#pennys-fic-reviews

[pennys-fic-reviews]

For today's fic, we have an absolutely amazing one called Meet Again by @northpen.

I got introduced to this one by some gorgeous fanart by @teircetea. (Reblogged after this post on my blog). They're a wonderful artist and the way they use colours is the Thing that made me want to read this fic. If someone with such fabulous art read and loved this fic, then it must be a good fic.

And it was MORE than good by a long shot. It was so fun to meet all the new versions and learn about them. The world building in this was so good. It tackled mental health so well. I loved the characters and how they interacted and how they viewed the world.

(more under the cut)

I think the one thing that stuck with me was Nya's struggle with chronic pain. It made me have to put down my phone and breathe a few times. I had to take breaks and dry the tears from my eyes.

Personally, I have my own chronic pain struggles and permanent nerve and bone damage in my right ankle. And seeing Nya struggle to do the things she loves, to be scared to do the things she loves, because of her knee injury hit me. I understood. I know what it's like to be frustrated because you can barely walk. I know what it's like to feel incapable because of your pain. This fic had one of the most impactful depictions of chronic pain I've seen in a long time. Amazing job.

ANYWAYS BLAH BLAH BLAH who cares about the feely emotional stuff. What really matters is Kai's whole character. Oh my god I literally can't even get over how much growth he went through. Getting to see his character start off as a rebellious teenager who matures into a father figure and emotionally mature adult who cares about people was so cool. It happened gradually and didn't feel forced. He felt like a real human being.

Amazing job to the author for writing the characters so well. I absolutely fell in love with every single one of them.

The storytelling in this was so good. The villains felt more natural than even some of the canon villains. The plot made sense but the plot twists were still shocking. It wasn't predictable, but it also wasn't bizarre. It was a perfect balance.

Anyways. Overall. This fic was absolutely heartbreaking but also so funny and humorous. It has an angst sandwich with angst sprinkled in, but most of the filling is fluff and humor. It was an amazing and natural piece of writing on life and death and how to cope with all of it. It appreciates grief and understands it comes in all shapes and forms and knows it's unavoidable, but it accepts it and shows you that you can ease your grief with a lot of healing. It was beautiful. Had many moments that made me pause and giggle and kick my feet or cry or laugh or stare in shock or reminisce or just feel and focus on the writing.

Beautiful fic, would definitely recommend to anyone who's looking for a fantastic longfic with many different feels and a connection to the characters. Don't let the lack of tagging scare you lol 😂

Amazing fic, 10/10, thank you for birthing it into the world, author.

[dipplinduo]

S&S D Chapter 15 thoughts:

1. THE BEACH EPISODE IS FINALLY HERE. I love how you described everyone's outfits for the beach party (Just when I thought Juliana couldn't get any prettier there than what I imagined she would be wearing that swimsuit /pos. The adeed details and Lacey's final touch to her look is chef's kiss 😚👌)

2. I am SO GLAD Carmine is there (with Ribombee too 👀) to help Kieran out of his panic attack. He can slowly take his time to tell her about what has been happening to him and that's some good progress for the Toxic Chain investigation. I'm all here for more sibling bonding XD

3. Drayton: "We can have sandwiches-"

Koraidon: "I have been summoned"

Paldea crew: *sigh* "here we go again"

4. Lacey, let poor Crispin finish his sentence please 😭😭😭 (he's trying to tell her she's pretty isn't it? 👀)

5. The ending though (I wonder whose round it is with Kieran up next...)

I was tempted to pull out that one reaction gif but I'll probably save that for next chapter (goodness knows how angstier can it get from here)

- ☕️

Bruuhhhh I fully just wanted to make her pretty after all the hype around her Ribombee swimsuit, glad it was a hit for you. :')

This is honestly such an important moment, and one where Carmine specifically should've been there over someone like Juliana for reasons

You knew we had to give it to 'em. I have not been writing much about Koraidon, so, I figured that was a good moment. xD

She's been so TSUNDERE LOL. Maybe she'll soften up soon. :)

Kieran boutta throw hands-

my goodness, I can't believe you'd ever think I'd go angsty on you! xD <33

[captainshadowgirllostfan]

I don't want to be that person...but after rewatching the episode where Penny quits acting after that horrible Gorilla movie she was doing and then proposing to Leonard...I kinda think she's kidding herself in thinking she gave her all...at least she tried but I always thought that with Leonard, she was kinda dragging it especially when she couldn't figure out the wedding date and everything. I always felt that proposal was her trying to tie up and keep the one thing she felt was good in her life and in her mind it was Leonard especially with how long she's been with him and comparing him to her other more dumb boyfriends.

Could she do better? Yeah I definitely think so but we'll Penny has extremely low self-esteem surprisingly for a girl confident in her looks and stuff, it's probably why she stayed with Leonard, because he made her feel good about herself...in a way she understood and that was only in her looks... oh wow I don't want to make Penny sound bad...like I get all her decisions and I understand her relationship with Leonard is horrible but a lot of Shenny writers seem to blame the entire toxic thing on Leonard when it's actually both ways. These two bring the worst out of each other...

And I actually think Penny is aware enough for it with how she drinks, constantly feels guilty about how she treats Leonard, which he later emotionally manipulates her for that troll. (Derogatory), and how she drags their relationship like she is just forcing herself to like/love Leonard but really doesn't and idk who the writers are fooling with this idea that she has commitment problems when all her relationships end with a guy having an affair behind her back or treating her as a body for sex...perhaps subconsciously after all that abuse, she still recognize that Leonard is the same but her mind also doesn't comprehend because Leonard doesn't look like her previous exes so she probably tries to tell herself that it's just in her head and that Leonard is "different".

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Machinist 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You take your lunch where you always do; outside. You don’t like to sit inside all day, especially after sweating amid sparks flying from dozens of torches and grinding wheels and the like. The metals walls do little to let the heat out, so it is that you greet the sunshine and fresh breeze with a sigh. 

You find your way to your truck and unlock the back, climbing up to sit in the open bed as you unzip your lunchbox. You have your standard fare; some carrots, hummus, and a tuna sandwich. Nothing fancy or special. Just what you have time to throw together in the morning. 

You watch the distant skyline as you chew. Insects buzz in the air and you swat away a nosy fly. The smell of pollen underlines the lingering scent of singed metal and your own sweat. You enjoy the small moment to yourself, with the barely muffled noise of drills, wheels, and hollers all around. 

You dip your last carrot and close up the container of hummus. You wipe the lingering garlicky smear from your fingertips and zip away your leftovers and the used napkin. You push your head back to stretch your neck and loosen the stitch between your shoulders. 

“You’re prettier in the sunlight,” the rocky voice brings your chin back down. 

August approaches as you clutch your lunch box against your lap. You don’t know how to respond without putting your job in the balance, so you don’t. You push yourself to the edge of the truck bed but he’s quick. He’s right in front of you, close enough that you can’t jump down. 

“This your truck?” He muses as he gives it an emphatic look, “not too bad. Bit big for you, girl. Ah, but maybe you like handling big things.” 

His insinuation repulses you. He was rude before but now he’s just being gross. Doesn’t matter. Who are you gonna tell? Who’s going to care?

“Excuse me, my lunch is almost over,” you say as you teeter on the edge. 

“I’m sure the boss won’t mind,” he grins boastfully. 

“Really, I got a lot of work--” 

“I never heard about your promotion,” he intones. 

You stop short and bite back your words, “promotion?” 

“Right, you must’ve got one since you’re telling me what to do,” he challenges, crossing his arms to make himself even bigger. 

“I wasn’t. I’m trying to go back to work.” 

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers. 

You ease back and nod. This isn’t the first time a man’s postured at you, it won’t be the last. You’ll let him get his rocks off. 

“Sure,” you nod. 

“Hmph,” he looks you up and down, “it always makes me wonder why women wander into metal shops. Really? You like being sweaty,” he steps even closer and you wince as he reaches and drags his thumb down your cheek, “dirty? I can think of better ways for that.” 

“Sir,” you say flatly. 

He trails his thumb down and presses on your bottom lip, “I’m new around here. Need someone to show me around. How about it?” 

You scowl and rip your mouth away from his hand, “you can’t be serious?” 

“Do I look like I��m fucking kidding?” He slowly pulls his arm back, crossing it once more across his chest, “what I know about this town is there’s no other fucking shop looking for tool and die, and let me tell you, princess, you’ll find they don’t pay pennies next to what I pay.” He brings a hand up to brush the short stubble darkening his jaw, “actually, we’re due for salary review. That’s what the finance officer tells me.” 

You understand his threat. Even if he doesn’t fire you, he can mess with your money. All the leering men, all their nasty words, wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t get a half-decent cut. 

“Can your precious little head understand me?” His mouth slants in a half-smirk. 

“Not that difficult,” you hiss out.  

“Great, sounds like a plan, princess.” 

Before you can react, he steps forward. He grabs you by the waist and drags you forward on the open door of the truck bed. You yelp in surprise and bat his wrists, your lunch box bouncing out of your grasp onto the ground. He holds you to hover on the edge before he lowers you to the ground, crowding you. 

“Good girl,” he growls and squeezes before he lets you go. 

You struggle not to snarl outright. He takes a step back, not far enough. You turn your attention to your errant bag and bend to pick it up. 

“Mmm, I like that position,” he purrs. 

You snap up and tamp down your irritation. You wish you could say he’s the first man to be so disgusting but that would be a miracle. Especially in this line of work. He’s just the only one you can’t tell to go fuck himself. 

You face him, “can I go back to work?” 

“Mm, look at you, learning already; asking permission,” he clicks his tongue, “sure, go on, princess.” 

You hold back a shudder and turn to close the truck door. You toss your lunch bag over it. Whatever. 

You spin and stomp away, refusing to look back at him, even as you feel his gaze bearing down on you. You feel even more filthy than before. Not just because of his behaviour but your own weakness. You should say no, you should go work at the Pizza Hut, at least there, you can spit in the food of every ass who gives you lip. 

As you cross the yard towards the shop, you slow down. Your eyes meet those of Carey. He started at the same time as you. He asked you out. Several times. He glowers and narrows his eyes.

He looks at the other guys sat around him at the smokers’ table. They saw it. You know they did.

“All the fucking same, aren’t they?” He spits into the dirt as the other men look in your direction. “Cozying up to the boss to get a few extra bucks on her check.” He flicks his butt towards you as you near the door, “whatsa a matter, baby? You need some new panties? Oh, maybe you’re gonna buy a dress? Start dressing like a woman, huh?” 

The other guys chortle and you ignore them. They don’t matter. That’s the difference between them and August. He can actually ruin your life, they only wish they could. 

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Part 2

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Part one: X

AO3 Link: X

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, abduction, bondage, blood and injury.

Word Count: 7.2k

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

NSFW under the cut

It probably didn’t mean anything, right?

How common is your name, really? He probably was just thinking about his girlfriend or wife at home who just happens to share the same name as you, the same wife he didn’t happen to mention during your introductions - even if it would have been a really good icebreaker.

Yeah, that’s it.

It couldn’t have been about you.

Could it?

Your thoughts are spiraling now, not giving yourself the room to dissect one detail before your brain throws another at you. You still haven’t moved, wide eyes watching warm light reflect on his skin as he basks in post-orgasm bliss.

He’s still for a while, and you’re wondering if the finish had tired him out enough to lull him into a nap.

After a few minutes of watching the rise and fall of his chest, you decide the show was over and closed out of the software. There was some part of you, some part you’d hoped wouldn’t ever come to light, that decided to keep his feed connected.

You’ve crossed so many lines already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

You feel like you’ve ruined whatever chance you’ve had with him, violating his privacy like this. This was a man that wasn’t even comfortable showing his face, how did you think he was going to feel knowing a stranger has not only seen him fully naked but watched him jerk his cock to completion?

He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret and we’ll just pretend it never happened.

Yeah, you acted real casual today when you hadn’t done a horrible, awful, perverted thing. I’m sure you’ll act real casual the next time you have to look him in the eyes.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

You rest your head on your keyboard not-so-gently, accidentally booting up an ancient mail software that was sure to kick your laptop’s fans into overdrive. An audible groan leaves your mouth.

Who knew non-consensual voyeurism would leave such a horrific feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach?

