#praying this won’t get flagged

[eleanorintheshower]

I shower, dreaming of that one time you got home and licked every inch of my body. I remember your tongue against my skin, my nipples hard, my pulse throbbing. I remember how you pushed me to my knees, pulling your cock out and entered my mouth. How you grabbed my hair and I sucked and lapped every part. I’m yours. Yours to use, sir.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He��s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

[twistyfish]

Can we get some comfort from the boys please? God especially after that last post with us being so insecure that hits me like a rock. MC’s selfish for having all of them I wanna be loved too 😭😭😭

(I love MC but jealousy is uncanny)

It doesn’t help that I read an angst no comfort a while ago and I still am not over it- help 😭

sure! i just wrote a double dose of angst so i hope this eases the pain. i don’t know why the hell sylus’s is so long, so don’t ask me.

prompt~ comfort.

content warning for brief mentions of death, periods, and detailed descriptions of blood.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered into the cool fabric of his jacket, gripping the velvety material in your fists. You were sitting on his lap facing him, your legs swung around his hips and hugging his sides.

“I would perish at your side before leaving you,” Zayne whispered back. “No entity in or outside this world could rip me apart from you.”

“I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to- why would you say that?”

“Zayne, I’m scared of dying alone, please don’t ever leave me alone.” Your voice was panicky and you weren’t making much sense.

“You’re not going to die alone, honey. I won’t leave you alone,” he reassured you softly. “Where did this fear come from?”

“I just… I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to feel that way again. I don’t want nobody to remember me.”

“Sweetheart. You aren’t alone. You have family and friends who love you so much. And I love you so, so much more than I can describe. I even think about you when you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. How could I not remember you?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you, holding your head with one hand and rubbing your hair soothingly.

“You’re the love of my life. You keep me warm on chilly days. You nourish me. Please never think otherwise.”

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

You were hunched over on the couch, curled up and gripping your knees. You were intensely nauseous, and it felt like a cat was clawing up all your insides. Your periods were notoriously brutal.

You were being extra cautious not to leak on Sylus’s leather couch, placing two towels beneath you and doubling them up. You flipped through channels on the TV miserably, pulling your fluffy blanket higher up around you.

It was all politics and sports. You shut off the TV and closed your eyes, trying to just marinate in the warmth of the blanket.

You were somewhat peaceful, until you realized the seat of your pants felt warmer than usual. Wide eyed, you scrambled up and checked the towels. The top one looked like the Japanese flag. You lifted it, and the bottom one mirrored it. Praying, you lifted the bottom towel.

The leather couch had a thick blotch of red on it, and you groaned aloud. You stood up and tossed the blanket to the side, ignoring the shooting pains in your back and stomach. Upon standing, you felt yourself leak down your leg. There was now a small red puddle on the floor that you were dripping into.

You seethed. Deciding against retrieving paper towels and potentially leaving a trail behind you, you took off your stained pajama pants and wiped the floor with them.

It wasn’t very effective, as you were bent over cleaning the blood and simultaneously dripping onto the floor at the same time. You were too embarrassed to call any of Sylus’s staff, so you ended up giving up and putting your pajama pants in a heap on the floor and sitting on top of them so you wouldn’t do any more damage.

You sat like that for a solid twenty minutes before Sylus came home. You heard his steps as he entered the room and turned your head, both dreading and being relieved at his arrival. His expression changed from suave to confused as he saw you on the floor sitting on your pants.

And then he saw the bloody towels and stain on the couch. “Oh, shit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you started.

“That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay?” His voice was soft and concerned.”

“Yeah, it’s just my period. Aren’t you mad about the couch?”

“Me? Mad about a couch? I can replace this a thousand times over. I’m more concerned-,” he bent down next to you, “-about the amount of blood coming out of you.”

You looked at him, both weary and confused. “I told you, it’s just my period. It’s pretty standard to bleed a lot.”

He shook his head. “Not that much. Get up.” You complied and stood up, revealing your pajamas which were soaked through by now. His scarlet eyes widened. “What the hell? That’s not normal.”

“It is normal. It happens every month.”

He shook his head, picking up your soiled pajamas and towels in one hand and wrapping his other hand around your bloody thighs. He hoisted you up like you were weightless, ignoring your protests.

“Sylus! I’m covered in blood, stop touching me!”

“You act as though I haven’t seen bodies doused in blood.”

“That’s different. This is blood from my literal va-“

“I’m plenty familiar with that orifice of yours, my love.”

“Oh my god.”

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

Your cheeks were flushed, and you were hacking up what felt like several lungs. After much harassing from Xavier, you had taken a sick day and were now taking the hottest shower of your life in an attempt to steam out all the muck in your throat.

You blew your nose one last time before exiting the shower, getting dressed with a heavy head. The air in the bathroom was hot and damp from your shower, and you felt like you were swimming as you walked to your bedroom. You ended up clumsily turning the fan on and collapsing on your bed.

And then the doorbell rang. Of course it did, because you and Rafayel had made plans for a movie night that you’d forgotten to cancel. You groaned into the mattress and forced yourself to get up. You answered the door with what must have still been a very pink face, because Rafayel immediately said, “You’re all red. Are you that nervous to see me?”

“I’m sick.”

He immediately pulled away and lifted his shirt over his mouth. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I was busy being sick, genius.” You were too tired to banter. You sneezed, to which Rafayel made a face. “You need some TLC, Ms. Bodyguard. I’ll be happy to assist. From a distance, of course.”

You didn’t feel like arguing, so you allowed him to lead you inside and prepare you some stew and hot chocolate. It was surprisingly comforting, and Rafayel didn’t pretend to be disgusted when you coughed up mucus. He rubbed your back while you coughed and attacked you with kisses when you sat quietly with a throbbing head.

Even when you pushed him away, reminding him that he would likely get sick from all his close contact, he waved away your worries.

“I need you to recover as quickly as possible so you can protect me. When I’m sick, you can just pay me back.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

You fell out of a tree. That was the short version of it. You and Xavier were having a climbing contest, and the branch you’d been holding onto wasn’t very stable. Well, the branch itself was stable, but the bark you were gripping wasn’t. It ripped off in your hands and took you with it.

You let out a squeaky noise when you hit the ground, almost like a dog toy. You would have laughed at yourself if you weren’t in so much pain.

“__! Shit, shit, shit!” Xavier was down the tree in an instant, like a rodent that spotted a snake. He sprinted to your side and hovered over you frantically while you laid on your back and tried to regain your breath. He ended up refraining from calling an ambulance because you had enough life in you to beg him not to. So, he drove you to urgent care instead.

Thankfully you weren’t hurt too badly, but you did end up with a bruised tailbone and a fractured rib, so now you were in the middle of the healing process with Xavier asking you questions every twenty minutes or so.

He’d ask, “Are you in pain?” to which you’d respond, “Yes.” And then he’d ask “Where?” And you’d angrily say “My butt.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, it was my fault.”

“But climbing the trees was my idea.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Do you need a butt massage?”

“No, idiot.”

Xavier was very apologetic for the next couple of weeks, sleeping over at your house every other day and bringing you burnt baked goods to tide you over. He took care of you in his own sweet way.

[star-girl69]

Apocalypse

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: a day of capture the flag, and clarisse finds out you’re ashamed of your scars.

a/n: love love love love love also from this ask

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

warnings: shitty ending but IDC!!!!!!!, hurt/comfort, more hurt/comfort, god i need to be put down, insecure y/n, scars and all that stuff, possessive clarisse, protective clarisse, soft clarisse, probs ooc clarisse, yeah, swearing, mentions of food, mac n’ cheese is y/n’s fav but you can just pretend if you’re a weirdo and don’t like mac n’ cheese, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“I don’t get it,” he laughs. “How can you be a daughter of Aphrodite and still have those ugly scars all over you?”

You pretend like you don’t hear him, leaning your head back against the tree, staring up at the blue sky through the gaps.

Him and his two friends have been teasing you the entire 20 minutes you’ve been tied up to this tree, captured by the blue team.

That was horribly embarrassing, but you were doing your best to ignore it- instead doing your best to pray to whatever God would listen that Clarisse would win for the red team.

It’s just plain stupid. He’s been saying the same thing over and over again for 20 minutes- can he at least come up with something original?

Besides, you don’t see where he gets off from this. It’s not like you give any reaction, or even look at him. The most you give him is the occasional squeeze of your hands- imagining his neck under them.

“Maybe she’s forsaken you,” he hums, kicking at your limp leg.

You finally look up at him. You’re sitting on the ground, arms at your sides, back pressed to the tree and rope digging tightly into your chest.

“Maybe your mother gave up on you after the second scar,” he says, staring straight into your eyes. “And then you’ve just gotten uglier and uglier ever since.”

You have scars all over your body. Clarisse has them too, and she shows them off proudly, a dramatic story for each one. You have a horrible memory, so you don’t remember all of them- but the tiny one on your jawline is from you accidentally tripping with scissors in your hand as a kid.

Clarisse had laughed hysterically when you told her about that one, pulling you closer when you pouted, saying something about how she was going to carry all scissors for you in the future.

The one on your collarbone is from sparring gone awry. Clarisse likes to kiss that one- it’s silvery smooth, she says some bullshit about how it feels like your lips.

The big one on your arm is from some clawed monster getting a bit too close to you- slashing at your arm and leaving a permanent tattoo of your failure to kill the monster. Or at least successfully run away.

Then, there’s all the tiny ones you can’t remember.

The boy, you seriously don’t even know his name, looks at you. There’s fire in his eyes, he wants a fight, but you won’t give him one. Especially not when your stomach squeezes inside of you in a way that makes you feel like you might throw up.

