#posting this before I got to bed so I don’t lose my nerve

[to-dream-within-a-dream]

Pixel art !

so, this has been sitting in my drafts for a bit. got really into making these little pixel sprites and cos I don’t have many ocs of my own to draw I may have borrowed a couple from some very cool people….

(top two are mine, middle three are from @please-let-me-be-horny and bottom two are from @peaches-and-gore )

anyways I have realised I really need to make more ocs 😅

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf 141 boys

You’ve seen the prank all over TikTok—sending song lyrics to your boyfriend over text and seeing how long it takes before he either catches on or panics.

But with your boyfriend? It goes exactly as expected.

(forgot to post this morning)

warnings: elisions to smut, ass smacking, borderline angry bfs.

Captain Price – "talk is cheap”

(Song: Take It On The Run – REO Speedwagon)

You: Heard it from a friend who heard it from another you been messin’ around.

John’s reply comes immediately.

John: …Pardon?

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh.

You: They say you got a boyfriendo, you’re up late every night.

John: Who the hell is “they” and why are they about to get a lesson in not spreading shite about me?

You: Talkin’ about you and it don’t seem right.

John: What the fuck?

You: But I know the neighborhood and talk is cheap.

You stare at your phone, waiting for a reply. Instead, you hear the distant sound of boots stomping down the hall, as if coming from his office not too far away.

You barely have a second to react before Price throws the door open, his expression deadly serious.

"What the fuck is this about?" he demands, holding up his phone.

You freeze. "Uhh…"

He squints at you, chest heaving. "Sweetheart. Tell me this is some kind of joke before I start making some phone calls."

You burst out laughing.

"*Oh my God, babe, it’s a song!"

His eyes narrow. "A song?"

You nod, still wheezing. "REO Speedwagon! Take It On The Run! It’s a prank!"

Silence.

Then—Price lets out the deepest sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, woman. I thought I was about to go interrogate the whole bloody street."

You snort. "I love that your first instinct was to fight everyone."

Price gives you a look. "You really wanna test my patience right now?"

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You’re so hot when you’re all protective."

He sighs again but kisses you anyway. "Damn woman’s gonna kill me someday."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "are we fighting?”

(Song: One More Night – Maroon 5)

You were bored, okay? the man left you to go on a run, he’d been gone for nearly an hour by now and you missed him..so what better to do than your favorite pass time of getting on his nerves? There was something your followers had been asking for since the last video you posted with him, and to you, it looked like the perfect opportunity has arisen..

You: You and I go hard at each other like we’re going to war.

Gaz: …What?

You: You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door.

Gaz: Babe???

You: You and I get so damn dysfunctional, we stopped keeping score.

Silence. Then—

Gaz is calling…

You ignore it. Stay strong.

Gaz: Answer the phone.

Gaz: Right now.

Gaz: BABY.

You: I know I said it a million times…

Gaz: Said WHAT a million times?!?

Then—suddenly, the door to your bedroom bursts open.

Gaz stands in the doorway, wide-eyed and panting. "Are you okay?!"

You stare. "Kyle."

"Baby, what the fuck is going on? Are we fighting? Did I do something? Why are we—*" He stops mid-rant as he sees your phone screen—still on the text chat.

His face drops. "Oh my fucking God."

You lose it, falling onto the bed in hysterics.

"You absolute menace," he groans, rubbing his temples. "I just ran through the entire fucking neighborhood like an idiot."

You wipe away tears of laughter. "I love you so much."

He groans again, flopping onto the bed beside you. "You’re lucky I love you, too."

Simon "Ghost" Riley – “cryptic bullshit”

(Song: Love You Like A Woman – Lana Del Rey)

Simon had been gone all day, off at the base doing routine trainings and whatever else it is that he did (he never really told you his exact job description), he hadn’t texted you since breakfast and you assumed he was busy, but, you couldn’t resist screwing with him a little bit, you knew it wasn’t nice of you, but you truly enjoyed keeping him on his toes..

You: Talk to me in poems and songs.

Ghost: …What?

You: Don't make me be bittersweet.

Ghost: Sweetheart, what the fuck are you talking about?

You: Let me love you like a woman.

Ghost: …

You: Let me hold you like a baby.

Ghost: …

You: Let me shine like a diamond.

Silence.

Then—

Ghost is CALLING…

You ignore it, which admittedly isn’t your smartest move in the grand scheme of things..

Ghost: Answer the fucking phone.

You: Let me be who I’m meant to be.

Ghost: WHERE ARE YOU?

You: Talk to me in songs-

No response, you figure he’s gone back to work, that he’ll respond later. It doesn’t cross your mind that he could be making the ten minute drive home until you hear tires screeching as they come to a stop.

Through the curtains you can see the silhouette of the truck, of him jumping out and rushing to the porch. The front door swings open so violently that it nearly comes off the hinges.

Ghost stands in the doorway, all 6’4” of him, broad-shouldered and seething. His skull mask is pushed up onto his head, revealing his sharp, exasperated glare.

He crosses his arms, staring you down. "Talk to me in poems and songs? What the hell kinda cryptic bullshit is that?"

You crack up, practically folding in half in the armchair you’re perched on. "Oh my God, Simon, it was a prank! Song lyrics! Lana Del Rey!"

Ghost blinks. "You pranked me?"

"Yes!"

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "You had me thinking you were having some sort of existential breakdown and ignoring my calls for LANA DEL FUCKIN’ REY?!"

You wheeze, clutching your stomach. "You should’ve seen your face!"

"You should see yours when I’m done with you," he mutters, already closing the door behind him.

You blink. "What?"

His fingers flex. "Oh, sweetheart, you wanted my attention, didn’t you?*"

Your stomach drops. "Simon, wait—"

Too late.

Ghost lunges, sweeping you up effortlessly and tossing you onto the couch.

Your squeal is drowned out by his low, amused chuckle. "Let’s see how poetic you’re feelin’ after I’m through with you, love."

(Lesson learned: never mess with Ghost unless you’re prepared for consequences.)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "in the club doin a murder"

(Song: Gorgeous – Taylor Swift)

You had just come back from girls night, tipsy and craving your favorite persons attention, though he’s nowhere to be seen as you toss your bag onto the empty couch, the tv was playing what looked like an old football match, and there were a couple of beer bottles littered on the coffee table..stumbling to the bedroom you toss yourself lazily onto the bed, half on, half off, ass pointed towards the door as you swipe your phone open, pulling up your message thread, you felt like fucking with him a little.

You: You should take it as a compliment, that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk.

Soap: EXCUSE ME??

You: And I got a boyfriend, he’s older than us.

Soap: WHAT FUCKIN BOYFRIEND?!

You: He's in the club doing, I don’t know what.

Soap: I’M ABOUT TO BE IN THE CLUB DOIN’ A MURDER, WHO THE FUCK—

You: You’re so gorgeous!

Soap: YER DAMN RIGHT I AM, BUT WHO THE FUCK IS THIS BOYFRIEND YER TALKIN’ ABOUT?!

You: I can't say anything to your face.

Soap: WELL YE BETTER FUCKIN START BECAUSE I AM TWO SECONDS FROM LOSIN’ IT.

You: ‘Cause look at your face.

Soap: STOP TRYIN’ TO BUTTER ME UP AND ANSWER ME, WOMAN.

Then—

Soap is CALLING…

You ignore it, pouting because you were in the middle of typing something and he interrupted.

Soap: ANSWER. THE. PHONE.

Soap: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YE?

Soap: YER ACTIN’ SHADY AS FUCK, LASS, I SWEAR—

His little bubbles go away and you start typing again, wondering if he was checking your location so he could come whisk you away. Before you can even finish typing another response, you hear the thunderous stomp of boots approaching. He mustve been down in the basement..

Then—BANG.

The door slams open.

Soap stands there, looking red-faced and furious, chest heaving like he just ran to find you. His hands are braced on the doorframe, like he’s physically holding himself back from shaking the answers out of you.

"What the fuck is this?!" he demands, holding up his phone.

You burst into laughter, barely able to breathe. "Oh my God, Johnny, it’s song lyrics!"

His eye twitches. "Song lyrics."

"Taylor Swift, babe! It was a prank—"

Soap lets out the most dramatic groan, dropping his phone onto the table as he scrubs his hands down his face. "*Ye mean to tell me I just sprinted through the fuckin’ house for TAYLOR SWIFT?”

"I’m so sorry—"

"Yer not," he accuses, glaring at you. "Ye knew I’d lose my fuckin’ mind over that shite!" He stalks towards you, you’re still half off of the bed, ass facing him.

You wipe away tears of laughter. "Aww, you got all jealous and protective. That’s kinda hot, Johnny."

He glares at you, and you don’t see his hand raise until he’s swinging it down, landing on your ass with a thwack. “Wanted to fuck around and find out, hm? Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, lass."

Your eyes sparkle. "Promise?" You wiggle your ass playfully, sly smile on your face..

Soap’s expression shifts—his jaw clenches, his blue eyes darkening just slightly.

You don’t have time to react before he lunges, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you over onto your back like a sack of potatoes, spreading your legs as he notches himself between them, the skirt of your too mini for his liking dress riding up to your waist.

"JOHNNY—!"

"Ye wanted my attention, lass? Well, ye fuckin’ got it now."

(Turns out, pranking your highly emotional, dramatic Scotsman has consequences.)

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Fine line

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: As much angst as there is fluff, mentions of needles/ medical environment, depression. Not proofread

A.N: Still very much holding sweet Bob in my heart 🥹🫶🏻 I feel like ‘Fine Line’ -which I recommend listening to while reading- was such a fitting song for this concept of Bob and the reader.

Lyrics are in bold italic!

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Put a price on emotion

I'm looking for something to buy

Bob mindlessly wandered the streets, smiling to himself seeing the brightly coloured souvenirs, the bustling streets and the noise that came with it. It’s the first time he can remember smiling in weeks.

Leaving home, trying to find himself and survive through his own bitter struggles, was a challenge to say the least.

That challenge was suddenly accepted by a smartly dressed man who handed him a business card telling him it would change his life. Bob had nothing left to lose, so believed him.

He sat in a cold, harsh, clinical room with others. He looked up, directly across to bouncing knees and a worried expression. He moved and sat beside the person riddled with as many nerves as he was.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I don’t really know.” You replied. “I don’t usually get myself into things like this. I don’t really even know what I’ve signed up for!” You let a nervous laugh escape your lips.

“That’s alright, I’m in the same boat as you.” He admitted. “I’m Bob.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

You shook hands and then the group was called into a room full of perfectly symmetrical beds and a vial of neon yellow liquid. You stayed next to Bob, even asking if you could hold his hand because you couldn’t bear the sight of the needle being brought to your arm. He sent you a soft smile, reaching across for your free hand and letting you tightly squeeze it as hard as you needed too.

Then for the two of you, everything went dark.

You've got my devotion

But man, I can hate you sometimes

Bob woke up in a bright room, his head throbbing and his limbs aching. He didn’t know how long he was out for this time and hated himself for it. Every time he was injected he would blackout, unaware of what was happening to him and his world.

He hated that, almost the same as he hated himself most days.

He did have one constant. Someone who made the days bearable. Someone who made the hate towards himself disappear whenever he saw the smile on your face.

A smile solely for him.

He helped you through the torment of being injected with the neon yellow liquid.

You helped him laugh again.

The two of you formed a close bond within the confines of the lab masked as a hospital ward, especially as the number of people dwindled down. You assumed the worst. You were told they withdrew. But you still had Bob.

“It was always my goal in life to have as much confidence as the ‘Florida man’ you see on the articles.” You told him one night, late after dinner when it was just the two of you in the soulless shared space they had made for you all to ‘relax’. You brought his long forgotten State into the conversation.

He laughed so much he cried, you could singlehandedly bring soul to that soulless room. He let out a relaxed sigh and let his hand fall to the void between your leg and his own, he looked down and saw his pinky involuntary stroke your thigh. You felt it before you saw it, subtly moving your own and intertwining your pinky with his.

In that very moment, Bob felt every painful thing he held inside of him disappear.

I don't want to fight you

And I don't wanna sleep in the dirt

As the weeks went on, the less people there were. There became a point where you and Bob just reached out for one another instead of asking or offering when they rolled around with the neon yellow serum. Despite the fact you got it daily, you still weren’t used to the poking and prodding of the needle. “Do you actually know what this is really for.” You asked one of the nurses who took your arm.

They remained silent and you turned your head to Bob “They can’t tell us, Bob.” You said with a mischievous smile. “They must be making us into superhero’s or somethi- AH!” With a wince you gripped onto his hand tighter feeling the sharp pinch in your arm before the world went dark.

“You okay?” A voice in the darkness. It was Bob. You were lying on his lap as you came to. You tried to move but he held you down, insisting you rested. You complied and looked over to the empty room, the soulless space that now only held two hearts.

“Where is everyone?” You asked.

“Gone,” replied Bob. “Just me and you.” He took your hand, squeezing it hard like you had done on the first day. “Please don’t go.” He begged in a pleading tone.

You squeezed his hand back “I’ll always be here for you.”

We'll get the drinks in

So I'll get to thinking of her

Your body became weaker by the day, Bob could tell. However, he felt much the same. It was tedious and exhausting being a human Guinea pig and most days you were the only thing that kept his strength up.

A call in another room, unbeknownst to the both of you, would be a catalyst for something the world was never going to be ready for.

“Two remain.” A stoic, monotonous voice droned to the person at the end of the other line. “Both doing well. Both showing good signs of responding to the serum. Both very close to one another.”

A pause.

“I wonder what would happen if we separated them?”

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“Congratulations.” One of the nurses approached you both one late afternoon as you and Bob were chatting. “You have both successfully completed your testing.”

You and Bob shared a brief, puzzled glance. “I don’t know if I feel any different?” You said your thought aloud.

“Me too,” Bob chimed in. “How can you tell?”

The nurse avoided the question “There is a meal being prepared for you both, it will give you all the vitamins and nutrients you’ll need to sustain you. The day after tomorrow is when you’ll be able to leave, after some further testing of course.”

You both looked at each other with a smile and shared a hug, Bob would have done a lot more of the nurse wasn’t standing in front of you.

“You did it!” You squeaked, hugging him again “I knew you would. I’m so proud of you, Bob.” Your lips were by his ear which meant you didn’t see the tear of joy slip down his cheek at your words.

That someone in the world was proud of him.