That and the arousal that sits right underneath. Your underwear now had a wet stain from watching the show, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you had.

There was no way you were going to be able to focus on work now. You had been planning on staying late, but there’s no way you can analyze today’s data. Review his feed. Replay your conversations. Hear his breathing…

No, you just can’t do it right now. It’s too much.

You do a quick round of the lab, performing a sloppy iteration of your closing procedures, pack up your things, and head out for the day.

Before you do, you decide you might as well round out the horrific deed by doing one last terrible thing.

You pair your personal cell phone to the software and send yourself the erotic recording of Konig.

You’ll start fresh tomorrow, you decide.

————————————————————-

You most certainly did not start fresh tomorrow.

The next few days are a vicious cycle.

Go to work. Review Konig’s simulation footage. Fantasize. Feel guilty. Review raw data. Think about Konig touching himself. Feel aroused. Feel guilty. Rewrite codes. Go home. Watch erotic recording. Feel aroused. Get off.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

You can’t help it. You’re out of control, an addict desperate to get their fix, ashamed of their actions but lacking the willpower to quit.

How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when all day at work you’re watching him fight his way through the shoot house, strong hands gripping his gun, and hearing to that laugh?

How can you go home and ignore the recording of him finishing while moaning your name?

You must have replayed it a thousand times. He moaned it like he was begging you, pleading with you. Such a powerful man choking on your name. Even after a full week had passed, it still had the power to excite you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

Your next meeting with Konig was scheduled for today and if you had to judge solely by the feeling in your gut, you would’ve guessed you had eaten rocks for breakfast. Your brain tells you to flee and fast but your body is promised to these four walls. Your leg bounces as you pick at the fingers that beg for something to do besides type code.

You wanted to call it off. Tell Konig you weren’t feeling well and you’d try again next week. Or maybe hit the bricks entirely. Just walk out of the building and never look back. Forget about everything.

You’re reconsidering your career choices as a steady knock on the lab’s swinging door rips you from your thoughts.

Your wince before you look up, quickly plastering what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.

He catches your eyes through the glass and you notice them crinkle, unable to place an emotion to it. You’d been dreading this moment all week. Even going so far as to avoid looking at his live feed after the incident, just in case you weren’t able to feign the natural responses of hearing his recounts for the ‘first’ time. That in addition to the intrapersonal understanding that you couldn’t handle carrying anymore guilt-rocks in your stomach.

Looking him in the eyes was as hard as you imagined it to be. He pushes open the door and steps in, standing hesitantly near the entrance like he did last week. You notice he has a notepad in one hand, and it looks so comically small compared to his size. Like a giant holding a sticky note. In the other he holds your earpiece in an open palm, as if hesitant to wrap his fingers around it.

It doesn’t help that the first word that left his mouth as he entered the lab was your name. Flashbacks to his sweaty body, shuddering in pleasure as he came all over his rippling muscles grab your attention.

He had followed it up with something, but you had been too distracted to catch it. You close your eyes, touching your hand to your forehead.

You were not doing a very good job hiding your fluster.

“I’m so sorry- what’d you say?” You give a small laugh, partly to ease the tension in your chest and partly at the situation itself. It’s not funny, you know that. It’s terrible. So terribly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh at yourself for getting yourself into this mess. Your hand follows through the rest of your hair in an effort to soothe yourself before falling back down at your side.

“Good to see you.” He repeats, tilting his head, taking just a few careful steps closer to you. His eyes dart to the side briefly before returning to you, “Is everything okay?”

You give another weak laugh, “Yeah, sorry. Just still in the zone.” You gesture vaguely at scattered papers and devices on the table. You don’t give him a chance to pry further, “How was it?”

He takes a moment to eye you carefully, and you are sure he’s about to call your bluff before he responds, “Remarkable.”

You swallow, breaking eye contact with him again. It’s always been hard for you to accept a compliment. You're hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks, but you know you have absolutely no right to such a request after what you’ve done.

He clears his throat before he continues, “I promised you I would have feedback. It wasn’t easy.” He holds his notepad up briefly as he steps up to the table to carefully set it down along with your earpiece. You can see from across the table he’s got a few scribbled sentences spaced out on the notepad. You take note of his sloppy handwriting from across the table, before realizing he didn’t write in English.

He looks down at his notes and you’re thankful you have something to stare at that’s not Konig’s eyes or intimidating frame. You’re trying hard not to think about the body filling out his gear. You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him naked that it’s almost strange to see him with his uniform on.

You can tell he takes a deep breath before continuing and you wonder briefly if he’s nervous about sharing his feedback, worried he will hurt your feelings. “You mentioned before that it scans objects?” The end of his sentence lifts, almost like he’s asking you a question, “I think it would be good to make sure that the user is always made aware of landmines. I’m positive it will save lives.”

“Yes, absolutely. That’s a great idea.” You nod as you jot his ideas down on your laptop, a reminder to update your code.

You’re happy to be talking shop. Even happier to be talking about defensive designs instead of offensive ones.

The way he rubs his bicep with his opposing hand triggers a realization. You finally look at his eyes, his still staring down at his notes, and watch him for a moment.

The idea didn’t come from thin air.

You wonder what he saw, what traumatic memories are being replayed behind the downcast eyes to inspire such an idea.

You feel an ache in your chest for him, the desire to alienate his discomfort but unequipped to do so. Instead you look at him, your eyes swollen with sympathy and the corner of your mouth pinched in a frown.

He takes a moment before looking back up at you. He notices your warped expression but misinterprets it, “Am I overstepping?”

Your voice is low and you press a hand to your heart, “No, Konig, not at all. This is very helpful.” You’re not sure what else to say to him. What do you say to a man haunted by the violence he’s witnessed?

The only thing you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.

You’re not working for the government anymore, you decided. You’re going to work for Konig. To tailor your device with the purpose to save and protect him.

So you stick to the topic at hand. “Any other ideas?” You ask, voice still soft with empathy as you glance down at the notes written in German.

“Uh,” He clears his throat again and touches the back of his neck over his hood, the fabric pulling a bit on the front, “Sometimes when we’re in the heat of things, I can’t always get to my remote.” He gestured to the band on his wrist. “Do you think it would be possible to have voice command?”

Your brain’s mulling over the possibility. You’re surprised you haven’t thought of it yet. You could eliminate the remote entirely, you’re sure your supervisor will be elated with the big savings on material costs. The earpiece already has a microphone for the comm, it wouldn’t be hard for you to configure it to an additional feature.

“Absolutely, voice control. That’s clever.” Your brain is already running with alternatives to the wrist remote as you type his ideas, “Do you go on a lot of missions that require stealth?” It’s easier to make eye contact with him when you’re discussing work. He nods, and you continue, “In addition to voice command, I could also add hand controls, able to identify and respond to the signal you give it - totally silent.” You tap your fingers on the table twice, “The only draw I can think of is having to memorize control signals.”

He thinks it over for a moment and shifts in his spot, “That’s even better.”

“I think it’ll be best to have both.” Your keyboard clicks under your fingers as you enter the ideas coming to you faster than you can get them down.

This is great. I’m not even thinking about-

Stop it.

“These are great, Konig, really. Anything else?”

Your encouragement makes him look away. You follow his stare as it darts to the side and then down to his notes. He places one hand on the table next to the notepad as he leans his weight onto it.

You briefly picture yourself between him and the table, his arm pinning you in as he towers over you, hunched to watch you like you’re his prey, chests so close they’re almost touching.

You quickly push the thought to the side, moving your attention back to your laptop. The only way to survive this meeting is to repress.

Repress your memories of what he looks like with his cock in his hand, arching his hips into the thrusts. Repress the sound of his moans and your name echoing clearly in your brain. Repress the guilt from the breach of privacy to the highest degree.

Please, just until we get through this.

You close your eyes and take a breath to collect yourself while he’s not looking.

He’s got other things written on the notepad, you’re sure. Unless the two ideas he’d already pitched managed to take up the whole page. “No.”

Your brows furrow, the question leaving your mouth without thought, “You’re sure?”

He pauses. You can tell he’s sitting on a thought, but you don’t know what.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a prototype. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

He straightens his posture before he speaks, “No. That was all I could think of.” He swallows, “If you feel I didn’t make good on my promise, I can fix it.”

“No, no!” You say with urgency, a hand shaking in his direction, “Those ideas you gave me were perfect. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t holding back on me.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I can’t stress how helpful this has been. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

Konig looks at you, those intimidating eyes staring at you from across the table. You wish you could see his face, hoping it would give some insight on what was going through his head. Even if you could you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact.

He knows.

No, he doesn’t, shut up.

“I’ll keep thinking.” He says definitively, like he’s trying to right a wrong.

“You’ve only had it for a week,” you reassure, “Besides, you’ve given me plenty to work with.” You force a smile at him, not even caring how it’s coming off because you’re just hoping not to choke on the tension suffocating the room. You wonder if he feels it too, or if it’s all in your head.

He nods, and you look to your laptop in a futile attempt to thwart the dread suddenly pooling in your stomach. You’re reminded of what you’ve done when he crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to the same bicep on the arm that he used to pleasure himself. You’re picturing how it looks under his uniform, comparing it to your filthy reference. Your heart quickens and you can’t help but take in his build, even from across the long lab table. You feel extra small sitting on your stool while he stands, arms still crossed, staring.

The air between you two is definitely weird. Him getting off to probably-not-you and you watching but him not knowing that you know will certainly fill the room with a tension unlike any other.

These drawn-out silences are smothering you, not knowing what goes on being his hood.

He looks disappointed in you.

He knows.

“How can I help you in the meantime?”

You can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. You were planning on taking him back out to shoot house, running a few more simulations, and having him give feedback on a few more overlays.

You scrap that plan, looking forward to expanding on his ideas while your synapses are still firing.

“Well, here’s my thoughts so far. Landmine identification, the coding for that will be easy. The device already has the scanning capability for obscured objects. All I have to do is enable the specific object for full-time recognition. The hard part will be testing. I’ll have to meet with weapons development to develop prop landmines for simulation.”

You glance at the notes on your laptop, “Voice control - easy. Mic’s already installed and all I would have to do is add speech-to-text recognition, repurpose the wrist control coding, and then…testing.” Your hand finds the side of your face as you think it over, “Well, I may need to sample voice lines from you and a couple of your friends…” You loosely gesture with the same hand as you continue, “But there may be workarounds to that. Put a pin in that.” You’re on a roll now, “Now the hand controls - that might be more complicated. I’m thinking I’ll have to start fresh with the hardware.” You look up, “Then again… it already has the scanning capacity. I could probably just teach the current model with software alone. But the coding will take some time to figure out.”

Your eyes find him again. He’s staring and as per usual you can’t decipher it.

“Y’know,” you continue with a smile, “You could help me come up with hand signals?”

He nods.

He doesn’t give you much to work with, does he?

“I’ll need references of your hands. To teach the AI, is that okay?”

He looks down in a way that makes you feel so, so ashamed. If he is hesitant about recordings of just his gloved hands, how would he feel if he found out about what you did? About the video living on your phone?

After a moment he looks back up at you, “I’ll do it.” His voice is stern as usual, always treating everything with importance, with determination.

You give him another shaky smile, “Might be awhile. Wanna sit?”

He pulls up a stool to his end of the table and you instruct him to put his earpiece on as you return to your software on the laptop, trying not to trigger the memory of the last time you watched his feed. You pretend to resync your devices, glad he can’t see your screen. A wave of shame washes over you.

You’re both collaborating for some time, you offering a prompt and him stiffly coming up with a corresponding hand command. You supervise his feed, having him tilt his hands so the AI has references from multiple angles.

The rest of the meeting is professional and you manage to steady your obsessive thoughts as best you can. It’s hard to observe his hands and not think about the video, about what you watched those same hands do.

About how those hands would feel mapping all of the curves of your body.

How they would feel gripping onto your hips as you rode him.

How they would feel sneaking up your thighs, teasing you.

Somehow, you make it.

Once you decide you’ve covered enough references, Konig heads out, and you hope to continue staving off your thoughts by wasting no time on incorporating his ideas into your design. You’re hoping to have a least one rough draft done before next week’s meeting, so you plan on hunkering down and forfeit your Friday night to work overtime.