The conch mercifully blows, even as you feel sick- you don’t want to let his words effect you. But you just can’t help it.

He gives you an odd look, like he’s contemplating just leaving you out there- but eventually releases you. You stand up, dusting yourself off, grabbing your sword from where it was discarded on the ground.

“Good game!” you say, smiling brightly, but you can’t even pretend to be nice to him, so it tapers off into a laugh. He glares at you, but you’re already jogging through the woods, eager to see Clarisse again.

—-

The blue flag waves proudly above a sea of orange camp t-shirts and red helmets, so you smile widely and skip down to the beach. Your team has formed this huge pit of people, everyone congratulating each other, shouting and celebrating. You stick your sword in the sand as you head into it- one person on your mind.

“Clarisse!” you shout, heading straight towards the middle. “Clarisse!”

She actually rips apart two people hugging to meet you.

“Baby!” she says, even when the two people give her dirty looks, pushing past them and into your arms. “We won!” she giggles, kissing your cheek.

“I know,” you smile, digging your face into her neck. She holds you there for just a moment, hand on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of her girlfriend running to her after a long day.

“Are you tired?” she fusses, squeezing your waist. “What happened? Did you get hurt? I knew I should have made you stay with me-”

“No, Clar,” you laugh, taking your face out of the hiding spot that is her neck and pressing your noses together. “I got captured,” you sigh.

Her fingers wind through your hair.

She scans the crowd, like she might just beat up any random member of the blue team.

“If they don’t learn to not fucking touch you I am going to make them learn.”

“Guard dog,” you tease her.

“And?” she says, leaning down to kiss the scar she loves kissing, right at the beginning of your collarbone. It makes you freeze. “You love it,” she mumbles against your skin.

You can’t think of an answer.

When you stay silent, she looks up at you, confusion in her face.

“What? You look… sad. Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”

“N-nothing,” you breathe, because it’s just embarrassing to know you let his words get to you like this.

“You can tell me anything,” she says, searching your eyes.

“I know.”

The conch blows, making you jump at the sudden loud noise. “Lunch!” someone shouts, and Clarisse settles for just grabbing your hand, walking with you back to camp.

—-

You stop by your cabins first, taking off your armor and switching into clean camp shirts. You hesitate for a second, but eventually put on a thin long-sleeved shirt under the orange.

You take extra care in reapplying your makeup, making sure to cover the scar on your collarbone and your jaw, and once everything is as covered as it’s gonna get you set out.

Clarisse is waiting for you outside the Aphrodite cabin, smiling as you open the door, applying lipstick with one hand. She grabs your hand and helps you down the steps, admiring the way you’re so intensely focused on getting the perfect lip, even without a mirror.

It’s not like you have to try very hard, but still.

“I don’t mind waiting a second longer,” she says, bringing you closer by the waist as you tube the lipstick and stick it in your pocket.

“You’re a hungry demon after capture the flag.”

“Yeah,” she says, not really trying to deny it.

You smile and lean against her, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“Oh, do I look pretty now?” she asks, rubbing in the lipstick that came off onto her lips.

“Always,” you smile.

Her eyes focus in on the green sleeves pulled up to your wrists.

“It’s, like, 100 degrees, baby. You’re gonna boil.”

You frown and shake your head. “No, it’s not that bad. I’m cold.”

She looks at you oddly, but seems to begrudgingly accept it, hand against your forehead as she brushes your hair back. You make it into the buffet style line for lunch, grabbing plates, Clarisse quickly piling hers with a cheeseburger and a hot dog, making you laugh.

“You’re so hungry, all the time,” you mutter when she gives you a dirty look.

“I work out all the time,” she glares. She flexes her arm. “All of this takes a lot of work.”

You stare at her muscles peeking out from just under her sleeves, biting your lip as you quickly look away. She smiles brightly.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought. You love these muscles, don’t judge me.”

You make your way down the line, scanning the trays of food.

“Ooh,” Clarisse coos, “They have your fave, pretty thing.”

She scoops probably the biggest portion of mac n’ cheese you’ve ever seen in your life, slapping it onto your plate with a smile.

You gape at the now almost empty tray, remembering the still long line behind you. Hopefully there’s another one somewhere.

“Clarisse, we should save some for everyone else.”

She seems actually confused by that statement.

“Uh, yeah, no. My girl gets the best.”

“Clarisse-” but you’ve reached the end of the line and she heads off to a table. You follow her, begrudgingly, because you really do covet this mac n’ cheese like it’s ambrosia.

—-

By the time the night rolls around, you’ve retreated into the blankets of your bed, feeling much safer completely covered up. You’re supposed to be going to the bonfire- all of your siblings have come over and bugged you at least once about going, but you’ve refused them all.

Finally, all of your siblings leave in their pretty but revealing outfits- after today, you don’t think you could ever wear something like that again.

The door to your cabin creaks open.

“Y/N?”

You make a mumbled sound in the back of your throat that’s supposed to resemble “I’m here” but Clarisse is already walking over to you and pulling the blanket off of you.

“Silena told me you were staying back. Why?”

You pull the blanket back up over yourself.

“I’m jus’ tired.”

“Okay…” she says, sitting down on the bed. She puts her warm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Do you have a headache?”

“No, Clar, I’m fine.”

“I’m confused,” she huffs. “You love the bonfires. Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m just tired, Clarisse, that’s all.”

“Fine,” she says. “I can be tired too.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed with you, under the blankets, chest pressed against your back.

“I’m not good at this. You know that,” she sighs after a second. “And I wish I was. But I do know something’s wrong. And I really don’t know for the life of me what it is, but I really want to know. I really want to help you.”

She traces her fingertips up and down your arms, tracing over the silvery scar from the monster- and you involuntarily jerk away.

“Oh,” she says. She’s painfully observant. She notices everything. She notices you pulling away when she touches your scars. “Your scars.”

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

“W-when I got captured, this boy kept teasing me. And I tried not to let it bother me, I tried not to give him a reaction… but I just- what if I’m not worthy of my mother anymore? It’s embarrassing. I know. But I…”

“Who the fuck said that to you?”

She sits up, eyes blazing, like she can just imagine it and whoever hurt you will suddenly feel her wrath.

You turn around so you’re facing her, laughing.

“I don’t even know his stupid name,” you mutter.

She looks down at you, at the tears spilling from your pretty eyes.

“I’ll kill him later,” she mumbles, settling back down and kissing the corner of your cheek. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, baby. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’ve never met your mother, of course, so I can say that without getting us both struck down by doves, or something.”

You swat her chest.

“I’ll kill you with doves, watch me.”

She hums. “Probably. Okay, stop. You’re getting me off topic.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not good with my words,” she whispers. “But I hope I show you everyday that you are the only woman I have eyes for. This is, like, really embarrassing… but I’ve planned out our entire lives together. We’re gonna go to to college in Arizona by my mom, we’ll have an apartment off-campus, and after we graduate we’ll get married. I really wanna be married to you. And I don’t care if that’s cheesy, I just really want you to look at the ring I’ll give you and be able to feel all my love. Besides, if you ever want to get away from me, it’ll be a hell of a lot harder.”

“I would never wanna get away from you, Clar,” you smile. “It’s not embarrassing. I wanna go to college in Arizona. I wanna marry you.”

“Good, because you didn’t really have a choice,” she smiles.

“And you’re plenty good with your words.”

“Yeah… okay, I guess. But let me show you, too.”

“What does that even-”

She shuts you up by kissing your lips.

“I love your lips. I love how soft they are, and how they feel so perfect against me.”

She kisses your cheek.

“I like your cheeks for the same reasons.”

Your temple, your forehead, your nose.

“Same reasons,” she smiles.

Finally she ends up at your jawline. She rubs over the scar, taking concealer and foundation with the pad of her thumb.

“And I love this scar. It looks kind of like a C, so everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Freak,” you huff, and she doesn’t have to say it. You both know you love it.

She kisses your neck and talks about how she loves the way you get mad at her for leaving hickeys, the dedication you pour into covering them up before you eventually decide it’s too much effort and let them show.

She kisses the scar on your collarbone.

“I like putting my head here, right under your chin. I can feel your pulse. I can hear you swallow, too, which is weird but also soothing.”

She kisses from your shoulder and down to your arm, skimming past the scar. She kisses the back of your hand and your fingertips.

“I love it when you braid my hair, or just put your hands in my hair for… other reasons.”

“Freak,” you mumble again. “You’re just obsessed with kissing me.”

“True,” she hums, kissing back up to your scar. “I don’t have anything poetic to say about this one. It’s just fucking badass. I mean, you got it when you were 12- you survived what most have been something truly monstrous to leave a scar like this, and that’s all you get? Most of the kids here would have died. Even the ones our age. And you escaped when you were only 12.”

You smile like a lovesick fool. The apocalypse could be going on outside, and you would just be here with Clarisse.

“In conclusion, your beauty is actually life changing. I mean, have you seen me? I become a total softie, just for you. And it’s all because I like seeing that pretty smile on your gorgeous face. But you frown pretty, too, which I didn’t even know was possible- so I win either way.”

You smile and put your hand on her face, kissing her softly.

“Thank you, Clar. For always taking care of me, and reassuring me…”

“It’s quite literally my job,” she smiles. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“You don’t even trust me, Little Miss Makes-My-Plate-For-Me.”

She laughs and presses her head under your chin, her hair tickling your skin, pressing a kiss to your scar.

“It’s my job,” she smiles. “As your girlfriend and future wife.”

“I love you, Clarisse,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. Nothing can have you here. No pain, no suffering.

“I love you too,” she says. “I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.”

—-

the kid who bullied you walking around with a big ass scar on his cheek the next day 😍😍😍😍😍 no….. no clarisse did not cut him with her spear….. ofc not….