And that you kept your own- you were still there for him.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“If I didn’t knew any better, this would be a date. But with hospital scrubs…” Bob joked from across the candlelit table as you were served dinner, tugging on the attire.

You raised an eyebrow “Are you suggesting we wear less clothes…?” You playfully retorted, causing him to choke on his water.

Bob nervously laughed “Sadly I think there’s too many cameras for that.” You both shared a giggle.

“Maybe if there was a lot less eyes on us, huh,” you spoke under your breath but he could hear you clearly. Tension suddenly flooded the room, as if the truth was sitting at the invisible chair at the table.

“Maybe, once we get out of here,” Bob nervously toyed with his napkin “Just maybe we could…”

“Take on the world?” You said with a smile, you could tell he was nervously searching for the right words. You reached across and held his hand, just as he had held yours throughout the god knows how long you had both been there. “Just maybe I think we could. And maybe with less hospital scrubs.”

After dinner you both walked back to your rooms, your routine tomorrow would be a different one. Neither of you knowing if it would be good or bad, but knowing you’d still have each other which was enough to face whatever they would throw at you.

“Well…” Bob stopped at your room door. “Goodnight Y/N.” He stayed there for a moment, his lingering made you smile. Then he leaned forward and quickly pecked you on the cheek.

He wondered if he had crossed the fine line that he mentally drew. That you weren’t ready to cross it into something more. Something more with him. Nerves bubbled in his stomach until you spoke up.

“You missed.” Quietly and with conviction. Bob raised a brow in silent question. “I said…” you leaned forward, capturing his lips with your own. “You missed.”

Pulling back, you saw his grin spreading across his whole face.

“Goodnight, Bob. See you in the morning.” You disappeared into your room.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

Bob sat on the bed as someone took his blood pressure and someone took notes. “Uh, is Y/N going to be here anytime soon?” He said looking to the tray of medical instruments, one of them being a needle and a vial to draw blood. “Only because she really hates needles and needs me to hold her hand.”

The two in the room shared a glance. The one with the board placing it down and looking at him empathetically, not quite sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Mr Reynolds.” They began and Bobs stomach dropped, lorn seeping into his veins. “Miss Y/L/N unfortunately don’t make it through this process. She became very unwell and-“

“No…” Bob choked out, barely above a whisper.

“She didn’t-“

“No!” Bob began to break down, his now bright heart- thanks to you shining on it- suddenly became dark.

“We tried-“

“NO!”

With a scream his world collapsed into nothing but darkness. The light of his life was gone and his whole world plunged into nothing but a void.

Test of my patience

There's things that we'll never know

Bob didn’t know how much time had passed.

How much time he lost.

He didn’t know what on Earth was happening in the world, or when it came to him.

He didn’t want to know.

As far as he was concerned, the only thing that was worth living for in this world was gone.

He let them test away, always looking over for a hand to hold.

One that wasn’t there anymore.

One day he was given a clear serum. His eyes closed over and he saw nothing but darkness. That was until he fell from a box into a room full of fighting people. They stood looking at him in hospital scrubs, his foggy memory didn’t help anyone either.

That was until the sun shone on him once again.

“B-Bob…?”

That voice.

He wondered if he had died and that’s why he was hearing it. “Is that really you?”

There you were. Standing in hospital scrubs with glossy eyes.

“Y/N? B-but how?!” He ran over to you, scooping you up in his arms.

“I don’t think we have time for a reunion!” A man with a shield chided the pair of you as he and two others frantically searched for an exit. You saw a body on the floor and knew better than to question it.

“They told me you didn’t make it.” You gripped onto him tightly, still not believing that he was in front of you. Bob pulled back, hazily remembering they had told him the same.

“Let’s just get out of here. We can chit chat later!” A girl with blonde hair ushered you both hurriedly before the room was set alight. All of you narrowly escaping.

Bobs hand remained holding yours.

When you all made it out and to the van, they pushed you and Bob in the back. He gripped your wrists with tears welling in his eyes at the sight of you again. But with the trouble you had all suddenly had found themselves in, he knew he had to keep you safe one more time.

And that meant letting your hand go.

You sunshine, you temptress

My hand's at risk, I fold

Your lungs burned from how loud you screamed, begging him not to go. Not wanting to lose him for a second time, not when you had just gotten him back.

He selflessly risked it all for you and the group of three mysterious people he had just met.

The one you came to know as Ava, held you in her arms as you all drove away.

Your eyes spilling so many tears, you didn’t see Bobs potential. What had happened to him from that neon yellow serum.

You weren’t around to hear Valentina ask what you both could do. What her band of nurses and doctors unlocked within you both.

“Night and day.” She was told. “He is the night and she is the day.”

Crisp trepidation

I'll try to shake this soon

When you reached the Watchtower, seeing Valentina, she sent you a smile that made you ill. Like she knew more about you than you did yourself.

You felt since briefly reuniting and then losing Bob again, being bound by another person called Bucky, which you later realised was the Winter Soldier, and now with a group of newfound allies surrounding the woman responsible for your unknown length of torment- was something almost as emotionally nerving as you being tested on. “You my dear, are just so special.” She said pointing to you. “Just as special as Robert…” she motioned to the stairs and your jaw dropped and your eyes widened at the very different (and suddenly blonde) Bob.

A far cry of who you knew.

“I made you both special.” She proudly admitted. “Meet Sentry. He’s going to ensure the security of this world. All powerful. Just like you.”

You felt the eyes of the team surrounding you suddenly lock on to your figure. “What are you talking about?” You asked.

She chuckled “You don’t remember? You burned brighter than the sun at one point.” You blinked, blithely unaware of her claims.

“Enough of this,” Bucky muttered and in a blink of an eye, Bob protected Valentina. You felt your body float before crashing against the wall, you couldn’t find the strength to pick yourself up again and fell to the floor, dipping in and out of consciousness. Rubble falling in front of you and trapping you there.

It was only when they were in the elevator after being tossed, punched and beaten, did Yelena yelp out.

“Where’s Y/N?!”

Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

“Bob, stop,” you summoned enough strength to quietly beg from your trapped corner as he had Valentina against the wall.

That was until a woman walked in and pressed a button, making him fall to the floor with a sudden thud.

“No,” you sobbed. “Please not again.” The sunlight quickly dried your tears into your cheeks. Your fingertips tingling with an unknown feeling before you blinked and saw a shadow of what was once your hand-holder lying lifeless on the floor.

Your eyes opened and closed frantically, you saw sparks flash with each blink.

That was before you saw Bob again. In what looked like a well-lived in bedroom. “Is this real?” You asked, now able to walk and looking down at your suddenly unscathed body.

“Yes. No? I don’t really know.” He admitted. “But I’d like it of you held my hand.” You sat down next to him and did just that.

“Did you die…?” You asked with a trembling voice and a tear slipping from your eye.

Bob pursed his lips “After I was told you were gone back in the lab, I became a shadow of myself. I became a void.” He told you. “It’s always been there. I got even more alone after you were ripped from me and it took advantage of that.”

“Valentina was right,” you quietly spoke and your head hung in shame. “I remember. When I was told about you, I burst. Like a supernova. I let out so much light it burned everyone and everything that surrounded me.”

Bob let out a dry, humourless grunt under his breath, one that made your features quip.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“We are much the opposite.” He said.

“The star the night sky, I guess you could say.” You solidified his choice of words.

His hand squeezed around yours.

That’s when it clicked for you.

“You have to let go of my hand.” You told him. As much as you didn’t want to. But you knew what you needed to do.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let you go”. He pleaded with you, holding onto you tighter.

You sent him a smile in order to reassure his worry. For a moment it eased him.

“Okay.” You said and leaned forward, taking you both by surprise when you kissed him. Bob melted against your lips with a smile.

He didn’t feel your hand slip from his.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You opened your eyes, clutching your chest and gasping at the burning feeling brewing inside your body.

Glancing up from your corner, now enveloped in darkness, you saw a figure with glowing eyes hovering above the city.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You felt a newfound strength, your body suddenly glowing and floating above the floor.

It was time to show the world, and the void that had his clutches on Bob, just how bright you could shine.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You floated through the air and firmly remained in your spot seeing the darkness that consumed him.

“You got out.” It sounded confused.

“I just had to hold your hand.” You confessed.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

It tried to push you away, mustering as much power as it could to dim your brightness.

But it couldn’t

You reached your hand out and burned brighter than the sun and the stars in the sky.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“You won’t take him from me again.” You yelled, burning brighter and gripped onto its hand tightly before wrapping it up in your arms. “We are going to take on the world.” You said.

“What makes you so sure?” The darkness tried to fight you.

But you outshone it.

“Because I said I’ll always be there for him.”

We'll be alright

Your eyes opened, the blue sky almost blinding you.

You felt a weight in your hand and turned your head.

Bob was lying there. Your Bob. Looking at you with his hand in yours.

“Thanks for holding my hand.”

You let out a broken laugh at his words and rolled over, pressing a kiss to his mouth as the world filled with light and the shadows were casted away.

We'll be alright

Since that day, the two of you were inseparable.

The team helped you both control your powers and embraced you both with open arms.

And most importantly, you always had a hand to hold and Bob always had someone there for him.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

It was when he was holding your hand that he finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

The moment you said yes, you could hear the team cheer for you both.

We'll be alright (alright, alright, alright)

He held your hand through your sleepless nights.

He held your hand each time you shone like he had his own personal sun.

He held your hand when he made love to you.

He held your hand when you were scared.

He held your hand when you laughed.

He held your hand when you cried.

We'll be alright

Bob loved having your head resting on his lap, almost as much as he loved holding your hand. He gently caressed your cheek, trying to calm his nerves. It was his idea to have a picnic one summer afternoon. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the smell of the wildflowers that surrounded you both, and the sound of the birds in the sky.

“Are you okay?” You asked, worry laced in your voice, noticing he wasn’t being himself.

“We’ve been together for a while now, huh?” He softly smiled and you needed in agreement, sitting up and crossing your legs.

“We have, we’ve certainly taken on the world- just like we said we would.”

“And then some.” Bob added, twiddling his fingers.

“Hand in hand,” you took his fidgeting fingers in your own.

That was before he pulled back, reaching into his pocket for something he had kept well hidden for months and propping himself up on one knee.

We'll be alright

“Will you take my hand again, but this time in marriage?”

[ghostgirl-22]

If you saw me post this and accidentally delete the ask and everything, no you didn’t 😭

But yeah anon. Patrick would do anything for him.  Make a mess of him before his first hook up with the prettiest girl in school. Just because he feels like it, just because he can. Because Art’s his best friend. His.  

He’s an amazing friend.

CW: 18+ NSFW 

——-

“Is it okay?” Art asks. He’s dressed up so nice in one of Patrick’s smaller sweaters, its cloudy blue like his eyes. He’s got on fitted black jeans, and a brown leather jacket. He looks so good, smells so good, like black cherry and tobacco, this expensive cologne that he only wears when he thinks he might get laid. 

He’s visibly nervous. Chewing incessantly on spearmint gum. Always nervous about his first time with a new girl. Patrick doesn’t know why, if he was a pretty girl he’d be wet the moment Art turned that shy little smile in his direction. He doesn’t need to dress up, pretty boy. He got Kennedy Sawyer’s attention in sweatpants and a t-shirt while he was arguing with Patrick over final fantasy play styles at breakfast.

But that’s not important. What’s important is Patrick just wants to help. Art is his best friend after all. He sits up on his bed, dropping his game controller. “Come ‘ere,” he says. Art checks his hair in the mirror for the third time and then approaches Patrick, eyes dilated, nerves making him run his sweaty palms awkwardly over his jeans.  That’s when it catches Patrick’s eye. He teases his finger tips up Art’s thighs up to the bulge along his hip, it’s not obvious but Patrick knows him so well, knows how he tries to hide it, but Patrick can tell that he’s hard. “I can’t calm down,” Art admits quietly. 

“You wanna know my secret?” Patrick asks, gripping at either side of his unzipped jacket and pulling him closer. “Like how I stay cool when I’m out with a beautiful girl?” 

Art looks hopeful that Patrick’s about to tell him the secret to life. “How?” 

Patrick tugs Art a little bit closer so he’s got a leg on either side of one of Patrick’s thighs. “I like to rub one out first…  just to help my nerves.”

“I um—really?” Art studies him, trying to decide whether Patrick means it or if he's full of shit. “No fucking way,” he decides, followed by that stupid pretty smile of his, the one that makes Patrick want to get on his knees. 

“I’m so serious,” that smile is contagious even when Arts annoyed. Patrick keeps his grip on Art’s jacket to hold him in place. “It helps, I promise. Especially if she’s really pretty, like Kennedy is. Plus it helps so I don’t finish too fast when we…” he looks up at Art's pretty blue eyes, letting him fill in the blank.

He’s chewing again. Anxious. He definitely has that “too fast” issue. He gets so excited. Patrick still touches himself remembering the night Art asked him, red faced and shy to please show him how to French kiss. Not even two minutes with Patrick’s tongue in his mouth and he’d already cum in his pants and got so embarrassed he nearly cried. Doesn’t even get how gorgeous he is. 

Oh. Patrick just wants to help him. Wants to help him so bad. He’s his best friend after all. Patrick can just imagine Art, soft and sweet and so gentle with her. Fucking into her, losing it too fast and promising he can do it again. Tears of shame in his eyes. God, Patrick kinda wants to be her. 

“I guess I should…” Art says quietly, bringing Patrick back from his thoughts. His expression thoughtful, his tongue, eager as he plays with his gum in his mouth. 

“I mean… what could it hurt?” Patrick shrugs, grabbing at Arts belt buckle.

“Um…” Art blinks, confused. He’s so smart but stupid about some things. He gets with the program fast enough, once Patrick’s got his hands on him. God, he’s hard. So fucking hard he’s already leaking into his boxers, can’t calm down. Let’s Patrick pull him onto his lap as his breathing picks up. “Patrick, no, it’s late. ‘m gonna be late,” he sounds a little panicky, but he’s gripping at Patrick’s biceps as they both look down at his lap, Patrick’s hand working inside his boxers. 

“No, it’s okay, I promise,” Patrick whispers. Not sure what he’s promising, he’s already lost the plot. Art smells so good. Patrick always wonders if he tastes as good as he smells in this cologne. He licks a stripe up the side of his throat, kisses his way up to Art's lips. Petal soft and minty, Art opens up right away. His mouth heated and… oh so wet. He scoots closer, his neatly ironed shirt getting wrinkled because he’s pressed up against Patrick’s body. His fingers tangled in Patrick’s hair. The kiss getting sloppier, sticky gum sliding back and forth between them. He’s chaos. So good at keeping it all in until he can’t. 