—————————————————————-

It’s late in the evening, you can tell by how your eyes are burning, strained from staring at your bright screen. You don’t bother to check the actual time. It would just bum you out. Spending your Friday night working. Not that you would have been doing anything partially exciting if you hadn’t. You probably would have just spent your evening analyzing footage anyway, just of a more perverted genre.

When you finally call it quits, the base is barren. Everyone’s gone home or retired to their quarters by now. It’s quiet after the base door shuts behind you, automatic locks clicking into place.

You’re feeling better after today’s meeting with Konig. Somewhere in the previous week you’d convinced yourself that he knew, that at any moment he was going to report you, and at any moment security would bust in the lab to escort you out.

Seeing him again, even though you couldn’t always figure out what he was thinking, reassured you that he hadn’t somehow telepathically figured out your terrible deed. You don’t think he would have bothered to keep helping you, or even be able to look at you without disgust if he did know.

The meeting also re-sparked your feelings of arousal and excitement. The knot in your lower abdomen made its presence known again. So much more desirable than the spiraling guilt. You’ve come to lean into the highs, enjoying it while you can, knowing soon you’ll be feeling nauseous at the thought of yourself.

You don’t know how much longer you can take the rollercoaster. This week has been exhausting. You can’t believe you’ve allowed this man to root himself into your life, seeping into every facet.

Career, personal, sexual, and - well, you’re still in denial about the romantic feelings - but it’s incredibly impressive how this man was capable of fucking your entire life up for the small price of a couple of hours and a few exchanged words.

When you finally get to the privacy of your home, you let out an audible groan. Loud enough to carry but quiet enough to not disturb the neighbors. You just needed to let something out, it was getting frustrating.

You didn’t want to think anymore, you didn’t want to think!

“Long day at work?”

You freeze, and the sound of heavy footsteps fill your ears. Two armed soldiers with fully equipped gear stride from the depth of your home, meeting you at the entrance.

The sight of them alone is enough to intimidate you. You instinctively back against the locked door, your trunk obscuring a hand moving towards the doorknob.

“Tsk, tsk. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The taller of the two soldiers wears a black balaclava with a skull stitched in, his unimpressed stare drilling into you. You hear a click, and your wide eyes lock on to the gun in his hands, pointing right at your core.

You slowly release the doorknob, raising your shaking hands so they could see your palms.

“That’s good babe,” The other soldier speaks, but you’re too busy staring down the barrel of the gun to worry about it.

“I have to admit I’m a little upset with you,” Skull-face, as you appropriately nicknamed him, speaks as his eyes bore into you, “You kept us waiting a long time.”

He’s got some sort of thick accent laced into his grave voice, they both do, actually, but you’re too busy trying not to piss your pants to be able to place the region of origin.

A lump forms in your throat and you don’t think you‘ve taken a breath since you heard the unfamiliar voice in your home.

It’s violating. Them being here. Where you go after a long day of work to relax. Where you eat, sleep, shower, and just be.

How dare they defile and taint your safe place, where you hide away and pretend the exhausting world around you doesn’t exist?

You’re stuck, unsure of your next move and paralyzed with fear.

“We think you have something we want.”

You’re not sure what they mean, but you nod in compliance anyway. Not much you can say no to against two heavily armed men. You finally break your gaze away from the gun and take turns making frightful eye contact with them. You speak after a failed attempt of swallowing your fear, voice soft and broken, “Take it.”

They exchange a knowing glance with each other, the man with his face exposed bears an irritatingly smug grin.

Skull-face approaches you threateningly, sending fear down your spine and making your skin crawl as you push yourself further into the door. He leaves no room for pleas as he flips his gun around, the stock coming down on your forehead with enough force to knock you out cold.

————————————————————-

Your splitting headache was the first thing you registered when you came to. You can’t seem to concentrate, the fog in your brain so extreme your thoughts are incoherent. You let out a meek whimper as you attempt to open your eyes, the lights in the room stunning you and intensifying the throbbing pain in your skull. You wince, closing your eyes again to block it out.

A few moments pass - and the next thing you notice is the dryness in your mouth, unable to manage a swallow from the dehydration.

Water.

The only intelligible thought you’ve had after registering your discomfort, the instinctual desire stronger than the dizzy haze clouding your brain.

You lift your head, trying to move but your weakened muscles fail you.

Your muscles are weak, yes, but what’s really keeping you in place are the restraints.

You wince again, eyes scrunched to block out the brutal light as you tug to confirm you’re secured. Your wrists were bound behind you, your shoulders overextending around the back of the chair you were planted on. Your ankles bound to either leg of the chair. There’s another restraint wrapping under your arms and around the back of the chair, keeping your upper half upright. There’s a rashy burn underneath the coarse ropes that dug into your skin as your unconscious body leaned into it.

You let out another whimper from the back of your coarse throat. While you weren’t alert, every instinct within you notified you of the danger you were in.

Gotta move.

You try to squint one eye, but it still doesn’t save you from the flash intensity of your headache. Your eyes are stinging on top of it and you realize you’re partially blinded, vision blurred and doubled, stained red with your own blood.

You grit your teach, determined to figure out where you are. You try to concentrate your vision but to no avail.

Even so, you can tell you’re not at home, and you’re not on base.

Once you make your discovery, one that expended what little willpower you had, your eyes clench back shut, desperate to alleviate the migraine.

A secondary location, you thought to yourself through the pain, I’m fucked.

You can’t hear anything, the ringing in your ears deafening you.

You let out one more defeated whine before resting your chin on your chest, pinching your eyes closed.

You have no idea how long you drift in and out of consciousness for. During the brief moments you come to, you’re so disoriented you can’t make sense of your thoughts, and that coupled with the debilitating pain in your head is unnerving enough to make you cry tears of pure confusion.

It’s your neck snapping back to follow the hair yanking on your scalp that jolts you awake, and try to open your eyes to find the threat but they’re still not working as they should. Underneath the debilitating ringing, you can hear the sound of muffled male voices, unable to make out what they’re saying.

You gave up.

You were wounded & trapped, and in nature that meant a death sentence. You were in no shape to properly defend yourself. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

You were as done as the toast made from your own designs.

After wincing, your eyes screwed shut, you go limp and give in to the man physically controlling you like a sadistic puppeteer.

The muffled voices are louder, you still can’t make out their words but you can tell they’re having some sort of argument. They’re yelling at each other, and your scalp becomes collateral as the one tightens his grip on your hair to match his escalated volume

He’s right in your ear now and it’s not helping with the headache.

Just hurry it up, You manage through the haze, just hurry it up and put me out of my misery.

He throws your head forward to the position it was in before, slumped over as much as the ropes would allow with your chin pointed to the ground. The force rattles your skull in a way that makes you see a searing white behind your eyelids. What little water you had left in you was escaping through your swollen eyes lids and down tear-stained cheeks.

Just kill me, please.

——————————————————-

When you come to again, you’re no longer sitting. You’re flat on your back. Your neck secured so your head is in line with your spine. Your headache takes the front stage but the pain has noticeably subsided. You try to open your eyes again, but the lights above you are still excruciating.

You let out a low moan and shut your eyes again.

Your ears still ring, but a good portion of your hearing has returned to you. You hear your name, followed by, “are you awake?”

You grunt in response, unable to form sentences.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

You wince, trying to shake your head but unable. Instead, you grunt again before parting your lips. You tried to say, “Lights,” but your voice is so hoarse it comes out broken and cracked.

“What is it?”

You try and clear your throat, putting all your power into your strained voice, “Lights.”

They understand, and while you still can’t hear the flick of the switch, you can tell from behind your eyelids they’ve been shut off.

You try to mutter a “Thank you,” but give up a quarter of the way through.

You slowly open your eyes, still burning but blood wiped away from them. Your vision is still blurry, but no longer doubled.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You try to shake your head, but can’t. So you force a weak, “No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

You just grunt, closing your eyes again. You didn’t know the answer but you were too fed up with the questions to respond.

“Can you see?”

You grunt again.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

You try to lift your arm in the direction of the voice but your action is cut short, your arm jerked still by a restraint on your wrist. You open and close your fingers slowly at the maximum range the restraint will allow.

“How ‘bout your toes?”

Your toes move slightly, your calves aching at even such a mild movement.

“Good, thank you. How’s the hearing?”

Kill me or leave me alone, you think.

You eventually freeze the owner of voice out, finally leaving you alone to rest.

The next few days are a miserable, confusing blur. Somewhere along the way you’re informed you’re in medical, being treated for your extreme concussion. No skull fracture, thankfully, but they suspect the bruising is severe if it was enough to knock you unconscious.

The concussion had scrambled you good, and you were not nearly as sharp as you usually are.

It took you a whole five days, not that you could keep track of the passing time, before you realized that you were not at medical on your base.

You were in medical, restrained to a hospital bed-

in enemy care.

————————————————————

There was nothing you could do. Restrained to your bed, sedated with painkillers when they thought you were becoming too active.

“To help you rest.” They told you, but you couldn't trust a word that came out of their mouths.

Medics are supposed to be neutral, bound to an ethical code to heal the injured, enemy or not. That didn’t stop some medics from harboring grudges after years of patching up their own soldier’s brutal wounds of war.

The next time the medicine wears off for a long amount of time, with no medics in sight, you conveniently get visitors, the soldiers that had visited you in your home.

The events had been beaten out of you, but the traumatic event had seeped somewhere deeper into your psyche, and you knew deep down you were in trouble at the mere sight of them.

Skull-face especially, you don’t know how or why, but your intuition tells you he’s responsible for this. “Ready to answer some questions? Or do you need me to put you back to sleep?”

You can tell by the sharp edge in his voice he doesn’t mean the painkillers.

“Maybe I’d be able to answer your questions if you hadn’t given me brain damage.” Your patience is running thin, and an ember ignites a flame inside you, “Who knows what information you knocked out of me.” You stare directly into his eyes, brows furrowed, the tone of your voice inviting trouble in.

He already took everything away from you. At this point you don’t care if he puts you under. You’re begging him too. Every time you wake up you just want to go back to sleep. You don’t want to deal with it, any of it.

Skull-face makes a move to advance but the maskless soldier stops him by putting an arm out, laying it firmly across his to hold him back.

You don’t flinch, eyes now staring down the soldier with a stubbled jaw and a mohawk that ended in a widow's peak. It’s a haircut you find highly unusual for a soldier.

Your face doesn’t crack, but you squint at the pair, “What do you even want to know? I don’t even work on the field, I have no information.”

Skull-face looks down at you, “Oh, we know.” That stupid accent and that stupid mask. If you weren’t restrained you think you would have launched at him, risking it all to get a few good scratches in with your fingernails. He reaches into his pocket and your eyes widen and your brows retract at what he pulls out.

Not a weapon, no.

It’s your design, the AI-powered earpiece, and your wrist remote.

Skull-face notices the realization that sets across your face, “Awh, looks like your memory is working fine after all.”

The flame inside you laps at your skin, your features flushing with anger. A lot at Skull-face, for being such a cocky prick, but mostly at yourself.

You did this yourself. You figured your day of reckoning would come eventually. That karma would bite you in the ass, and those who are affected by your designs will stand by and laugh at your demise.

You should have just stuck with redesigning kitchen appliances.

“Why don’t you show us what you’ve been cooking up, huh? We know you’ve been busy.”

The pair share another knowing glance, Mohawk snickering at your expense.

“How did you get that?” You ask through gritted teeth, knowing there’s no way they could have gotten into the highly secured base.

“What is it?” Skull-face asks.

“It’s an intercom.” You grit, the ache in your head pulsing. You miss the painkillers.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Mohawk steps in, “It’s okay, we all get embarrassed about our porn.”

You furrow your brows at him.

What the hell was he talking about?

Skull-face elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t keep his partner from smiling, “What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s an intercom.”

He’s getting sick of this game and he goes to step to you again but Mohawk cuts him short. “Ghost!” He says firmly.

Ghost, that was Skull-faces name. Or call sign, at least. You hated him, but you’d wished the other soldier would just let him at you. You didn’t care anymore.

Mohawk looks at you, “Look, there’s only so much I can do,” gesturing to Ghost, “Can’t we all just get along for a little bit, yeah?”

