions of stars and galaxies twinkling down on him.

Diluc couldn’t return to the knights. That was beyond him now. But he could do other, smaller things. Ease her burden, if only a little—make it so she didn’t have to patrol as much as she did, make it so that when she did, there was no reason for her to collapse.

Perhaps he could talk to Rosaria about it later. And Kaeya. As loath as he was to admit it, they had a good scope of the problems in Mondstadt.

For now, though, he continued to plod home, Jean nestled safely on his back. They hadn’t been this close in ages. Diluc wasn’t sure if they’d ever be this close again. His pace slowed slightly as he shifted her to a more secure position.

Maybe tonight he’d take the long route home. Just this once.

[doctorhelena]

Oh accidental Howard marriage sounds like great fun!

(In reference to this WIP ask game)

This story takes place shortly after the end of Agent Carter S2 (in a universe where Peggy and Daniel's romance was quite short), and is pretty much just what it sounds like (although it also has a Steggy wraparound, in which post-Endgame Steve learns about it 😂).

Peggy and Howard very drunkenly get married during a night out in Vegas (where they are staying for work-related reasons), after which, to Peggy's mortification, Mr. Jarvis gets called to the rescue. 😂(Thankfully, both parties being intoxicated was sufficient grounds for an annulment in Nevada in 1947.)

Here's an excerpt:

---

“You’re too good for him, Peg.” Howard gestured in the general direction of Los Angeles, and more specifically of Daniel Sousa.

Peggy sighed, swirling her whiskey around in her glass. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a good man, he just has a tendency to be a little too protective for my taste. Perhaps I simply didn’t give him enough of a chance.”

Howard shook his head. “He’s a nice enough guy, but we all know you two never would have worked out in the long run. He isn’t in love with the real you. Not like Rogers was.” He shrugged. “Sousa’s top priority is always knowing you’re safe. And you’re just not the kind of bird who does well in a gilded cage.” He grinned. “Kind of like Bernard.”

Peggy snorted, pulled away just in time from the brink of wallowing in Steve Rogers-related wistfulness. “Good God, Howard, how many of those have you had?”

“Flamingos? Or drinks?”

“I certainly hope, for poor Mr. Jarvis’s sake, that the answer to the second is a considerably larger number than the first.”

Howard grinned and clinked his glass against hers. “Just the one flamingo so far. Although that might change, I’ve been thinking of putting him out to stud.”

Peggy lolled back in her chair, feeling suddenly more relaxed than she had in months, warm and loose-limbed and alarmingly near giggling at the thought of Bernard with a harem of female flamingos. “Howard, don’t you dare do that to Mr. Jarvis. You don’t appreciate the man nearly enough. How many times has he saved your bacon?”

“More than once, that’s for sure. Maybe even more times than you have,” Howard admitted, then swung himself abruptly up into a standing position, reaching for Peggy’s hand to pull her up too. “Here, finish that drink and I’ll take you out to dinner and to a show. Take your mind off things.”

“We have to work in the morning,” she reminded him. They were in Las Vegas to evaluate the suitability of the old Groom Lake auxiliary airfield site as a remote test site for some of the SSR’s more volatile scientific and technological research, at Phillips’ behest - a part of the plan she, Phillips, and Howard had to fold the SSR into a new, replacement agency, better suited for the cold war in which the word currently found itself.

That Peggy had just ended things with Daniel, less than a month after they’d started, was simply a happy coincidence - although, she supposed, happy only in that she found she actually rather fancied a night on the town in Las Vegas to take her mind off things before evaluating the site and then flying back to New York. Alone. Not alone, she reminded herself. Angie was there, and her work. It just - it wasn’t quite the post-war life she’d always imagined she'd have, before Steve Rogers had sacrificed himself to save millions of lives on the Eastern Seaboard.

Good God, she was getting maudlin. Perhaps she did need to eat.  “All right, Howard,” she said, tossing back the rest of her drink. “Take me out and show me Las Vegas.”

[shootingstar-scuderia]

f1 asks

tagged @scuderiahoney (thanks for the tag lee bee seeing the tag made my day)

who is your favourite driver?

idk if i have a true fave but i'm gonna say max, he's the one who got me in to this whole mess

do you have other favourite drivers?

like i said, i probably have too many fave drivers to have a true fave but lando, charles, yuki, fernando, & logan are all up there

who is your least favourite driver?

don't really know if i have a least fave driver... it's not like i really hate any of them. but i will say carlos' radio messages about oscar from miami did not do him any favors, it just made him look like a really sore loser.

do you pull for drivers or do you like teams as well?

mostly drivers! i feel like i get more of the emotional aspect from the sport through the drivers rather than team pride and things like that. i also just like it when interesting things happen and mostly that's from individual drivers and not teams.

if you like teams, what team do you pull for?

i am rooting for williams and not just bc i get so patriotic over logan but also bc it was exciting to see how they would separate themselves from mercedes... but i do think kinda fucked it... let's not get into all of that now

how long have you been into F1?

around midway into the '23 season. singapore was the first race i watched watched (but tbf it was at a airport resturant and it was only the first 12 laps). before that i was still interested in the race but had no way to watch it so i just refreshed twitter a little and checked google to get the results.

what got you into F1?

okay. so. i don't know what made tumblr recommend me a bunch of miscellaneous f1 smaus but it did and i was in the middle of writers block for another fandom and thought a smau would be great for the fic i was writing. and then i was also just so enamored by this one pic of max:

and i texted my friend this pic telling her that i was now a fan of f1 bc he looked so silly and i needed to know what this guy's deal was and the rest was history.

do you enjoy fanfic/RPF?

yep! i write it loll so it would be kinda an issue if i didn't lmao

how do you view new fans?

i'm still pretty new tbh 😭😭 so like i'm really in no position to judge anyone for anything

if you could take over as team principal for any team, who would it be and why?

i think i would crumble underneath all the pressure actually. i'd like to be a zak brown, not a tp but just there hanging around with some interesting lore

are your friends and family into F1 as well?

kind of, my brother is into F1 but i have not, for the life of me, been able to find a way to get him to talk to me about the sport with him being so unbelievably dry (why do younger siblings be like that?). my friends are like kind of adjacently into F1. they'll watch the races if i put them on and they let me yap so that's all i really need

are you open to talking to other fans/making friends?

yes! always!! come say hi i love to yap

no pressure tags :)

@mclarenhoney @foreveralbon + anyone else who wants to join in!