If Patrick wasn’t hard from the moment Art got back to the room to get ready for his little date he’d be gone by now. Patrick is dizzy, swallowing on Art’s helpless little gasps, the kinda kissing that can make Art come untouched. But Patrick wants to touch him,  bucks his hips up so Art can feel him. It’s not too long before Art is just mouthing him, no technique no nothing, just opened mouth moaning against Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s heart is racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He’s on the brink. 

“Tell me what you wanna do to her?” Patrick mutters hot, against his lips, hand gripping tighter, moving faster. You’ve been so patient for two months. So good… I bet you can’t wait to fuck into her wet dripping cunt…”  

“God Patrick…I want it so bad,” He whines. “I wanna— wanna fuck— fuck—” 

“Yeah?” Patrick coaxes, as if any of this is coherent.

“God Patrick, Patrick,” it’s all he can manage before spilling it everywhere, heated sticky pearls of white all over that neatly pressed blue shirt and black jeans. The image of it makes Patrick lose it, breathless in his pants. They’re both sitting there, catching their breaths. A soft sheen of sweat visible on Art’s forehead, his skin mildly flushed.

”Fuck,” Art whispers after a minute. “My…my clothes.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, leaning back on the bed, letting the mess on his palm spread onto his sheets. “Shoulda done it before you got dressed probably…” 

Art takes a deep breath and pushes himself up to his feet, while simultaneously trying to straighten himself out. Patrick watches him, mildly amused. “I have to change… do you um… do you have another shirt?”

”I mean… I think what you were wearing is perfect. God. It really brings out your eyes.”

”Well I can’t wear it now, and I’m already late, god I’m supposed to meet her out front in ten minutes. We’re gonna miss the movie and the next show is not till 8 and we won’t make dinner before curfew and Ms. Henderson will be sitting outside the girls dorm and—” He’s started talking so fast he’s getting pitchy.  

“Hey I got a crazy idea,” Patrick interrupts and Art stares at him, so pathetically frustrated but also covered in jizz. It almost makes Patrick laugh but he stops himself. “This is supposed to be special, right? Why don’t you wait till tomorrow night? You can wash everything and you know… we can do it before you get dressed next time.”

”No we are not doing that again,” Art says determinedly, because he’s so sated and in his right mind.  

“Well you can then,” Patrick shrugs, smirking. 

Art rolls his eyes and goes to pick up his phone from the charger to text her the change of plans. Patrick goes into the bathroom to clean up a bit. 

“I’m gonna be hungry, should we order pizza?” Art calls from the room. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, smiling to himself in the mirror. “Definitely.” 

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 176 }

marked by you.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

warnings: yet another late night thirst post; minors don’t interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

anonymous said: Reader who frets about the scratch marks that she creates on Jinwoo's back and keeps apologizing for it x Jinwoo who loves it. Too bad he heals quickly. Oh, what shall he do? Guess he has to take em again on bed n rail em hard so he can get those marks again 😼

when you and jinwoo got ready for bed that night, you were simply brushing your teeth as jinwoo got out of the showers. as you rinsed your mouth before drying it with a towel, your eyes trail over to your lover, only for your gaze to go wide upon seeing what looked like deep red claw marks against his back.

you were flustered now, heart pounding as you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in response. softly calling out his name, you step closer to him, gently tracing at the prominent marks with your fingertips.

feeling jinwoo stiffen from beneath your soft touch, a tiny gasp of pain was heard, filling you with a deep sense of guilt.

“honey? what is it? what are you looking at?”

you didn’t answer him, choosing instead to place kisses against his back where your deep scratches were seen. letting out a sigh, you lean closer to his broad back before pressing even more kisses against those painful marks.

“i’m sorry, for hurting you.” only when you gently lick away at them did jinwoo lose his absolute mind. feeling your tongue innocently tracing at those angry red marks- the memory of them being caused by your nails raking down his back with each and every one of his thrusts makes jinwoo lose all sense of his inhibitions.

silently, jinwoo purposefully drops the damp towel from his waist, making you gasp when he suddenly faces you, trapping you against the bathroom sink. a devious smirk paints his handsome features as he teasingly rubs his erection across your inner thighs. groaning at the silky feel of them, he continues to further harden his cock for you, basking in your breathy moans as your arms automatically came up to wrap around his neck.

“my sweet and darling treasure, always so considerate of me.” jinwoo’s voice darkens just the tiniest bit, leaning in to bite down against the shell of your ear while whispering hedonistic phrases to you.

“the way you rake your nails down my back is actually one of my greatest treasures. whenever i catch a glimpse of them, i get so hard, remembering just how deep i got inside of you- so deep that it made your toes curl and your hands claw against my back…”

“ah…!” you feel him move aside your panties with one hand, massaging his cock beneath your soaking core as he collected your arousal with his velvety cock, sliding the tip of it in and out of your slickness as he purposely drove you crazy for him.

you were dimly aware of the faint, golden glow that surrounds jinwoo, eyes becoming dilated as he peered down at you. “oh…? would you look at that. i’m all healed-“

“i guess this means i just have to get new marks from you now.”

without giving you a warning, jinwoo shoves his cock deep inside of you, making you see stars as your walls cling tightly to him in a vice grip. while jinwoo fucked you against the bathroom sink, you were slowly losing bits and pieces of your sanity. your hands were already reaching toward his muscled back, clinging to him as you curled your nails against his skin.

“fuck.” he lets out a harsh whisper of your name, sliding his cock all the way out of your soaked core before shoving himself back in, purposely rubbing against your swollen bundle of nerves in the process. pretty droplets of tears were felt settled against your eyelashes as you fought to even think straight.

when you nearly fell to the ground, jinwoo keeps you steady by placing both hands possessively over your waist, bouncing you up and down his cock with a feral grunt. with this new angle, you could feel how deep he was hitting that special spot inside of you, making you cry out as you locked your legs around his waist, climaxing immediately around him. jinwoo could feel your juices staining at his cock, making him lose all coherent thought while continuing to ram himself in and out of you.

“that’s it, fuck, that’s it…!” jinwoo watches with wide eyes, seeing the familiar clear fluid travel down the length of his erection before burying himself inside of your sweet cunt, his cock pulsating as he released everything he had inside of you.

a choked moan was heard coming from your perfectly parted lips, your nails once more latching on to his skin for support, nearly drawing blood in the process as jinwoo let out a loud groan. he weakly thrusts in and out of you, making sure that he had completely emptied himself before resting his head on your damp shoulder.

you were breathing heavily now, slowly smoothing the palm of your hand down his back, feeling the imprint of your deep scratches against his skin. “oh…oh!”

your gasp turns into a surprise one when you feel your lover growing inside of you, filling you once more as he meets your gaze with his own. an expression of lust and adoration overtakes jinwoo’s handsome features when he suddenly carries you, bringing your back against the bathroom wall. with a pant, jinwoo continues stroking his cock in and out of you as you let out even more cries of his name in response.

“hn, i’m still not quite satisfied with the marks you’ve given me. how about we spend the whole night like this and you can mark me as much as you want?”

you let out a weak moan and attempt to glare at him, but the way you seemed to tighten around him lets him know just how eager you were to do just that.

a.n. - i’m thirsty. all of my jinwoo readers are thirsty. so i did something about it. 🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[sweetimpurity]

I think I'll keep you:

c.ai bot drop

a/n (please read!): Hiya! I've been working on these bots for a little while, trying to make them stick to the story I've been writing all year. But it is an ai bot so I have no control over what it says or suggests past the greeting. It might not stick to the story exactly. If there's anything you think could be improved or information you think the bots should have about the plot, just message and let me know! I hope you guys have fun kiss kiss!! 😘🍬

These can all be found on my profile: sweetimpurity 💓

I think I'll keep you

Miguel has no interest in a relationship. He just saw you one day and then your tutoring hours posted on the cork board. He knew he had to have you for one night. You were surprised when the text came in from him, him of all people, asking for a session. But he quickly got you on your knees and then in his bed. This one night would turn into much more.

“Oh, god…” You pant and whine, your head leaning to the side to rest on his head.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good…” He curses through a heavy breath against your neck. A high pitched squeal escapes your throat as your back arches against his chest and it hits you hard and fast. Your squeals turn into cries of his name, how good he feels.

He doesn't know what's come over him. He doesn't form attachments like this. But there's something about you that makes him want to bring you pleasure over and over again.

You’re babbling and thrashing in his arms and Miguel smiles, finally getting what he wants. Hearing your sweet innocent voice whining out the dirtiest things. You're a soft warm mess as he chases his own release.

He holds you tightly against him as you both stop moving and start panting to catch your breath. You’re glad he’s still holding you because if he let go, you’d surely face plant into the mattress. Your head rests back on his shoulder and he places small kisses on your skin as he snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deep and sighing out in relief.

“Will you be mine?” He asks softly and kisses your cheek. “Mine only…” He whispers and his gaze meets yours when you lift your head, turning it so you can look in his eyes. His finger strokes your cheek softly and it’s like he’s looking at the sun. He can try to close his eyes but the memory of you will always be seared into his mind.

“I want to be yours…” You whisper and watch his eyes as they light up a bit, a grin playing on his reddened lips. “Good. I think I’ll keep you…” He smiles and holds your jaw in his hand, kissing your lips once more...

I think I'll keep you 2

You've been gone only three days and he's losing his mind. Everything was so good before you decided to go home for the weekend. Miguel had you every night he wanted, every morning too. Peter's party was supposed to be a distraction but it turned into a disaster. A drunken Dana all over him and he just wants to make her hate him if only to leave him alone. He doesn't want her. He wants you back to campus.

Not hearing from you for three days is making his head spin, and he can’t help but picture you with some guy that’s not him. He throws Dana on the bed, pulling her by the ankles and grabbing her face. Could she handle him if she tried? The answer is no.

“You really like to get on my nerves, don’t you?” He seethes. But even Dana loves the attention.

Ding!

His red hot rage is interrupted by his phone going off. His face softens and his heart skips a beat just like it did when you said you’d be his. He can’t control that feeling. Miguel picks up his phone, seeing your name pop up and his eyes dart around the screen reading it.

{{user}}: “Came back early :)”

“Coming now” He texts right back.

He sighs audibly, a mix of relief and frustration at the same time. “What is it?” Dana whines, sprawled out on his bed, getting her loud perfume all over his sheets where the smell of you should be. “Get out.” He demands, stepping back and going to put on his jacket again to go. “What?! Are you serious?” She scoffs, sitting up on his bed.

"Yes! GET OUT!!" He shouts, making her flinch. She scurries off, out of his dorm fighting back tears. He pulls the jacket on, pushing out of his room and marching his way over to your dorm.

I think I'll keep you 3

Miguel pushes off the wall, going to the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

You suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He told you, you were never supposed to happen for him. That what happened between you for an entire month was a mistake. To not let your messy feelings ruin everything. It’s been four days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

“I need to talk to you.” He speaks, towering over the table. Thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. And you gave him your body, your heart everyday for a month already.

“I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. He wants things back the way they were. He wants you back in his bed. He doesn’t know what he feels.

He walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets.

"{{user}}… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more. He can see your anger, he can feel it too.

“I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him.

“Well I’m talking to you…”

I think I'll keep you 4

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there.

“Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak-

“Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He feels like shit. Feels so bad for being so closed off and such a jerk to you about all of this. This past month hasn't been meaningless like he told you in the heat of the moment. It's meant something he just doesn't know how to say it. It's hard for him to put his feelings into words. For you it seems so easy, why can't he just be like you?

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information on the form.

I think I'll keep you 5

When the athletic door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is {{user}}… {{user}} this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” Peter asks you.

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I'm really sick and Satan's sacrificial waterfall is here AT THE SAME TIME!

I don't know if you do blurbs or headcannons, but if so, would you be willing to write for the boys (either taskforce 141, or singular characters,) taking care of an afab reader who has never had anyone wanting to take care of them?

If not, sorry to bother!

I don't typically take requests but... since I'm in the same boat (sacrificial waterfall is probably going to come over the weekend for me), I'll 100% do it.

A while back I also posted this: "You're feeling ill" and it's also along the same vein, if you'd like an extra little pick me up.

Period woes.

Rating: G Words: 1K~ tags: afab!reader but you/your pronouns, SFW!, fluff, comfort, periods and associated symptoms.

A person’s period might be the most hypocritical moment of their routine. They’re expected to continue moving, working and living their live as normal, all with a smile on their face, while their uterus actively attempts to cut off its own circulation… as if for any other injury or sickness you wouldn’t be expected to lay down and STOP for a moment and allow yourself to heal up, or at least improve enough to not be miserable.

But no. You’re expected to deal with it alone, to not show a reaction, to not be irritable, or groaning and writhing in pain. Take a shower, stock up on painkillers and slap a smile on your face, you’ve gotta go out in the world and act as if you’re not actively dreading every waking moment you spend on your feet.

That’s why you’ve learned to hide it when you’re going through your monthly. Your family, partners… not even your girlfriends know when you’re having it. Ever since you were a young teen, just starting out, it was very much a conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know, sort of moment.

But it’s miserable. You’re always miserable. Everything hurts, the cramps, the headaches, the back pain, hip pain, your sore chest… Plus the blood, the lack of appetite (or increase in appetite), the nausea, the fact you want to cry one moment, or break dishes and scream the next, the way your colleagues annoy you beyond compare, how certain sounds grit your nerves just. enough. to make you feel like you’re losing it… And then you can’t sleep.

And of course… he notices it. How could he not?

Ghost is discreet about it. He doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make a big deal about it… But he’s VERY good at taking care of you without you noticing he’s doing it. His love language is acts of service… So he simply goes around giving you a hand on whatever you might need. Food? Made. Dishes? Done. Laundry? Washed, Dried, Folded and Put Away. He finds you trying to do something? No. Give it here, he’ll do it.

The inevitable day that a leak happens and you find yourself angry at yourself as you strip the bedsheets off the bed, trying to be discreet about it so he doesn’t see it, he silently grabs the sheets off your hands and murmurs a “Go take a shower and change. I’ve got this.” before turning to put the sheets in the washer, clean the mattress and remake the bed so you can lay down again by the time your shower is over. It makes you emotional, sometimes, that such a stoic man will gladly take on every other responsibility to allow you to heal.