“How about you get along with deez nuts.” You laugh at your dumb joke, a laugh influenced by the daze of concussion and painkillers. You’re in hysteria, the laugh spills out and doesn’t let up. A release of built-up stress and frustration and anger that seeped out uncontrollably. Cackling at yourself for ending up in this situation. Only you would be capable of such hijinks. The laugh leaves you out of breath and with eyes full of tears. You don’t even care how it exacerbates the headache, or how you’re coming off as insane. It feels too good to let out the pent-up emotions, one way or another.

Your elation is cut short with a squeak as a gloved hand cuts harshly into your trachea. Ghost squeezes, roughly lifting you by the neck before shoving you back down on the hospital bed, his grip tighter than before. His voice is low and filled with caution, “I am getting sick of you.”

If you could breathe enough to talk, you’d tell him the feeling’s mutual. Instead you gag and sputter, which he takes as a sign that you are still getting air, and forces more of his weight onto your neck.

Your hands fail to defend yourself, the restraints holding you from fighting back. You’re getting close to blacking out, your laugh having already knock most of the wind out of you, but Mohawk pulls Ghost off of you, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders, “Stop! Stop.”

You involuntarily gasp, desperate for air, trying not to choke on your own spit. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, flowing desperately to replace what Ghost restricted.

“Come on, last try.” He warns, and you can tell in your voice he means it.

You eye him carefully, still heaving for air. When you collect yourself, you speak, “I’ll show you.” You say, voice weak and breathy. You try to hold out your hand, but get stopped by the restraints.

Mohawk glances at Ghost, but Ghost keeps his stern eyes trained on you. He stays still for a moment, studying you with his arms crossed.

You roll your eyes, your chest still huffing as you reclaim your air, “Don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll walk you through it. Put the fucking bracelet on.”

He stares for another moment before taking the device from Mohawk. Must of handed it off so he could strangle you better.

He puts it on his wrist.

“Now tap the top.”

He follows your instructions, the wrist remote’s projection displaying above his wrist.

“Go ahead and open your settings.” You guide him through it, activating a few select overlays. “You got it. Now put the earpiece on.”

Ghost hesitates, looking over to his companion before he slowly reaches up underneath his balaclava, attaching the earpiece.

“Yep, and while you’re in there, go ahead and hit the button on the base.”

You watch as your design activates, displaying the transparent overlay over his eyes. He’s taken aback, unnerved by the unidentified design being so close to his vulnerable eyes.

“Ta-da!” You say sarcastically, showing off the full range of the restraints as you offer weak jazz hands. “So I’ve given you some information. Maybe you can give me a little information, yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hand from his mask.

“Where am I?” You ask.

“You know where you are.”

“How’d you find me?”

“We tracked your cell phone.”

You squint, “Why were you tracking my phone?” It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no way they would have been able to pin your cell phone information back to base. You don’t use it for work and there’s no way you had connected to the private Wi-Fi. It’s apples and oranges, you think.

Mohawk steps in front of Ghost and holds out his phone in your direction. It takes a moment for the image to come into view, your vision still impaired. When your eyes adjust, the screen shows you something that makes your blood turn cold.

It’s the video of Konig jerking off.

“Okay! Okay.” You wave your hands, “Just put that away, I get it.”

When you connected your phone to your software to transfer the recording of Konig, it briefly connected to your laptop.

Base internet has state-of-the-art firewalls and encryptions to prevent surveillance, hack-in, key logs.

Cell phones do not.

So they’ve been tracking you all week, and who knows what kind of information they were able to pull from your software? From your laptop, containing dozens of government secrets?

No, you think, they wouldn’t be going through the trouble of keeping me alive if they had the information on my laptop.

“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that gettin’ your rocks off caused a security breach in confidential information regarding warfare development?” Mohawk mocks.

Well, yes you were, now that he mentions it. You’re actually very worried your perverted little stunt will somehow end up forever immortalized in history books.

In the moment, though, your main concern was making sure that Konig wouldn’t find out, as you had started transmitting the device’s feed to him as soon as Ghost turned the earpiece on.

Part Three

[misstycloud]

Haii!! I've read your work before! And I absolutely adore all your fics < 3

If possible, may I request a yandere actor x background actor reader? (Like they have no speaking role, just their role is to stand there?) And somehow the reader caught the yandere's attention? XD

A/n: sup’ I’ve been gone a while. Sry for not being so active but here’s this.

————-

She didn’t do anything; nothing except standing there quietly in the background, melting into it like one tree among many in a forest. She was worth a penny compared to him- she didn’t even have any lines! So why were his eyes always drawn to her?

Perhaps it was because she didn’t try to cover his attention like all the others. It was offensive, really, how they thought he didn’t notice; they believed he couldn’t se through their over the top compliments and fake smiles.

But it was a small price to pay for such success. ‘You can’t have everything’, his father told him that. ‘You can either be rich, or you can be happy. There is no in between.’

(They were neither, but that hardly seems important)

He had to admit his father’s judgement to be correct.

“Shooting in ten!” Someone yelled.

There was no time for him to ponder over useless things, he was there to work, not to waste away inside the trailer. After having the makeup artist give him a touch-up, the tall man went over to the set(while reviewing the script inside his head one last time) in order to film the next scene.

“It’s all thanks to Gareth’s amazing, awesome, fantastic performance and quick thinking we’ve been able to stay on time of schedule - I really did think we were gonners’ after that last prop broke.” The employee guiltily admitted before his collueges. “But luckily-“ he swung his arm around Gareth’s shoulders “- our dear ‘X- city’s Top Actor’ was here to save us, and to that I propose a toast!”

Gareth held back a sneer. It didn’t matter how enticing it sounded like, he could not do it. Because if he did, then his perfect facade would be torn apart by these…people. That couldn’t happen. Ever. Too much sweat and blood has been shed for his position and there was no fucking way he would let anyone ruin that; that included himself.

Gareth wished for nothing more than to lock himself up inside his trailer and read in blissful silence, however that appeared to be near impossible. The team of employees had all joined forces to throw an ‘almost done’- party, where he was the star. Escaping was not possible.

With a sigh, he drank from his glass of wine. It was not the expensive kind he was now used to, but it would have to do. At least he managed to get some privacy at the party since most were currently drunk, throwing up in the bathroom or busy comverimg about-no doubt- stupid stuff. In a way, it was almost better this way. Despite what his line of work would say, he felt more comfortable when no one was looking at him- searching for faults and broken pieces.

“Enjoying the party?” A curious voice poked a hole in his bubble of isolation.

What surprised Gareth first was the owner of the voice, and secondly that it didn’t sound drunk at all. It was her, the extra from some of the scenes. The third surprise that grazed his mind was the thought:

‘She’s pretty.’

The actor was close to smacking himself in the face. What was he thinking so suddenly? He must’ve had too much to drink as well. Yes, that was surely it. But he found it hard to avoid the kind yet perceptive eyes.

“Ehem,” He cleared his throat, choosing to look straight ahead. “Of course, I enjoy it very much.”

It was but wishful thinking she’d accept his answer and move on.

“Really?”

She sounded genuinely confused now. Why did she sound like the surprised one? It was starting to get on Gareth’s nerves. Who did she think she was, coming here and questioning him?

“Should I not be?” It came off a little harsher than he’d imagined, but if she noticed she didn’t comment.

“Ah, that’s not what I meant, sorry.”

He sighed. She apologised which meant he must do it too if he didn’t want to come across as an asshole.

“No, it is I who have not been in the best mood tonight, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She laughed in response, pulling some out-of-control hair away from her face. Strangely, a part of him wished she didn’t do that, it was cute and framed her face well. Gareth was always a man of perfection and he enjoyed it on others as well. He was a star, why would he waste time on someone who didn’t even take into consideration to be presentable in front of others. But it’s not like he could voice these opinions to the public, or he’ll be done for.

Maybe he’d still get jobs(celebrities often gets a pass for things), but it would definitely change the view on him.

“I just didn’t think you liked these kind of events- with all the booze and social pressure and fakeness, I mean.”

Gareth turned to her in slight awe, listening as she continued.

“You usually have a detached look in your eyes, like you’re not really there? I don’t know how to explain it, but I just assumed you didn’t like parties. Besides, - I might not be an A-list celebrity- but I can see how it must be hard for you too. People come flocking around you, hoping to gain your favour, and you don’t know who to trust. Who is truly there for you, and who is only there for something else?” The young woman breathed out a sigh of relief. “Sorry if I rambled by the way, it can happen sometimes.”

Gareth, still in awe, stood silently and stared at her. Honestly, what the fuck? How did she- a mere background actor- manage to see through and tear apart the strong wall he’d spent so many hours to perfect? He was an actor for god’s sake, it was his job to pretend, and someone saw the true him anyway. But he was sure he’d never let his face betray him. So, how……?

“Hey are you okay?”

Snapping out of it, the man dismissed any previous thought and focused on the matter at hand. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you.” It was then he recalled something important he forgot to ask. “What is your name? I didn’t ask earlier, how rude of me.”

She smiled back at him, pointing at herself as she said, “I’m (y/n), it’s nice to meet you.” She proceeded to shake his hand politely. When their skin touched, all Gareth felt was the warmth that came with it.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too… (Y/n).”

It was after that night Gareth found himself seeking out (y/n) more. Though he’d tell himself that it was for job purposes and nothing else. He simply wanted to see that there was nothing bad going on and everything was running smoothly. It was a movie he started in, of course it had to be flawless; nothing short of perfect; absolutely splendid.

But whenever trouble arose or someone needed some sort of help, it made it easier for Gareth to sneak off and find his new friend. Were they friends? At least, that’s what he thought. He and (y/n) had shared many more conversations after that fateful party and she never wore a disgusted(maybe he’s exaggerating) expression when talking to him. So they have to be friends, right? It would be strange if they weren’t.

(Y/n) was, in fact, lovely. He’d had that suspicion about her since the beginning and it turned out to be accurate. She always asked how he felt that day, and it wasn’t in the superficial, polite way, she meant it. The thoughtfulness brought a new kind of ache to his chest. It hurt in some ways, yet he couldn’t get enough of it.

Other times she even came to him with a box of home cooked food. She said that he was free to throw it away if he didn’t like it and she wouldn’t hunt him down or anything. Gareth was stunned. Why would he wish to throw out the food she’s so carefully prepared for him? No way. He’d eat all of it. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not, he couldn’t dishonour her like that. It wasn’t polite. (He actually loved the food)

Gareth had at first felt goddy at the prospect that (y/n) willingly spent her free time to cook something for him. He must be special to her then; only that thought was later crushed. The actor was on his way outside to take a breather after a longer shoot, and in the corner of his eye he saw two of his colleagues sitting on a staircase. He paused. In their laps’ were plastic containers - lunch boxes- but that wasn’t what drew in his attention; they looked oddily familiar.

‘Wait a little…this is..?’

Oh, he definitively recognised the pink notes and the same-collection of stickers that attached it to the box. If he looked even closer, he was certain the handwriting would be familiar as well.

How could he be so stupid? Of course (y/n) made lunch for all her close colleagues, not just him. Why would she treat him any special? Yes, he was considered a star on the rise for more success, but he knew that hardly mattered to her. Although he tried convincing himself it hardly meant anything as long as he’s getting good meals and they’re still friends, it made things different. The meals weren’t the only thing he noticed afterwards. There were smiles, plenty of them, all wasted on pathetic nobodies. There were also the affection, the hugs, the hand holding. They were given to crew members feeling down and in need of comfort.

It was good that (y/n) cared about others; a quality many perceived as positive. However, Gareth himself could not see this as a good thing. Instead it left a sour taste in his mouth, just like the meal-donation.

Gareth grumbled over this for a long time and tried to figure out why he felt this way. It was stupid, he thought, that he was this worked up over some woman. Gareth a couple months ago would scoff at his current situation and tell him he was being ridiculous and had to stop grovelling in the dirt over some background actor.

The Gareth from a few months ago wouldn’t believe he had the ability to resort to something so childish, either. He was avoiding her like the plague, and barely glanced in her direction. If he absolutely had to talk to her then his answers would be curt and ‘don’t-bother-me-like’. What the hell was he doing? Giving (y/n) the silent treatment, like a child not getting the attention from his parents as he would’ve liked. He could tell the change in his behaviour made her sad, and she probably didn’t understand why either, which was even more sad. But the saddest part of all was that Gareth’s pride was stronger than his feeling of guilt.