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

[oneknightstand-if]

Percy Soulmate Comments

All right, here are all the comments from the Percy Soulmate help post found here. Too many to do the normal screencap thing. Hopefully this will help for all those seeking to become Percy's soulmate (or declare they are) at first sight!

Thanks to everyone who commented.

unhell-of-the-unwise

You must be more than a cuckoo, you also need other required stats, such as pure (atleast 3), will (atleast 7), and as far as I recall, you must have 100% Sweet either on the personality you showcase outside or the one you hide.

unhell-of-the-unwise

-The pure stat can be gained by choosing “innocent” actions, if I’m right. Options can be when having a crush (obvious or hidden) on Adrian and choosing the song options in the Apocalypse topic when you talk with him during club time. One song option will have romantic lyrics, you must choose the innocent option to gain purity. Another option can be when asking Merlin in the latest update if they need to feed during the drive at the abandoned warehouse. Avoid potty mouthed responses and lustful choices, or the Lust sin. -Will is mostly options that oppose Denial, such as “I’ve always wanted to go on a apocalyptic trip!”, it also helps that some of these options also raise cuckoo levels. -The Sweet stat is easier to mesure, given that it’s visible. Obviously, choose positive responses so that it’s 100%, or if you fail to do so, choose 100% Sweet as your hidden persona.

Basically, the PC must be some sort of modern Percival. Forgot to mention, but you also must not be corrupted/possessed, the whole “pure” thing, you know.

unhell-of-the-unwise

Oh, and don’t be a coward, it’s tied to Will options so I won’t further elaborate.

unhell-of-the-unwise

According to the code, there is a hero stat, so I suppose picking the most..positive option when having the react to your backstory helps.

unhell-of-the-unwise

I bid thee farewell as I cease my mindless rambling.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Some corrections as I've 'ctrl+f'd through the code and you're mostly right. Pure is gained by: OBVIOUS SPOILERS INCOMING: Never swearing. This should actually score you enough points for the soulmate flag on its own, so long as you don't lose points. However, if you still want to curse in every language known to man, as swearing does not subtract points on its own, there are just enough points to scrounge up to still trigger the flag. In the polo route, you have to Instinctively save Pippa, and not back down even if you fail. In the the fencing route, you can get a point for giving the panhandler your spare change and by not saving Zain but by then applying pressure to the wound. After club, if you are not a Greed MC or panicking, you must go back to Help Merlin after they first appear. Next point appears during 20 questions; when the topic of God and Angels come up, you have to Believe (do not pray). If you are kidnapped by the call, trying to help your burning apartment building is another point. (There's another point opportunity sandwiched in here, but it's by vowing off all swearing, but swearing is fun!) If you don't go into the gas station, questioning whether Merlin paid for everything is a point; if you do go in, simply not taking anything is a point. If you have three points, you have enough. It's lost by being a filthy, self-centered blackguard! No stealing (names are okay)! No harming people to get ahead (don't even think about it) and 1000 poxes on you murderers out there!

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise u_hero is specifically raised in three points atm, you can commit to saving Pippa (you get the point even if you fail), passing the stat check to save Zain, or standing between Adrian and the hellhound after club. You only need one of these flags.

unhell-of-the-unwise

@unbiquitousloser Ah, I see. Thank you for the corrections.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Happy to help (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

nekoteus

@unhell-of-the-unwise The hero stat seems to be linked to succesfully saving people in club. So either chase down Pippa or knockaway the sword fragments in fencing club

randomguysayshello

Will>=7, cuckoo>=30,no corruption, don't be a coward, 1 or higher hero stat(the easy way is to rescue your clubmate), have 100 sweetness or your inner mind is sweet, have a pure stat greater than 3 (no serial killers, no pottymouths)

Quick purity guide

Polo club:- chase after enchanter moon(+1 purity), but will be removed by choice:-

★Actually, what the hell am I doing? I drop back to a sensible pace and leg Adrian attemp the rescue instead. (-1 purity)

Fence club:- choice:-

★I pause to give my loose change to a panhandler at the next intersection(+1 purity)

★ Remove my bully fencing glove and apply pressure to the area directly below the artery.(+1 purity)

★Remove my glove and clamp my hands around his neck(+1 purity)

Removed by:- ★Still i remain silent (-1 purity)

If you choose to do nothing, specifically:-

★Still I can do nothing more but stare at all this happening, If you are a cop(-1 purity)

Your Ultimate Secret:- ★Serial Killer(-1000 purity)

Hellhound chase:-

★I wonder if I can trip Adrian without slowing too much?(-1 purity)

★"Adrian we need to help M_pronoun" I,ve no idea what's going on, but feathers or not that M_man can't possibly take on that beast by M_pronounself(+1 purity)

The Tentacle Incident:- If you get molested by those disgusting tentacles, ★"Let go and save yourself!"(+1 purity)

Merlin Loredump:- If you ask a question about gods ★Still I want to believe in them (+1 purity)

Kidnapped:- (I think atleast)

★ "Isn't there anything more we can do about helping now?"(+1 purity)

★Atleast I'm not in the building (-1 purity)

★I stand up in detemination, intent on leaving this RV and returning to help at the apartment complex(+1 purity)

★Oh well. At least iw wasn't me(-1 purity)

★Perhaps this is my true nature after all. (-1 purity)

One option for killer but you are already negative purity(-1000) so what's one more

randomguysayshello

·Opinion on Merlin:- (Total -1 purity) First option:- ★My true opinion doesn't matter. Fully intend to take advantage of this situation. (No change, but unlocks the following choice):- ★I will play nice on the surface and try to manipulate Merlin(-1 purity)

·Opinion of Adrian:- (Total -1 purity) First choice:- ★My true opinion of Adrian doesn't matter. In circumstances like this, it's best to play nice to someone's face for one's own benefit.(No change but unlocks following choice):- ★That's right, I fully intend to manipulate Adrian for my own benefit

·Elevator scene(if the magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and wave it menacingly in the interloper's general direction(-1 purity)

Security guard scene(if magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and point it straight at the approaching security guard.(-1 purity)

·In the RV:-

★ I shrug and sit back down on the sofa. In the end, it has nothing to do with me.(-1 purity)

«If you haven't cursed and have a zero pothymouth variable you will get +1 purity»

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello ·Dream sequence, specifically the fight with Lancelot:- ★Never mind, fair play and the rules of engagement, I charge straight at him before the match has properly begun.(-1 purity, only if you are a lucid dreamer)

·After waking up, you decide what do with cursing in the apocalypse(at gas station):-

♦IF you haven't cursed ever (zero pottymouth):- ★As usual my mind remain pure and free of any swear words that might fit this exact situation.(+2 purity) •Every other option that indicates you will now start to curse more often reduces purity by 1 point

♦ELSE:-

•Trying to not curse entirely increases purity by 1 point.

·If you stay at the RV:-

★One never knows until they try. I attempt to hot-wire the motorhome(-1 purity)

At the end of the gas station, if you didn't go to shop or had too much fear and ran back to the RV:- ★"You paid for all this stuff right?"(+1 purity)

♦Killer option to reduce purity doesn't really matter

♠If you decide to ransack the whole store:- If purity is greater than one, Purity is set to zero, otherwise -1 purity.

♠If you take zero itmes whilst shopping(+1 purity)

♦If the RV has been sabotaged then, You will get a option to visit a shop:-

★I head off into the small attached shop to see if there's anything intresting in there(no change) ♦Pick a item or all items ★No skaes clerk.No security camera.No problem with me walking out the door with this MC_Purchase(-1 purity)

♣There's the guide done♣

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello You only need 3 purity points for one of the requirements for being Percy's soulmate, and according to the code you can still be a pottymouth and have atleast 3 purity.

[the-hinky-panda]

Boss Mare: Part VI

Catch up on the Boss Mare Series here.

Want to be added to the tag list? Just click here!

Jamie falls in love with you the day you decide you want to learn how to ride a horse. 

You tell him one evening on the back steps of the porch, over a bowl of chicken and corn soup, about the herd of donkeys your family had. How you and your sisters would help each other up onto their backs and sit there. If you were lucky, another sister would encourage it to walk along a game trail in the woods by holding a carrot or apple in front of it. Once the donkey got its treat, you all had to walk back home because without motivation, the animal refused to move. How much harder could riding a horse be?

It’s an easy day workwise; Sundays usually are. There’s no day of rest on a ranch but there are more restful days than others. The fence lines in the closest pastures need to be checked. The ride is relatively flat, the route will only take an hour at tops, and major repairs won’t be done until tomorrow. It turns into a family ride of sorts. Tate wants to “cowboy” with Kayce and John. Rip goes to take notes and make flags on sections that need to be repaired tomorrow. Jamie goes because he’d rather be on the back of a horse than in front of a computer. It’s a good opportunity to get Robin, an older mare, out of her stall and give you your chance to ride. 

That was the plan at least. Robin had other ideas. Four days in a stall has given the otherwise sedate mare some extra pep. Never having sat on the back of a horse before, you perceive the sideways bouncing trot as normal despite no one else’s horse doing that. But that is part of your charm, enjoying a new experience without an ounce of fear in it. And as he watches his father reach over and grab your reins, showing you how to manage the energetic horse, the realization of why hits Jamie right between the eyes. 

You trust them. All of them. 