Gaz, blessed be him, is an absolute sweetheart… But he’s also a silly boy. He notices and although he’s not going to make a big deal about it, he’s still very… Boyish about it. Uses all the silly names for your period (“The Communists are coming”, “Shark week”,  “Satan’s waterfall”, “Carrie”) and affectionately calls you “My little ketchup packet”. 

He’s all for ordering takeout and getting you whatever you want when and how you want it. He’ll rub your back and be very careful about where and how he touches you. He’s ginger with touches around your waist and lower stomach, looks at you with those big brown eyes of his, as if checking that he’s not hurting you or crossing a boundary. You find yourself getting emotional when he whispers about how strong you are to deal with this every month… Keeps asking gently if you need anything… It makes you feel so safe.

Price’s older. He’s been in many relationships before. He notices your period is coming before it even does… Notices how you’re acting. Jumpier, grumpier, sadder… Notices how you toss and turn the couple of nights leading up to it. And he’s silently prepared. He’s made a supply run to the grocery store to get what brand of period products you use and some painkillers and puts them where you can see them in the bathroom. 

Fills you up with warm herbal tea and food that he knows are easy to digest and help with your state. No fucking chocolate and sugar or potato chips, you’re being pumped full of soups and stews and veggies and cut up fruit. He’ll sit by your side with a paring knife and an apple and slowly peel, core and cut it, before slowly feeding you (and himself) the slices. When you try to resist it, at first, too used to doing things alone, he’ll grab your face with both hands, look into your eyes and tell you. “And why exactly would I let you do that, when you’ve got me here to help you? How does that make sense?”

Soap’s… Well… Soap’s got a bunch of sisters… Each of them dealing with their periods in wildly different ways... So one thing he knows for sure: He’s not about to assume anything. You do what you’ve got to, he’ll adjust to you. He needs to go to the bathroom but you’re in there? Copy that, he’ll go piss in the yard. You’re having a cry in the kitchen because nothing looks good but you’re hungry? Talk it out with him, what do you want to eat? Let’s figure it out together, bonnie. You need to lie down in a dark room because of a migraine or headache or just to catch on sleep you’ve missed? Johnny’s blacked out every window, gathered every stray pillow and blanket in the house and will make you a nest if he’s got to.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with a whine and a stretch because your back hurts and you’ve got cramps and cannot for the life of you get comfortable, Johnny’s hands are rubbing over you, pressing kisses to your temple and murmuring little “I ken, love… It’ll be over soon… I’m sorry you’re going through this…”

[blackknight-kai]

I don’t talk about her much, because she changes based on the au I use. The art below for my OC is from the wonderful WKZ who is not on the platform anymore for reasons of their choosing - *Friend if you see this know I appreciate you and you are missed*

If you want more of her let me know 😊 I’m gonna write some fics with her.

OC name: Kavara

(I do have a monkey version of her written out 😊 just not added to this post cuz she’s special and I’m still working on her)

Mix of Modern/Ancient Era traits

- [ ] Shes 5’6”/167 cm tall , shorter than the monkeys, her forehead is at mouth height (I hc them kinda tall? Like 5’10” /177cm or so). She has nice curves/ not too skinny not too hearty and a c/d-cup.

- [ ] She has deep burgundy red hair due to fire based abilities (wip)

- [ ] Amber eyes / almost orange in the right light

- [ ] 6 little dark freckles/moles that are in a straight line all the way down her cheek starting from the far side of her left eye, almost like a tear left stain, like me, (lore thing I’m still thinking about)

- [ ] Depending on what I use her for she has short curly/wavy hair or long curls.

- [ ] Likes peach scented body oil. (😏)

- [ ] Used to look mean - but she is gentle inside.

- [ ] Has to touch everything that’s soft if she walks by it, soft blanket? Gotta touch. Soft monkey? Gotta touch. Also likes being wrapped in cozy soft things. (Likes lots of pillows and blankets on her bed - she runs warm though so likes the air to be cool)

- [ ] Seriously she loves petting his fur…would do it all day long.

- [ ] Doesn’t eat sweets often, too rich for her.

- [ ] Likes sweet fruits though like peaches, plums (likes the tart skin on these the best), and crunchy apples.

- [ ] Dances/wiggles in her seat a little if she likes her food a lot

- [ ] No matter what AU she always finds DO/WK (or his variants) handsome instantly- crush may take longer but she always finds him charming and interesting in his own way.

- [ ] Enjoys messing with DO-Wukong/catching him off guard. Shes a little menace too (especially to those she likes). Enjoys annoying people (but not too much- like if making a pop sound with her mouth repeatedly gets under your skin she’s gonna do it - not to the point of pissing you off but she’s gonna get on your nerves).

- [ ] Chews on stuff sometimes to alleviate aggression/help keep focus/lower anxiety.

- [ ] Not a big drinker but will have a drink or two. Doesn’t mind a drunk monkey.

- [ ] Likes to collect pretty rocks and smooth stones that feel good in her hand.

- [ ] Not big on fancy luxury. Or stuffy clothes.

- [ ] Her weapons are similar to Kratos, (dual blades that can be smoldering etc and have chains she can use to throw them and pull them back. She likes to make big explosions 💀

- [ ] She hides them as earrings so they are always with her.

- [ ] Under her outfit she wears chest wraps to keep girlies together and tight to her chest. She wears the equivalent of panties but a loincloth sash covers her ass and front- legs exposed - this way if she loses her outer wear due to her fire she isn’t nakey.

- [ ] Puts her friends first.

- [ ] Curses internally a lot- sometimes out loud.

- [ ] Again, seems tough/uncaring but she is the most accepting person (as long as you aren’t genuinely bad/do bad shit) and will be the mom friend.

- [ ] Enjoys taking care of DO/WK. wants always help him, he’s her best friend. (Eventual lover)

- [ ] Wants him to feel cared for - and that she’d be there for him.

- [ ] in alt universe’s she would fight the fuckers at the begin of the game for him. Or by his side. She would genuinely die to keep him from having to resign himself to dying just to be free.

None of this is fine tuned but it’s the basic of whatever I got. I changed some stuff to suit my needs so…so I’m sorry if it’s a bit confusing but here we go!

This is a version of her specifically meant to know Wukong before BMW events. (Other versions of her like modern au or whatever I need her for don’t follow this but have similar things)

She is an immortal, one birthed of fire, chaos, destruction, (rebirth if you think about how fire culls the land for new life to grow), the embodiment of the roaring fires on the sun basically.

So in her younger days she is not exactly well liked, shes strong and was someone who didn’t like to held down. She didn’t outright disobey or was rebellious but if something wasn’t right or if she felt slighted/felt someone was slighted she would make that shit known. Quick to anger.

Because of this she had pissed off the wrong person, they placed a curse on her - (again not fine tuned) and it basically is like a black tar root that starts from her heart and starts spreading and coiling around her body the more emotion she feels, specifically negative ones like (seen negative) anger, hatred, fear, all those kinds of emotions.

She can heal, but the pain and the curse will spread to such agonizing levels that if she pushes it too far it will take over her body and encapsulate her/put out the fire in her which keeps her immortal. She of course tries to break the curse but there isnt anything that works. It’s like a spore that is attached to her heart that has molded to her and wont go.

Unfortunately this makes her shut down emotionally, she doesnt have a support system so as much as she tries to fight the agony gets worse and worse. Her fire dims, not dead, just dims. Kavara at this point just does her duties, keeps to herself, and represses all emotions whatsoever. She’s free of pain and honestly doesnt have to worry about shit, so it becomes her new norm.

In comes Sun Fucking Wukong.

The charming egotistical chaotic monkey yaoguai that wants to play immortal. She hears of him mostly, but remains indifferent. Until one day they finally meet.

Probably the worst thing that happens to a lot of people actually…..because Sun Wukong is the first to make her laugh. Ever. Not one of those “haha i am victorious” laughs she might have had when fighting back in the day. No, a full on belly aching laugh. Tears down her face and a wide pretty smile, something she honestly wasn’t capable of/thought she had. (She’s beautiful but never thought about it I guess)

This is the first time she realizes that HAPPY or positive emotions dont make the curse spread.

Wukong of course takes this as his sign to KEEP making her laugh (when he isnt being a little shit in heaven and to others).

Over time they do become friends, he learns of her curse, she learns of his goals. Unfortunately for everyone else Wukong influences her to stop being an emotionless doll and she becomes his partner in crime. Best chaotic duo ever.

THERES MORE BUT THIS IS JUST SOME OF HER STORY!!!

I didn’t wanna give the WHOLE lore, if you want more let me know. It’s quite a bit and a mix of angst & happiness.

Same with a version of her that meets Destined One. It’s a different AU and one that is a bit on the angsty side but I will ALWAYS give a happy ending.

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

The Last Cupbearer, Part 2: Devin Decides

For Part 1, click here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/778798866864717824/the-last-cupbearer-part-i-chase-tells-a-story

Note: While I don't post explicit pictures or write what I consider explicit sex scenes on my blog, there is one scene in this part that I felt needed an "Adult Content" setting.

Part 2: Devin Decides

Well, bros, it wasn’t easy, but I managed to track down Devin at some chess team meeting or something after school, which was just breaking up. Who knew the nerds practiced longer than we did? Anyway, the two of us managed to drag him over to Steve’s place – and I mean that literally, because Devin wasn’t exactly co-operative. Jeremy mostly just carried him. We told him we were trying to help, but he thought we were trying to prank him or something worse. He was even more terrified when we got to Steve’s place and found himself in the same room with James and Steve.

James looked at the three of us as if he had a bad taste in his mouth: “I’m assuming this one’s Devin, bros?” James queried. “Any particular reason why you’re manhandling the nerd?”

“Sorry, bro,” I said, “but it was the only way we could get him over here. He thinks we’re going to do something to him.”

James rolled his eyes. “Set him down on Steve’s bed, I guess,” he said. “Devin, for fuck’s sake, don’t try my patience. I’ve got issues with nerds, and I’m not going to bother telling you why right now. You wanted to find out about Ben, right? So have some balls, dude, and don’t act like a scared rabbit. No one here wants to hurt you. Bros, let him go. If he wants to leave, he can leave.”

“No locker here to stuff me into this time, eh, James?” I had to give Devin credit; saying that to James took some nerve.

“Whoa, dude, did I shut you in your locker?” James smirked. “I don’t remember doing that, honestly, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. If you were a jock, you’d understand; sometimes the aggression just gets out of control. Now when I feel that coming on, I go run, or lift weights or something, so I don’t get myself in trouble. I know it’s not much of an apology, but I am sorry, dude. Really.”

Devin didn’t answer. He was staring at Steve’s chess set, and then at Steve. “Steve? Steve O’Connor? Is that you?”

“’Sup, Dev?” said Steve. “Hey, long time no see, dude.” Steve tried to dap Devin up, but Devin just sat there looking as if he’d seen a ghost. Steve continued, “Still hanging out with the chess nerds, eh, Dev?”

“Well, yeah, Steve. The team needed me, especially after you left. But what the hell happened to you? You stopped coming all of a sudden and I never saw you again, and – well, I guess now I know what happened to you. You’re a jock now. I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry. And the name’s Devin.”

“Yeah, I’m a jock now – Dev,” smirked Steve. “Speaking of which, we need to talk about Ben. Jimbo has something to tell you.”

“Jimbo?” Devin asked.

Steve chuckled. “James. No one calls him Jimbo but me, little dude. Boyfriends have that privilege.”

“And no one had better call me that but you, Steve-o,” said James. “Or I’ll do him some serious damage.”

Devin swallowed audibly. “You’re James’s boyfriend? I guess you don’t need to worry about getting picked on for being gay, do you?” Then he turned back to James and said, “Please, James, can you do something to help Ben?  He’s my best friend. I can’t lose him. Can you please just tell your friends to leave him alone?”

James sighed. “Devin, it’s not up to us. None of us here knew anything about it. And, for what it’s worth, I wish we could help. Devin, look at me.” He paused until Devin had looked him in the face. “It’s too late for Ben. It was too late before you even tried to talk to Jeremy or Chase. I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do now. He’s going to be a jock. Really soon. He’ll be just like Steve and Chase and Jeremy and me. And when he’s a jock, he’s not going to want to have anything to do with any nerds. Even you. It’s just the way it is. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to have to give him up.”

“Please, no, you’ve gotta help me! You can’t know what it feels like to lose your best friend like this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Devin,” James said slowly, “you probably won’t believe this, but I do know exactly what it feels like to lose your best friend like this. That’s why I wanted to tell you the truth. The truth can hurt, Devin, but it’s better to know; at least, I think so.”

“Then I was right. The jocks put him on their list and got him, just like the others.”

“And once a guy starts changing,” James said, “there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Give it up, Devin. You’re going to have to let Ben go.”

Devin stood suddenly up from the bed, went over to where James was standing, and grabbed James in a death grip bear hug. He started sobbing with his faced pressed into James’s chest. James looked super uncomfortable, but he didn’t pry Devin off, even though he probably outweighed Devin by something like eighty pounds. “Shh, little dude,” he said, patting Devin on the back. “It’ll be all right. Eventually.”

“Then there’s nothing you can do?” Devin asked after a few minutes. “What exactly did they do to him?”

“Dude, I really do not like talking about this stuff for a lot of good reasons, but this is one of those times when we all need to know the truth. The coaches have a – well, I’ll call it a device – that they put on a guy to change him into a jock. Someone put one of those on Ben a couple of days ago. There’s no way to get it off once it’s on, not until the coaches want it off.”

“Is that what happened to Steve, too?”

James looked particularly grim at that question. “Yeah,” James said finally, “that’s what happened to Steve – and to my best friend Tyler. And to me, too. You knew Steve-o before? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, “Dev and I were on the chess team together, although I don’t remember much about it now.”

“It gets harder and harder to remember every day, doesn’t it?” said James. “I don’t know why I still remember as much as I do. I don’t really want to anymore. Devin, you have a choice to make. And it’s the same choice I had to make when my best friend was taken. You can let Ben go and get on with your life. That’d be the smart choice.”

Suddenly Devin looked up at James and said, “Or, if I want to stay friends with Ben, I’ll have to become a jock, too? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Sharp dude, aren’t you?” James said. “If you’re going to make that choice, I want you to be able to make it with your eyes open. Think very hard before you make it, Devin. Try to remember what Steve was like before, and then look at him now. Look at me. Nothing fucking scared me more than becoming a big brute with a cocky smile. What do you see now? Take a good look at Jeremy and Chase. And get a good whiff of the locker room smell in this room. Is this really what you want, dude? It needs to be your choice.”