A result from the prince-treatment he’d been getting for years.

It wasn’t until the day she approached him during break and said, “I wanted to say goodbye.” that he broke out of his bubble.

“What do you mean?” He asked, immediately straightening his back.

(Y/n) smiled melancholy, “the scenes I’m in-standing in the background, that is- are all over. It’s time for me to go home now. There’s nothing else for me to do here.”

The gears turned in the actors head. She was leaving? This place? Him?

“No, you can’t leave.” He blurted out without thinking. It came off as desperate and breathless, like a whining kid. He hated himself.

(Y/n) chuckled lightly, “Yeah, I wish I could stay longer, but I’m just a background character. I don’t have that privilege.”

Gareth though he heard her mutter under her breath, ‘-not like you.’

“Well this is goodbye then, it was fun to get to know you Gareth and be your friend.” She said before turning around and leaving him alone.

It wasn’t true. They hadn’t been friends at all the last weeks, and it was all his fault. Because he felt some petty competitiveness. And now (yn) was going away forever. What if he never gets to see her again? The idea hurt more than anything he’s felt before. It definitively hurt more than the time he broke his toe, or the time he slipped and got a concussion. None of it was close to the pain he experienced with the thought of losing her.

His sweet little background actor.

Now he understood. It was love. All of it was love. That’s why he was threatened by others taking up (y/n)’s time and why he enjoyed her company so much. He loved her. It was that simple.

There’s no way he could let her slip out of reach now. Not when she belongs to him.

[aliorsboxostuff]

bob Floyd x male reader who is quiet and intimidating, only to silently become a guard dog to him

idk I haven't slept, hope this makes sense

OOOOOH THIS TURNED OUT SO NICE TBH I love grumpy x sunshine sm :(( it's such a cute trope uGHHH and writing this was such a trip lmao I loved how it turned out tbh thanks so much for the idea!! so I hope you all do too!

Note: Reader is regarded as Panther for his callsign. The fic is in a 3rd POV.

Stone-Cold

Tags: Robert Floyd/Male Reader, Bob x Male-aviator!Reader, sunshine x grumpy!!, Robert Floyd, Natasha Trace, Bradley Bradshaw, Jake Seresin, Halo, Fritz, Yale, Rest of the Dagger Squad, Maverick, Iceman, Penny, Meet-cute, First meeting, Fluff, Implied smut, kissing, making out, getting together, separation, slight angst, time skips, NOT TOO MUCH THO!, No use of Y/N, slight OOC, Background Icemav, Background Sereshaw, Background relationships, i don't know shit about fighter pilots, only did small research lmao

Bob met Panther, a dark-eyed individual who never even glanced in his direction. But that soon changes when he finally gains his friendship and the two hit it off, flying through a healthy relationship, a falling out, and a reunion. 

—

The first time Bob met Panther was in basics. Panther stood a foot taller than him, with dark eyes that were only focused on the board whenever they were in class. Due to his height, Panther was situated in the back, just two rows behind where Bob usually sits. A suffocating dark air seems to always follow the man, making his classmates, including Bob, avoid him most of the time. It doesn't help that the man barely talks, it's a miracle they even knew his Callsign. 

They say he got it after someone from his old crew saw him in the middle of the night, outside of the building, with glowing golden eyes. Paired with his big build, Bob hopes the Callsign story is nothing but a rumor of some drunken crew that stumbled his way and saw Panther that night. 

It was a usual Wednesday. His class has departed to spend their lunchtime while Bob makes his way to the cafeteria, reviewing the lesson plan inside his head. While he was too engrossed in his little ramblings, he hadn't realized he bumped into someone waiting in the line in front of him. Bob immediately stops and rubs his nose which took the burn of the bump. 

“Sorry!” He quickly musters, realizing he had to incline his head in order to meet the person's eyes, and much to his surprise, it was Panther. The man raised a brow and fixed Bob with a stare that made the shorter pilot gulp. Suddenly, Panther shrugs and turns back around, as if to brush off an insignificant bug. Now that is a treatment Bob is familiar with, so he’s back to looking down into his binder while waiting for his turn.

After obtaining his lunch, he looks around for his usual table, on the far end of the large room. He smiles to himself as he spots it vacant and makes his way to his place. As he sets his tray down, a similar noise follows. Bob raises his head to find Panther, he was the one placing his tray in front of Bob. His eyes widen, panic settling in before he hears the tall man in front of him speak. “Is… this seat taken?”

To hear Panther's voice was a rarity, the man only spoke in class if their instructor specifically asked him to answer. He sounded… Timid—Far from what Bob’s expectation was. The brunette stumbles on his words, finding his voice to answer the man in front of him. 

“N-no, go ahead,” Bob manages a welcoming smile, well, he hopes it was welcoming. Panther nods, and takes his seat and so does Bob. He puts aside his binders and readjusts his glasses, a nervous habit. He finds himself looking at his tray of food, then back to his books, then to the blank table. Bob doesn't know what to do with his hands. Awkwardness surrounds both of them.

“I see you took notes of today's class,” Panther was the one who broke it. 

Bob perks, before he sheepishly nods. “Yeah its, uh- good for review,”

“Do you think… You can explain some stuff to me? I didn't really catch today's lesson…” The taller man looks to his side, then scratches the back of his neck. Behind his glasses, Bob’s eyes lit up, before he smiled and nodded, his hands already on their way to open one of his many binders.

That was the start of Bob's and Panther's friendship. He admits, he never had the best experience with his peers. Most of the time he’s left alone or is only noticed whenever they have a question, no one ever truly became close with Bob. No one’s ever picked on him, that would be childish, but then again—If you pile some humans filled with testosterone in one shower room, there's bound to be some name-calling or stink eyes. Bob has had his fair share of it, never taken it to heart, even if some days it hurts more than it looks. 

But ever since Panther spends his lunch with Bob, the other guys have chosen to leave him alone, even in the shower rooms. No one ever laughed behind his back again, those whispers whenever he was in class or passing by has also disappeared. Panther has spent the better half of his day sticking to Bob, being by his side, going where Bob is going, and only separates when they have different schedules or if he was waiting for his own turn in the rec room while Bob is in training. 

It’s been a couple of months since their initial meeting now. Bob and Panther are well into their flight training program, and are currently leading in their class grade. Two of the best in their class, with Bob having a couple of scores above Panther. 

The clock barely touched 8 PM. Panther was lounging about in Bob’s room, with his roommate being somewhere in the city, no doubt getting drunk between girls, Panther was free to roam in his best friend's room. Bob is currently on his bed, reading something from a textbook while Panther was doing nothing in particular on the floor, his long limbs strewn about. The only thing illuminating the room is the stripes of moonlight and the dim light of Bob's bedside lamp. 

“Hey Bob,” Panther calls from the floor. Bob hums. “Ever thought of getting into Top Gun?” 

Bob tilts his head slightly. He closes the textbook, putting his glasses aside before leaning on the edge of his mattress. “Maybe. Why?”

“Nah, just thought if you wanted to, you could,” Panther grins up to a confused Bob.

“What's that supposed to mean?” The brunette smiles, strands of his fringe falling into his eyes. 

“You’re smart. Smarter than all of us in class, not to mention you’re a half-decent pilot,” Bob chuckles at that, now fully leaning down to meet his friend's eyes. Panther smiles up at him. “I think you’d make it into Top Gun.”

While Bob doesn't have his glasses on, Panther's smile is just as warm, feeling it seeping into his skin. “You smile more around me,” 

Panther’s smile faltered slightly, before he suddenly sat up, supported by his arms behind him, and then they were inches apart. Bob’s eyes widen, finding how close his friend is sitting, he can practically breathe him in. The brunette blinks, swallowing a lump. “That day, the first time we talked, why did you choose to sit with me?”

Panther’s lips are parted slightly. “I just… I knew you weren't as shit as the others,” 

Bob huffs a laugh and Panther mimics it. “Really?” 

“Yeah, plus…” Panther leans closer, his voice drops into a whisper. “You were the only one worth talking to,” 

It happened so slowly. Bob closes his eyes before he feels the man's lips on his, trusting himself wholly to Panther. He feels himself being pushed, his hands scrambling to wrap around Panther's shoulders before he pushes Bob onto the bed and he climbs in himself, lips never parting. He presses and presses, until Bob's lips part and he feels Panther's tongue slips in, which makes Bob groan between their breath and pants. Bob finds himself laid beneath Panther, feeling his friend's hair between his fingers, the solid weight on top of him calms his pestering anxiety. He’s shared a kiss or two, and dated some girls and one boy, but has never gone as far as making out. But despite it all, Panther's mere existence on top of him, caging him in, soothes his worries, and is willing to follow Panther into the long night.

He’s lucky his roommate came back late because he had to kiss Panther goodbye as he sneaked back into his room, not before he heard the man groan from outside his doors; something about his roommate asking questions about last night, which made Bob laugh. 

Before Panther left, they had woken up in each other's arms, Bob had the best sleep he’s had in years. Panther was playing with Bob’s curly morning hair, before the more petite man groans and reaches numbly for his glasses, at which Panther laughs and hands it to him. Once he situated his glasses, he finds himself looking at the man on top of him, a soft smile between those addicted lips. “Morning,” He said.

“Mornin’” Bob drawls, turning to face Panther. He smiles, before pressing a kiss to Bob's temple, which Bob closes his eyes upon feeling it. Instead of pulling back, Panther stays there.

“I hope this isn't a one-time thing,” He mumbles into Bob's curls. The brunette blinks, before he pulls back to meet Panther's eyes. 

“It isn't.” So serious, so sure of his words. Bob was famous for his hesitation, for his timidness in front of his peers, but this. This, he’s confident about. 

Pather’s blank stare breaks into a smile, before he dives back in and smothers Bob with kisses, pulling him right back into his arms, and they spend the rest of the dawn just like that. 

—

Bob graduated on top of his class. Pather follows just behind him, but despite it, they’re both worthy of their wings of gold. 

After their graduation ceremony, after the pictures and congratulations from instructors and family members, and awkwardly meeting Bob’s cheerful parents and myriads of siblings, after meeting Panther's own family, the two finally manage to sneak away. Panther pulls Bob into the back of his Land Rover, the shorter male giggling as his boyfriend smothers him in kisses.

“I’m so proud of you,” Panther smiles, pulling back from his grinning boyfriend. Bob's glasses are askew, a wide smile on his lips. He can feel himself blushing, the steady heat spreading through his cheeks, which makes Panther lean back in to kiss him again. 

They both ended up in the back seat of Panthers Rover, entwined with each other, breathing in lungfuls, a smile on both of their lips. Bob leans to bury himself deeper into Panther's chest, feeling the warm skin beneath his fingertips. Panther hums, his arm pulling Bob closer. His other hand examines the small wing, it reflects the night's shine. 

“What now?” Panther sighs, pocketing the golden wings then turns to his boyfriend. Bob's brown eyes shine with the moonlight. 

“I don't know,” The brunette looks out of the car’s window. “Get assigned a squadron,” 

It would be the next step in their career. Panther has learned that Bob would be aiming to get into Top Gun, and he would be following Bob if he could, always one step behind him. 

Panther turns to face Bob, the aviator picking at his finger. He slowly entwines his fingers with Bob’s, making him glance up to meet Panther's eyes. The taller male softly smiles, moving a stray hair from Bob's eyes. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,”

—

Two weeks after their Uranium mission, the crew has decided to hang out in the Hard Deck before some of them get shipped out into another deployment. Rooster was busy with Hangman, the two have been getting along ever since Hangman saved Rooster and Mav’s lives. They hung at one of the back tables of the Hard Deck, a bottle of beer in each other's hand. They’re standing awfully close, which makes Phoenix raise a brow.

“Let’s hope they don't break each other's heart again,” Bob snickers, picking at his cashews. 

“You don't want to take care of Roo?” 

“God no, you're lucky you weren't there for the first time,” Phoenix’s face scrunches in disgust, which makes Bob laugh. The WSO has been sticking with his pilot for most of their leisure time, mostly because he didn't know where else to go. Bob supposed he’ll follow where his next mission took him, or hope Cyclone is merciful and put him and Phoenix on the same crew. 