There’s been enough conversation between the two of you for him to gather enough pieces of your background. You came from a very tight knit, off-grid community somewhere up near the Canadian border. He had looked into the law enforcement side and found there were a couple militias and a religious cult that would fit some of the descriptions you’ve given him of your previous life. You lacked the edge of a militia, showing far too much empathy for the horses and the wranglers, so that left the cult. A cult would also explain how you adapted so quickly to the ranch hierarchy. It’s why you so easily accept the authority of his father and Rip, follow the expectations without questioning why. He’s been keeping notes, compiling evidence towards the cult theory, and it’s left him wanting to investigate more into the group. You ran for a reason and he hasn’t asked you about it just yet. Given your easy going nature, it must be something horrific. 

“Son of a bitch-” 

Jamie looks up to see Robin has interpreted John’s dismounting of his own horse as a personal act of war and bolted along the fence line. Rip and Kayce race off after you and the horse, while John grabs Tate’s reins to keep his horse from following. Jamie moves up closer in case Tate’s horse decides to take off too but the old mare just doesn’t have it in her anymore. John comes to the same conclusion and pulls himself back up into the saddle of his own horse. 

“So much for switching horses with her.” 

Jamie’s watching you closely, expecting you to bail off at any given point and he prays you jump off away from the fence. But you don’t. You’re stuck to the saddle and showing no signs of listing off one side or the other. He wonders if you superglued your ass to the saddle. John chuckles. 

“She’s going to ride the hair off that horse.” 

Jamie laughs too. “Looks that way.” 

“See, grandson,” John points to Rip and Kayce. “When a horse runs off with someone, you don’t chase them. You bank out to the sides and then cut across to stop them. If a horse senses there’s another horse behind them running, it becomes a race. And then you got two horses running away.” 

Tate nods sagely. “That’s why we’re waiting back here. Less horses running.” 

“That’s right. Less horses running.” 

The dust is starting to settle and Robin has slowed her run down to a bouncy trot. Rip has reached you and has a hold of the reins while you’re patting the mare’s neck. He can hear your laugh all the way back to where he’s still sitting. Kayce starts cantering back to them while Rip and you follow at a slower pace. 

John glances over at Jamie before tapping Tate on the shoulder. “Tell you what, grandson, go on up there and meet your dad. Just walk now. I want to talk to your Uncle Jamie for a minute.” 

“Okay.” Tate gives his horse a quick tap and off he moves towards Kayce. 

Jamie shifts in his own saddle, feeling like he’s about to be scolded for something, what that is, he has no idea. 

“You and Lara have been spending a lot of dinners out on the back porch.” 

Jamie gives his father a side eye. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

“Have you learned anything about her?” 

“Not a whole lot. Lara’s not her real name, just one that she chose. I think she’s from a cult somewhere up near the Canadian border. I’ve asked some law enforcement contacts to look into the group a little more.” Jamie’s quiet for a moment, watching you ride back towards them. You’re smiling so brightly, cheeks flushed, and hair wild. It’s the most free you’ve ever looked and it causes something to twist in his chest but in the most pleasant way possible. “I know she’s happy here.” 

John hums. “And so are you.” 

“I’ve always been happy here.” He bites his tongue so he doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence. I never wanted to leave. 

“I like her,” John says at length. “She’s honest, hard working, and actually pleasant to be around. Bar isn’t set too high on that last one though.” 

Jamie actually laughs. “That is true.” 

“That being said, she doesn’t strike me as someone who leaves a place where she’s happy and safe. A place where she’s made a connection with someone. These people she ran from are going to come looking for her.” 

“Yeah, I thought of that. I figure the more we know, the better we can protect her.” 

“You’re going to have to protect her, son. I doubt they’ll come after us physically. If they really are a religious cult, they’re about fighting on the mental battlefield. They won’t use violence to get her back. They’ll do it on paper, legally, intellectually. You’re going to be her first line of defense.” 

Jamie nods solemnly. “I agree.” 

“She also needs to know that we all want her here, that we all will fight for her to stay here if that’s what she wants. So tonight, I want both of you at the dinner table.” 

“Dad,” Jamie shakes his head. “Beth is going to-” 

“Son, Beth hasn’t come to dinner for the entire week. You would have known that if you were at the table and not the back porch. And she won’t be there tonight.” John chuckles. “We’ll break Lara in slowly.” 

Jamie watches as you’re almost back to where he and his father are still waiting on their horses. You look even more wild closer up, so alive, so happy. So breathtakingly beautiful. He realizes it’s not about just protecting you from whoever comes looking. He has to protect you because his life will lose all color if you were to ever leave the Yellowstone. 

[birdbrainedboy]

I’m obsessed with this show and fear a hyperfixation anyways here are my thoughts on every character in the show

Edwin Paine: forever my favorite, even back before the show when I read the comics! I think it’s funny that basically every man in the show wants him? I’m intrigued by his character arc throughout the story regarding his sexuality as despite dying in 1916, he seems to have had time to slowly become more accepting of gay people (I’m guessing in part due to Charles, who is pansexual), to the point where there’s only mild internalized homophobia if at all, which just exhibits itself in him denying any possible feelings for Monty. I love how face-value and logical he is while still being a sweetheart

Charles Rowland: he has a pan flag pin on his jacket which confuses me bc can ghosts only wear clothes they would’ve worn when they were alive, or how do ghost clothes work? Because he died in 1989 and I’m near positive he didn’t wear that pin back there. Anyways I do love him but I wonder about some design choices, like the one earring (not sure why it just kinda annoys me). That was more a rant abt his design than his character, which I have nothing notable to say abt since I LOVE HIM he’s so real

Crystal Palace: sometimes she was a bit annoying the way she was trying way too hard to pry into everyone’s lives, but honestly that was just momentary annoyance since nothing could make me hate her. I love how her past was slowly revealed (as someone who already knew it from the comics) and how she came to terms with the person she used to be vs the person she is now. She’s so cool!

David the demon: honestly kind of caught me off guard at first bc the person I’m dating is named David but I actually enjoyed his character. LOVED when Crystal dealt with him in the end. He was very interesting

Niko Sasaki: I love Niko, but I have some problems with her character. First of all, I feel like ditsy anime-loving cutesy Asian girl with dyed hair is a weirdly common trope? But whatever my main issue is that it feels like characters who normalize the fetishization of gay men are so common. Like if Niko had been a guy obsessed with lesbian manga evb would be weirded out, so why is it different? If we ignore all of this tho I absolutely adore her and I’m actually praying she’s in the next season bc she was one of my favorites (esp her relationship w Edwin)

Jenny: She is so hot and cool and funny I’m in love with her

Esther: oh my god words cannot come close to describing how much I love her character. She felt powerless and weak in the past and now she’s become obsessed with making sure nobody has that power over her ever again. She was so fun and I loved her attitude! I’m sure she won’t show up next season, as she was the main antagonist of s1, and while I love her, I kind of hope she doesn’t since I think her arc was finished.

Monty: His personality was like 2020 “soft boy” who acts nice and dumb but is lowkey a manipulator. So obviously this kind of made me like ☠️ bc why is he acting like that… but I still love him to bits because he’s just a crow guys he didn’t ask to be human,, Anyways yeah his personality annoys me but also I love him so much so? It’s confusing. ITS COMPLICATED. I will cry if he’s not in s2

Kingham and Litty: I honestly thought they were annoying but I can’t lie they were so fucking funny. Every time they were on screen I laughed.

Cat King: oh my god. He is so camp. I love him. There’s honestly not much to say he is simply iconic. Love how he’s afraid to be alone so chases after other people, he’s so real AGHH I love him

Night Nurse: Ruth Connell the woman you are… 😍 she reminds me of Muriel from Good Omens, in a way, and I love her! I really hope we get to see more of her in relation to the guy in the fish, and see her get to better understand human emotions and why they choose to cling onto the human world rather than pass on!

[i-like-their-uniforms]

notes from straight after the Blur concert on 9th July Wembley (feel free to add to this in reblogs or comments):

Damon kissed graham then went and kissed Alex in cheek. Crowd said aww for both but Alex’s was louder, possibly cause the crowd had caught on by then. Graham then said ‘why did he get a bigger reaction..’

Damon braking down crying after under the west way

‘Forget that just Fucking get in with it’ before song 2 as Dave had been playing for a while and Alex’s go pro or tuner thing was taking ages to get fixed

Damon telling the story of ‘Wembley’ how Wember plotted out some of his land and ley means laid out, or something?? And how if centuries ago, eating mushrooms and stuff he might’ve dreamt this up, Wembley, and us all there.

And look at us now. Look at where we are. Damon saying look, how are we here to graham. Damon saying they were 12 and 13 at school and now they’re both still together in Wembley. And then them both doing a cute little celebration waving their arms in the air looking at each other haha

Early on, before the Wembley story, Damon asks crowd if they don’t mind if he takes a sip of his chai tea. It’s in a teacup. He gets it then drinks a bit. Graham then asks ‘can I have some chai tea?’ Suggesting it’s not tea in that cup…

Damon’s was like yeah ‘lab coat guys name’ make gray some chai tea will you, or one thing like this

Graham balancing a cup of drink beer? On his head. Damon saying bet you won’t start the song like that, go on I dare you, bet you do it’ or something. Graham goes to play to pretend to start the song off, and stops quickly and takes drink off his head

Alex with his cigarettes and hip out, classic low camera angles making him look taller than he already is

Damon’s jacket - which I’ve found is custom made for him by Fila as he couldn’t find the original

Damon shouting out all the country flags he could see. One of them, he points out a flag which I didn’t see, and saying ‘what’s this one, [mumbles some country names] Estonia? Is it Estonia? No? Oh dear I got that one wrong. I don’t know that one’ and moving into the Mexican flag. Getting mexicos one wrong at first (which is why he said muchas gracias at some point I think). Seeing Argentina flags later on and going ‘Argentiiiinnaaa’.

Damon praying on his hands and knees in thanks during a song

Damon being very emotional in general throughout

Graham throwing his guitar in the air and catching it to carry on playing until the end of the song without the guitar strap on

Damon saying ‘thank you, muchas gracias’ after a song

Lots of Damon holding crowds hands. One point he hugs a fan and she screams high pitched which gets picked up very clearly by the mic, makes the crowd laugh. He pulls away and as he walks off points to a guy a person down from her and says ‘it was you who made me cry!’ Or something. Man smiles

Graham just being a legend on guitar. Sometimes laying on the floor playing. Doing backwards rolls, throwing his guitar in the air and catching it etc

The crowd cheering for coffee and tv and from what I remember singing it especially loud. Support of grahams one sing song!

Graham walking off the first set of songs leaving the guitar on the stand making noise

Graham being cute before and after coffee and tv, saying hello into his mic before, and saying thank you after

Damon singing lovingly to graham in an emotional love-y song (and graham not looking back as he didn’t see Damon looking at him (cousin’s observation who doesn’t know much about them individually/ their friendships or which song)

Damon before Sunday Sunday saying since it’s a Sunday we have to sing this

Damon at the start of the set saying I know it’s a Sunday and Monday the worst day for majority of us is upon us but let’s just forget about Monday shall we? And the crowd cheered.

Damon at the start saying Saturday was amazing and Sundays crowd won’t beat that surely… later on saying Sundays crowd may be better.. I guess just playing with the crowd

Saying more towards the end, ‘I’m getting used to this now you know? Yeah it’s only Wembley, done this before’ or something similar, joking that he’s already over the awe of Wembley

Not the concert but as everyone was queueing in the Main Street to leave Wembley to the tube, while we were waiting to be released in smaller groups some legend security guard started to play blur music from his tannoy/megaphone for us all to listen and sing to while waiting. Was fun and very nice of him!

[textsfrombeybladers]

Majestics/Euro Team Headcanons based only on my stereotype knowledge of Europe

Robert/Ralf:

We don’t talk about where his wealth came from. We just don’t. You will be banished to the death dungeon in the basement. We also don’t talk about where the death dungeon came from. Or grandpa. We don’t talk about grandpa.

Low key a lot of fun when drunk but very picky about beer. Will only drink what he deems to be ‘good’ beer. Gets wasted during Oktoberfest then blackmails his teammates to not post pictures. Does not always work, please don’t google him.

Law abiding. The absolute most unrealistic part of G Rev is the idea of a German not immediately telling officials that a team is cheating. No way. This guy would be up in arms if he saw one of them so much as throwing the recycling in the wrong bin, which should be a crime.

Enrique/Giancarlo:

Diet consists almost exclusively of carbs. Worships olive oil almost as much as the Catholic Church. Absolutely does NOT practice what he preaches and is normally speaking to at least four women at one time. He keeps their names and identifying information in a notebook so he doesn’t get them mixed up. Thinks he has way more sex appeal than he actually does. Not a real blond.

Talks like Mario and cannot communicate if his hands are not in motion. Originally used ‘Mamma Mia’ ironically but now can’t stop. Instead of yelling when mad he just starts praying out loud in very angry Italian, teammates are past the point of questioning this.

Only wears speedos to the beach and constantly makes that everyone else’s problem. Will absolutely tan nude, though. Claims he doesn’t need sun screen because he doesn’t burn, he just tans. Told constantly that going to the beach is not the same as bathing, pretends his hygiene is worse than it actually is because he doesn’t wanna admit that he just sweats a lot. Must reapply deodorant every three hours at minimum.

Oliver/Olivier:

Chain smoker, gives his team no choice other than to deal with it. They tried making him quit once and they all decided that having him stink up the tour bus was better than dealing with Oliver going through withdrawal. He is the reason they drink but at least he has good wine. Fights with Enrique over what country ‘good wine’ comes from.

Speaks English fluently but refuses to use it when with the Americans, that’s if he acknowledges them at all. Makes snarky side comments and acts like he’s just ‘being honest’. Kid just doesn’t fucking stop, only Frenchman in the world to do the OPPOSITE of surrendering, but they still joke that his scarf is just an emergency white flag.

Brags about culinary skills, artistic skills and language skills but cannot pronounce the letter R to save his life. Sometimes says ‘Ooh la la’ but not the way one would expect. Less likely to be used in excitement and more likely to be used because Johnny left his dirty dishes in the sink.

Johnny:

Huge pet peeve of being called Johnathan. John comes from the Bible and isn’t short for anything, it’s just John ya fucks. Also won’t tolerate anyone making fun of his kilt ITS NOT A FUCKING SKIRT, ENRIQUE!

Loves battered haggis. Actually, loves anything battered. Battered and dropped in the deep fat fryer. Teammates absolutely refuse to eat anything this kid cooks or allow him to store anything in the fridge, which is saying a lot because that’s where Oliver keeps the deep fried frog legs and snails. Hisses and runs away at the idea of fruits or vegetables.

It took his team about a year to realize he was speaking English, they still can’t understand a word he says but they pretend they can. Extremely short tempered, especially when mistaken for a Brit. Will absolutely fuck your shit up if you call him British, will feel none of your attacks because he’s too drunk. Team has no idea what his personality is like sober.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 11 - Antagonists

The rogue makes a discovery.

On AO3.

Astarion’s illustrious leader is flagging. She says nothing about it—doesn’t like to complain, that one. At first he thought her silence was some silly notion of noble sacrifice. He knows the type. But after their tadpole encounter, he suspects the true reason likes in much baser instincts.

Ones he understands too well.

She’s upheld her end of their alliance. Went so far as to let him feed on her. He should probably repay that.

“Darling, I think we’ve trudged enough for the day,” he says. “I have no idea how anyone does this all the time.”

“You sure?” she says. “I think we’re in a real big cavern, now. Lots of fuck off mushrooms.”

He’s heard many stories of the Underdark—one of the few memories that survived the gaping pit that is the last two hundred years are books of Drizzt Do’urdan. He does know that mushrooms in the Underdark can mean bounty or bane.

“Are any of them glowing?” he says.

A pause. “They all are?”

He makes an amused sound. “What color, my dear.”

“Blue, mostly. Why? They ain’t gonna poison us or nothing, right?”

He’s never heard mention of blue being a bad thing. He’s also never heard of it being a good thing, either. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

He lets her go about setting up his…their? No, still his tent. Even if she will likely sleep inside it. Now that they’re out of whatever offshoot they’d landed in, there’s a greater chance of them finding the local fauna. And flora. Which, being the Underdark, can be even more dangerous.

While she busies herself, he takes a moment to un-sling his bag and rummage. He doesn’t remember sequestering away food—he has no need of it—but he tends to grab before thinking (their dear cleric still has yet to thank him for procuring her shiny, new weapon).

Alas, he finds nothing of the sort. Until his fingers brush polished wood and he remembers a box.

It’s about as long as his forearm. Less any kind of shipping crate, and more of a hinged chest. His fingers find the lock on the front, but he’s never needed to see to work his picks.

He gets to work cracking it open. He’s heard of the Zhentarim, obviously. They infest Baldur’s Gate. He’s led a few back to Cazador a time or two, but not often.. They tend to notice their own going missing, and drawing attention would end very, very badly for him.

Still, the lock falls apart easily. Like it wanted to bequeath its contents to him.

“What’cha got?”

Footsteps as his companion sidles over.

“A gift from those dreadful people we ran into when the wizard panicked,” he says.

She thinks on that a moment. “You stole it?”

He scoffs. Places a hand on his chest. “Stole implies criminal intent, darling, and they’re thieves. This was merely…reparations. For their rude behavior.”

“Jesus lord,” she says, and he wonders why she prays to a god when she seems to despise them all.

The hinges of the box are well-oiled. The chest barely whispers as he opens it, and the goods within are covered by a velvet cloth. Clearly not simple items. This was destined for a particular buyer, or to a high-end seller, at least.

“Shall we see what they were transporting?” he says, grinning and drumming his fingers on the lip of the chest.

She’s a bleeding heart in some respects, but not in this, he thinks. When she sighs, he knows he has her.

“Why not,” she says like he can’t feel the warmth radiating off of her body as she seats herself close enough to touch.

He pulls back the velvet. Finds cool metal—a chain hanging with gemstones. And something else. Magic whispers through what he’s sure is a necklace. What it is, he doesn’t know.

“That’s pretty,” his illustrious leader says.

“It’s magic.”

She makes an interested hum. “D’you know how? Like, what it does?”

He picks it up. Feels the weight on two of his fingers. It’s something light. Reminds him of the pre-dawn fog, of slipping into shadows.

“No,” he says.

A pause. Then, “Is that one of them things you think you can learn?”

He’s more useful to her if he learns magic. More useful to himself, as well.

“It’s rather difficult picking things up without any instruction, darling.”

“I thought elves had ‘proclivities?’”

This cheeky—

She’s teasing him. Honestly teasing him, her voice pitched lower, the last word with an inflection he realizes is her attempt at his own accent. And what’s more, he can hear a smile in her voice.

It’s not malicious, he thinks. She’s not really the sort. She’s fully capable of ruthlessness, possibly even cattiness, but he doesn’t think she’s aiming to hurt him. Not at all.

She’s issuing a good-natured challenge.

He digs beneath the next square of velvet the necklace sat upon to find cool, glass bottles. Potions, though he doesn’t know what kind. Something else rests beneath those, also wrapped in soft cloth.

“And what do I get if I learn this spell?” he says, adding just the right amount of tone to make implications.

To which she, predictably, bowls right over. “Aside from my respect, a cool spell to go with your new necklace?”

Ah, jewelry and flattery. She’s learning quickly.

He grabs the last thing in that chest. And as his hand closes around it, the shape registers. It could be something else—a flute or another potion or even the hilt of some long-lost, legendary weapon shattered to pieces to await the coming of some predicted, boring hero. But he doubts it, and he can feel the grin stretching over his lips hard enough to wrinkle his nose.

“Oh what the fuck,” his leader says.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You got that grin. Looks like a goddamn goblin.”

Well. Then he unwraps it, and he’s right—it’s too solid, too heavy for an instrument. It’s curiously…pliable? Then it lands on his bare palm and he cackles.

He holds a cock. Not a real one, obviously (those tend to wither and shrivel once severed). But a fake, a phallus, the kind of item one goes to a specialty atelier to procure.

“It seems our Zhentarim friends are branching out into new business ventures,” he says.

It’s a weighty thing. Most are made of metal or sometimes glass, if one can afford it. Others, cheaper ones, are made of polished wood or leather. Neither of those are particularly good for long term use, but this…this is something else. Something strange.

He squeezes and it gives. It’s about average length, slightly thicker than usual but nothing distressing. It’s got a well-shaped tip, with what he can tell are ridges of a foreskin. All of it…squishy, yet firm enough to keep shape. And it’s soft on the outside.

“Some little lordling must have paid quite the sum for this,” he says.

It’s probably the closest to a real cock he’s ever felt. Still not completely accurate, but a good attempt. It even has a velvety texture when he brushes his fingers along it.

Next to him, his illustrious leader hasn’t said a word. Poor, poor virgin.

And yet…he heard camp chatter. What she’s seen in her magical crystal square. And she was unperturbed at the horror they found in that shack, with the bugbear and the ogress. She’s seen such things. Just never experienced them before. That pathetic godling that tried to seduce her (and then drugged her, the wretched cunt) had been traipsing about cock-out and she’d had no problem.

Surely her own people make such goods. Every people make such goods—even ogres, if they can polish a tree branch well enough.

The phallus has a flat base, flared into a thick, precisely cut circle made of the same curiously pliable material. Then his fingers find carvings along that flat rim. It takes him a moment to figure out it’s some kind of…writing? Shapes he doesn’t recognize carved into the material.

“I wonder why they only have the one?” he says. “Surely something like this would sell quite well. You’d think they’d offer a selection, if someone is trying to establish a new market.”

His leader remains silent. So on a lark, Astarion gives the phallus a few pumps. It’s too dry to really have a go (what in the hells could it be made of?), but still easy to imagine how it would feel slicked up. Offer a bit of drag—

Why is she so silent? She’s been so curious about everything until now. Here he is, with a unique item he’d have sworn she’d be asking questions about at least? It can’t be maidenly shyness. Not with everything he knows about her—

A unique item. Material he’s never felt before, never even heard of. Letters he doesn’t recognize. Not from the Sword Coast. Not from Faerun.

…possibly not from Toril?

“Darling,” he lilts.

Her silence grows heavy. One might even call it belligerent.

The laugh bursts out of him. A cackle. Loud and rough and straight from his chest. His head falls back before he can recover and turn to the sound of her rapid little heartbeat.

“Oh no, darling. Oh no, you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t…” she mumbles. He can too easily visualize her chin tucked down, as if she’s trying to hide.

His lips and cheeks hurt. He can’t ever remember that happening for a laugh. This is too precious.

“Of all the things to bring with you? Dearest.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says, finally admitting it. “I’s reaching for my phone, probably.”

Her accent gets strong whenever her emotions run high. How adorable.

“Where would you keep items so important you’d try to snatch them up while being abducted in the night by mindflayers?”

She mumbles again. “Under the pillow.”

To which he laughs again. Manages to keep it mostly contained to a snicker.

“Are you sure, darling? Only, that’s awfully convenient, no? It would seem to me that our be-tentacled friends interrupted some fun. Though there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Another sullen silence. And then she opens her mouth and he knows he’s scored a point when she says, “You are the worst.”

He strokes the phallus again. Just to deepen what he imagines is her utter mortification.

“You know, I really must congratulate your taste,” he says. It even has a slit at the tip. “It’s rather realistic. All that education to make up for your lack of experience, I take it?”

She says something. He hears most of it, of course, but it’s far too delicious not to tease her. So he puts his hand up to the top of his ear and tilts his head. “Sorry, darling, didn’t catch that?”

He’s pretty sure he hears her grind her teeth. Then, “That was the point. The realism.”

“~Oh?”

For the first time in decades, Astarion prays to gods. He prays to them all. Let her continue, let her take the bait—

She sighs.

Success!

“It’s called dual-density,” she says. It translates a bit oddly, but he gets the gist of it, he thinks. “It’s…it’s made to be like that. Softer silicone—”

Whatever that is.

“—on the outside, denser on the inside. So it’s soft but not, y’know, floppy.”

“Don’t like them flopping, do you?”

“Jesus fuck, it’s a sex toy, you ass hat. I was curious. It ain’t weird.”

The item itself is not—though the texture and material is. Nor is her interest. Such items can be procured in a dozen ateliers in Baldur’s Gate itself. What makes it weird, and the more fun for him, is her defensiveness. He’s heard that some human cultures are quite…odd, when it comes to sex. And what he saw in her mind—the things chewing her up from the inside the night he tried to seduce her—makes him think her own people are like that. Restrictive busybodies. Obsessed with controlling sex for everyone, for some reason.

It seems he’s pushed this as far as he should.

“True enough,” he says.

She falls silent. He traces the strange letters. They’re very linear, and none of them run together.

“So,” she says. Pauses. Then, “Can I have it back?”

His first, honest thought is that he’d almost like to keep it himself.

But then his eyebrows shoot up. And then his laugh literally floors him. He sags back, giggling helplessly. The brazen minx! A walking contradiction, indeed!

Still snorting (one might call it wheezing), he holds the phallus out. She takes it from his clutches, huffing and muttering the whole while.

“Far be it from me, darling,” he says. Gods, he’s nearly crying. “To deny you your pleasure.”

A rustle and a click as she opens her own bag. “You are the literal Worst.”

He lets that one go unchallenged. Soon enough, his mirth dies down. He stays where he is, sprawled on the cave floor with a box full of stolen loot between his legs. Eventually, he has to sit up.

While she putters around again, he reaches for his bag. Feels around for the linen scraps and his sewing kit. He doesn’t take them out. He’ll wait until later. He only needs about half the rest she does, and he needs something to occupy his time down here (in the dark).

His leader settles nearby. Interestingly, she’s close enough—despite her outburst—that he can hand the potions over to her. Two health potions, one she describes and he recognizes as invisibility, and one neither of them can identify. The two of them fall into silence.

She lost all her food to the river. Hopefully, they aren’t too far from the others, and the next one of their merry band will have all of those camp crackers they all complain about. Until then, they sit in silence.

Until she makes a sound. It’s an aborted conversation sound. The slight smack of lips parting, but no words emerging.

“Yes?” he says.

She hesitates another moment. Then, because her mind is an absolute mystery, says. “Back on that butthole ship.”

He was in the process of cleaning and oiling his daggers. At this, he puts them both down so he can turn his head in the direction of her voice and avoid slicing a finger off. Both because of what she’s named the nautiloid (he’s not actually surprised; that’s the exact thing she’d call something and honestly, he rather thought the same). But also because a sentence that starts like that is going to demand all his attention.

“Shadowheart, Lae’zel and I, we found a lady in a pod. We kinda, uh, accidentally triggered it, and it turned her into a squidward.”

None of them have been able to decipher that last word, though they’ve all of them tried. The wizard has some theory about some minor deity or religious figure, but Astarion never bought into that. Sometimes a knife is just a knife, and a made-up word is just made-up.

“Her clothing sorta exploded,” his illustrious leader continues.

“It’s a messy process from what I hear.”

“So. Like. So what if somebody did?”

He waits for context. Receives none. Lets one eyebrow creep up into his hairline.

“What if,” she says. Makes another sound. She seems a bit…strangled. Is she distressed? “What if somebody did get nabbed? With a toy all, y’know, stuck all up in ‘em?”

The cavern falls silent as, he assumes, they both visualize that.

She breaks about the same time Astarion folds over his own lap (good thing he put those daggers away after all). It wasn’t distress in her voice at all.

“That,” he says. “Is the most demented thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Because, like. Silicone is pretty tough, huh? You can boil that thing, for fuck’s sake. So would it just, like, become part of them? Get stuck all up inside forever, like one of them stop signs that gets eaten by a tree? Do they even got junk?”

She laughs. Laughs so hard she has trouble talking. It’s a low sound, quiet, yet rather…pleasant.

He’s not sure he’s heard her do that. He’s gotten that little “hah” out of her twice by now. But this?

He can’t…think of one.

“Y-you think,” she gasps. “You think them other squidwards’d call him like, Dildo Bob forever? He goes walking around the butthole ship and, and Tim and Sally May are all ‘Ah shit, here comes Dildo Bob?’”

At which point she inhales her own spit and starts to hack. He’s not entirely sure of half of what she said, but she’s finding it hysterical, so he chortles along with her.

It’s both funny and positively horrifying.

“What a deranged creature you are,” he says.

“Oh please, Mr. ‘What you think their blood tastes like?’”

He waves a hand in her direction. “Oh, I’m not complaining. It’s a nice change.”

And he’s being…honest. He hasn’t had a single conversation in so long that wasn’t a seduction, and argument, or groveling. He feels strangely light. It’s…good, he thinks. A good feeling to sit here and think of what might happen should a mindflayer ceremorphosis with a phallus inside them. A good feeling even when the laughter stops and she falls silent and he can just…sit here, cleaning his knives.

He doesn’t have to make conversation or innuendos. She doesn’t even expect that from him. It’s not the kind of silence where he stands straight, posture perfect, knowing pain is coming, waiting for the silky voice and the mental chains of command.

He can just…be. He can sit here and do as he likes even with her nearby. Not needing anything. Not demanding anything. With no punishment coming. With his chest hurting from actual, genuine laughter.

It’s a…a relief?

And relief is bad. Relief is a trick. Relief is a sharp smile beneath glowing, red eyes, and the sound of bones clicking and the cool, stinking air of the kennels waiting for him.

“I’ll take watch, darling,” Astarion says. “Or listen, anyway. You get some sleep.”

She huffs again. “Sure?”

A putrid, dead rat on a plate, meat stinking of sour and sewage if he says yes. The kennels and a knife and his skin peeled from muscle carefully, a game to see how much can be taken in one sheet, should he say no.

He slips on an easy smile as his innards churn.

“Of course. Go on, then.”

She goes. And he’s left with naught but his thoughts and the consuming dark. So his hands find those linens and he throws himself into work.

[upontherisers]

ok listen i just think dip from this prompt list is just peak song of the summer au … dealer’s choice but that one immediately jumped out at me 😇

you're right, this is peak song of the summer. again, million apologies for taking so long. this isn't quite the premise of the prompt but i got caught in mahalia's issues.

“I don’t wanna see your tits—”

“I do,” Curt says, waving his hand in front of Will’s face in case Mahalia’s under the impression that her tits aren’t welcome at the function.

“Thank you, Curtis,” she replies, and pulls her knees into her chest with a sly, raised brow. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Veal. Last chance too, unless you’re really after that girl from Camp Taylor �� what’s her name again? Daisy? Debbie?”

Will sniffs. “Her name is Dottie and I’m not doing this with you.”

“She has a boyfriend, y’know, that redhead who broke his elbow at flag football a few years ago. That’s your competition?”

Flicking his thumb at a crack in the wooden tabletop, Will tongues at a back molar and doesn’t look at Mahalia. She’s treading into dangerous territory and she’s doing it on purpose, but he hurt her feelings when he said what he said and she doesn’t know how not to make him pay for it. One squirm, that’s what she’s looking for — at the first sign that he regrets saying anything, she’ll back off.

She takes the silence to look around the table. Buck’s twirling a toothpick in the corner of his lip, Brady’s on his phone, and Curt’s scratching his neck, avoiding eye contact; Bucky’s the only one who doesn’t look away and he’s the only one who she wants to. Those eyes betraying the storm inside his still body, the angle of his jaw as he smacks on his gum like he’s determined to out-annoy their friends. She wants to flinch at him, to remind him that she doesn’t let people stare for this long unless they have a problem, but what good would that do?

All week, he’s taken her hits with nigh Catholic-levels of repentance, other cheek turned like he’s got the text open in front of him. He still won’t tell her why he was at St. Paul’s before he picked her up from Irving Medical or how long he was there, or if he prayed. For absolution or for me? she’d wanted to ask. Instead, she let Dr. Bacon pick the story out of her like pulling teeth and say all sorts of things about guilt and being the bigger person.

Bucky wouldn’t know regret if it bit him on the nose, but the other thing she’s trying out along with a newly prescribed worldview. Actions and words, that kind of stuff.

“You should come,” she says to Will, “and show the newbies your tricks.” He gets a lot of shit for cheerleading in college; it stops once you see him pick up two counselors at once.

His eyes narrow — he’s skeptical, she gets it — but she gives him a smile that’s mostly teeth and keeps her mouth shut. She still has other things to say to him, like I’m sorry I stopped calling back, this is me trying, and the Sisyphus comparison wasn’t really necessary, was it? but it doesn’t seem like the time. After a moment, he nods and now she can log onto her Zoom session with Dr. Bacon tomorrow and tell him all about her self-reflection skills and get a good grade in therapy. Just don’t ask how I’m sleeping.

Well, enough about her! “What about you, Egan? You comin’?”

“Is Hazel gonna be there?”

“Jack should beat your ass for that,” she says, and he nods in sober agreement as Buck chuffs with amusement and Curt marvels at the gall. 

“For what?” Cros asks as he plops a tray down at her elbow, Rosie sitting next to him.

Brady perks up from his slouch, tucking his phone and hands into the front pocket of his lifeguard hoodie. “It’s Penny Pond Night.”

Cros’ fork stops halfway to his mouth and sends grains of rice all over his plate. Rice with a fork, really?  “Tonight?”

“What’s tonight? asks Rosie.

Curt waves him off. “It’s a senior counselor thing.”

“We can still explain it to the man,” Buck says, and as Brady and Bucky answer Rosie’s questions — a few counselors from the otherside of the lake, a small party, a five minute walk, about nine o’clock, who knows, bro — Mahalia picks at her lunch. It’s lukewarm now and she’d be such an asshole to go into the kitchen for the microwave in the middle of service, but her appetite at present shrinks as she scrapes the wet breading off her chicken patty and nibbles at the meat. The watery ketchup does nothing to help.

Why does she have to work on everything at once? Why must it be leg and mind and hunger instead of first, second, third? That way, she can deal with the message from Bucky burning through her phone screen where it’s tucked against her thigh in her bike shorts without having to remember to take her meds with breakfast. It would be so nice to have a summer focused on food before she has to check-in about it with her shrink every week, and Bobbie might have a breakdown but Mahalia needs to heat this or it’s not getting eaten and—

A foot knocks hers under the table. As Brady rises, a bowl slides across the space his tray had previously occupied, coming to a stop next to Mahalia’s Powerade with a final push. It’s fruit, strawberries and green grapes unsullied by cantaloupe or — God forbid — honeydew. Bucky’s looking at her when she glances up from sorting out her remaining edible fries, and he tilts his head at the bowl. The foot knocks into hers again and she wants to tell him to cut it out, she wants to thank him.

Brady’s back soon enough with a brownie wrapped up for later, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and a plate with a steaming hot chicken patty, a slice of cheddar cheese, and a hamburger bun on the side, which he hands to her without breaking stride as he re-enters the conversation. Bucky nods at him, thank you; he shrugs his shoulders, no problem.

She pops a grape into her mouth and thinks of guilt and churches.

[montrealmadison]

congrats on 400!! for the efickegster:

bitty, 56, and his underappreciated daddy issues if it fits

(ao3 is just appala)

thank you for this prompt i've cried seven times thinking about it. the plotline of this fic, as well as these versions of Jack and Bitty's kids, originated in this piece i wrote in december. this will make the most sense if you've read that one but is still a standalone work. ❤️

56. Bitty + Coach + Pluto by Jake Wesley Rogers for @appalamutte

I think of my mom She loves me no matter what And that really fucks me up Maybe at the end of the day You and me are both the same We just wanna be loved We just wanna be loved

Bitty’s least favorite dream opens like this.

Alarm. Seven in the morning; he’s late for practice. He wonders why Jack hasn’t banged on his door or come in to drag him out of bed. He tries to get up, but his legs won’t listen to him. Someone else’s feet are attached, clumsy and far away. The ice is cold and his head hurts, bad, and Jack and Coach Hall are talking at him fast. Bittle, hey son, are you alright, come on, Bitty, say something, please. 

Hot, hot afternoon; Bitty wakes up on the ground, fine tremble in his limbs. There’s flat blue sky above him, air everywhere but his lungs. The whistle blows and, from behind him, there’s laughter. Flag on the play. 

In the distance is the sound of snapping plastic. Bitty is tiny, powerless. All he can do is pray for everything to be over. The laughter intensifies, and the pain with it. He’ll be safe with Mama if he can just get off the field. He wills himself upright and the blankets fall off of him. 

Alarm. Time no longer has meaning; Bitty is in his own bed, in his own house, and Jack’s hands are so, so gentle on his cheeks. Bits, he’s saying, over the sound of his phone going off. Bud, you’re alright, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I forgot to—

The problem with bad dreams is that they always have a good chance to be real. Scared, weak, tiny once again; Bitty can’t help it. He starts to cry.

read on ao3 | request a fic here

[ctl-yuejie]

ramblings on Li Ming (and Heart) and homosexuality

moonlight chicken has so many things to offer in terms of technical beauty and interesting themes but what i cannot stop thinking about is the different ways they approach homosexuality in the story.

we have Wen who has a rainbow flag on his desk and pictures of him and Alan on the wall. Wen, who openly flirts with Jim and has no qualms talking openly about his one night stand. Wen, whose step father knows about his sexuality and is close enough with him to discuss his love life.

Kaipa we don’t know too much about. But his mom knows and is supportive and some of the vendors and the chicken family seem to know. But if anyone was questioning in what reality this show is set with all the class discussion and corona featuring, his part of the story shows that homophobia exists and he is worried about how he fits in with his own family, the expectations of his mother and possible the awareness that he makes the family he has “different”.

Jim is arguably even more visibly gay than Wen in terms of what we see throughout the show. He opened the shop with his ex, they prayed at the temple together and even though he objected due to proprities sake eventually they loudly declared their love to each other and the whole neighbourhood knows. Wen somehow feels like he is living in the remnants of a bubble: his circle of friends seems very queer, his closest friend and the whole gym seem to be all part of that as well. This only might change now with him questioning his work and breaking up with Alan: some gatherings he won’t attend anymore apparently.

And finally, we have Li Ming. At school he doesn’t seem to open up to his classmates on most things and additionally is in the closet. While there wasn’t anything alluding to homophobic rethoric being spread at school we can see how the heteronormativity gets to him and feel that there must be good reason as to why no one knows. And it could just be how Li Ming is judging the situation based on vibes, we don’t know. His mother is or at least was homophobic but at the same time he is raised by his gay uncle who is surrounded by other gay people. And I love how it feels like this might have given him enough security to be comfortable with his own sexuality but how it also isn’t enough to shield him from the world at large.

With so many great shows coming out of Thailand and most of them getting more and more political it just feels so real and 2023 to me that Li Ming is part of a generation that knows who they are but still have to battle with the shadow that homophobia has cast way before they were born.

[sharkwing]

(Praying that this won’t get flagged for copyright but there’s really no better way to show what I’m reacting to here)

Honestly I can’t even blame Doc for his outburst here. Who hasn’t wanted to throw a healthcare provider across the room for saying “maybe the pain is in your head?” He lost an arm, for god’s sake!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twelve (Part 4)

Sometime before midnight Dean finally shows up with three guys from work and the moment I look at him my stomach drops. He’s so far from sober that I’m surprised they even let him in, and the look on his face strikes me as absolutely insane. 

“Who’s that?” Claire says with alarm. 

“Dean Cullen.” I reply. 

“He doesn’t look well.” And he really doesn’t. He’s got that grey, sweaty sheen on his skin that I’ve only ever seen once before and it was on Jen that time I met her at the cocktail bar. When he spots me across the room and raises a limp hand in salute, I find myself wanting to run away from him.

“Birthday girl.” He says, and I watch in dumb horror as he approaches our table. I do a quick evaluation of the others, Jen apprehensive, Claire surprised and Shane, eyes wide in disbelief and disgust as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I immediately feel ashamed of Dean. He slumps into the seat next to me, rubs his nose vigorously and obnoxiously and then drapes an arm around my shoulders. His breath is like pure undiluted alcohol. I’ve never seen him this drunk, even after half a dozen vodka tonics it’s never been like this. “Hun.” He says. “I got you a gift.”

“Oh, did you? That’s so nice.” I say nervously, glancing again at Shane who’s looking at him like he’s something sticky he found on the sole of his shoe, lips twitching and eyes flickering with a thousand disgusted thoughts all at once. I pray that he won’t say anything.

Dean pulls a big bottle of expensive whiskey out of his coat and hands it to me. The first thing I notice is that it has a huge sticker on the side that says Primo. 

“Oh,” I say, “Thank you. But did you… did you just steal this from work?”

“Yep. But I’ll replace it. It’s fine.”

“Oh right, well, if you’re sure you can, um, yeah, I mean, thank you.”

“Yeah yeah it’s grand I’ll just…” The rest of his sentence is incoherent so I ask him to repeat himself. “I said it’s grand I’ll just get another one, that’s what I said.” He wiggles his earlobe at me. “Listen.”

“I don’t want to take it if it’s going to get you into trouble.”

“No no no, nobody is going to care, I swear.” He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Evie, it’s fine I swear.”

“Yeah I believe you.” I say and cough out an awkward laugh, glancing at my friends. 

He sighs and leans back heavily in his seat, sniffing and rubbing his nose with the side of his hand again. “I have to go to the toilet. Where’s the toilet.”

“Um, over there.” I point him to the clearly marked door across the room and he gets up and stumbles towards it, almost tipping a chair over as he goes only someone puts their hand on the seat to stop it.

There is a long pause at the table when he’s gone. 

“Alright who the fuck was that.” Shane says eventually in a loud, irritated voice that he doesn’t use a lot. It frightens me just a little bit and I sink into my chair. “Dean Cullen.” I squeak

“Your man from the drawing classes?” 

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hate him. Do you not? Why is he here?”

“We’re actually friends now.” I admit. “He’s not so bad, I think he’s just had a bit too much to drink tonight.”

Jen and Claire look at each other and say nothing. 

“And he had his hands all over you.” Shane goes on.

I blush. I never told a soul about how Dean and I have been… hanging out and kissing, and now I fear that his drunken, hands-on approach to me has given the game away. “He’s just drunk, he’s not usually like that, I’d say he just got a bit handsy without meaning to.”

“He doesn’t even seem your age. How old is he?”

I clear my throat, feeling like something invisible is tightening around it. “Twenty four. He’s twenty four.”

“Well what in God’s name is a twenty four year old doing hanging around a load of nineteen year olds?” He demands.

“What? We’re all adults, it doesn’t matter.”

“He should be hanging around women his own age.”

Jen finally chimes in. “He’s right, Evie. Usually when a guy hangs around younger girls like that it’s kind of a red flag. Like, you have to ask yourself why girls his age aren’t interested in him.”

“It’s because he’s in our year.” I say with exasperation. “He’d be hanging around people his age if there were any in our college class, but there aren’t. We’re all nineteen so he hasn’t got a choice.”

“He has a choice.” Shane says, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

“You actually both seem really judgemental.” I say, trying to sound as level headed as I can. “And honestly, you’re freaking out over nothing.” I look at Claire to see if she’ll support me on this but her eyes are on the table, so I just barrel on without her. “And I can handle him, he’s just a normal guy, no different to any of us.”

“Except the six years he’s been an adult, as opposed to the three hundred and sixty four days that you’ve been.”

I scoff.

“When he was eighteen, Evie, you were twelve.”

“Am I meant to be shocked? I can count. It doesn’t matter. We’re only friends anyway, you’re acting like I’m sleeping with him.”

Shane opens his mouth as if to say something else but then decides against it. He sighs and shakes his head in defeat. “Right, well, okay, whatever you want to do. I’m going to get another round of pints for the table, so-” He starts to get up but I stand up first. “No, I will. I’ll get it for you. You can all stay here.” 

Prev // Next

[kadextra]

after my previous post, I decided to read ahead of the manhwa now bc I can’t wait!!! and I kinda feel like writing down some liveblog thoughts here while doing it :D

here we go, starting from chapter 184

[ MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!! DO NOT CLICK if you haven’t ever read before. I’m so serious its a lot of spoilers. pls just ignore this and scroll on ]

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ummm dokja saying “oh this scenario will be fine! don’t worry i’m prepared this will be problem-free & so very easy haha :)” + getting all emotional about his friends is setting off my red flag senses so hard. dokja you still have the fate message praying on your downfall….

dokja I’m scared. Dokja I Don’t Like This

ah. hah. the demon king guy is literally dead on the floor 🧍awesome

damn I knew this couldn’t be trusted and some plot twist would happen it was never going to be that simple. someone has to take the position now. I hate you nebulaes how about you catch these hands

OH NO JOONGHYUK?? YOU STUPID IDIOT STOP

my boys are fighting o(-(

yo wait turns out the world won’t reset even if he regresses??? but still :( he won’t be able to see this to the end and will get stuck back in the loop :(( joonghyuk has changed so much from the start and I’ve grown to like him a lot he doesn’t deserve this I’ll cry

OF COURSE DOKJA GONNA SACRIFICE HIMSELF INSTEAD. ITS HIS FAVORITE HOBBY!

dokja’s self reflection of how the reason he survived all the tragedies in his life is bc of TWSA & watching how joonghyuk never gave up…. the whole “it’s because you saved me so now it’s my turn to save you” from a person directed to their favorite character and their favorite story which was their life companion…. honestly I don’t quite have words to describe the way these lines make me feel. it’s just profound and deeply relatable

gilyoung my poor son he doesn’t want his hyung to die 😭

sighs it’s too late. at least demon king dokja looks cool…. now the wings fanart I’ve seen in passing makes sense…..

he’s a goner

I am going to be completely honest. I genuinely expected to be reading more of an epic shounen-style final battle where he uses all the cool corrupted demon powers and maybe goes a little wacky because that’s usually what happens in stories when the protagonist unlocks an evil power and has to fight his friends. NOT THIS????????

the situation has zero hope and he is just standing there one sidedly taking hits from his friends who are forced to kill him. while guiding them on how to do it. smiling and offering them words of encouragement. this is so devastating I feel sick

URIEL MY BABY seeing her cry is the worst it’s torture

of course his stigma is called sacrificial will

STOP

THAT ARTWORK

THEY ARE HIS LOVED FAMILY…… HE LOVES THEM ALL N JOONGHYUK WAS YHR PERSON HE LOVED MOST I CALLED IT I want to hit something

im full on crying now

all the constellations messages of they don’t wish for his death I’m not strong enough

reading this feels like getting ripped apart limb by limb

NO WAY THE FVGTIFJFJCKN HELD BY THE NECK THING RETURNS A THIRD TIME LIKE THIS??? STOOOPPPPPPPP

uriel T-T

he died

demon king of salvation

need to just lay here for a bit

ok I’m back joonghyuk is disassociating from the grief. relatable

“What if Yoo Joonghyuk went back and there was no Kim Dokja? or what if Kim Dokja never acted like this again? Yoo Joonghyuk was afraid of something for the first time.”

“He met Kim Dokja in his third regression and they became companions. Then he lost Kim Dokja”

he cares for him so much

a scenario without dokja.

whag did I just read

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UGH that was so good. emotional damage was an understatement now I get why ppl were warning me

why did I decide to do this in the middle of the night…. I need to stop now I’m tired but how am I going to sleep? im haunted with thoughts

it’ll take a bit longer for the manhwa to adapt this part but I’m honestly really glad I continued reading and got to imagine it all myself in detail first- it hit so hard. I’ll let it sit and take a few days break before I continue. excited to see how they adapt it into drawings and cry all over again cause this wound ain’t healing for a while

I have the need to recommend this story to all my friends and family

oh right!!!!

the other day I went through youtube animatics & saved some that I could watch when finishing certain chapters into a note (thank goodness most put a warning of when to watch in the first few seconds!)

since I finished 188, I get to watch this one :D

I just watched it

I cry myself to sleep