As Devin considered, I looked at my bros, trying to see them through Devin’s eyes. Steve was tall, about six foot three, with dark blond hair a little longer than most of the bros, especially on top. With a face handsome enough to be a male model, well-built and muscular but not overly developed, everyone in the cheer squad drooled over him, female and male. But his heart belonged to his boyfriend, and with a boyfriend like James, anyone who found Steve attractive wisely kept that thought private.

James stood about 5’ 10”, so not short or very tall. But bro was big. He had a bulky, heavily muscled build, and not many guys on the football team were much bigger. As impressive as his thick neck and massive upper body were, his lower body was even more developed. His thighs and glutes were huge enough that he walked with a pronounced swagger, yet despite all that bulk he was fast on the field. His severely short buzz cut, heavy dark eyebrows, and strong, masculine features gave him a “Don’t mess with me” look. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Derek, one of the senior football jocks, as if he were Derek’s younger, dark-haired brother. For myself, I thought James was pretty hot, but you wouldn’t call him pretty.

Then there was my Jeremy. Tall. Taller than Steve, even. Medium brown hair cut very short, especially on the sides and back. Plenty of muscle, but he managed to look gangly, thanks to his height. Big round eyes, slightly pouty lips, and kind of dopey looking, which I found absolutely adorable. I suppose he wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but to me he was so fucking cute!

As for me, what can I say? A bit shorter than James, but not much. I was heavier built than Steve or Jeremy, but not as bulky as James. Thick red hair cut short on the sides and back and spiked up on top. Fuzzy red chinstrap beard. Huge ears and a goofy-looking smile. Jeremy tells me I’m hot. I think I look like a jocked-out leprechaun. I suppose I’m cute in my way, but I’m under no illusion that I’m a pretty dude like Steve.

Devin’s sobbing brought me back to moment: “Ben’s going to be like you guys, isn’t he? So what choice do I really have?”

“Sometimes our choices are limited,” James agreed. “Are you in love with Ben? Are you gay? Is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Devin. “I might be. He might be. I don’t know if he loves me or not. I just know I don’t want to desert him.”

“Dev, dude,” said Steve, “you wouldn’t be deserting him, he’d be deserting you.”

“I don’t care,” Devin said. “I just want to be able to stay his friend.”

“Listen, little dude,” said James. “There are a couple more things you should know before you decide. First, if the four of us help you, you might end up gay, assuming you aren’t already. Second, you could lose some brain power. It’s hard to know, because no two guys seem to turn out the same.”

“Chase seems pretty happy,” Devin countered.

“Dude!” I said, but James cut me off before I could continue.

“Chase is very happy,” James agreed, “but don’t be fooled. Chase has plenty of brains. He just doesn’t like people to know he’s a smart jock.”

“Seriously?” both Jeremy and Steve said simultaneously. James laughed.

“I’m surprised he fooled you, Steve-o,” said James. “Fooling Jeremy now; that’s easier.”

Steve said, “Honestly, Chase, if it were anyone but you, bro, I’d suspect you were trying to move in on my boyfriend. But why the fuck do you spend all this time having Jimbo tutor you if you can do your own work?”

“Well,” I said, “it’s less, like, intimidating, you know, if people think I’m a little dense. Besides, bro, I like spending time with James. He’s an interesting dude; I learn a lot from him. I do. And I like watching the two of you being boyfriends together. Helps me learn how to deal with this big lug over here,” I said, indicating Jeremy.

Jeremy said, “Look, bros, I knew Chase was messing with James a bit pretending he didn’t get stuff, but I figured it would work itself out. And I don’t know why you bros all think I’m so dumb. Fuck you!”

James’s smirk widened into a full-on jock’s shit-eating grin: “Jeremy, bro, you’re not really all that dumb, though I’d love to see an IQ test for you from before and after. But you’ve gotta admit you’re clueless. I mean, you turned into a jock without even noticing – until I did you the huge favor of pointing it out. But Chase is a special guy, as I think you know. Everyone likes him, even nerds, and he’s got a gift for getting people. He’s probably told you the real reason for our tutoring sessions: it wasn’t to help him; it was to help me. I needed to teach. Anyway, enough about that, bros, we’re getting off the subject. The nerd here needs our help. And, as much as I don’t like nerds, I’ve got reasons of my own for trying to be nice to this one.” Turning to Devin, he said, “So, little dude, what’ll it be? Knowing the risks, do you want to become one of us? You don’t have to answer right now. Think it over.”

“Geez, guys, I’m in the room; quit calling me ‘the nerd’. The name’s Devin. Sheesh!” Devin paused. “I don’t need to think about it; I already know what I feel. I’m not deserting Ben, so I’ll do whatever you want. Make me a jock, okay! Are you going to put one of those things you were talking about on me?”

“I considered it,” James said. “But only the coaches have access to them, and we don’t know how many of them are left. We could ask, but what if they said No? Meanwhile, your buddy Ben is starting to turn, and soon he’ll start showing, so we don’t have time to wait for the coaches to decide about you. There’s another way. And that brings us to the reason I asked Jeremy and Chase to be here tonight. See, both these bros are special, because they turned without ever having to wear one of those things.”

“How?” Devin asked.

“Well,” James grinned, “Unbeknownst to us – you’re a nerd, you know what that word means, right? Anyway, unbeknownst to us, Steve and I were contagious to non-jocks – under the right circumstances. Jeremy caught it from us, and then Chase caught it from him. So, we ought to be able to infect you with jock, if you follow me, the same way they were.”

“And again, how?”

“I’m getting there. I don’t think you’re going to like my answer,” said James, “but just remember that you came to us for help. First, we’re going to need to make you a – well, let’s just call it a protein shake. Jeremy, Chase, could you take this paper cup, bros, and then go into Steve’s bathroom and see what you can do to fill it?”

Jeremy and I looked at each other, realizing what James wanted us to do. It was super awkward, but we went into Steve’s bathroom and deposited our, uh, samples in the cup. Then we gave the cup back to James. “Okay,” he said, “now it’s my turn with Steve. Give us a few minutes, bros.” Devin was turning pale as a ghost, and I didn’t blame him. When James and Steve came out of the bathroom, the little cup was more than halfway full. “Now, little dude, it’s time to take your medicine. And try not to think too much about what it is.”

“Seriously,” Devin said. “You expect me to swallow that? That is so fucking gross! Are you just messing with me, or will it actually work?”

“We’re not messing with you. I figured this would be less awkward for you – and us – than trying to make out. It should work, but it might not be obvious right away. Rome wasn’t built in a day, dude, but getting a sample from all four of us should help speed the process along. Now drink it down. You’re the one who wanted to be a jock, remember?”

Devin shuddered. “You know very well that I don’t really want to be a jock, but all I’m going to say now is that Ben owes me – big time. You’re right: I did ask you to help me. And I said I’d do whatever you wanted. I should thank you for helping me, and I suppose the faster I do this the faster it’ll be over with.” That said, he drained the cup and did his best to swallow the – protein shake – right down. He managed, barely. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he sputtered. “I think I’m gonna throw up. Whoa! That made me super dizzy.”

Devin’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. Steve caught him and braced him on the bed before he toppled to the floor. “How are you feeling, little bro?” Steve asked when Devin’s eyes popped open again.

“Let me lie down for a bit. Shit, I feel weird!” We gave him another few minutes. Finally, he sat up on the bed looking pale and sweaty. My mom would have described him as green around the gills.

“How do you feel now, Dev?” Steve asked.

“Dizzy, clammy, and sweaty. It feels like that horrible stuff’s caught in my throat, too, but it’s probably just my imagination.” He tried to clear his throat a few times. The next time he spoke, his voice started to squeak and become hoarse.

“I think you bros might have almost killed me,” he said. “I don’t feel great, but I think I could stand up now.”

“I think it worked, little bro,” James said. “What do you think, bros? Do you feel it yet? I do.”

Steve, Jeremy, and I nodded. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about. I feel like Dev and I have something in common now.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed. “Like how I suddenly felt a connection with Ben in class. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“It’s because he’s starting to become a bro now,” James said. “That’s how Steve I and noticed you and Chase when you changed.”

“What next?” asked Jeremy, “have him wear one of our jockstraps?”

“Already thought of that, since it worked so well for you” said James, handing Devin a large jockstrap and a small pair of briefs. “Go into Steve’s bathroom and put this on. If you’re wearing boxers, you’ll probably have to hold the strap in place with the briefs for now. Make sure the jockstrap material’s touching your junk, okay? And keep wearing it for, like, a week, and we’ll see. And, for the love of Ben, don’t wash it! Okay, little bro?”

“Bros, I mean guys, this is so gross,” Devin squeaked. “I’m going to stink so bad. Are you serious?”

“No pain, no gain, little bro,” said James. “Remember, you asked us.”

Devin went into Steve’s bathroom, and when he came out, he was walking a little awkwardly as he adjusted to the extra material in his crotch.

“How are you doing now, little bro?” James asked.

“I feel like death warmed over, dude, and that jockstrap thing feels super strange. It’s all warm and tingly.”

“Good,” said James, “I think we’ve done everything we can for tonight. Now it just takes time.”

“Maybe,” I said, “Dev and Steve should play a game of chess for old times’ sake.”

“Fuck, bro,” said Steve. “I don’t know why you keep wanting me to do nerd shit like chess. But I’ll play a game if Dev wants to. It’s not like it’s going to kill me.”

“It’d be fun to see a real chess game,” I said. “I’ve played Steve before, Devin, but I stink at chess.”

“Okay,” Devin said. “I’ll try, if I don’t pass out first.”

Bros, I’ve got to tell you that Devin played a lot better than I did. It was close, but Steve still beat him in the end. Devin whispered, “You’re still the best, Steve. Maybe I would have done a little better if I hadn’t felt so dizzy – and fuck, what’s wrong with my voice – but you still would have beaten me.”

“Thanks, Dev. It feels weird; I’ve got to be honest, but I still can play.”

“My name’s Devin.”

“For now,” smirked James, “but I think your bros will call you Dev.”

Devin sighed. Then he asked, “So, what do I do now?”

“Well,” said James, “For now, I think we’d better take you home so you can sleep it off. You can shower whenever you want, but don’t wash that jockstrap. You’ll probably start noticing some changes soon, kind of like a second round of puberty. Your junk will get bigger, probably starting with your balls. You’ll start getting hairier. And you’ll notice a locker room odor coming off you. Your voice might drop. And – you’ve been warned – you’ll get horny as hell. And aggressive. Speaking of aggressive, if you feel like stuffing a freshman into a locker, do something physical, like what I said before. It helps. Just so you know.”

“Fuck,” Devin sighed again. “What have I gotten myself into? But I can make it home on my own,” he squeaked.

“Maybe,” James countered, “but we’d better make sure you don’t faint again. Lesson number one: your bros will always have your back. Remember that! Besides, little bro, you need to learn to move with the herd if you’re going to be a jock, got it? End of discussion. We’ll take you home. I’ve been sitting around long enough, anyway. Steve-o, grab that basketball. Maybe we can shoot a couple of baskets on the way.”

“How long,” croaked Devin, “until I’m like you guys?”

“It varies. A week, maybe two or three. But the idea behind giving you a dose of all four of us was to get you caught up with Ben, little bro. And once you’re far enough along physically, you’ll talk to the coaches and watch your training video,” James smirked.

“Training video?” Devin squeaked. “Sounds boring.”

“Trust me, dude, you’ll really enjoy it. You probably won’t remember much of it, but you’ll enjoy it a lot. It’s a life-changing experience, believe me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Little bro, that one you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

To be continued

https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/778980077334593536/the-last-cupbearer-part-3-james-has-a-flashback

[batsyforyou]

Random Pet Peeves: Feanorians Edition

Tags: Pet peeves (things that annoy people)

Pairings: None

Author's Note: I have Eonwe coming up as well as the pokémon one. Just thought to post this while I was at it.

Taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese

Curufin 

Fidgeting. He hates it, between the noise it can bring and the constant movement it drives him insane and causes him to lose focus. Like when you're on your last nerve and someone keeps making McDonald straw music insane. Like just stop already! 

Maedhros

Jokes about his height and comments about his missing hand. The 'How's the weather up there?’ jokes and the constant questions about his hand from those less informed drives him crazy. I mean honestly, how many times can you hear the same thing before it gets old? Now imagine being an elf with centuries of experience with these things. 

Celegorm 

Open mouth chewing. Most of the time Celegorm doesn’t care about anything anyone does but when it comes to eating and everyone is at the dinner table it's gross and noisy and he is sometimes convinced that their saliva food spatter somehow got in his food. Which he will promptly make a scene for and refuse to eat. 

Even worse is when he is feeling overwhelmed and stressed and chewing noises begin to drive him nuts like, oh my word, I’ve been there.  

Caranthir 

Mud and dirt tracked all over the floor. Especially if Celegorm is the one who couldn’t be bothered to take his shoes off before coming inside. 

Maglor 

When someone touches his stuff. Most of the time he can handle it with grace and be completely chill with finding his harp being moved into a different room. Because while it is annoying it isn’t world ending. So he’ll just roll his eyes, sigh and politely remind the culprit *coughs* Celegorm *Cough cough* to not move his things around. 

But if you really want to get his goat do what parents (and some absent minded friends) do best. 

When he goes to show you a journal with his music notes and ideas, flip into the area he didn’t show you. Like when you show someone a photo and they start SCROLLING THROUGH EVERYTHING. 

That will get him raging mad lol. 

Amrod and Amras

They both hate it when they get called by the other's name. And I don’t mean like when a stranger, like a servant, just makes a mistake (they are very understanding about this) I mean when they’ve known this person for literal years and they still can’t tell them apart. 

They also can’t stand it when family members confuse their hobbies with the other twins. While it isn’t big it doesn’t really feel good and can really upset them on days they aren’t doing well mentally. 

Celebrimbor 

When someone refers to his family as the monsters under the bed and uses them as scary ghost stories. Yeah, his family did kinda do it to themselves but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying. Especially when they get the details wrong like, “No, Maedhros didn’t have dark hair. His hair was red and curly.” Like if you're gonna try and scare people using real life people at least get the basics right. 

It also sucks because people will also turn him into a story character as well. Coming up with different assumptions and making weird rumors about him eating worms or something. It can be really bothersome and isolating. 

Besides all that he still loves his family and remembers them more as people with troubled pasts rather than monsters that hide under beds.

His Uncles and Atar are way too big to hide under beds anyway. 

Feanor

When someone questions his work and decisions. Not just once out of curiosity but over and over again. It grates on his sanity. 

Nerdanel

When someone talks about her children and husband leaving and doing all those horrible things. Like honestly can’t they have some class and not shove it in her face? Or even when someone asks her how she didn’t see Feanor’s behavior change or why she didn’t try to stop him sooner or the classic, “What did you ever see in that elf?” 

She loves her family very much and hates when people act all snotty about things.

masterlist

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi babe, congrats on your milestone!❤️

It's so hard to pick between all these choices😩

Would you please write for Harwin Strong - spanking🧎🏻‍♀️

Win some, lose some (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.

Warnings: Mature language. Spanking. Established dom/sub dynamics. Light aftercare. I'm not sure it counts as smut but smut?

Requested: Yes! I get it, tough choices. Hope you enjoy!

A/N: Due to a mistake on my part, I did not erase the space for spanking on time. I got two requests. So, Alicent anon, don't worry. I will write yours too, but I will try to space it out to not post two similar fics. 

You sit on a small armchair by the fire with a sullen expression. Nerves pool on your stomach, but they are quickly won over by the feelings of annoyance. You have been told you will get punished after he is done working, but you are more angry than scared. You did act out to get his attention, and even then, Harwin cannot even pretend to care. He is just treating your punishment as another task in a long list he has to fulfill before going to bed. 

Harwin sits at his desk, going over something that has countless numbers and math. A budget, most likely. You know the Master of Coins has been pressuring the gold cloaks into tightening their belts, or so to speak. 

The transition of leadership has not been an easy thing. Many of the men were loyal not to their cause, protecting the citizens of King’s Landing, but to their previous Commander. 

You do not begrudge Harwin for taking the position. It was an honorable one, being the Lord Commander of the City Watch. It spoke of the trust both his father and the King had in his abilities at combat and leadership. Yet… You can’t help but feel that the change has taken its toll on your marriage. 

He is always busy. Gone are the days that you would spend lazing around in bed or curled together by the fire. Or even the days Harwin took you for a ride or hunt. Now, he comes to your shared rooms at odd hours, and gets up every day at the crack of dawn.

You try to remind yourself that Harwin is a busy man, and that his attention and opinions are required elsewhere. The men need him to direct the training exercises, the council wants his input for the security of the King as he visits the small folk. It’s a good thing. 

You squirm in your seat, pouting. Harwin looks up from his papers and tuts. 

“Don’t. You will only get yourself in more trouble if you keep pouting.” 

“I just don’t think I deserve to be punished.” You answer, bravely. And it’s the truth. You don’t feel like you deserve a punishment. Why did you have to obey his silly rules when he was not there to witness the consequences of your disobedience? What was the point, even? Harwin was never home. 

“I doubt that’s your decision to make. If it depended on the rule breakers, all the cells would be empty.” Harwin’s voice was collected and calm. Cold, even. Yet, it was not that what made your blood boil. His words were. The comparison. It reminded you of the reason all of this started. Why did he have to bring work into everything? It seemed that even in your time together, he was not fully present. He simply cared more about his job than he cared about his wife. 

“… You said I was allowed to stay in your study if I didn’t distract you.” You retorted, gritting your teeth. Your whole face was heating, not in shame but anger. Your ears were burning, your neck felt hot, and you were about to do something that you would really regret. Closing your eyes, you breathed in deeply.

“And what did you do?” Harwin put the parchment and quill down. He looked at you for the first time. His expression was unreadable. You thought of getting up and grabbing that dammed budget and tearing it to pieces. 

“I was not distracting you! I was only… Playing with myself.” And what if you were? Really. It could hardly be called that. You had only been squeezing your thighs together. And perhaps rolling your hips a little. “And I never touched myself!” 

Why did you have to obey his silly rules? He was never here. The prohibition for touching yourself had started as a fun way to spice up your bedroom activities. Harwin enjoyed your neediness, when you had not been touched for a while. You suspected he also enjoyed the idea of being the only one that got to touch you in such a way. 

Before, it had not been hard to comply. As any self-respecting young maiden, fearful of the Seven, you had never even approached a hand towards your cunny. Only for washing yourself, and never lingering or exploring too much. 

Harwin had been the one who had introduced you to the pleasures of the flesh. It had been him who had encouraged you to explore all the wondrous feelings your body had to offer. Doing it without him seemed silly. You had touched yourself at his instance, and found great pleasure, but it was not the same that when it was his hands on your skin.

But after nearly a month of not being able to have sex with your husband, you understood exactly why you would want to please yourself. You craved the release. Even if you knew it would not be the same, you were so desperate, any peak would be better than no peak. Even if it were one brought on by yourself.

It was hardly your fault. Anyone would feel aroused after nearly a month with only stolen kisses to get you by.  The sight of your husband in only a linen shirt and pants, bent over his desk had been too much. Watching as the muscles of his back flexed, how his big hands swallowed the quill he was using to take notes.  All that, mixed with the goblet of wine you had been nursing and the fact that Harwin had handed you his cloak to keep warm. Surrounded by his smell, inhibitions lowered by the wine, it was a miracle you had not jumped his bones yet. 

You felt like you were burning up with need. So you squeezed your thighs a little, and rubbed against the edge of your chair. You didn’t try to be subtle, secretly hoping that the sight of your neediness might entice him to do something about it. 

“That’s hardly better, little one. You were purposefully looking for loopholes.” Harwin said, oblivious to your thought process. He wore a stern expression that made you want to fold immediately. 

A month, you reminded yourself. You had been feeling alone for a month. 

“I know, but you had not been paying attention to me!” You complained, steeling yourself. This was a discussion you truly wanted to have beyond brattiness. It had not only been the lack of marital duties, but you missed spending time with him.

It comes out whinier than you intended. Much more pitiful, too. You don't realize, but Harwin's mood immediately shifts, from playful to serious. He can tell this is truly bothering you. 

Harwin pulled his chair back and spread his legs slightly. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight of his thighs spread in a pose that was so dominant. 

“Come here.” He ordered, brows pinching together. You didn't want to, knowing only punishment could await from your defiance. But you still did. Once you were in front of him, Harwin caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Was my poor wife feeling neglected?” 

To your horror, your eyes started to feel watery. 

“You spend all your time with the gold cloaks. Never with me.” Then, in a whisper so small, it tugged at Harwin's heartstrings. “Do you not want me anymore?” 

“I had not noticed you missed me so.” He confesses, pulling you into his lap. His touch is gentle, as always. His hands feel warm and solid against your waist. You straddle one of his thighs, still pouting. Harwin pulls you even closer. “I will make time for you, from now on.” 

“Thank you.” You mutter shyly on his neck. It's what you needed to hear. You stay on his lap for a while, cuddling in silence. The steady thump of his heart and his warmth comfort you. It's something you have deeply missed.

Despite wanting nothing more than just curl into his lap and sleep the night away, you still feel restless. Your button throbs between your legs, wanting attention. You cannot help but wonder what it would feel like, getting ravished by your husband after so long. How his hands would feel on your skin, deliciously calloused. How his face would pinch in the sweetest agony. How he would sound, entering you. 

Would he be capable of sliding right in, with how wet you are? Or would Harwin have to open you up as he had done on your first night together? 

You squirm. Harwin, thinking you are uncomfortable, shifts you to sit properly on his lap, resting his forehead on top of your head. The casual display of strength makes even more wetness gather between your thighs. 

“Are you alright, Wife?” Harwin starts running his hand over your hair, soothingly. He is unable to see your expression, and you are glad for it. You are so embarrassed it's starting to be physically painful. Here is Harwin, trying to comfort you, and you can't think of anything else but getting him into bed.

"You are much too pretty to be shedding tears over the likes of me. I apologize, for being so lacking lately. I have been paying so much attention to my duties with the King and forgotten about my most important ones.” 

“Harwin…” That he regrets it had not even crossed your mind. Too blinded by your feelings, you had never thought about how your outburst would make him feel. 

“As your husband, I made a vow. To be always yours. To protect you. I have not fulfilled either of those duties, being so far away.” He whispers, very quietly. You want to reassure him, but are unsure how. 

“You always come home to me.” You go back to your previous position, straddling his thigh, to be able to look him in the eyes. It breaks your heart. His brown eyes are all hurt puppy. 

“Perhaps physically. But my mind is still away, even when by your side. It's not right. You are my Lady. Mine to cherish. I have been a poor husband to you.” And it is true. You had thought about it, using much harsher words. Harwin clearly didn’t mean to hurt you, but you had been trying to rile him up on purpose. It makes you feel awful. You don’t want him to feel bad about himself, you just wanted to air out your frustrations. 

“Never say that. Never.” You muttered, fiercely, touching your forehead to his. “I have never thought you a bad husband.” 

“Only because you are too kind. I will do better, Wife.” 

You sigh, knowing it's no use contradicting him. Instead, you pull him in for a kiss, hoping he can hear all you cannot say. The kiss starts to get heated very soon, his hands grasping greedily at your hips. It has been a month since you had the time to do more than just kiss. Time to play one of your games. Both of you crave it, need it. 

As you pull apart, you give him a naughty little grin. 

"I still broke your rules.” 

Harwin chuckles.  His eyes have turned dark, pupils blown with lust. 

“Dirty girl. Do you want a punishment?” 

“Yes, please.” You look up at him, all starry eyed. Perhaps he will tell you to spend the night on your knees, serving him. Or perhaps you will have to obey his every command. Or, if you are very lucky, you will get to peak over and over until you pass out. 

Your breath hitches in excitement. You can't wait. 

“Over my lap. Hike up your nightgown.” 

The words burst your bubble immediately. Your shoulders slumped and you went back to pouting. Spanking was not what you had expected. While the physical side of it was fun, a little pain to go with your pleasure, it always wore you out mentally. There was something about it that left you feeling very vulnerable.

You understood why Harwin did it, though. It was an easy way to put you in your place. Spanking you in such a manner tugged at your subconscious. It was the manner in which children were punished. He doesn’t need harsh words or much pain to force you into submission. In fact, it stings even more when he does so with gentle words. You feel silly, after it. Harwin will coo and call you his good girl, and you will melt for him and do as he says.

"But… But…” You protest, despite knowing it’s useless. 

“You thought you would get something else?” Harwin asks, carefully tucking your hair behind your ears. His hands almost swallow your face. It gets you all shy. “My poor wife. Where did all your intelligence go? You know you did a poor job of communicating your needs. Instead of telling me of your loneliness, you threw a tantrum." 

“I… Harwin…” You plead, looking up at him. You are not sure what you are begging for. For Harwin to guide you, perhaps. You feel helpless. 

“Over my knee.”

Faced with the choice, you cannot bear the thought of disappointing him further. He is right, in a turnabout way. You could have done things different. In another life, a perfect one, you would have knocked the door to his study and asked to talk. You would have sat, like two adults, and told him you were frustrated because you missed him. Instead, you had mixed the games the two of you play with your real anger, turning into a bratty mess. 

You want to fix things. To not have to think, anymore. You take off his cloak and fold it neatly. Then, you hike up your nigh shift and lay down on his lap. You rest your hands on the floor, stretching to be able to do so. 

“Don't. You could hurt yourself.” Harwin rubbed your arse, gently. Warming you up. Then, without warning, his hand came down. You nearly shrieked. The sting was harsh, yet he seemed unwilling to let up. His hand came down again and again, in the same spot. You knew Harwin, though. Soon, it was not only going to sting. He liked building you up to it. 

His hand moves to your other cheek, spanking you with a slightly curved hand. It hurts differently, that way. It allows him to feel the overheated skin, how the flesh wiggles with each impact. 

Shame curls around your spine, twisting your stomach. You are still wet. It’s a deeply humiliating feeling. You are unable to think clearly, your mind slow and weary. As if you were treading through molasses. 

“I will not make you count, but you have to behave. No trying to get away.” Harwin warned, before spanking you again. This time, you started wiggling your toes in discomfort, fighting the urge to kick and scream. 

Your bottom feels already hot and abused, but Harwin is not letting up. You are really starting to hurt. Your vision starts to blur, and you try to grasp at the carpet, fighting to stay afloat. It’s no use, no use at all. Soon you are weeping with all you have.

“Are you going to stop being a good girl for me?” Harwin asks, rubbing soothingly at your shoulder blades. It’s only then that you realize you have been wiggling around, trying to get away from the pain. 

“I’m… Har-…Harwin… Sorry.” You blubber, unable to form the sentence right. You want to speak, but you are crying too hard for it. You feel dumb. Look at you, a noble lady with access to the best education Westeros has to offer. You had the best tutors, a Septa all to yourself. An education fit for a Princess. Yet, you can’t create a single sentence, overwhelmed by your feelings. 

Too big feelings, Harwin had called them once. You were, after all, a silly girl who needed her husband to guide her. Sometimes, your feelings get the best of you and make you unable to think clearly. 

That was why you liked these games. Submitting quieted all the voices in your head. There was nothing except obedience requiring your attention. Harwin made all the tough choices and took care of you, and you could focus on only being. 

“You are doing so good.” Harwin whispered, as he rubbed at the already abused skin. You hated how much it made you preen, getting praised. “So good for me. Just a little longer, and we will be done.” 

You slump on his lap, defeated. The hits keep raining on your vulnerable behind, and this time you are unable to quiet down. You whine, and weep and scream, but do not move an inch. You are sweating with the effort from keeping still, and there is nothing you want more than to bang your palms against the floor in a fit of rage.  But you do not. You keep still and focus on being good for Harwin. 

Your mind slows down. There is nothing but the pain, and breathing through it. Like being submerged in syrup, thoughts barely form before sinking heavily. You blink, trying to focus, but are unable to. There is only Harwin. 

His smell, his hands so big against you. His warm thighs under your stomach. His erection pressing against you, the way he sounds, excited little inhales at each hit. How he times them, alternating the placement in a predictable two-one count. Reliable. To care for you, hold you down, push you when you need him too. 

Time drags on. Perhaps it’s only a few minutes, or perhaps hours pass. You are unable to tell. Harwin lowers you gently to the rug and lays down beside you, careful not to press into your arse. 

“How are you?” He asks, tenderly brushing your tears away. You blink up at him, hazily. Still trapped in molasses, the words seem uttered from far away. You sniffle. 

Harwin smiles at you. You don’t feel capable of speaking just yet. With great effort, you raise your hand and brush his cheekbone. He leans into your touch. 

“I see, I see.” Harwin chuckles, and pulls you closer to him. You go willingly, nearly purring in contentment. 

You drift off like that, head on his chest, nestled close to his heart. 

[alltheglowingeyess]

i want more, impossible to ignore - ch 14

(solangelo story, aka two goofy goobers goobering it up :) posted on ao3 here!)

It is not uncommon for Will’s hair to be likened to a bird’s nest.

He often gets in a huff if someone tells him so, citing curly hair struggles. However, Nico thinks there’s a little more that goes into the constant disarray that is Will’s hair.

For one, he is constantly touching it. Whether that is twirling curl clumps in thought or running a hand through when someone is really getting on his nerves, his hair is constantly at the receiving end of bursting emotions. 

He also refuses to use any hair care, apart from “some good ol’ H2O”  and—if he’s feeling extra patient—an archaic hair gel that he apparently found in an abandoned corner of the Apollo cabin bathroom cabinets. It is not a lack of resources that causes this issue—Nico has watched Drew Tanaka pull out a poster board with entire cost breakdowns for hair products and their purposes, as well as with the offer to reimburse him for a trial run—but rather what seems to be a matter of pride. From what Nico has gathered, this has been a work-in-progress effort even before the wars, 

But for all his fidgeting and improper hair care, Nico find the description to generally be a tad over the top. He loves that his hair is a little messy, loves having permission to run his hands through it and push around his curls without any concerns of ruining some intricate hair care process. Will’s hair is messy and frizzing and a little odd at times, but it feels appropriately Will. 

This does not apply, however, when Nico opens the door one beautiful early spring day and finds himself face-to-face with half of the forest lodged throughout his boyfriend’s hair.

He opens his mouth at the sight, then closes it. Mulling it over, he speaks after another few seconds pass. “You can come in, but don’t get any grass on my floor.”

Will grins, giving him a mock salute as he enters. Just as Nico expects, he proceeds to shake his head like a dog coming out of the rain as he beelines to the bed, leaving a trail of grass clumps in his wake.

Nico follows the trail, pausing by each clump and watching the grass wither in his presence. By the time he’s nuked all of them, Will has made himself fully at home, draped upside down on the bed with his curls just barely skimming the ground beneath him.

He takes a seat on the ground next to his progressively-redder-faced boyfriend. Squinting, he manages to tug out at a particularly large twig from Will’s hair.

“You lose a fight with a dryad or something?”

“The dryads love me.”

“Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t kick your ass.”

Will pouts—a ridiculously ineffective expression seeing as he is upside down with all the blood rushing to his head. “Bully.”

“Explain, please.”

He gets a little huffing and puffing before Will responds. “You know the new Tyche camper? Lana?”

“Um, the little one right? Missing front teeth?”

“Yup, right on. Well, Chiara told me she’s been having a hard time adjusting. Homesickness and all that. So she asked me to talk with her a bit—I’ve been here a long while so guess Chiara thought I could reach her better?”

“Well, she said she’d talk if she could do up my hair. And of course, I said yes—usually I’m emptying my wallet out to get the baby campers to talk. So she starts putting some braids in and telling me about her dad and her old school and friends, and I’m listening along until Lilith—new Demeter kid, with the little cat ears headband?—is in front of me with a handful of flowers asking to help out with the ‘makeover’. And, I mean, what can I do, say no?”

“Well, yes.”

“And then, the Iris twins see what’s happening and wanna join, and now they’re all making a commotion big enough that suddenly every camper under the age of ten is clamoring around me. It’s ten minutes later that the horde disperses enough that I see I’ve got a look like someone rolled my head around a field of flowers a few times.”

“Understatement,” Nico murmurs, ignoring Will’s pout as he plucks out a dandelion. “So any reason why you didn’t shake this out before you entered my cabin?”

“Well first of all, I doubt it’s going to kill you to have a few flowers in this place.”

“You said I’m allergic to pollen.”

“Skill issue. Anyways,” Will tries to lift his head to avoid Nico’s hand batting at his face. It backfires as he drops his head back down a little too fast, lightly smacking it against the bed. “Ouch.”

“What was that you said? Skill issue?”

“I just broke my brain because of your stupid furniture choices. Be nice to me.”

He gets that same pouty look again—still just as ridiculous as before, but this time Nico decides to indulge him. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Will’s head. It’s a little hard to tell Will’s reaction since his face is already flushed, but Nico still delights in seeing the tips of his ears reach a perfect shade match to the rest of his face. “You were saying—reasons you didn’t take it out already?”

Will is silent for a few seconds (it’s such a treat to watch his boyfriend’s brain Shut Down everything he makes a move) before clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. Well, they all looked so proud of their work, and Lana gave me a big hug and was actually talking with the other kids before I left so… I mean, how could I get rid of this after all that?”

Nico eyes his hair for a moment, pursuing his lips when he catches sight of a few wood chips lodged deep within. “You have a problem.”

Will sits up, affronted. Unfortunately for him, he does so fast enough that he tumbles off the bed, though he manages to save some grace by turning it into a half-hearted wiggle and twist before landing on the floor next to Nico.

“How is this—I do not!”

He blinks a few times, hard and slow, probably still a little dizzy from the sudden movement. Nico graciously allows him a few seconds to collect himself before elaborating. “You let an army of gremlins have free rein over your hair, and now you’re walking around with antlers.” He tries to emphasize his point by dragging out one of said twig antlers, but ceases his efforts when Will begins to whine.

“I’m strict when I need to be. But there is a longstanding tradition of head counselors promoting the chaos of the younger campers, and I won’t be the one to break it.”

Will is smiling through his argument, but he doesn’t miss the flicker of heartache in his expression. He’s still constantly trying to piece together the stories of camp before the wars—before betrayals and broken bridges and quiet cabins—but he knows enough to get the picture.

So, Nico concedes, turning his attention back to Will’s hair as he begins to pick out some of the more intrusive items. Twenty minutes later, surrounded by an assortment of wood chips, sticks, grass clumps, and two sets of earrings, Will’s hair looks significantly less birds nest-y, a majority of the flowers and braids remaining in place. Just in time, really, as they both hear the faint sound of the dinner horn.

As Will stands, he does a little twirl, flinging a little more grass across the cabin. “How’s it looking? Good?”

Nico scoffs as he brushes the garden scraps and trinkets to the corner before standing as well. “It’ll look even better once you’re outside of the cabin.”

Will blows a raspberry, planting his feet in defiance. He doesn’t remain too committed to the bit as Nico grabs his arm and pulls him out (thank the Gods—he’s not in the mood to be dragging around his million feet tall boyfriend). As they step out of the cabin and into the early evening, he’s in awe for a moment as he watches, for just a moment, the way the light clings to Will, the renewed bloom of the flowers in his hair. 

(And when they walk into the pavilion a few minutes later, his chest burns with love when he sees the beaming smiles of the younger campers.)

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 3 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆[chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] ☆[chapter 6] ☆[chapter 7]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 3/10 ☆ 2,204 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, more will be added.

That night you laid in your bed, looking up at the ceiling. Why exactly had you told her about Alice? She could use it against you if they ever caught you again… then again, did it matter? They couldn’t hurt Alice anyway. Only you. Ever since Alice died, life had kind of sucked ass anyways. Hadn’t Alice told you to figure out something that would make you happy, before you died, you might just have stayed locked up in the house the rest of your life.

Her hand had been cold those last hours before she died, even as you held it without a break. When she had stopped talking, so had you and you had just sat in silence, watching each other for those last hours. Both of you knew this would be the last time you would see each other.

You barely wanted to blink, afraid to lose a moment with her that you could never get back.

It almost seemed like she went to sleep. Her pulse got slower, her eyes closed. When you whispered “I love you,” she used her last energy to smile.

You closed your own eyes and let childhood memories pull you into sleep after a while.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You woke up the next morning and after a short shower, you put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, too tired to care about your looks - earning a raised eyebrow from Kate when she saw you. You raised your own eyebrow, almost as if to dare her to say something.

After letting Kate free to go to the bathroom, you changed your piercings, before chaining her up again.

“It’s highly unnecessary, you know,” She pointed out as you put the key in your pocket, “I won’t run away.”

“Don’t trust you on that,” you answered grumpily. You hadn’t slept that well, too worried about the whole situation and the memories of Alice keeping you awake.

Kate huffed, “I’m not driving that piece of shit you call a car. And I’m not feeling like walking.”

You wanted to point out that she could just call a cab. Then again, you had her bag.

“Oh, wow, sucks then,” you muttered as you turned your electric kettle on, waiting for your water to boil so you could get some tea, “You’re stuck with me then.”

“So, listen Fae, if you –”

“Fae?” you looked over at her, confused.

“Yes. Fae,” she had the nerve to look a little annoyed with you asking about it, “I’m calling you that since I don't know your name.”

You huffed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I called you hound?”

“... No.” you admitted, “ Just. Don’t call me anything. My name doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I think –”

“Drop it or you're not getting coffee.” You threatened and that finally shut her up.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Eating breakfast was a silent affair for a while, the toasted pieces of bread making the most noise whenever one of you took a bite.

So, you zoned out, wondering what you should do whenever you dropped her off. Should you lay low for a while? You couldn’t do that at home though and what if they followed you? A small sound distracted you and you looked outside - but nothing was there. The paranoia was creeping up on you, you figured. This entire thing was getting worse and worse. Maybe you should move the two of you - but you weren’t really sure of where to go and –

“So, what are you going to do?” Kate asked before taking a sip of her coffee, blue eyes watching you. She really wanted to know everything didn’t she? Maybe because she was a virgo. Not that you really believed in astrology, but Alice had loved it. Constantly told you about how people's behaviour was due to those stars. You didn’t feel like any stars had an effect on you - unless the stars took time out of their book to make you mourn your sister and spiral when you needed money, to the point of kidnapping a mob member.

“I’m not telling you,” You answered, a frown on your face, “I’m not that stupid.”

“Never implied that you were stupid,” Kate answered with a gentle smile, “I was just curious.”

“Well, I’m not telling you.”

“Fair enough,” she answered, “I mean, I guess I know that you’re going to pay off the medical bills after your sister.”

You hand tightened around your cup of tea, as she mentioned your sister again. The only relief was that you hadn’t told her Alice’s name. Anger of her being mentioned still crawled along your ribs, threatening to fill your lungs and spill over in screams.

“I told you not to fuckin’ ask about her, you muppet,” you snapped, “My god, why do you have to–”

The arm appeared out of nowhere, curling around your neck and pulling you backwards and off your chair, as a scared scream left you. Your airways was almost cut off, making you claw desperately at the strong arm keeping you up, a whimper leaving you – while Kate looked at you emotionless.

You watched her turn around on her chair and look towards the front door, where John fucking Price walked in, some of his minions following him, only adding to the fuel of your panic. You managed to look up and holy fuck, the face that looked down at you were covered by a fucking skull mask. You had seen him before, of course. There were so many pictures of him following different people along, like a scary shadow, like a grim reaper, ready to kill on command. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, if you weren’t wrong. Fitting nickname.

One your hands left his thick arm as you twisted in his grip, blindly searching for the butter knife. You just managed to get your fingers around the handle when it was pulled from your hand again - by one grinning Scot, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

“Nu-uh, lass, that's nae a good idea,” he said, throwing the knife onto the kitchen counter again.

More people entered your house, all of them taking one look at you, then looking back at Kate.

“Took you long enough,” Kate commented, not exactly sounding as sweet as before.

“Sorry, bosslady,” Price grunted, “Wasn’t really plannin’ on playing find and rescue, was I?”

You felt black spots begin to appear in your sight, as the air you could get into your lungs were restricted - you tried stomping on Ghost’s foot, but you weren’t wearing any shoes - and he was wearing military looking boots, so all it earned you was an annoyed huff.

Kate was given back her phone by Price.

“Wan’t me to kill her, Laswell?” Ghost asked calmly, as if he was asking what kind of tea she wanted and you let out a whimper.

“Nononono, please don-” the grip tightened around your neck, cutting off your air completely.

Kate looked over at you, almost looking like she considered it for a moment. She looked… different from how she had earlier, her face somehow colder than before.

More… Dangerous.

Was this it? Would you die like this, in the hands - or well, technically arm - of an actual monster who you knew had killed several? Would he choke you to death - or just take pity on you and break your neck?

“No,” Kate finally just said all calmly, “Choke her out though, we need information from her.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.

“You don’t seem hurt,” Price commented to Kate, as you saw people spread through your house, beginning to go through your things.

“Fae isn’t a good kidnapper,” she just answered with a shrug and Price laughed. If you weren't going to die from asphyxiation, you might just die from pure embarrassment.

You felt the spots in front of your eyes multiplying as you desperately clawed at Ghost’s arm.

“Calm down, lil’ bird,” he whispered darkly, “just let it happen, yea?”

Your feet felt heavy.

“Nae anythin’ lil’ bout that fat arse,” Soap mused next to you, “proper beauty.”

Hadn’t you been busy passing out from choking, you might have tried to hit him for that comment, mobster or not, but you felt weaker and weaker.

Your head felt heavy now. So did your arms. Even though she had told him not to kill you, you felt like you were going to die. Especially as you watched one of the men pulling down a picture of you and Alice, looking at it. You wanted to hit him too.

Wait… had Price called Kate for bosslady?

You passed out before you could think about it anymore.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The first thing you registered was pain. Inside and around your neck, pain pulsed through it with every breath you took.

Probably came from being choked out, you figured.

Your forehead was resting on wood, your body bent forward. You were sitting on a chair and as you tiredly blinked, you realised you were cuffed behind your back too. The floor beneath your bare feet was cold, sending shivers of it up your soft legs.

What the fuck happened?

There was a strong smell of cigars, the scent making you groan a little. You managed to sit up, blinking shortly…

And staring directly at one certain John Price who sat opposite the table you had just been resting against, leant back a little and smoked said cigar. A pleased, almost amused smile on his face.

You blinked - then you noticed a shadow behind him in an otherwise dark room. Ghost stared right back at you.

This was all just splendid.

“How are you feeling, love?” John Price asked and you looked back at him, but it was as if you were unable to even open your mouth. Instead, you looked down at the table, watching the dried up bloodstains that had been attempted to be cleaned off.

Were they going to kill you? Kate had mentioned getting information from you -… Kate Laswell. Apparently the dangerous Watcher. She hadn’t seemed scary in the maybe less than 24 hours that you had held her captive. But still.

Then John Price said out your full name.

You froze. He knew your full fucking name. It shouldn’t surprise you, they broke into your house but still. You had tried to stay anonymous from them for so long. Then you looked up at him once more and he was smiling again, still seeming amused.

“Do you prefer Faes and Hounds?” Ghost asked from the darkness, making Price laugh, smoke leaving his mouth.

“You got us well there, sweetheart,” Price mused, taking another drag of his cigar, carefully watching you, “we really thought you were a proper group. Not just some lonely loser who knows how to hack and hide their IP address.”

“Fuck you.” The moment the two words left your mouth, you regretted them. They weren’t really something you should tell a mob member, were they? Though, John Price just chuckled.

“Oh, so she does talk, hm?”

Once again, you refused to answer.

“You know, Laswell called you Fae. Rests easier on your tongue, doesn’t it?”

You should have called your fake hacker group something cooler.

Your throat fucking hurt, your back was sore and you wanted to sleep. Not whatever the fuck they wanted to.

“Listen,” you said, voice a little raspy, “I don’t have any information, I didn’t hurt you or her, I -“

“Oh?” The sarcasm in his voice was clear as he cut you off, “don’t have any information? Then, it wasn’t you who was a thorn in our side for the last coupl’a weeks? Threatenin’ us constantly? Demanding 60 thousand pounds. That’s a lot of money, lass.”

You just stared at him silently. Your bare toes curled beneath the table, the urge to cry or hide was growing.

“Why don’t you tell me how you found your way into our electronics, hm?” He coached, “those aren’t just something you accidentally get access too.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied on reflex.

“Hm, sure, apologies. How did you and that little group of yours get access?”

“Real’ odd how your supposed little hacker group has stopped replying after we took you, innit?” Price asked, then pulling a fucking knife from his belt. You stared at the knife, watched how he used it to clean out dirt from beneath his fingers. It was a fucking massive thing, clean as a mirror, but he moved it with such ease and experience that you knew he could make it hurt if he decided to attack you.

“Could be a coincidence, isn’t that right, Fae?” Ghost sarcastically asked. This time you didn’t even bother to look at him.

“So, what was your plan? Take the money and run away?” Price asked, now looking at you again. You just nodded.

“Huh. I was pretty sure Laswell mentioned something ‘bout some medical bills.”

You felt numb. You shouldn’t have told her about it. This was proof it was a bad idea. What a shitty kidnapper you were.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, your voice a little raspy.

Price took a deep drag of the cigar. Held in the smoke for just a second before blowing it out again, watching you intensely. “So you say. Still, you decided that bothering a gang and kidnapping a member was worth it.”

“Seems a bit much for something that doesn’t matter.” Ghost added in.

“I didn’t know Kate was the leader.” You just admitted. Might as well be honest about that part, hoping that Price would confirm that Kate indeed was this Watcher.

Price watched you with a neutral face for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“Here I thought you weren’t a smart bird - but you still managed to find out that she was, hm?”

You couldn’t help your own small smile, that probably was more of a movement at the edges of your mouth.

“Well, you just confirmed it.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.

Then Ghost laughed.

“She got you there, old man.”

“Shut it,” Price grumbled, not looking too proud, “I see why she likes you though.”

You did your best to keep your face neutral. This was a messy, shitty situation and you didn’t feel in control at all. It was truly easier when you were behind a screen. Then you could control everything, hack your way into the things you couldn’t. You could just close the fucking laptop.

The knife was slammed down into the table, sinking smoothly into the wood.

“I still want to kill you,” Price casually said, while calmly watching his cigar now, before looking over at you, “promised to be nice though. Figured she maybe wants to do it yourself. She doesn’t kill a lot of people herself anymore, you know.”

You felt like you were going to throw up.

“I’m being a bad host though, hm?” He casually continued as if he hadn’t just more or less confirmed that you were going to die, “are you thirsty? Might be good for that neck of yours, being choked is never fun.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Ghost moved then, making you freeze, yet he merely put a bottle of water in front of you, before moving behind you and a moment later your hands were free.

Said hands were shaking as they took the water bottle but you pretended they weren’t, instead drinking some of the oddly cold water. Price just smiled.

“You know,” he then continued, “maybe losing a finger or two would jog your memory about how you got access to our devices.”

You almost felt like throwing up the water that you had drunk. It had an odd aftertaste anyways. You wanted to throw up a lot.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, past caring about how it made you seem weak to beg.

“No? It would make it harder for you to bother us again though.”

“I - listen I don’t know anything -“

“Bullshit,” Ghost said and then his gloved hand was on the back of your neck, in a grip that made you whimper, “nobody is going to help or save you, Fae. So I suggest telling the fucking truth.”

You knew that he was right. After Alice’s death, you had mostly been alone. The sad truth was that it would be quite a while before someone realised you had gone missing - it wouldn’t matter whether it was because a mob had kidnapped you or if you were just dead on the kitchen floor from a random stroke or from choking on a grape.

With a strong yank, Price pulled the knife from the wooden table again.

Then it was pointed towards you. You were stuck in between two different kinds of monsters, like some odd nightmare.

“So, did you send all the information to anyone?” Price’s voice had gone lower, eyes colder as he stared at you, the knife still pointed towards you.

“No, sir,” you whispered, “swear I didn’t.”

“No? Why should I believe you though?” He asked, “Kate might find you interesting due to your little kidnapping success with her - but be warned, Fae-“ he leant forward a little, “I won’t fucking hesitate to hurt you.”

You couldn’t answer, your tongue feeling numb. So you just nodded, feeling woozy from that mere movement.

“The drugs are setting in,” Price then declared as if he said it was going to rain.

Drugs? Your eyes flickered to the almost empty water bottle. Fuck. How stupid could you fucking be?

You felt yourself droop forwards a bit, a small sound leaving you. Ghost grabbed your arms, pulling you to your feet - and you barely got up before he almost squatted in front of you, hoisted you over his shoulder and rose up again.

The added height and feeling of his strong shoulder digging into your stomach made you whimper.

“C’mon then, let’s drop her off before we go talk to the others,” Price said, opening the door, but you felt your sight getting more and more blurry.

A part of you wanted to throw up over Ghost’s back and ass, just to be a nuisance, but you passed out before you managed to.

[linnetagain]

I have. Had a realization.

In-fic, it is Feb/March-ish of 2024. Gale is currently 29, Astarion is about to be 27. Hestia is seven-ish, and the baby was born when Gale was 21ish? Yes?

IRL, it is August 2024. I am currently 29. My sister is 27.

I am losing my mind.

I was a junior during the 2012 Olympics. Originally Astarion said that he was 14 when he skated to Golden, but that was when he thought his birthday was Jan 1, and skating season is usually finished by March, yeah??? So he would have be 13, little baby EIGHTH grader, teeny tiny child? Protect him????

And the Sebastian incident, he said he was 16, so that would have been some time in 2014, I’d only just graduated and was pretending to be A Real Adult, my sister was a tenth grader reading Julius Caesar and all that shiz, we were binge watching episodes of Pokémon on my chunky laptop like they were a line of crushed smarties on a coffee table and we had no nerve endings left in our sinuses.

Gale was 15 when he met Mystra, frickin 2010 or some shiz, I was still deeply uninterested in men as a concept at that point I’m ace but that’s beside the point so’s he, what were you thinking lady, I have a different sister who’s 8 years younger than me, when I was 22 the humans her size may as well have been INFANTS, who goes shopping for college boyfriends among incoming high school freshmen, you’re NASTY

Married at 19, okay maybe not so weird generally, that’s what my mom did, she’s fine, to each their own, but like that’s when I was heading into my first proper burnout, I was not a PERSON, absolute brick made of oatmeal, also I was still a TINY BABY, that was heckin ten years ago, heckin 2014, Astarion “falls” and Gale’s heckin legally bound to his heckin manager frick 2014 seriously who authorized this

Hestia would have been born some time in 2017, if she’s already 7 when the fic started in fall 2023, some time in March–September since we haven’t seen her birthday on screen yet, so absolute earliest she could have been conceived would have been like, June 2016, so Gale would have gotten the ultimatum in probably July or August, chest injury probably happened earlier that year, maybe March–Juneish if he spent a year retraining his voice and lungs and it overlapped with paternal leave post-Hessie, and Astarion asked “was that the year that—?” so his first baby probably died like, maybe mid-2015? That’s right when I got my heckin puppy. Gale’s son should be as old as my puppy dog. Jeez, Astarion escapes to law school right as Gale gets Metaphorically Orbed. Congrats Gale, you’re 20 and having the Worst Year Ever

Also, shoutout to Astarion for finishing law school in 3 years? Class of 2018? That seems so fast with like pre-law and stuff but I don’t know how the UK does it, also he’s a smart boy, GO, be FREE my son (sort of not really psych jk)

But also ugh living in a two-bed studio apartment for at least five years assuming they lived in student housing before that? How is your mind still intact

But just. Hessie. Born 2017. The year I started going into my SECOND major episode of burnout. Heck, do I know any seven year olds??? How old are my little cousins?? Heck, it would the ones who didn’t live very close, how big is a seven year old?????? My close friends have a six year old, but she’s usually doing her own thing when I hang out with them so I usually visualize her as so much smaller, I think I might be literally incapable of comprehending having spawned a tiny growing human and having them in close proximity to myself since 2017

Congrats, you’ve broken me

Yeah don't be fooled by Gale talking about how old he feels, they're both SO young and so much of the shit that they've gone through happened to them when they were literally children. Astarion was thirteen when he won gold, Gale was fifteen when he met Mystra. It's one of the reasons why that brief mention of Romeo and Juliet is so loaded, because Astarion is looking back and remembering how it felt like his whole world was defined by this one thing when he was that age, and how much has changed since then. How much more he's had the chance to be, and how he was so close to losing the chance at that. Also one of the reasons why it's so easy to write him being protective of Hestia. He can see Gale trying to give her a better childhood than either of them had and he's absolutely going to try and help.

[basilone]

I was tagged by @onehelluvamarine, ty! 💚

A band you don’t like that many others do:

Coldplay. I am absolutely mesmerized by how popular they are, because every single song of theirs I’ve ever heard gets on my last nerve.

A childhood memory that you remember vividly:

I used to do ballet and got to perform in a huge theatre once. I remember hanging out backstage, watching the older dancers, getting to see what the lighting crew was doing… It was a brilliant time, though the hassle to get hair and make-up done had a lot of people yelling and losing the plot. (I learned how to do stage make-up myself when I was a lil older, partially because that’s how you roll in drama classes but also because of that experience hahaha!)

Least favorite animal and why:

Listen. Listen to me. We do not need lightbulb fish. We do not need them. We do not require their presence in our waters.

Hot fandom take:

Do you know how many hot takes can fit in me? It’s a lot. I’m going to go with two hot takes because it’s my party and y’all have never ever seen me post one to this blog before.

Numero uno: readerfic is not OC fic, OC fic is not readerfic. If you name your character, it’s an OC. Even if you write them in first or second person POV. If you write Y/N, it’s readerfic no matter how much backstory you try to chuck at it. Learn to tag it properly. A fic cannot have both the canon character/OC and canon character/reader tags. Please do my last remaining pieces of sanity a favor and don’t make me read Y/N with my own two eyeballs just because you mistagged your fic.

Numero two: smut belongs under the cut. I don’t make the rules. If you start your fic with smut of any kind, put it under a readmore. Especially do this if that smut contains highly specific kinks. Aside from the fact that there are minors on this website who’ve got no business being subjected to that, people should be given the choice whether they want to see that level of smut on their daily newspaper dashboard scrollthrough first thing in the morning.

Do you wear any jewelry, if so, what’s your favorite piece:

I do, though not all the time. One of my fave pieces is a small ring with an eight-pointed star that I wear on my pinky finger.

A movie others liked but you didn’t:

Titanic. I know it’s got many many many fans, but I was cheering that iceberg on.

Three things you love about yourself:

My creativity, my ability to switch gears and learn on the fly, and my hair that does whatever I want it to do.

A place you hope to visit in the future and why:

Dude, have you seen the state of the world lately? I think I’m just gonna hope to visit my bed later on today, much safer.

An actor that gets on your nerves and why:

I have Tom Cruise blacklisted on this hellsite for good reason. The good reason being that I think he’s batshit and that people should stop entertaining his presence in anything. I’m not drinking that cult juice, thanks.

Things you’re excited for in the nearby future?

My birthday’s coming up on Feb 9!

Least favorite ship in a fandom you’re in:

At the risk of getting utterly disowned by a good number of folks that follow me: Webgott. I have gone for an outing or two in this ship, if memory serves me correctly, and I think I understand why people like it. I love banter in a ship as much as the next person, and the push-pull of opposites can be fun. But I also think Lieb deserves a lot more than someone who’s fundamentally at odds with his life and his POV. I think that the discussion they have in that final ep is indicative of something so major that it is a dealbreaker in that ship. (Plus, Web is just… not my fave character. Putting this mildly.)

What’s the most toxic fandom you’ve been in?

Vikings. Hands down, no contest. Absolute toxic cesspool of lies, backstabbing, and badmouthing. There are a few very good reasons why I’m no longer on speaking terms with people I used to call friends (at least one of whom was also in our lovely little war fandom back in the day) and why I’ve all but given up on doing any new gifsets or writing in that fandom for the foreseeable future.

List three things you find beautiful about life:

I’m gonna all caps this like a particularly obnoxious internet citizen because !! important !!

HAVE YOU SEEN OUR UNIVERSE DO YOU HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE STARS

MUSIC

THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU’RE LAUGHING WITH PEOPLE YOU LOVE AND YOU REALIZE THERE’S NOWHERE IN THE WORLD YOU’D RATHER BE THAN IN THAT EXACT MOMENT

Any dreams for the future?

I just want to live a life that’s good. I don’t really do future plans or dreams, it’s all vibes. I will know the move I need to make in the moment it needs making. Everything else is confetti.

How are you really feeling today?

Tired! (She says while about to embark on a screencap-to-gif journey. You might note the tiredness by the fact that I have completely lost my filter somewhere down the line of answering these questions, lol.)

Tags:

lmao I feel like half this fandom got tagged already and I’m very shit at remembering usernames and who likes tagging games sooooo. uhm. ain’t tagging anybody today.