Coyote and Payback are playing pool, along with the others, sometimes cheering one of them on or laughing at a joke or quip the group would say. Maverick said he couldn't join the crew, something about spending his day with Iceman, which they all completely understood and cheered in their group chat. It's a particularly slow day for the Hard Deck, not a lot of patrons on this sunny Wednesday. Penny was conversing with another patron, and overall calming noon washing over Fightertown. 

The doors of Hard Deck chimes open. Bob and Phoenix are engrossed in their conversation, and despite standing on the other side of the bar, they did not recognize the customer that came in. A tall man on his peripherals is the only thing Bob notices before Phee makes him laugh and he’s back to ducking. 

“Hey there, I'm looking for a Bob Floyd?” 

The familiar voice almost gave Bob whiplash as he turned his head. And he thought he'd lost him…

“Panther?” 

The man in question walks past the bar and finds the familiar and comforting blue of Bob’s eyes. The pilot stands from his stool, taking shaky steps toward Panther. 

The last Bob ever heard of Panther was years ago, before his first deployment as they were assigned their own squadron. Bob was devastated that he wouldn't be getting the same squadron as Panther did, but with reassuring parting words, Panther promised the younger pilot that they’d meet again, one way or another. Since then, Bob has been moving from one deployment to another, meeting new people and squadrons, and experiencing different pain and happiness in his life. He got into the Top Gun program, and he met his current friends. He met Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy and the others, but despite it all he had hoped to somehow see Panther again. 

He never considered the man to find him.

“Hey,” Panther's smile is just as blinding as he remembers it. He gives Bob a once over, spotting the outfit Bob is wearing, before he chuckles. “Never changed, huh?”

Bob follows his laugh, finding the courage to reach out to hold Panther's wrist, which makes a steady blush rise to his cheeks. Panthers laugh stutters before he clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck.

“And you never changed too,” Panther's eyes widen a bit, before he breaks into a smile, which makes Bob grin. He brings himself to stand closer to Panther, having to crane his neck to meet the man's eyes. 

“How did…” Bob's question falters, but luckily still understood Panther.

“I found you? Well, word travels fast when you are on the same mission as Captain Maverick,” Panther smirks. Bob laughs, realizing the recent fame the crew got ever since they spent their time with Mav. If you were taught by the legendary Maverick and were on a successful mission alongside him, the story definitely travels fast.

Though, Bob's brow furrows again. “But how did you know I was here?”

“I have my sources,” Panther shrugs, making Bob pat his arm. He's still supporting those muscles that made Bob’s head spin. Bob blinks, trying to hide away his blush by suddenly pulling Panther into a hug, which makes the man laugh and wrap his arms around the shorter pilot. Panther shakes from the laughter as he rests his chin on Bob's head. Bob melts at the sound of the familiar heartbeat, the warmth Panther exudes. 

The two move apart when they suddenly hear the sound of clapping, only to find Hangman walking towards them. “Is that the Panther I see?”

Bob tilts his head, before he feels himself being shifted to stand beside the taller man. “Hangman,” 

His jaw slackens. He has never seen Panther revert back to the stone-cold gaze he once wore back in basics, not even when Bob made a mistake that Panther rightfully got angry about. Yet, right now, he has that exact face while facing Hangman. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when you're back in Fightertown,”

“Never thought I'd see your douchey-ass here again,” Panther retorts. He stands much taller than Jake, though he still has his bite despite the height difference, seemingly unbothered. Jake leans over to look behind Panther's broad shoulders, finding a confused Bob. 

“You knew him?” Jake smirks.

“We were in basics together,” Bob nods, his hand slowly reaching for Panther's arm, patting it softly. “He’s my friend,” 

Panther takes a breath, before sighing and moving aside, turning towards Bob with a frown. “Sorry, my bad,”

“It’s alright, I'm fine, Panther,” Bob smiles, pushing stray strands behind Panther's ear affectionately. 

Unbeknownst to them, the rest of the crew, including Jake, is currently looking at the two with wide eyes and jaws on the floor. Bob wasn't particularly open to touch, in fact—The only people that ever hugged him were the selected few in the Dagger Squad. Phoenix was normally seen with him, and even then she kept her distance with the backseater. And to the extent of Hangman's knowledge, the Panther he knew back in his Fighter Squadron days was a reserved and quiet guy, mostly intimidating with his height and build, but usually kept it to himself.  To see the usually scary man being so touchy with a usually not touchy-feely guy is, to say the least, odd. 

The two spent the rest of the day catching up. Bob has learned that Panther took a different route than aiming for Top Gun, and instead got deployed at some places to teach classes, the main reason why he hasn't been able to visit Fightertown. He also learned the second that he got a whiff of information that a squadron, led by Maverick, has done a successful mission and is still in Miramar, Panther booked the first flight to San Diego. He wasn't expecting to find Bob, he was hoping. 

Panther ended up listening to everything his friend dumped on him. He knows Bob doesn't easily talk, only in short replies, so he’s happy to find him still so accepting to share his life with Panther. He learns about the Dagger Squad, how he's apparently close with Maverick now, and his experience throughout the death-defying mission. Panther, regardless of it all, was glad he had Bob in one piece instead of being invited to the aviator's honorable funeral. He’s proud to hear Bob making new friends, meeting new people, and is especially interested in meeting Phoenix. 

“Oh wait, let me use the toilet, be back in a bit,” Panther places his Whiskey down, patting Bob's back as he heads to the toilets.

Phoenix immediately corners her WSO, sliding up next to him. She stares him down, bewildering Bob. “Who’s that guy and what's his deal?” 

Bob takes a second to blink. “Im- Panthers my friend,”

“He seems more than a friend, Bob,” He knew he was safe with Phoenix. He knew he was safe with everyone, because they aren't like the old folks who glare at any two guys standing too close for comfort. Hell, they have Rooster and Hangman who are currently dancing around each other. But for Bob to tell Pheonix his ‘once boyfriend’ was a bit challenging for him. But he trusts her, and she worries for him. 

“He’s my… Old Boyfriend? We never broke up, but-”

“He left you?”

“No! Phee please,” Bob sighs, readjusting his glasses. “ We got different squadrons and went our separate ways, honestly, it's a miracle he ever found me,” 

The aviator looks down at his glass, the water reflecting his longing gaze. Bob smiles. “I never stopped loving him,” 

Phoenix leans back, away from her backseater. Her eyes find the deep pools of Bob’s blues, having known him well enough to see past his usual awkward demeanor. The pilot huffs, before she looks past Bob and then stands. “I’m sure he feels the same,” 

She passes Bob then, not before patting his shoulder, then walking away. Panther passes by the pilot, the shorter lady giving him a knowing look which makes Panther's brows crease, but he takes his seat again, already turning to face Bob. 

“That’s Phoenix?” 

“Heh, yeah,” Bob answers into his glass as he sips. Panthers swivel back around, finding Phoenix next to Hangman and an unknown man who supports a great porn stache. Panther manages a small smile, to which Phoenix responds with a nod. 

“I like her,” Bob laughs.

—

It was well over closing hour when Penny finally pushed the crew out of the Hard Deck door, saying something about reporting them to Maverick if she had to, which made all of the squad rush out and into San Diego’s cool evening. 

Some piled into Fitz’s car, Halo went with Phoenix on her bike, Hangman is already in Roosters Bronco, which left Bob alone with Panther. The two stay on the bar's porch, watching their friends stumble into their respectful vehicle. Bob spotted the guys fighting over who drives Fitz’s car even though the only sober one was Yale at that point, which made him laugh. Halo was already clinging to a sober Phoenix, clearly babbling about something. 

Throughout the night, Panther has gotten into conversations with the squad. Hangman even offered him a match at pool, which he demolished, leaving Jake to wallow his way to Rooster, so he learned the name of the pilot with the sick stache. Panther felt welcomed amongst them, their sense of family palpable. He finds himself smiling most of the time, which freaked Jake out. And it seems they're on a first-name basis now, which Bob greatly appreciates. 

They watch as their friends pull out of the parking lot, some blasting music, others oddly calm which bothered Bob. He hopes Rooster won't actually break Jake. 

After the dust has settled and their rear lights are far off into the distance, Bob releases a sigh, smiling to himself.

“So, Bob,” Panther turns to him, making Bob tilt his head to match. “I have my Range Rover,” 

“Still the same old?” 

“The one my aunt gifted me, yeah,” Panther laughs, which makes Bob grins. He suddenly grew quiet, looking down into Miramar’s sand instead of meeting Bob. The shorter man furrows his brow, something churns in his gut. Before Panther opens his mouth, Bob beats him to it.

“I don't-” Bob takes a breath. “...What are we?” 

At that, Panther smiles easily. He reaches for Bob's hand, holding them, drawing small circles on the back of the pilot's hands. “I’m your boyfriend, if you’ll take me,” 

Then he brings Bob’s chin close, pressing his lips against him, and it’s back to basics. Back to the old dorms where Bob felt a surge of euphoria. Where he could finally let his walls be undone by the man he trusted the most. He’s missed this. Missed the easy slide of their lips, the comforting scent of Panther, the way his hand slots between the man's broad chest, how Panther pulls him closer by his hips and suddenly he’s weightless. Bob smiles into their kiss, happy to finally regain his spot between Panther's arms. 

Requests are opened! Reminder to reblog!

[abiiors]

by the fireplace 🍷 // ross macdonald x reader

promptober '23 - day 6

a/n: it won't be an abiiors fic without a cosy bookstore somewhere in there cw: alcohol consumption (wine) wc: 800

“fifty quid, ross,” her finger hovers up in the air, pointing threateningly at her boyfriend who looks mildly amused at the whole thing. “fifty quid and no more, okay? it’s your responsibility.”

“what!?” ross throws his hands up in the air, exasperation thick in his voice, “how is it my responsibility? what am i supposed to do—say no to you?”

he’s cheeky, she likes that about him, but he also gets on her last nerve sometimes. like right now, for example. they are in this huge, old bookshop they found in the city on one of their walks. it’s beautiful and cosy, decked with autumn decorations; of course, she couldn’t resist dragging him inside and for all his grumbling, he is simply happy to watch her get excited over all the shiny new hardcovers, the worn secondhand paperback, the bookish merch and whatever else that might catch her eye. 

she rolls her eyes and gives him a hard stare. “absolutely not the time to be cute here, ross. focus! i’m serious!”

ross clears his throat, still looking very much like he wants to laugh, and nods his head. “right, fifty quid. even a penny more and i’ll drag you out of here kicking and screaming. happy?”

“and you better stick to it…” she threatens again, this time in a much weaker voice. 

her resolve is weakening. in his heart, he knows how this is going to go. like a greedy kid, she will grab a whole stack of books handing them to him absentmindedly while she runs for the next section (he’s already holding one book—and oh, there, she’s handed him another one). then she will turn to him and pout and mumble something about making it sixty quid instead of fifty. 

she moves from shelf to shelf, picking up books, reading blurbs, and getting lost in the pages. he follows her, dutifully carrying the growing stack of books in his arms. by the time they reach the till, it’s almost too heavy to carry. 

it’s not really a surprise to either of them when the total comes up to £55. ross turns to her and quirks an eyebrow. 

“so who’s getting the axe?”

her face falls, mouth curving into a pout that he’s seen on her so often and ross almost caves. it’s not like 5 quid would make a huge difference… 

but she sighs, coming to the conclusion on her own. “i guess this one can go.”

quickly, he glances at the book, a small collection of essays that she picked out fom the second or third section. quickly, he makes a note of the title. 

the house is chilly when they get home. that’s how unpredictable october is, cosy and warm in the afternoon, but freezing by night. and ross knows her all too well… he knows that she’s going to make a beeline to the fireplace. 

as if on cue, she shivers, rubbing her hands over her arms. “i’m lighting the fire,” she announces, then turns to him. “there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge if you feel like it?”

“mm-hmm, i’ll go get it!” 

a wine and a cuddle in front of the fire does sound absolutely delightful. besides, he’s missed the intimacy. so he grabs the bottle from the fridge and two glasses and makes his way back to the now-cosy living room. 

she’s bathed in the warm glow of the fire, just setting up some blankets on the settee for them to use. ross pours them both a glass and settles onto the sofa to watch her excitedly dig a book from her new purchases. her face is a mask of pure concentration—comparing and contrasting each blurb, each cover review with a hawk's eye before she settles on a cover that’s bright yellow. then she walks up to ross who opens his arms happily. 

“had fun today?” he asks when she snuggles into him, opening her book to page one. ross knows once she gets into it, he will be inviting death by talking to her repeatedly. for now though, she seems content, sipping on her wine and letting him nuzzle his face into her neck.

“loads,” she hums happily. “did you?”

“mm-hmm. still thinking about that book you left behind though, aren���t you?”

at that she scrunches her nose. guilty as charged. the light of the fire dances on her skin, golden and incandescent and he almost wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone all over again every single day. 

“don’t worry about it,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “i already placed an order for it.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[strawberrysoup]

Please don't get your hopes up, this is not about me returning from a four year hiatus or coming back to any fics I've started. This is an apology and acknowledgement of problematic content I've written - not the dark!fics or horror content, for better or for worse - regarding subjects I didn't and still don't fully understand.

I started writing Let's Review in 2019. At the time, I didn't know much about Israel. I knew that the United States overall supported Israel, but I didn't know why they needed to be 'supported'. I knew Israel came about after the Holocaust, but I didn't know how. I equated Israel with Jewish people, to my understanding Judiasm and Jerulselem were equitable to Mecca and Muslims. They were places I associated with religions; the historical home of the Jewish people was Israel and that was about it. I didn't know about Zionism or the history of the area or the displacement and genocide of the people of Palestine and the horrors they've endured under the Israeli State.

At one point, someone sent me a message asking about my opinions on Palestine and Israel and I replied something along the lines of, I don't want to discuss politics or political opinions on my Dark/Dead Dove Do Not Eat Fanfiction Tumblr. I don't know if Let's Review implies Penny supports Israel or if it implies I support Israel, I don't know the dog whistles to listen for or that I might have repeated without understanding their meanings - yet. I am actively attempting to learn more. I will not edit out any of what I wrote, I take responsibility for my ignorance and I won't try to erase or hide it. If I ever decide to return to writing, I will add disclaimers to every chapter of the original version of Let's Review with a more condensed version of this post. For now, I will pin this post to serve as a constant apology and acknowledgement for anyone new who stumbles across my fics. If I rewrite Let's Review, Penny and Peter will remain Jewish, but I will omit Penny's Israeli heritage - regardless of my determination to acknowledge my mistakes, I also acknowledge that building a character with that backstory is beyond my ability to accurately and respectfully portray.

I apologize to anyone that I marginalized with my writing. I apologize for writing off the message I received asking my opinion, that should have prompted me to do more research to understand why the question was even posed. I still do not fully understand the intricacies of this situation, history is written by the victors and religion is complicated.

What I do know is the actions of the Israeli/Zionist state do not represent the Jewish people or religion. I understand that the actions of the Zionists are antithetical to the Jewish religion. I understand that supporting the Zionist state is supporting the genocide and ethnic cleansing of the Muslim and Arab people of Palestine that has been happening over more than half a century. I understand that the 4th largest military force in the world is working to eradicate 2.2 million people who have no military or government to protect them in the Gaza Strip.

I've written a letter to my state congressmen and senators. If you've read this post and agree with my perspective, please consider reaching to whichever official is meant to represent your interests in your government. I've included mine below because I know the process of writing that sort of letter can be daunting. It's not perfect - it's probably not even good, it could be fucking stupid, but I think it gets the point across. Copy and paste it if you're comfortable with that, take it and edit it to make it your own, I don't care - what I care about is you contacting your representatives to make sure they understand you condemn the actions of the Israeli state's war crimes and human rights violations. I tried to include as much as I could while keeping it just under 2,000 characters.

You might think this is stupid of me, to return after so long just to make this statement. But I think it matters. Even if I hadn't written a character with a backstory that was beyond my ability to write respectfully that I needed to take responsibility for, requesting and attempting to facilitate anyone who still follows me to do what they can is something I will do to the best of my ability. Share your opinion. Be loud. Make them listen.

[Representative],

I'm writing to you today regarding the war crimes and human rights violations occurring in Israel, occupied Palestine, and the Gaza Strip. Foremost, I hope you understand that supporting the Jewish people isn't the same as supporting Israel. Supporting Israel is supporting Zionism. Supporting the Zionists is supporting the crimes being committed against a population marginalized due to their religion and ethnicity.

Israel doesn't exist as a country, but it does exist as a hostile military force actively committing acts of genocide and ethnic cleansing. We know what apartheid policy looks like and how quickly it devolves into fascism. The Muslim and Arab people of Palestine have been relegated to second class citizens and it keeps getting worse.

Those living in the Gaza strip, the largest open air prison in the world, have no voting power under the Zionist State. They have no military, no government, no airport. They have no control over their electricity, imports or exports, internet access, or movements in or out of the strip. These 2 million people have been forced to live in a territory that is 25 miles long and 6 miles wide, and the Zionist army is eradicating them.

You can't blame the population of Gaza for the crimes of Hamas. As I mentioned before, the territory is occupied by more than 2 million people. You can't equate the entire population with their most radical terrorist faction.

We've seen this happen before. How many people will die in bombings and massacres before we stop turning a blind eye?

This cannot be ignored or supported. Every government should loudly and clearly condemn these inhumane crimes. Please bring this to your colleagues' attention. Please support Palestinians, support the Arab and Muslim populations living in what they call Israel, condemn the actions of a hostile occupying force commiting real time genocide while we watch.

[Your Name]

[omoghouls]

sliding over piece of paper that just says nihil pissing himself in imperator’s car (maybe theyre at a drive-in) (maybe after a ritual) (who knows)

YAAAAAAAAAA (I'll actually write a proper fic soon! Have the basic background xD)

OMG- Sister's car is her first baby, something she takes care of (hitting your cheating boyfriend with it is collateral you have to take sometimes-) so you know she's very anal about her car rules. Mostly normal things like nothing except water as drinks or that you /must/ wear your seat belt so that just in case she has to emergency break your stupid skull face paint doesn't smear over the window (This one was particularly created the one time she had to suddenly break for a cat that was on the road and grease paint is a bitch to clean)

But, sometimes, rules are made to be broken.

Maybe it was a Monday evening, the beginning of a new week after a weekend of back to back venue/bar bookings. Sister decided that the two deserved a break in the way of watching a new horror film that had come out at the drive-in theater (and because Monday's are the discount days and I feel like there was some penny pitching ta the beginning of the Church- girly has to save where they can)

Nihil loves it. It's been a busy time in the church. They're finally off the ground, which means more crowded bars, more groupies clouded with lust they can get to join the clergy, it's amazing but by god is it exhausting (Sometimes Sister wants to take a jab at Nihil and tell him he's glorified eye candy but, he has been proving himself to be someone who could become a great leader with time).)

Tonight is not the time to think of that. It's time for some good ol' brain rot horror. Sister won't lie- she went to the time slot that had the shittiest reviewed film so she could make out sloppy style with Nihil

Ofc, Nihil is very into the film xD Not wanting to peel his eyes away from the screen, lowering the volume of the radio occasionally to make remarks about an actor or plot points. Sister is like "Uh-huh, I'm going to go to the concession stand-" bc/ she's already seen this film.

Nihil just nods- not even realizing he had already finished his drink until Sister pulls the straw from his mouth, replacing it with a new drink.

He also doesn't notice how quickly his bladder is filling. Even when he starts shifting in the carseat- occasionally gripping the sides of his bellbottoms as his knees press together as his bladder sloshing uncomfortably, growing taut against his skin.

But, he doesn't want to miss the rest of the film (the public washroom was a fair bit away from where they parked, too) so he's trying to subtly hold it in because he really doesn't want to hear Sister to pushi him to go- he's a grown man ofc he can hold it until the film is over- or so he's hoping.

Now👀 he either pisses himself in Sister's car (possible punishment or something else fuuun~) or he is able to get out of the car and pisses himself literally inches away from the open door (which, still has him soaked- Sister definitely would make him go pantless if ge wants to get back in her car xD)

[tolnas-vault]

WIP to Watch Out For: The Red Harp

Reviewed: May 1 2024

Fic Data

Rating: E

Status: Incomplete

Publish Date: 2024-04-23

Last Update: 2024-04-24

Chapters: 2

Word Count: 10,639

Main Ship(s): Shadowheart/He Who Was

Side Ship(s): Geraldus/Rolan

Other Side Character(s): Jaheira, Aradin, Rugan, Minsc, Rion

Summary:

This city is filled with demons; and as the constables track down those mortal evils, those murderers and thieves, behind the unassuming door of The Red Harp they hunt those evils existing in the space beyond. The High Harper's daughter has been taken. The medium and the thief stand at the docks, growing cold as they await the arrival of their newest recruit, the exorcist, ready to begin the work. (Victorian/Penny Dreadful style AU)

Ao3 Stats (As of May 1 2024)

Shadowheart/He Who Was works on Ao3: 2

He Who Was works on Ao3: 35

Shadowheart works on Ao3: 6219

Review (Mild Spoilers Only)

Warnings: Gore, body horror, parasites, ghosts.

Favorite Quote:

"Shadowheart’s eyes traced down, now, to the floor - where the girls purple gown was gathered about her, the crumpled material of her skirts forming pools all around her, which, now that she was looking at it from somewhere so close, she could see, were shifting slightly. The material almost looking as if it were … boiling?"

Main POV: Shadowheart and Geraldus

Thoughts:

Oh this is a lovely gothic horror. Shadowheart and He Who Was slot perfectly into the rolls of medium and priest in this AU. And it's one of those AUs that weave the canon lore and AU lore together perfectly. Tieflings are still a thing, the Harpers and the Zhent are still a thing, but the technology and magic system have been adjusted for the setting.

The first two chapters offer a thrilling introduction to the world and this version of the characters. He Who Was, in all his creepy glory, gets a proper introduction from Shadowheart's pov, and we're then immediately flung into the action. And without spoiling what happens the action is absolutely amazing in this story. See the quote above for how evocative and uncanny the entities of this setting are, and how they're revealed to the audience through the dawning horror of the characters. I had chills during the first action scene.

And the action scenes also do an excellent job of character building. Each character's reaction to the monster of the scene reveals something about their character, and shows the author understands the NPCs they're working with.

And the author is also good at mixing up the horror as well. There's a solid combination of high intensity action, and unnerving suspense in just the first two chapters. I cannot wait to see where this story goes.

Who I'd recommend this fic to: This is the perfect fic for people people enjoy the goth aspects of both He Who Was and Shadowheart, and want to see the characters in a more classic horror setting, while not straying too far from the world of BG3.

How Unsatisfied Would I Be If This Never Updated Again?: Not too terribly. The first two chapters of this fic served as an excellent "pilot" episode for the premise. Which meant they of course set up the character relationships, mysteries, and plot threads that one would expect to be addressed over the course of the "season". But they were also their own self-contained story with a proper beginning, middle and end. A very classic "this is how the team gets together" pilot episode. Satisfying on its own, but leaving you wanting more.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"So your sister will be coming by next week with the little ones," your mother declares as you stand at the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of roast beef and potato. "You'll get to play auntie for the day."

"Mhmm," you nod, "what about Justin?"

"Oh, your brother's down visiting with his fiance's family. He said he'd try to make if for Christmas Eve but you know how her family is."

You sniff and pretend to know. You really don't. It's all hearsay to you. You don't hear much from either siblings; they have lives, you just happen to be related.

"S-sounds great," you utter as you put another plate in the rack.

"Oh, honey, you should just use the dishwasher," she says.

"It's f-f-fine, this works," you insist.

"Well, what about you? What are you up to?" She leans on the counter.

"I..." you don't know what to say. You need a lie, anything to appease her. Your brother's engaged, your sister has the white picket fence and you have nothing, "oh, I h-have a job interview."

"You do?" She sounds thoroughly disbelieving.

"Uh, yeah, w-well," you stammer through, trying not to give away your deceit, "since n-no one wants to h-hire me in my f-field, I f-found something new."

"That's exciting," she chimes, "what is it?"

"Uh, I w-want to see i-if it turns out b-before I say," you give a tight-lipped smile, "don't want to d-disappoint you again."

"Sweetie, you're not a disappointment," she hums, "I'm always happy to see you trying."

You look down at the sink and shrug. Behind that comment is the inference that you weren't trying before. That you haven't been. The long nights with vivid nightmares don't exactly motivate you and you've been all but blacklisted as an executive assistant. Even admin roles aren't responding. Even if you do get a bite, the job market is drawn out and tedious.

"Thanks, mom."

"Just... try not to mope around the kids," she chides, "it's Christmas."

You flutter your lashes, "sure, mom."

That's what you are to everyone; weak, pathetic, useless. No, don't do that. You'll make another appointment with Lisa, she always knows what to do.

☕️

Well, this is it. A last resort. One of those freelancing websites that pays pennies. It's better than nothing and will keep you from having too big a gap on your resume. You could easily do the writing gigs, easy money for transcription. You apply to a few of those and scroll on.

You sit up as you see a particular posting that interest you. Oddly enough, the pay isn't half bad. It's also labeled as 'may lead to ongoing work'. Well, well, well, now that's something.

You click into the posting for 'Podcast Script Writer' and review the details. A sample is required for application and lucky enough, you have lots of those hanging around. If it wasn't for your stammer, you'd have an episode done by now. You deleted enough recordings to the point of giving up. Well, this is a solution. You can get your work out there without having to embarrass yourself.

You go through the application, putting in your info and editing a draft before attaching it to the application. You just hope it's thorough enough. You never really let anyone else see and hitting submit makes your stomach flip. With the final click, you close your laptop and quickly get up. Alright, you're not going to dwell on it. If you hear anything, you'll worry then.

You try to read but can't focus. It just makes you think of the posting and your application. Oh jeez, imagine you're rejected but worse, they tell you you've done everything wrong.

Appointment! You can't forget that. You login to the app and put in a request for a Zoom appointment that week. Alright, you're getting things done, you can't say you've done nothing.

You put a video on your phone and lean it on the pop out grip, propping it up on your mattress to watch the compilation of sitcom moments cut together on Youtube. Your mind wanders and your eyes begin to sag as the day shrouds you in fatigue. You slip into a shallow doze as the glare of the screen flickers over you.

The distant clack of keyboards and clicking of mouses needles behind your ears. It's as if you're trapped in a bubble of silence, all colours and noised dampened by the unseen wall. You shudder as you hear his voice, the only thing that's clear. Your name crawls up behind the shell of your ear with his breath as his hands settle on your hips. Your body aches as every muscles tightens and your bones lock in place. Please, no, not again...

"Sir..." you try to speak but nothing comes out. He's always tugging your skirt up, his hand is around your throat. You close your eyes as tears stain your cheeks.

You wake with a start, your phone black as the battery's drained from neglect. You sit up and pant, looking around your dark bedroom, the moonlight limning shadows sinisterly. You gulp and fall back, watching the ceiling as the tears rise in reality and sting your eyes.

If you'd just said no. A simple word. Even you can manage that.

You lay for a while until your restlessness boils over. You get up and plug in your phone. The screen lights up as you rub your eye socket and yawn. There's an email notification in the taskbar. Probably more ads for things you can't afford.

You pull down the menu but find ‘Application Update’ emblazoned across the notification. Oh wow, that was fast. You keep yourself from tapping on the email.

You don't know if you can handle another rejection. You'd rather languish in the uncertainty. You've been doing so for so long, it almost feels safe.

[soot-and-salt]

for the fanfic ask game: F and N!!!!

Hello anon!!

(Question from this list of fanfic author questions - come ask me more!)

F. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

This is so hard because writing dialogue is my favorite. Okay let's see. Off the top of my head I thought of:

"You," Vox growled as he sidled up next to Alastor. "Me," the Radio Demon replied with a special shit eating grin he kept in reserve only for him. He took another sip of the admittedly very nice whiskey (one point in this terrible club's favor, his internal review of the place jumping from minus 4 to minus 3 stars). Vox snapped his fingers at the bartender and a drink was put in his hand immediately. "Manners," Alastor chided. "You can tell so much about a person by how they treat waitstaff, you know." "Fuck you, first of all," Vox said, pointing the glass at him accusingly, "second of all, what the fuck are you of all people doing at the trendiest night club in the whole city? I thought you'd burn to a crisp like a vampire walking into a church if you set foot into a place that refused to act like culture stopped evolving after the Great Depression." Alastor huffed a laugh. "I'll have you know, my dear, that I enjoy an evening out every so often. I'm not a nun." "And, so, what? You guys picked here?" A disbelieving chuckle clung to his words, glitchy and warped. Vox leaned into Alastor's personal space a little, screen lighting up with one of his patented shark toothed grins. "I had no idea you were so fond of EDM music, must have missed that segment on your little radio program." Alastor refused to take a step back, instead letting his smile turn into something sleek and serpentine. "Oh, so you do listen to my program! I was wondering who's been writing me all that deranged fan mail lately, so good to find an answer to that little mystery!" Tinny canned laughter played through his static, a few whoops thrown in for good measure.

(sic)

"Pfft, lucky for you! If this place wasn't warded I'd beat your ass so hard they'd have to sell your hide as ground venison." Vox let his own internal studio audience ohhh at the insult, grin dripping with malice and pixelated saliva. The Radio Demon rolled his eyes, his monocle a shard of glittering red in the dark of the club, elbow leaned primly against the bartop. "My dear fellow, it would be a miracle if you could even lay a fingertip on me before I rend you down into scrap metal and sell you for pennies." Valentino slotted himself between them, angling for the bartenders attention. "Girls, girls, cut it out, you're both pretty."

It's from my radiostatic fic Betty Boop Then The Beat Drops which I'm still bizarrely fond of, even though I think it could be a better fic in places. The reason why I love this dialogue is because I think it's so SNAPPY. I love BANTER and Vox and Alastor do it SO damn well. They're both the very definition of catty bitches and they love to quip at each other. Alastor's snark is sharp and witty while Vox's is a little more bravado-heavy, but it works so well. This section was an absolute JOY to write. They're both so MEAN. Writing their snark lets me let out MY inner catty bitch and it's the best time ever.

The end bit with Valentino, who is bizarrely a RIOT to write, is just so absurdly funny that I can't help but include it. They're all fucking terrible and it makes for fantastic comedy.

Is there better, wittier, snappier dialogue in stuff like Fetch Quest or the Cursed Cat Alastor fic or the one where Valentino teaches Alastor gen z slang? Completely. But for whatever reason these two being dicks to each other here is so funny to me that I can't help but hold it dear. It just sounds like them, I can hear it so clearly in their voices. Now that's good television dialogue!

N. Is there a fic you wish something else would write (or finish) for you?

I'm not going to tag him here, because the good doctor just started his residency and he has enough going on (so tell him I said nice things!), but DEAR GOD do I wish I could pick Prince-liest's brain on how to write Vox in a sexy context. HOW DOES HIS BODY WORK???

I had a great idea for kink week back in June involving Vox and Alastor and I failed completely at writing it because I just could not figure out in my head how Vox's whole deal worked. It's mostly why I haven't written anything smutty in a radiostatic context yet. I'm utterly flummoxed on how to write Vox's body.

Prince is the fucking GOAT at it, though. His 666: Live On Air! series is FANTASTIC. Literally the gold standard for demented radiostatic and his Vox is exceptional. Prince absolutely understands how that weirdo's body works, in lots of different iterations even, and executes it flawlessly in his writing. Completely believable, completely makes sense. I bow down before him.

Don't get me wrong, I'll get there at some point, but MAN. Vox, buddy, the actual fuck are you, my guy. Prince, sir, doc, I don't know how you do it but I tip my proverbial hat to you.

[boreal-sea]

I actually think more people in fandom need to innoculate themselves against batshit crazy fanfic.

Fanfiction Friday on ToplessRobot.com was fucking amazing. The author was a guy who would seek out/be sent extremely fucked up fanfic and then subject himself to it and write up reviews about it.

When I say antis don't have an imagination, that's because I've read some of the most fucked up shit in the world.

There was a fic that involved Superman, Inspector Gadget, Penny, Dr. Claw, and a black hole.

There was a fic that involved Snape and the Telletubbies and spaghetti-o's.

There was a fic about the Powerpuff Girls and a literal star in space.

There was a fic involving abortion. I think that one was DBZ themed?

There was an x-men fic with Wolverine, Jean Gray, and Cyclops.

There were two Pokemon fics, one of which was simply known as The Pokemon fic.

There was Lara Croft and a Velociraptor.

There was a fic and I can't remember the fandom anymore but the phrase "WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS!?" is burned into my brain forever because of the comment section.

There was a Sherlock Holmes fic - because I submitted that one myself.

Yes, I found this site riffing on and displaying shocking and weird fanfic so much fun I submitted my own fanfic to be roasted.

It is one of my proudest moments as a fanfic writer.

And that doesn't even count all the other "classic" horrifying fanfics from fandom in general! Like, not to cite more Harry Potter, but "Squick" is one, as well as Hogwarts and the Giant Squid.

So like.

Antis getting mad that a fic has consentual underage sex? Antis getting mad there's simple noncon between two adult characters? Antis getting mad at age gaps???

Y'all.

You're not even on the same fucking planet as the shit I've seen and laughed at.

[tinacentury]

2023 Fic Year in Review

I'm feeling a little weird about fandom stuff in general at the moment (Does the Sailor Moon fandom still exist? Is the Kanthony fandom dying? Where does this leave me? 😅), but tradition is tradition. Happy New Year!

List of Fics Completed this Year (In the order they were finished

-Canis Caninam non est

-Follow the Sparks

Number of Words Written

-23,244 (a solid showing for me after last year)

Your Most Popular Fic

-Follow the Sparks

Your Personal Fave

-Truly I like them both!

You Fav Scene

-Maybe the scene in which Kate eviscerates Anthony at the bar in Follow the Sparks?

A Fic or Scene that Challenged You

-A Waltz for a Night (my Before Sunrise Kanthony AU) has been a challenge since it's almost all dialogue (shoutout to Richard Linklater I guess)

A Line of Writing You’re Proud Of

"For a beat of silence, the two just stared, the warm, dark gaze emanating from his brown eyes making Kate think of an unlit library she wanted to slowly explore with a single candle."

A Comment that Touched You

Truly any time someone has taken the time compliment my writing has touched me. Though there was a moment when Kara said my Before AU got her interested in Kanthony again and that was really lovely!

Something that Inspired Your Writing

I have unfortunately not been super inspired this year :(. Boygenius's We're In Love makes me want to write the Before AU, so I'll take that.

Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

Finally starting that Before AU!

Do You Have Any Writing Goals for Next Year?

-Finishing the Before AU

-Getting out of my own head and writing Regency Kanthony again

I tag @penny-loaf, @hydriotaphia, and @daikon1!

[penny-anna]

I posted 5,652 times in 2022

That's 2,593 more posts than 2021!

1,578 posts created (28%)

4,074 posts reblogged (72%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@penny-anna

@megamindsupremacy

@jasontoddsguns

@kalelraejepsen

@roughentumble

I tagged 3,931 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#dcu - 563 posts

#shazam - 317 posts

#my dc fic - 121 posts

#billy batson - 107 posts

#justice league - 104 posts

#batfam - 99 posts

#dracula daily - 90 posts

#batfamily - 89 posts

#fav - 85 posts

#food cw - 66 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#1) cap marvel knows that if he turns back into billy they will just let him go bcos he is a child and obviously not the person they arrested

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

if you don't want people to tag your posts 'blorbo from my shows' then don't put them on the internet's no 1 blorbo fansite

46,017 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

#4

[ID: a photo of three hands clasping, with the hands labelled DD/MM/YYYY, MM/DD/YYYY and YYYY/MM/DD. The centre caption reads 'today is 2222']

46,076 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

#3

im loving this paprika discourse

50,098 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

#2

Shazam definitely has a verified twitter account & it's one of the more popular official superhero twitter accounts bcos Billy just posts whatever the fuck he wants

60,536 notes - Posted January 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so when Spider-man crawls up and down walls like a bug people praise him and call him a superhero, but when I, Count Dracula,

76,185 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →