#single can of fruit... yeah that's a fucking plan

[imistyou2]

Nipple piercings. c.sb

pairing: sub!Soobin x Noona!reader

warnings: nsfw under the cut. boobie worshipping. unrealistic piercing healing time I know yall but #forthesakeoftheplot um ya that's about it soobin juss luvvvs yo titties hahaha. Gyu cameo as alwaysss

summary: Soobin is sweet and simple as vanilla and you're like a bottle of hot sauce! To spice up your sex life, his dear dear Noonim surprises him with nipple piercings.

This is part 2.2, you can read it as a stand-alone too

series masterlist

-

Soobin's never been much of an experimental man. He likes to keep things simple and follow a routine. He's been contempt of that too, he likes to think. It is rather easy to figure out that the younger man likes to stay in his little bubble of soobin-ism.

Eat, play games, and talk to friends, now a new addition is hanging out with his noona dearest and then sleeping. Simple, clean, and neat.

This pattern is reflected in many aspects of his life, including his sex life. In the many months you have been involved with Soobin, you've taken note of his quirks. How his body trembles when he's about to climax, what overstimulates him enough to cry, that he has an oral fixation (with your tit's specifically) and so on and so forth.

It always brings in great pleasure to 'make love' (a replacement for using "fuck" since he apparently doesn't like using that) with him but who are you if not trying to rile up the pliant man till he weeps at your mercy?

So, you've been devising, and planning! You even startled yourself with how much effort you were secretly putting into getting to know about Soobin's kinks and preferences. Yes, the sex was exceptionally good but it was very much vanilla ice cream! A classic for sure but could be spruced up. Stumbling on his Twitter by accident was what you considered to be a sign from God himself that you need to do something to take it to the next level.

It was no surprise Choi Soobin is a boob man, he might as well have a huge poster hung up on his walls saying "I LOVE TIDDIES" or something. This man did NOT play about boobs. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday- call him jungkook the way he was gonna be loving that thang seven days a week. He was serious about worshipping your breasts like they were sent by a messiah to unlock spiritual awakening.

And so it happened, for the past 3 weeks you have been avoiding getting down and dirty with him. Instead, the time was passed with Cafe dates and late-night movie marathons. The lack of dick was slowly getting to you but you persevered none the less. Some quote about the fruits of your labor or something but instead it was his reaction.

Soobin returned back to his dorm after a long day, not even flinching when he see's you laying on his bed reading one his mangas.

"Hey Soobs, how was class?"

"Ugh, don't get me started, Noona. My TA is the biggest B-word ever! This internship is not easy."

"She's a bitch?"

"Yeah, thats what I said."

"No, you said b-word!"

"You know I don't like to cuss at women like that...", you giggle as you get up from the bed, swinging your arms around his neck to pull him in. "Okay Mr. Nice Guy, what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Maybe watch Jujutsu Kai-"

"I have a better idea. How about we have some fun...?" You say, spreading your legs ever so slightly to reveal your exposed thigh.

His eyes widen tenfold, head darted up with excitement, "Really! I'm thinking we play League of Lege-"

You roll your eyes, pushing him off of you, he lands softly to your side on the bed. "No- baby, fun!"

He looks blankly at you, not a single thought rummaging his mind. "You wanna get food or something, Noona..?"

Losing patience, you grab his hand folding the sleeves up to his elbow. You bite your lips with a smirk, he looked the best in white shirts for sure. You take his hand and guide it under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your bralette. Something small pokes through but Soobin doesn't say much. His attention was stolen away the moment you took his hand. "I wanna do this kind of fun. Soobie...don't you wanna make you noona have fun? Hm?"

He gulps, Adam's apple bobbing deliciously, nodding.

"Take my bra off, will you?"

"Yes, Noona!"

He struggles a little with the hook of your bra, you honestly don't blame him since you're without a bra around 90% of the time with him. He noted that today was one of the rare days you wore a bra. Once the bra finally came off, the cold air conditioning of his room hit your breasts, perking them up even more.

Suddenly, Soobin jerks back with a muffled gasp. A finger raising slowly, one hand cupped in shock, he points at the two barbell rods that are sliding through your nipples. On the two sides are heart-shaped gems. Soobin peers closer, almost in a cautionary way, and as his eyes narrow in on the gems, he can make out a distinct S letter in each of them. He blinks twice.

Your heart speeds up in anticipation, his facial expression unrecognizable. "S-surprise...?"

"Y-you got them pierced?"

"Yeah... Do you not like it? I thought you liked pierc-" Your expression drops.

"Mmmph-" he kisses you deeply, a soulful exchange. His fingers dig into the sides of your waist, rubbing circles. "I love it-I love it- Noona, how did you even know?"

You chuckle, relieved. "Hm..just have my ways!"

He raises his brow. "Okay fine, I asked Beomgyu for your twitter and basically did a little stalking from there."

His lips curl into an adorable smile as he pecks your lips again.

"C-can I.. Y'know... touch?"

"You can do alot more just touch, Soobie."

"Really? Do they hurt? I don't wanna hurt you, Noona."

"Aw, my baby. Always worrying for me. They're almost healed. You can have it, just be gentle." your fingers twirl around your nipples a little, hissing slightly.

"No, Noona that looks like it hurts..."

"I like the pain hehe." He has a scandalous look on his face before finally giving a kitten lick to your hardened nipples. He looks intensely at the gems. "What does the S stand for?"

Your eyes look away, face turning slightly red. "What the fuck do you think it means?" you yell out, a lot more aggressive than you had intended.

"I-I I didn't wanna assume.."

"Sorry, yeah no, um, wanted to surprise you Soobin. Do you like your initial on me?"

Soobin will melt. Fuck, he wants to turn into putty. He has more important things to focus on right now, your tits to be specific. "Noona...they're beautiful." His fingers pinch on a nipple very softly, you whimper as the bundle of nerves get played with again and again. The piercing has started to heal pretty soon but it still felt a little raw and fresh.

Soobin's pink tongue flashed as he licked meticulously all around your breasts, from the sides to the piercing. The cool metal hit his tongue and he will not deny that it was weirdly satisfying especially when contrasted with your warm body.

He is still yet to suck on your nipples, you can tell he's nervous to do so since the piercing is still so new. The sting of pain is there but it transforms into pleasure when you see it's Soobin who is doing all these things to you.

You never really thought you'd get turned on by pain but I guess you live and learn, Soobin definitely is.

The very obvious tent in his pants was an indicator of how much he really liked these piercings. "Fuck, so good yeah, good job baby, making noona feel so good. You like making me feel good?"

He looks up from in between your breasts and nods before continuing. He could spend hours on end here if you let him.

"Noona I could be here the whole day just making you feel good. I love you...r tits noona!" Your eyes roll back in pleasure and pain, whimpers coming out.

He slowly backed up, a thin layer of sweat covering his face, eyes admiring your breasts once more. You look down and gasp at what you see. Red and blue bruises everywhere, littered throughout the expanse of your chest. "Soobin! I told you to go easy on that"

He smiles sheepishly, scratching his neck in feigning innocence. "You know I can't stop myself with you Noona.." he nudges you playfully.

Oh he wants to play dirty, you'll show him dirty.

"You're on Choi Soobin. I'll make sure you leave this room crying." you claw at his sweatpants.

"AH!"

Outside, in the living room, Beomgyu sits with a stoic face, dark circles, and some noise-canceling headphones which don't seem to really cancel much noise at all, wishing that you guys gave him a heads up so that he didn't have to spend his whole afternoon listening to you two canoodle and do the dirty.

"fuck my life."

-

a/n: uneditied

hiiiiiii my pookies

a lil surpise chapter cuz ive been feeling extra good lately and my school work is going well. that being said, part 3 will be out in feb so stay tuned ill tag the people who wanted to be in the taglist from part 3 as well.

stay sexyyyy

[buckyalpine]

Here is a list of things that make me mad in no particular order. Angry ranting. Pls ignore this, I'm just screaming into the void. These example apply to very specific situations I've encountered with people who are perfectly capable of doing better.

People who lack common sense. Social awareness. Common courtesy. Saying "Oh my God, I'd never do that" when they've never been even close to said situation but they're now experts on how they'd act while sitting on their pristine Thoroughbred horse, sipping on English tea with their pink so high it may as well be in their nose.

People who say "Well I wouldn't care if it happened to me" or "I'm just being honest" when you point out something they did/said.

When autocorrect/spellcheck decides it cannot for the life of it figure out what you're trying to spell OR it gives you suggestions for every word under the sun except the one you want. All you did was leave out a single letter with the rest of it spelled perfectly and spellcheck decides to go into a coma. So you fix the mistake and the little squiggly red line goes away. Fuck you.

Gnats. WTF is you're problem. I've Googled this shit cause I want to know why tf you can't just fly straight, why do you have to buzz all over the damn place near my head of all places.

Flies. Same thing as above. Why tf can't you just fly straight. WHY NEAR MY EAR. You have the entire world and you decided my room is the place to be? And now we're both miserable because you keep hitting yourself against the window after noticing your grave mistake. I leave the door wide open but you want to keep body slamming the glass.

Giving me life advice on something you know nothing about.

People who don't love their pets. Yeah, you take care of them but you do it as a chore and then complain about it. Those little fur babies deserve it all, give them the best or don't have pets at all.

Holier than thou attitude.

People who laugh at those who are visibly upset and tell them they're being too sensitive.

Allergies. IDK Why tf my body acts surprised as hell every single spring. It's just fucking pollen. Why are you trying to fight it. Do you understand that in your brilliant plan to try and fight the little evaders you actually make me want to end it all because my nose is itching and my eyes are watering and I can't breathe. Food allergies are another level of bullshit. I'll never forget the day this one girl tells me she wished she had allergies? Like it makes you special, mf what??? She was being serious too.

Thin, straight, fine black hair. Can't do anything with it. It doesn't hold hairstyles, doesn't curly, gets heavy as soon as you use any product and 90% of the time it just looks like Snape cosplay. Ask me how I know

Parents who buy their very young children shoes with laces. This is inconvenient for all of us. why tf would you do this when Velcro exists. Your 4 year old doesn't need laces when they have no clue how to even eat cheese with their crackers, mf why did you buy this shoe for them?!

Bananas. Hate them with a burning passion. The smell. The texture. I hate the peel is left out and about like it isn't making the entire room smell. Don't even get me started on banana breath. (Keep in mind this is not me saying I think they're gross. I wish I liked them because they're a super convenient snack and very healthy)

People who lie and say you can't taste the banana in a smoothie. Yes, I can. You always can. You can have 1000lbs of any fruits and that single banana will still stand out.

People who don't understand mental illness/ act ignorantly to those suffering.

Big companies who ask you to donate to stuff. You're going to use this as a tax write off, stfu.

Inflation.

People who laugh at others for not knowing something. Maybe that thing had 0 relevance to their life. Maybe they learned about that because they were taught something else. Either way, how is it funny.

People who laugh at those learning a new language. You're the fucking worst. They are LEARNING. Let them get used to the pronunciation, let them get accustomed to sentence structures, let them make mistakes without being embarrassed. You're the embarrassing one cackling you're damn ass off while they're trying to do something new. You're discouraging them from wanting to continue because you feel the need to be an asshole.

People who make everything a serious debate/conversation.

People who steal. Not out of necessity but just because they can. I'll never forget overhearing this group of kids in my high school bragging and laughing their asses off over how much candy they stole from other kids. They also stole phones. These were not troubled kids mind you, they were doing this for shits and giggles.

Eczema. So fucking itchy, why can't skin just act right. It feels awful, looks awful and just comes and goes as it pleases.

People who clown you for who you find attractive. Why. If I find this person attractive, what in the ever loving flying fuck does it have to do with you. It's just so unnecessarily rude. I don't even get how its funny or why you find it okay to call someone ugly as if this is something they personally have control over.

I'm going to add more to this list.

[lara4eclipze]

“Better than me?”

sypnosis; "she was cute you know?" Megan chimes , "oh so she's better than me?" the older replied snarkly

cw; smut , mean Dom Sophia, sub Megan , fuckbuddies , sorta toxic , recent fics flopping 😔... , might be my last smut for this month cuz I'm planning out a smau....(still not sure tho) , short maybe less than 1k words!

being in a girl group was fun and enjoyable I mean you get to meet thousands of people who love and support you , the downside was freedom

ever since becoming a part of katseye every single member had been personally talked to about the rules and what the contract inscript

no dating , no posts on social media without managers looking thru them , no wearing clothes that were not yet approved by management and the list goes on

it was hard — they were teenagers and obviously they also had feelings , yet to protect their image they had to not date publicly..

—★

resulting in members being in relationships with each other it started with lara and manon — at first it was them being close to each other , suggestive jokes until they got caught kissing each other whilst in manon's room

but megan didn't want a relationship, it was exhausting , combat that with training and constant changes of schedule it wasn't gonna work

but when times like this was happening she couldn't help it , imagine seeing your members be touchy and feeling up to each other— especially sophia god damn that woman

she always held megan close the way her hands wrapped around the younger's waist has her subconsciously pressing her thighs together — the way her fingers trace Megan's tummy and her plump lips that was like a forbidden fruit

—★

"I dunno maybe you should ask her" dani responds to the ginger

"but I don't think she'll approve of that!—i mean how am I gonna ask that?" megan says her voice was like a scream

"you never know.." dani says standing up form the beanbag on the floor to walk out the room

now left with her thoughts and prayers megan decided it's now or never

—★

knocking on the leaders door megan enters greeted by sophia organizing her stickers

"hey" she softly greeted

"hi baby what do you need?" the older replied

fuck,her hands got sweaty , her heartbeat going so fast it probably will explode — calm down you want her to know this right?

"so you know uh- lara and uhm manon right?" Megan stammered

"what about them?" sophia replied her eyebrows raising out of pure concern

"and you know they kinda started as fuck... buddies?— well I was wondering if we can uhm"

"oh you want that with me?"

"yes..?" megan closes her eyes only to feel Sophias hands on her jaw

"okay—if that's what you really want" sophia nods at her kissing her cheeks

—★

and thats how it started — as ashamed megan felt for even asking that or thinking about it she's happy that she tried

yet something will always go wrong , sophia was very possessive over megan , ever since the agreement, she would practically pry off Megan off any other member when they were being clingy or even just talking

—★

NYC was a big city , with loads of interesting places to go to , so the girls decided to go out and have fun

I mean they did have a comeback soon so they atleast had to rest and have fun before that

spotting an ice cream shop yoonchae excitedly told the rest of the girls whom all agreed on having ice cream

"I want choco chip!" yoonchae exclaims

"we'll have a rocky road" manon says signaling to her and lara

"I would like strawberry please" dani grins

"and you megan?" sophia asks as she listed down all the orders in her notes app

"do they have caramel?" megan asks , as she looks at the leader

"yeah , okay sit down I'll order" sophia says to which the girls follow sitting down on the corner booth if the store

"would that be all?" the cashier asks

"yes! and maybe extra tissues aswell" the leader nods and smiles

—★

as their order number got called megan volunteered to get the ice cream, she earned nods from the members

"thank you so much" megan smiles her dimples showing

the cashier was smooth with it she didn't even know how it happened but now she was giving her number to her

"you're really pretty!—maybe we can talk more I guess you have to go right?" the cashier says

"oh definitely!—heres my number" megan says blushing, she shows her phone

as she walk back to the table she couldn't even pretend not to notice sophia staring at her , her brows furrowed

"ooh what was that Megan" daniela teases

"I dunno — she just asked for my number" megan shrugs , as the other members continue teasing her

"and you gave your number to her?" the leader cuts

"yeah?—i mean she's cute" megan says , skeptical about the leaders reaction

—★

as the girls wind down in the dorms megan had this nagging feeling of something will go wrong—sophia has been off ever since the ice cream shop

was it because of the cashier?—or maybe she's too naive how deep sophia's possessiveness goes for her

deciding to know megan knocks on the leaders door , only for the door to open right away with sophia pulling her in

—★

"what was that about" sophia starts her voice was authoritative , stern and not anything like normal

"what was what?" megan replies confused

"oh you know damn well—why would you give your number to her?" sophia snaps

"shes cute you know?" megan replies, she wanted a reaction out of the older — and she was gonna get it

"oh so she's better than me?" the older replied snarkly

the olders eyes blazed , megan gulps — barely processing it sophia already had her pinned against the wall roughly making out with her

the older bit megan's lips for access, which she granted after whimpering

"you're mine fuckin remember that" she spits out as her hands tighten around megan's neck causing the younger to see stars

she continues her rough handling and removes megan's clothes pinching the younger breasts , she does the same to herself shedding off her clothing and leading them to bed

sophia grabs a scarf and ties it around megan's hands keeping her immobile

"so pretty for me" sophia says her long nails trailing around the youngers stomach down to her thighs

she stands up and walks to her closet pulling out her strap

oh fuck

sophia straps it in , seeing how megan dripped onto the bed, clenching on air as she waits for what's next

sophia walks back kissing down the youngers face , her fingers on megan's clit stimulating her before pushing in the whole length of the strap in megan

"fuck!" megan whines her legs wrapping around sophia urging the older to go faster and she did pounding into Megan like her life depended on it

"you like that whore?" sophia says in between her gasps and groans

"mhm-ye-yes!" megan replies as tears fell onto her cheeks due to pleasure

"your cunt so fucking desperate huh?" sophia says , as she felt megan tighten around her

megan didn't know and didn't care either way she felt so good

"close!" megan screams , as her orgasm crashes on her , her legs getting weak and her heartbeat going slower

afterwards sophia pulls out with a wet sound , her hands untying megan's

"I love you" sophia whispers as megan's eyes fluttered close

"I love you too" megan mumurs

[moonspirit]

Hi Moon :3

What do you think of AruAni bakery date?

Like where Armin just takes Annie out to lunch in the tiniest pastry shop in town?

Fluff will 100% ensue!

🥲

Nevermind fluff, I think Armin's gonna get poisoned by too much sugar.

Because come the fuck on, what is a bakery date if he isn't being a lovey-dovey boyfriend and accepting cutesy-sized bites of cake and pudding from his very excited girlfriend?! Like, that's tHE boyfriend dream!

(half of the reason he's taking Annie to this bakery because she'll love it, the other half is because he's excited to be romantically spoonfed)

It goes well! They're cuter than the icing on the display cakes! They get a tiny table by a corner where Armin can coax Annie into cuddling close as she orders off the menu. And can you imagine the look on HER face?! It's the girl's DREAM. He's even telling her to get whatever she likes! Diabetes heaven! The first dish comes - some kind of milk pudding that looks like a cat and almost too cruel to eat, but hell to the fuck yeah, she's picking up a spoonful and looking at him expectantly and with a slight blush, "Wanna try a bite?"

In public! Hallelujah!

T////T Armin's positively floating off to space now.

It's still good after that tho! She gets whipped cream on her nose and he licks it off. She gets sugar on her lips and he kisses it off! She's so happy and blushy and purring with contentment and Armin is mentally formulating his 12-step marriage proposal plan (ring included).

But listen... listen, it soon backfires because he doesn't realize - Annie's hellbent on trying every single thing they have in that bakery, and though it means he continues to get tiny bites of whatever thing arrives on the table like the star boyfriend he is, it also means... he's feeling sick with all that sugar.

"Hmm, now I think I'll get the Mango Foam Cosmic Shoedust Ginger Puree Health Hazard Fruit Salad."

He's terrified. Does it really have mango in it? Only Ymir knows. 500 grams of sugar in a single scoop and a guaranteed dentist appointment. An abomination, but Annie's looking at him like THIS:

He's poisoning himself for her, confirmed. RIP.

[harlowsbby]

With U 💘

Requested, a rainy valentine’s day spent inside I feel like jack would go above and beyond to still make it great.

“Dammit.” Jack cursed as he looked at the weather notification that had just been sent to his phone.

It was Valentine’s Day the day of love but unfortunately it looked like the two of you would be spending your Valentine’s Day indoors. It was meant to be raining all day today with severe thunderstorms.

It was around seven in the morning when Jack had woken up and saw the weather outside, he planned for the two of you to have a little romantic picnic but he figured if you couldn’t have the picnic outside that he’d bring it inside.

He saw that you were still fast asleep so he made his way downstairs to set everything up.

He took the picnic basket from out the garage and even packed it with a few sandwiches, chips, fruit and cookies.

When he was finished he made his way into the living room and moved apart the couches and started laying down blankets and pillows and put the picnic basket in the middle on the floor.

“You’re so in love it isn’t even funny anymore.” Ace’s voice came from the speaker of Jack’s phone.

“He really is because if it was me the whole day would’ve been ruined.” Urban spoke. Jack rolled his eyes at his friends and paid them no mind.

In the middle of setting everything up Urban and Ace ended up calling Jack to see what he was doing.

“You both are just jealous and hate the fact that I’m in love and you both aren’t.” He said.

“Whatever I don’t need a woman.” Ace mumbled. “We’re team single over here.” Urban added on and Jack simply rolled his eyes.

“Should I lite a few candles? Or is that doing too much.” He asked and stood back to observe and look at everything he set up so far.

Jack was a perfectionist he’d spend hours on something till he thought it was perfect.

“I’d say just a few.” Jack placed a few lit candles above the fireplace and took the rose petals he had bought and tossed them around the living room.

He placed your gift next to the basket along with a bottle of sparkling cider, neither of you drank so sparkling apple cider was the go to drink for the night.

“Wow, you actually did a good job.” Ace said and Jack went to thank him but stopped when he heard footsteps approaching.

“She’s up I’ll call you guys back.” He quickly said and rushed them off the phone.

Urban snorted. “Yeah fucking right I’m sure by the end of the week I’ll find out if I’m going to be an uncle or not.” Urban joked.

“You need to be finding out if you’re going to be the one making me an uncle.” Jack said making him Urban got mute.

“He got your ass.” Ace laughed and Jack chuckled and quickly hang up the call.

“Jack?” You called out for him as you made it downstairs. “I’m in the living room babe.” He called out to you.

When you made it into the living room you stopped in your footsteps upon seeing the dimly lit room, the rose petals everywhere and the picnic basket.

“You did all of this?” You grinned and he smiled and nodded.

“I sure did when I woke up this morning the news app said it would be raining all day with severe thunderstorms so I brought the picnic to us.” He smiled ear to ear.

“You’re so sweet.” You coo’d and made your way to him when you were finally in arms reach he brought you into him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day babe.” You smiled and looked up at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day Jack.”

Jack pulled back and looked down at you a small and silly grin played at the corner of his lips. “Can I kiss you?” You smiled. “Of course, you know you don’t have to ask.”

Before you knew it he was crashing his lips onto your lips he put one of his hands on the back of your neck and pulled you closer if that was even possible.

You wrapped your arms around him and started kissing back passionately he smiled into the kiss which made you smile as well.

He pulled away slowly and rested his forehead against your forehead. “I love you.” He said with the biggest smile.

“I love you too Jack.” Even though you were a bit bummed out you couldn’t spend your day outside. You appreciated the face that Jack was still was able to make up for it.

[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Read a Zosan fic where every single male (Except for the male Strawhats; compliments here and there) is attracted to Sanji and I'm so here for that. But think, what would happen if this thing happened in the ASL x Sanji or God AU? That would be so fuking funny and hilarious that alot of men are down bad for this beautiful blond cook with blue eyes with muscular legs and a gable waist.

I would also like to add for the God au that before Sanji lost his godly status and life, he placed the inability to all DF users to be unable to swim. This is their punishment because of what the WG did to the gods (Ex: Sabo, Ace, and Luffy).

First: Yeah, Sanji was fucking pissed and absolutely told the Elders and the World Government to get fucked during the void century and wrapped his most prized creations, amalgamations with the god of life, taking the ability to swim away. If they want to fuck with the gods the gods will fuck right back. Sanji was more than giving, he gave far more than he was worshipped which led to his followers always singing their praises to the ocean, so after the void century his followers were distraught to find the fruits, now called devil fruits because if you eat one you have betrayed the ocean, betrayed him. He is a god who forgives easily, you just need to give it back, it only costs your life. His partners had never seen the god so enraged because he used to bestow fruits to those were so utterly devoted to him or his fellow gods. Now? It doesn't matter if all three of his husbands have eaten a fruit, Ace and Sabo were old enough to remember what happened, Luffy might not have been but it doesn't matter, they do not get leeway either. It's probably a really fucking dark joke he makes despite how often he does save them, just grins at them and says he could always get his fruits back if they want to swim so bad. Sabo didn't eat a fruit in this from what I can find so Sabo spears Sanji overboard quite a bit to avoid his brothers.

I did read that fic as well I think? But like could you imagine the crew are meeting the other gods for whatever reason(how much do you think it would fuck with the romance dawn trio if Buggy was a god? Or the Cross Guild and Shanks?) And a lot of the gods and others are just flirting with Sanji. Nothing new, he's a handsome guy. He is married though, he has the marks from his godly spouses claiming him just as they do from him. Buggy is ruffling their hair and avoiding Luffy because he can't play nice with the god of luck and travelers in this life. Buggy looks at Zoro and just goes 'oh no, poor baby' and does nothing to fix his sense of direction because Buggy is a trickster god, tell me otherwise. Sanji is of course used to striking deals with the clown in past lives for the wayward travelers but also Buggy redirects so many gods from Sanji and tells the blond to quit being born pretty and Sanji rolls his eyes.

There's gods left and right grabbing Sanji and Buggy is sending body parts whenever Zoro and Luffy are distracted by some other god of whatever as they plan their assault on the Elders. The crews are fucking weirded out by the sheer godly power in front of them and how close the gods are to each other. Also Mihawk has to be digging deep into himself to find out the weakling of the Roger pirates is the god of luck and travelers and distracting so many gods from his normal waiter from Baratie who is the god of the ocean. Also Buggy keeps riling up Luffy and splitting apart to escape the sun god. Also he distinctly remembers Ace showing off his godly body at Marineford and watches him shoot off with the blond a few times. Sabo, the chief of staff for the revolutionaries for heaven's sake straight up attacks several gods for getting too handsy with his husband. Mihawk calls Shanks later and asks if he knew Buggy was a god like Luffy or Ace and the silence from Shanks on the other end of the denden is very telling as Crocodile is screaming next to him about how many gods there are and the strawhat crew has. This is a true test of will for them.

(I just had to make buggy the god of luck and travelers it's so him I'm not sorry)

[interstellarlyinlove]

Gold (June 5th)

word count: 650

@wolfstarmicrofic

“You know how you believe everything Trelawney says?” Sirius says instead of 'hello', sitting in the empty chair in front of Regulus.

Regulus’ head is hurting from his homework and he’s bored out of his mind so he decides to entertain this. And he does believe everything Trelawney says. “Sure.”

“Well, she told me that I’m going to find the love of my life soon.”

“Professor Trelawney said that?” Regulus asks bluntly

“Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it.”

“Are you sure that was the gist of it, Sirius?”

“Yes,” Sirius says. “Anyway. I need the Slytherin common room password please.”

Regulus scoffs. “What does that have to do with anything we’re talking about?”

Sirius blinks. “I figure true love isn’t just going to fall from the sky into my lap. I have to seek it to find it, like most things.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. You need the Slytherin common room password to… find true love?”

Sirius nods. “It’s the single hardest thing in my life that my other half wears silver and green instead of red and gold, but you win some and some fuck you over, right?”

Regulus blinks. “Who the fuck do you like in Slytherin? Is it Severus? Is that why you pull his pigtails at the park?” Sirius’ eyes widen and Regulus’ facade breaks. He laughs. “I am only joking, brother. As if there is someone that doesn’t know that you’re in love with Remus.”

Sirius has hearts instead of eyes. “Yeah.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“You’d be standing in the way of fate, Reg,” Sirius says. “You’d be–”

“You and Remus spend too much time together, anyway. Why do you need–”

“I don’t want it to be casual,” Sirius blurts. “I thought casual would be great. But how can you spend that much time with Remus and not want it to be–”

“Okay, I get it,” Regulus interrupts. He really doesn’t want to hear more about his brother and his best friend being together. He’d rather not know. He sighs. “Did you tell him this?”

Sirius shakes his head. 

“Are you going to?”

Sirius nods. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything. But then Trelawney–”

“What did Trelawney say, exactly?”

“That I’m going to find my missing puzzle piece. Do you not listen when I talk?”

His missing puzzle piece. Regulus is going to barf. “You speaking to Remus really isn’t finding anything. You’ve known him since you were eleven years old. You almost let the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin so you would be in the same house. You spend all your time–”

“No, wait a second. How do you know the Sorting Hat thing?”

“I read through your journals when you were being an ass in fourth year. You’re a run-on sentence lover, Sirius. You really should work on that.”

“You–” Sirius whacks Regulus’ head. “That’s not okay!” 

“You really considered Slytherin because you thought his scars were cool?”

“Remus’ scars are cool,” Sirius says. Regulus silently agrees. “You’re horrible. I can’t believe you went through those.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been in love for six years and only decided to do something about it because of Professor Trelawney.” 

“That’s not fair. Trelawney has a way with words.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Regulus says. “In fact, her lack of a way with words is why most people think she’s a fraud with no–”

“Will you tell me the damn password or not?”

“What password?” Remus asks. Regulus saw him approaching their library table but he didn’t say anything. Sirius jumps in his chair when Remus speaks and Regulus is rewarded for his patience. 

Regulus says hello to Remus and walks away from that table as fast as he can. He really doesn’t want to hang around for the rest of that. 

Trelawney really is something else. Regulus decides he’ll get her a fruit basket. 

[allurenamin-moved]

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⇢ geto x fem!reader, smut, just smut, and a bit of angst ig??? i'm not really sure what exactly i was after but yeah, reader and geto's relationship is complicated cuz i love complicated relationships, oral (f. receiving), some fingering

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⇢ 0.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⇢ i tried posting something like this a few moons ago and it flopped :) hopefully i'm now offered an arm of grace :) but i hope you all enjoy!

him? oh, he knows where home is. for sure. 

he won't say it if you ask, however. 'smartassery' was always too much of a dweller within your forte—he’d always, always require some sort of a plan b to smooth things out, avowing your own stupendous worth to you better than you ever could. 

and succeed, he did. everytime. and he had his methods. many of them, because versatility has always had you on the ball, you’d made that clear since the moment you met. 

but even so, you had favourites. one particular favourite, in fact. the thought of it had you tossing and turning at the crack of dawn, boredom bandied for a more thrilling way to keep yourself busy and blur out the sounds of the drunk and strained passers by in your neighbourhood. 

it always went a little something like this: a coy greeting. a kiss on your lips, or a wanton promise of what you’re in for tonight, foolishly mistaken for the bothersome end to all kinds of zeal known as a “goodnight”. 

and just like that…voila! hushed pleas against your inner thigh. a string of “let me taste you”s so pathetic that you’ll never ever know what to do. deny him? watch him say it again? harshly catch those lustrous ringlets between your fingers and let his eyes do all the talking? 

sounds lovely, doesn’t it? it’s too bad that you’re generous. it’s too bad that you just can’t help but be generous. it’s too bad that you never seem to see the time move—steel yourself for his traditional administrations. now, again, lusciously long digits come in two, wedging against your folds and into your entrance like it’s the core of a citrus fruit, baring sweet juices to relish. 

your fingers card through his hair, luxuriating in all the offers, blessings - whatever you wanna call them - that your throbbing pussy was built to take. 

a daringly uttered “did you touch yourself?” from him never sufficed. yours always came with a soft grind of your hips. an “i just fucking missed you” hidden in the pursuit of the feel of his nose on your clit. 

home is where the laboriousness in speaking is unrelenting. he always knew this, deliberate in his hound for drownage, ovations babbled between harsh laps at a cunt you’d failed so drearily to fill up.

“so pretty for me.”

“you taste so sweet.” 

“you can give me another one, yeah? think you can cum for me again, sweetheart?” 

and you relent—as if you hadn’t before, crooning and keening praises that you yourself wouldn’t mind hearing, regardless of how truly pathetic you sound. 

you do, in fact, sound pathetic. you look pathetic. you’re damn near shambolic. 

but then, so is he. a thick ring of slick coating his mouth and fingers…a strange call for sanity that would be, for sure. “d’you miss me while i was gone, hm?” he’ll ask you, halfway through the salacious crawl from your pussy to your face. 

it’s not an answer that he’ll have to force out of you. it usually isn’t��� when he’s not completely sightless to a minor detail that you seem to take very seriously. 

“you’re late,” the breathy seething is what collides with his lips instead, drawing him a pair of eyes failing to show a single hint of facetiousness. 

and then it clicks, that as much as he knows where home is… he also knows where the door is. 

[the1975attheirverybest]

ILYMTYEK

A/N: Matty and Amelia’s first Valentines Day.

Warnings: none.

***

Matty could smell the scent of Amelia’s body lotion as she climbed into bed next to him, going through her bed-time skincare routine while he tried to make it to the end of the chapter of the book he was reading before she’d turn the lights off.

His subconscious has come to associate that scent with sleep, cuddles, and the intimate feeling of her body in his arms. He found himself inexplicably softening and relaxing any time that lotion would come out.

She leaned to the side and planted a quick, light kiss to his cheek as she slid her legs under the covers, pausing a moment to admire how beautiful he looked with glasses on, “night, Matty.” She whispered sweetly.

Fuck the rest of this chapter. He couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around her and get under the covers to nuzzle her. He set his book down, took his glasses off, and turned the light off.

She giggled, “tickles!” When he rubbed his beard against her skin, pressing their bodies impossibly close together.

“You’re so soft.” He whispered, sighing contentedly, as he settled into the bed. “And you smell so nice. Like passion fruit.”

“It’s my lotion.”

He already knew that.

“Did you have a good day, today?” She turned around in his arms to press her lips to his, tickling stray strands of hair behind his ear.

“It was alright.” He shrugged, “Slow work at the studio. Missed you loads.”

Amelia blushed, smiling, and wondered if she would ever get used to hearing him say that.

“What’d you do today?” He asked, sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut as her fingers ran through his hair.

“Not much. Just revised some designs. Might be coming to work for your label again soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Been asked to help out with the newer artists, and….i don’t know. Might say yes.”

“You should!” Matty said instantly, his eyes still closed, eyebrows raised expressively. “That way we’d see each other more. Might even be in some meetings together.”

She giggled. “I don’t know how wise it would be to plan career moves like we plan dates.”

Her words seemed to awaken him from the edge of sleep. He jolted in her arms. His eyes suddenly flung open. “Speaking of which!” He whispered loudly. “What’re we doing for Valentine’s Day?”

“Didn’t know you were the Valentine’s Day type. Thought you’d moan about how it’s some kind of capitalist scam designed to commodify the one thing that should remain sacred between humans or whatever.”

Matty laughed silently, shaking his head. “You make me sound like a joy to be around.”

“What can I say? I like my men like….like- wankers.”

“Oh fuck off!” He kissed her cheek. “For your information, I do think it’s a capitalist lie. But it’s an excuse to make time and effort to be with you. And I do love you. So, I will gladly participate in this dehumanizing corporate ritual.”

“How romantic.” She teased.

“Seriously, Amelia. I want us to have a perfect first Valentine’s Day. So, tell me what you’d like. Let’s do something together.”

***

Matty offered George his cigarette lighter, reclining his chair backwards and putting his feet up on the computer desk.

“And then she said,” he pulled the cigarette off his lips, “that she’s never celebrated Valentine’s Day before.” Matty announced, baffled, “can you believe that?”

George cupped the flame and tilted his head down to bring the tip of the cigarette to the fire. “Hmm.” He took a long drag, a puff of smoke filling his line of vision.

“She said she’s either been single most Februarys, or, in a new-ish relationship where it’s too early to do anything serious. So….” Matty’s hands flailed in the air.

“So, what’s the plan, then?”

“I don’t fuckin know! It’s why I’m asking you. It’s not just- our first valentines. It’s her first ever valentines.”

“Right.” George closed his eyes, his brows crossed, in deep thought. “Could go the classic route: dinner at a fancy restaurant. Get dressed up. Reservations. Nice piece of jewelry. Roses and chocolate and all that. Failproof plan.”

Matty groaned in disgust. “Cliche. Boring. Predictable. Trite.”

“Alright, alright. Fine. You don’t like it. I get the idea. Don’t have to piss all over it.” George shifted in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “How about….something more lowkey and intimate. Night in at home, perhaps? You can still do flowers and candles and all that shit. Just the two of you together the whole night.”

Matty shurgged. “So…average Tuesday night?”

George rolled his eyes. “Weekend getaway, then?”

“Too dramatic.”

“Fine, write her a song.”

“What are we? Fifteen?”

George scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know, Matty. Ignore each other on opposite ends of the couch and fall asleep in front of the tv like a retired old married couple? Do whatever you like! I’m sure it’ll be fine as long as you’re trying. That’s the point isn’t it?”

Matty scoffed. “Useless.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m asking Hann.”

“Sure. Ask the boring married man.”

“Well, he’s been married a while. He’s obviously done something right.” Matty shrugged.

“He’ll tell you to cook her dinner and stay in. Mark my words.”

“Sounds kinda nice actually.”

George stared at his friend, incredulous. “Isn’t it what I JUST suggested?”

“ still. Gotta check with Hann.”

“Well, you better do it somewhere else cuz Amelia’s coming to meet with me in a bit.”

Matty’s eyes darted from his phone screen to George’s face. “What? Why?”

“Told you she’s designing the thing for the album I’m producing.”

“Right….right. Text me when she’s gone?” Matty walked over to the door, placing the phone to his ear and waiting for it to ring.

“Mhm.”

***

“Well, so? Did you get it?” Amelia whispered, leaning in close, even though they were the only two people in the studio.

George rolled his chair away from the desk, to the other end of the room, unlocking a discrete drawer. “Yup. Here it is. One, extremely rare, 1973 recording of Donny Hathaway, ‘I Love You More Than You’ll Ever Know.’” He smiled, wide, “Matty’s gonna lose his fuckin mind.”

“You’re a lifesaver, George. I owe you one. For real.”

“Nonsense.” He waved her off. “Just, erm….dont forget to send me the video of his reaction. I need it for a….lets call it an ‘independent project’ of mine.”

Amelia giggled. “You got it. Thank you, seriously. You’re the best.”

George nodded, wheeling himself back to the desk. “So? Do you know how you’re going to surprise him with it?”

Her eyes twinkled with pride. “Fuck yeah. I’ve made a special reservation at his favorite place. I’m taking him to dinner. Wining and dining and all that. Just when he thinks the night is over…I’ll pull it out. He’ll have no idea what hit him.”

***

Matty winced as he brought the ladle up to his lips for a quick taste. “I know! I’m sorry! I know you’re at dinner. I’m trying to be at dinner, too. But I think- I think I might have fucked it.” He, sighed, exasperated. “I- just- don’t think the sauce is meant to be bubbling quite as- mum, please! Turn on your camera I’ll show you.” He tapped his own camera in return, focusing it on the sauce pan in front of him.

Denise laughed, saying something about how he should’ve turned the stove off fifteen minutes ago.

“It’s not funny! This never would’ve happened if you’d let me come over and practice last week like we said- fuckin hell….well- do I- start over- I-“

“Matthew, breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

“Well….It’s a good thing the gift I got her is perfect. By the end of the night she just might forgive me for this d disgusting dinner.”

“Pop the chicken in the oven, and just re-make the sauce. It won’t take too long! Fifteen minutes. LOW heat. No more; no less.”

“Right, right.” Matty nodded. “Fifteen minutes.” He echoed his mother’s instructions. “Fuck! I think- I think I just heard her come in. I’ve got to go. Bye now. Lots of love. Have fun at dinner. Say hello to everyone!”

Amelia walked through the door, greeted by an arrangement of teacup candles that flickered warmly, shining her way into the dining room. Her heart melted at the bouquet of flowers that stood at the center of the table. She clutched the record inside her bag closer to her chest, smiling to herself. She set her bag down, pulling out a bouquet of her own, and blushing in anticipation.

“Matty?” She called out his name as she approached the kitchen, hearing, in response, the banging sound of pots and pans, followed by her boyfriend’s incoherent cursing. She rushed into the kitchen. “Matty? Are you alright?”

“No! No! No! I- I mean yes! Just don’t- fuck!”

Running inside, she was relieved to find him unharmed standing in the middle of the kitchen, with freshly washed pots and pans at his feet.

“Was just putting away some dishes and- oh.” He paused when he saw her walk in. “What’ve you got there?”

“These? Oh, these are for you.” Amelia straightened her posture, walking slowly over to him. “Flowers and chocolate.” She giggled, suddenly feeling foolish. “Gosh. Is that….stupid? I just- I don’t know. I figured men don’t usually get gifted stuff. They’re the ones doing the gifting on days like today, so- god that sounds so fuckin-“

“Perfect.” Matty blurted out, placing a hand on her arm. “It’s perfect. I’m- so- I don’t even know what to say.” He stammered. “Th-thank you.”

“Really? You promise you’re not just saying that to spare me the humiliation?”

He chuckled; shaking his head. “Not at all. Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers and chocolate before! Feels nice to be spoiled like that.”

He took the flowers and chocolate out of her hands, setting the bouquet down and instantly digging into the box of chocolates. “Does it say, on the thing, which ones are which? Or do I have to bite into them to go find out?”

“Wait! Don’t eat that-“

“Too late. I think this one’s got some raspberry in it or something… it’s good! Try it?” He brought the remaining piece up to her lips.

She accepted the taster, licking her lips. “I just meant don’t fill up on chocolate. We’ve got dinner plans.”

Matty’s brows furrowed. He wondered if they’d made a commitment that he’d somehow forgotten about. “We…hmm?”

She grinned, excitedly. “I made reservations!”

“What?! No! I- made dinner. Well, I’m making dinner…I hope I am, anyway… but- erm… if you’d rather go out- I guess I could just- it’s fine-“

“Oh- Matty.” She looked around the kitchen, finally, realizing what she’d interrupted. “You didn’t have to! It’s fine. I’m fine. We don’t HAVE to go out. I just figured you’d want to, that’s all.”

Matty felt conflicted. He’d been so caught up in trying to surprise her that he hadn’t considered whether or not she’d have different expectations.

“Oh. I mean- no. It’s fine either way. I guess I’d imagined that we’d just - have a night for just us, you know? Everyone’s probably out at dinner tonight- it’s-“

“No, you’re right. Let’s- you’ve already gone through the trouble of making stuff for us- let’s just do your thing. I’ll call and cancel.”

“Are- you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Wanna have dinner with you. Here. Now.”

She kissed him.

***

“Erm…Amelia? Darling? Have- have you made that call yet? Cuz if not….you might want to keep those reservations after all….i think- I might have burned our dinner.”

All the way from the bedroom, Amelia could only vaguely make out the word “burned,” but it was enough to alarm her and send her sprinting into the kitchen. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise. The chicken isn’t though….”

Amelia chuckled as she looked down at the dish that Matty had just pulled out of the oven. “What on earth happened to this poor chicken?”

Matty shrugged. “I feel like I did everything the instructions told me to. But, erm, I’ve obviously gone wrong somewhere.”

***

Amelia plopped down onto the couch next to him. “App says pizza is on its way.”

Matty looked down at his feet in shame, nodding in silence. “I’m sorry I ruined our night.” He mumbled.

“You did not! You’ve been so thoughtful and sweet-“

“Don’t have to lie to my face about it.”

“I’m not lying!” She placed her hand on top of his, squeezing it gently. “Look at all these candles you lit up for us. And the table that you set. The flowers? They’re so cute. Nobody’s ever done that for me before! I love it! Really!”

A weak smile gradually made its way onto Matty’s face. Those were still not the standards that he’d hoped to measure his success by, but he was glad that she felt appreciated.

“Besides! I still have one more trick up my sleeve.” Amelia announced.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. I got you a present!”

He laughed. “Well; so did I.”

“Shall we open them? To lighten the mood?”

The light finally returned to Matty’s eyes. “Yes, yes, okay! I’ll go get mine. You go get yours. We’ll meet back here on this couch, yeah?”

“You go first!” Matty squealed, his legs bouncing, barely able to contain his excitement.

Amelia laughed, kissing him softly. “You’re so cute when you’re excited like that.” She took the gift from his hands. “It’s fine either way cuz I’m pretty sure my gift is going to blow yours out of the fuckin water.”

Matty rolled his eyes, feeling his competitive instincts kick in. “No it won’t. Just open it and see for yourself!”

Amelia’s hands delicates untied the sleek ribbon, already thinking about how she planned to save the wrapping paper forever. She found the taped up corner to undo with as little damage to the wrapping as possible, slowly, cautiously, unveiling her gift. It only took her one peak at what’s inside to burst out into a fit of uncontainable laughter.

“What?” Matty demanded, eyes darting between her and the present. “What’s happened? What’s so funny? Why’re you laughin??”

Amelia attempted to swallow her giggles and straighten her face, several times, unsuccessfully. The longer this went on, the more impatient Matty became. “Just- just finish opening it! Open it would you?!!!” He grabbed her by the shoulders.

Finally, she found the self-restraint necessary and looked up at him. “Matty, I- got you the exact same thing.”

***

Donny Hathaway’s velvet voice crooned in the background behind the glugg of the wine as Matty pour them each a glass.

Said I love you

More than you'll ever know

More than you'll ever know

Amelia opened the pizza box over the duvet, pulled a cheese slice apart from the rest of the pie. “Sex, wine, AND pizza?” She giggled. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

Matty clicked his glass to hers. “Here’s to a million more, my love.”

She hummed over a mouthful of pizza. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Matty. I love you always.”

“Love you always. More than you’ll ever know.”

[bisexual-horror-fan]

oh god, i paced and i paced and i paced, but my heart ultimately went to this: poly camping boys and an end of summer camp goodbye, prehaps?

Oh my God, Dicey, yes! You know I love Buddy and Sam so, so fucking much, I certainly didn’t have my hopes up for a submission with them but you coming through for me again! You are the best, and I hope you like this little heart-rending moment. I decided against a letter, I wanted it to be an actual scene, and I hope you love it. 

—

Rating. SFW. Length. 1.4K. Buddy Swanson/Sam Wescott/GN! Reader. Poly!Camping Boys. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Softness. Crying. Confessions Of Feelings. Sappy As Fuck. No Movie Spoilers.

—

Rufusial To Accept. 

—

Every single thing was cleaned up, cabins barren, the kitchen was empty and scrubbed top to bottom, the boat house is locked, and the kids have been gone for two days. Your car is packed, the sun is high, it’s midday, and you had already stretched out your duties as much as possible, most of the counsellors have left, long gone, taking off sometime after the last breakfast earlier today. You had already said your goodbyes and hopeful, “I’ll see you next summer!” to just about everybody. 

You are at your favourite picnic table, the one under the tree, the shade is lovely, you are indulging in lunch before you hit the road, a good few hours drive ahead. You aren’t alone, you are sharing it with the camp’s main cook, Buddy, and the camp’s head counsellor, Sam. The lunch wasn’t planned, but you were all here long after breakfast, wrapping up and hungry, so your curly haired companion got his ass in the kitchen one last time to throw this together. 

You eat chips, sandwiches, cookies and lemonade, assorted fruit and veg, laughing, having a good time, avoiding the elephant in the room. As soon as lunch is over you have to go, you know it, they know it, the pair of them need to get a move on themselves. Saying goodbye is what makes it final, real. You all live too far apart to really see each other, there has already been talk about all coming back next year, but a lot can transpire in a year, you say it now, but who knows if it will actually come to fruition. 

You trust them. Not only that, but you like to hope. 

The last of your food is all done, you are crumpling your napkin in your hands, then flattening it, before doing it again, repeating the process over and over, wondering how to go about doing this. How do you even being to share how much this time meant to you, how much they meant to you? How is a few sentences meant to do justice to an entire three months spent together for hours and hours every day?

Surprisingly, Sam is the one who started the process, he stood up, picking up his trash and saying, “Well, I guess that’s it, suppose we should start heading out.”

Buddy sighed, a nod as he agrees, “Yeah, you’re right.” You watch him, his pretty blue eyes, the pinch of his brow and raise of his shoulders, how his curls bounce in that nigh hypnotic way when he nods, the way his lips curve over the words as he says them. 

Your head turns to also try and remember how Sam looks in this moment, his flannel has been abandoned in the August heat, he was finally out of his camp branded shirt, instead wearing a well-loved band t-shirt, and shorts. You take in the colour of his hair in the light, and the somewhat sad smile on his face, and it hits you all at once. 

You sit there, unable to get up, instead of continually crumpling the napkin you transition to tearing pieces of it off, and you bite your bottom lip, a heavy swallow as you try to bite back the emotion welling up. A harsher inhale than you mean, a sniff, that has both of them pausing cleaning up the remains of the shared meal and looking at you, seeing you looking very sad, tears starting to fall down your cheeks. 

“Oh.” Sam said softly, the trash leaving his hands, back onto the tabletop, a hand to chest and Buddy was already coming around the table, “Hey, come on, don’t-don’t do that.” 

You are already wiping under your eyes, saying wetly, “Fuck, I’m sorry,-” you laugh weakly, “- God, I’m sorry. We were having such a good time, and now I’m ruining a pretty great last day of camp by crying like an idiot.” 

The pair share a look and a scoff, the man now kneeling in the grass in front of you speaks first, “Stop, you are not an idiot.”

Sam chimes in as he is coming around too, he sits on the bench next to you, reassuring you, “Furthest thing from.” 

“Really?” The question leaves you quietly and Sam slips an arm around your shoulders, “Yes, I promise.” 

“Talk to us?” Buddy asks, and you nod with a sniff, wiping again at your eyes, taking a deep breath you try to tell them, “I just know we are all about to leave and…It makes me sad. I had so much fun this summer, and I just don’t want it to end, you know? And…This is dumb.”

Sam puts an end to that this time, “No, it isn’t dumb! I can’t speak for Buddy but, I feel the same way, this summer has been incredible, I’m sad it is ending too.”

Piping up right after is Buddy, taking one of your hands and telling you, “Same here. I wish it could go on! Honestly, I am glad you are speaking up first because Sam never would have-”

He cut in with a laugh and a grin, “Always gotta get a shot in?”

Buddy continues his previous sentence, smile breaking out, “-and I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way I did, and I didn’t want to assume, or make myself look stupid by speaking up if you weren’t on the same page.”

It is your turn to laugh then, the tears slowing considerably by this point, you smile as you tell him with a playful shove to his shoulder, “Buddy! Come on, you have to know by now how much I like you, both of you!” 

“My self-esteem issues aren’t that bad, I know you like me, but that doesn’t mean that you want this next year, for all I knew this was like, a fling, one and done.” He looks away as he shares this and Sam agrees, “Honestly same, it wouldn’t be the first time. I know we all said we want to come back next year, but I wasn’t holding my breath on whatever this is being a part of that.”

You laugh long and hard, these two idiots, no, three idiots! You are included, not immune to this, you almost left without saying anything when you are all obviously in the same boat, hopelessly smitten but too scared and dumb to say shit about it till the last day of camp. You should have realized sooner, should have spoken up sooner, like any of those times you kissed or shared a bed, or a sleeping bag, all the times you were tangled up, a few beers deep but fuck it, you are doing it now. 

“I want this next summer, I want this every summer, I will never not want it.” You assure them and, in some small way, yourself. 

You make a decision in the next moment. You shake Buddy’s hand off and dig into your bag, you pull out your spiral notebook and a pen and open it to a fresh page, slamming the book onto the table. “We are fixing this. I can’t wait nine fucking months.” 

You start writing and both of them look curious at you as you continue your line of thought, “I am writing down my address and my phone number, email, wherever you can reach me, and you are both doing the same. Letters, phone calls, Hell fucking care packages if we have the money, we are going to stay in touch.”

You tear the page in half, putting one piece in Sam hand and then Buddy’s, gifting them both your personal information. “I am not letting either of you go.” 

The pen is held out to Sam first, he grins and takes it, he starts writing down his own contact info, “Okay, fuck, yeah, we are doing this.”

You are glad he is in, you look to Buddy and challenge, “What about Swanson? Think you can handle long distance?”

He laughs, his hand wipes under one of his eyes, but he tries to play it off, poorly, he says, “Uh of course I can? I bet I handle it better than either of you. Pair of you are so clingy.” 

“Mmm. We are the clingy ones, sure.” Sam teases and you laugh again. 

The goodbye once all the papers were traded was easier, much more hopeful. Hugs and kisses were shared, promises to call when all home safe, you would figure out the best schedule to fit each other into your respective schedules and give it your all. When you do get in your car and pull away, it is with a smile on your face and a vastly lighter heart.

[willsomebodywearmetothefair]

i started typing and i couldn't stop

tldr: this is long as hell

i'm not a writer but I was thinking about how Wilson / House's post-canon interaction would go outside of what we get to see on screen. Where do they go after House shows up for Wilson? How do they process what's going on? Anywho I threw this thing up on the floor after thinking about it too hard:

I believe that they wouldn’t necessarily directly speak on it at first.

It’s the same day of House’s funeral. Wilson finished off his eulogy with a “But to know him…enough to—sorry. Everything in his life was about chasing the absence of pain. Maybe one way or the other, he got what he wanted. I don’t know if the whole ‘eternal peace’ thing was ever House’s style… but I hope he got what he wanted. Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

He stuck around for the rest of the service, some more speeches maybe, a quick obituary. His phone keeps going off. House’s. Wilson says that he needs to skip the dinner afterwards. That he needs to pick up some more stuff from his office. He sits in his car for a while, sat the phone on the dash, he’s staring it down, if he blinks, if he looks away it might disappear. It might stop ringing. Think 15 minutes. Think 20. By 25 he’s already on the road back to the hospital when he pulls over, picks up the phone and sees an address. Drives to it. Thinks to himself that this could be a stalker, could be a wrong number. It could be an old vengeful patient, one of the med students puling a prank. Wilson just doesn’t want to go home. 

“Ok. I—ok.” Wilson nods at his friend sitting on the doorstep, 10 minutes later.

He smiles at him. “Ok.”

Wilson nods again, and again. And a few more times after it. He doesn’t even notice himself doing it, his eyes flicking around his surroundings, his hands digging at his hips, his feet antsy, all of him in motion. He nods, because yes, because sure, because why not.  It’s all so loud and so very real. He can feel his cotton cufflinks rubbing against his skin, he can feel the south jersey wind whipping at his neck. He can feel his teeth against his lips and when he looks up again House is alive and breathing. Yes. Sure. Why not.

“What’re you thinking?” 

“I’m…” but no words directly come out. It’s more like a deep release of air, the sound as full as opening a pressure chamber. He lifts his hands and drops them, shakes his head and he’s smiling, although he’s not quite sure that he’s happy. But House, House is happy. He has that squint in his right eye, that pull back of the corners of his lips, not upwards but straight horizontal, that’s joy. And he almost looks younger. Under all of the fine lines and scarring on his cheeks, his neck, his hands, he has the look of someone with a tomorrow, with expectations and plans and passions. The living being brushed Wilson’s shoulder with his hand and asked if he wanted a drink. And yes, sure, why not as they’re driving down 4th on their way to Barry’s, the nearest bar, a bar he hasn’t found himself in since he was 26, since his hands found themselves too easily up jean skirts, since his hair found itself too easily growing out instead of down. Of course it’s exactly how he remembers it, with its sickly yellow lighting and waxed artisan tile floors that made shards of stone into the shapes of birds and rounded fruits. TV screens littered with various US Sports, the kind that would be on at a time like this, tennis, golf, volleyball. House orders a reuben and Wilson nods when the bartender asks if he wants one too. He nods as House bumps his knee playfully when a 20 something walks past to get to the bathroom. He nods when House asks if he wants another and perhaps by the 17th or 18th nod Wilson realizes he hasn’t spoken a single word in 30 minutes.

“—but if Thompson knows anything about the final four its speed. You can just tell the kid’s from Socal and bitter next to Meister, he was on every corner of the fucking court by the time he hit anything,” House semi-shouted, lips kissing but not sipping from his bottle right before he snuck in a snide: “ He wins fast and loses quicker. It’s like he knows he’s hot, but by the time everyone moved inside the Bruins already had their toiletries in their underbus compartment.”

“He’s a Cali kid who goes to a California University which is how it’s supposed to be,“ began the bartender, ever the contemplatively pissed look adorned when the final points flashed on the above-bar tv screen for the last time, “SEMIFINAL SCORE — UCLA: SIX / USC: ONE” 

“Meister and Thompson went into that match with a limp,” the bartender continued, volume unabashed, arms folded over his uniform when the numbers replaced themselves with a dealership commercial. Wilson watched the side House’s face as it grimaced towards the man. “The start was shaky because the umpire’s whistle was up his own ass. It was a good match when they actually got to play.”

“A boring match.” House called.

“A good—“

“Boring as hell. You know what Novikov looks like? Bored as hell. He never breaks a sweat. The stroke’s built into his fucking genetic makeup.”

The man gave a dry laugh and moved back towards the counter from the opposite side. House ignored him, continued to stare at the screen, and Wilson continued to stare at him staring at the screen. “Every Russian we put on our court looks like they’re on ket,” said the man, “ No regard for anything, they all look 35.”

“But the good kind of ket. European branding ,” Once House could feel the bartender’s annoyed grunt from behind him, he spun his chair gently and faced Wilson again, face settling into a satisfactory grin. “Fuck the Bruins, though,  right?”

The bartender snorted at this, drifted away from the counter again towards the back without even refilling either of their glasses, because it was the least active hour of the day; 2:15 in a bar in south Jersey on a Tuesday wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite third-space. Drunk Wilson, drinking Wilson considered himself a bleeding heart, sure. Maybe even more considerate than when he was sober. Wilson’s first sentence in 30 minutes, he made sure, was heard only by House. He didn’t make sure, however, that it didn’t slur out all at once: “What d’you wan’from’e?”

The second he said it he twisted his face inwards, blamed the half-swallowed gin in his glass and the completely swallowed gin squeezing his stomach for his embarrassing lack of tact. But who needs it? He’s coming back from a funeral, the Bruins were down 4-1, and House didn’t seem to care or hesitate or give any visible moral qualm to the fact that as of now his entire recorded life was in a Barry’s in downtown Jersey. That his friends and family were telling stories, making comments about him over a dinner table just miles from here. That where he’d once existed he now melts through. He’s talking about tennis. He’s died and he’s talking about college tennis. Wilson shook his head. Because no, never, absolutely not. “What do you want, House?” He asked, clearer this time, “What t’hell’s wrong with you?”

“You’re drunk, James.”

“You’ve fucked up this time house. You really really have.”

House lifted an eyebrow at this. Just one, however. Just enough expression to convey that there was still some thought process going on behind his apathetic eyes. “You…you are fucked…up. And I want you to leave… me alone. For good,” Wilson glared at him, made as harsh and sharp a face and voice as he could under his condition, “And I’ll never for’ive’ou.” The last part came out softer and messier than he’d hoped, but House would get the point. Because he was clearly, oh so clearly trying to hurt his feelings. Trying to bruise him, dig at him. Wilson didn’t do much else than just stare, because he knew that he didn’t have to. He felt so much malice, so much anger towards him. For anything, for everything. Screw dying, screw not dying— on this Tuesday, in this Barry’s, in his nicest black suit he hated Gregory House for existing in the first place. For ever taking up any kind of space. And fuck him— fuck him for insisting his presence in his life. Like it was some sort of gift that he wasn’t in that porcelain vase, wasting away. Like he should count himself lucky that he crawled out the back of that building. Wilson had hoped that he’d died quickly. That those flaming overhead beams crushed him straight on impact. The whole day, the whole week after the fire he’d slept on the floor of his kitchen, hoping he’d died quickly. No, he would never forgive him. Not because he couldn’t, because he absolutely refused to. 

And Wilson would’ve loved to say all of this, from start to finish, if he could just stop crying.

It was his hand on his shoulder. That’s what provoked it. House’s expression didn’t even attempt to carry the weight of the situation, he simply drew his eyebrows down and kept silent as Wilson sat there crying. Neither one counted how long they sat there like that, it sure felt like enough time for Wilson to sober up. There were eight more things wrong with this. Nine more. Ten more as House slid a twenty across the counter with his free hand and helped Wilson stand up. Eleven more as Wilson let himself back into the driver’s seat and waited for House to get in the passenger before he turned on the ignition. Twelve as he pulled into a random parking lot in front of a laundromat and rested his forehead on his steering wheel once he switched to park. At least 15 more things wrong in the way that House lightheartedly rubbed his back for a few minutes, both silent. And in the way that Wilson didn’t even flinch. He felt warm to the touch.

After the sky turned dark and dull, and threatened to leave Wilson having to drive home tipsy at night, he tried to say it as slowly and as clearly as possible, head still down:

 “I’m not going to spend…the last few months of my life… helping you get away with ruining your life, when I have spent… twenty years trying to fix it.”

“Ok,” said House.

“ And I’m not…going to feel guilty during the last few months of my life… because you finally did something no one’s gonna patch up.”

House’s hand slowed its circular movement, but stayed firm pressing between his shoulders. “Ok.”

“I don’t care…” Wilson took a breath. A deep one. God, it felt like he’d been holding his breath for months. Until here. “I don’t care… what happens to you. I don’t care what you do, or where you go. You call, I’m not answering. You leave, I’m not chasing after you. If you fuck up…I want you to disappear on me. I don’t even want to know about it. Just go.” He finally got enough strength to lift his head, to make eye contact with his friend. No, friends are alive. With his someone. With his anyone, he begun to stare again. To try and communicate how honest he was being, even though he wasn’t even sure himself. House did nothing but stare back. He always had to challenge him. “House, can you do that?”

“James,” he gave his back two solid pats, and they weren’t enough. Just beneath the socially acceptable response to the situation, that’s where House lived. Wilson thought, and didn’t say this observation, for the first time in their relationship: maybe he couldn’t live any other way. He flattened his lips and closed his eyes.

“James. I said ok.”

“I heard you.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“Did you expect me to?” Surprisingly, this back and forth felt like a more lighthearted dialogue than the other ones they’d been having. The air wasn’t as thick. Wilson sat himself up with a sigh, shook House’s hand off his back in one smooth motion, “You don’t come back from the dead asking people to trust you.”

“I’m not asking people, I’m asking you,” he chirped, left hand now floating above the console in between them, “Plus, dead men tell no tales.”

“You took that phrase completely out of context,” Wilson twisted the keys in his car with a sigh. It jumped, then started its low hum. The rumble of it felt good, finally there was some movement, it felt very alive. He wrapped his hands tight around the wheel, and he felt itching to go somewhere, to go anywhere. Maybe they’d take to the road for a couple of days, go sightseeing. Just ride the freeway as far as it could take them. Run away, no phones, no bags. Just this rumble of the engine and rolled down windows. He tried hard to picture the breeze in his hair. The soft sunset glow bouncing off his rear view. 6 months didn’t have to be a short amount of time. Not if he kept moving.

There was a tap on the console. “For your next trick you should change gears.”

“Hold on, I need a minute,” Wilson said, eyes still closed.

“You barely have minutes. That’s just generous,” the other man replied, and Wilson cringed when he heard the thud of what he could only assume was two feet propped on his freshly detailed dashboard, “What you really need is me as a life coach. Death coach. Someone to make sure you’re not wasting time as you’re wasting away. I’ll book trips, tennis lessons, brothel appointments, confessionals, last rites. I get paid hourly, you get paid…paradisiacally. I’m actually doing you a favor, considering you have heures démarcatif, you won’t even have to slide me checks for that long.”

Wilson leaned his head back. And, God, did House talk this much before? He felt the low vibrations of the car rush through his fingertips in time with his pulse. Wilson knew he wanted to drive, he just didn’t know where. Anywhere. Just drive. Just go.

“What, is it a headache?”

“House.”

“If it’s a headache you have to tell me.” He felt his eyes on him now. “James, it could be—“

“Shut up.”

“Christ, Is this how you’ve been spending the past week since I’ve been gone? Meditating and bitchy?” Wilson couldn’t help but snort at this. “I’ll never die again. For your sake.”

“Actually when someone says to ‘shut up’ its a social cue to stop talking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wilson heard the sound of the other man say, and the sound of an unbuckled seatbelt, an opened door.

He winked one eye open to watch House swing his bad leg down onto the asphalt outside. “Where are you going?”

House sniffed over his shoulder. “Musical chairs. C’mon, we’re switching seats, get up.”

Wilson frowned. “Uhm… no. You’re not driving.”

With one leg out the door and one still on the dash, House dramatically sunk back into his seat like a toddler kicking its legs, “But mom.”

“No license, no ID, no dice,” Wilson started, shifting to fully face House and his stupid position, “Legally the only place you can be in a car is outside it. I could strap you to the top like quarry.”

“Or we can rent a hearse,” said House, arms folded. Wilson sat unmoving, staring him down. “Careful. Blank, soulless expressions turn me on.”

“I need you to take this seriously, House. Are you taking this seriously?”

House blinked,. “Yeah. Of course I am.”

Wilson hummed uncertainly. House gave him an exhausted look, fair seeing as he looked exhausted, Wilson guessed he didn’t really look at him until now. At his face— more sunken in some places, puffed up in others. His bright eyes lined with darkened shadow. His hair was sticking up in places that seemed aerodynamically impossible. Where did he stay, anyhow, for that week when he was dead? In a shitty motel? Paid with cash? Did he just wander the streets until he found a bench somewhere? The idea unsettled Wilson a bit, the idea that maybe House even thought to come to his door a couple of times, the idea that House had called from a payphone somewhere uptown, in some random city, cold and shivering, dirty and hungry, and Wilson had disregarded it as spam or slept through it. But, as he practiced before, Wilson didn’t say these thoughts out loud. Instead, he said:

“Why do you call me James, now?”

“It’s your name,” House replied simply. But then,  he readjusted in his seat, expression slowly forming into the unreadable one he gets when there’s a puzzle to solve, “Why are you,” he asked, face brinking on a smile, “unable to drive this car?”

Wilson squinted at him back, “I… don’t know where to go. Wilson’s also my name,” he drawled, also leaning forward to face him, “But you’re calling me James now. Why?”

“James is more direct. What do you mean you don’t know where to go? The ever so arduous Dr. Wilson didn’t bother making death plans?”

“Since when do you care about being direct,” Wilson scoffed, shifting the focus back to his friend as soon as he could, “And yes. And no. I have plans. I just, don’t know how to execute them. The whole best-friend-funeral thing threw a few wrenches.” He made sure to add the last part with a slight bite to his tone, making sure they mattered.

House didn’t seem to notice. He simply kept the same unreadable expression, “ To answer your question, since I’ve died I’ve cared about being more direct. I called you Wilson because you were Dr. Wilson to me, my coworker. Now I’m not a co, or a worker, so you’re just James to me. James. And to respond to your statement,” House made a habit of forcing his space, and sooner than Wilson could even notice, he’d had positioned both his feet back onto the floor of the car, the top half of his body all the way across the console, and rested his head on his hands directly beside Wilson, elbows swaying. Sometimes he reminded Wilson of a stray.

“I don’t think you do have plans,” House said, throwing a sideward, knowing glance, “ I think that your ‘plans’ were to just quit your job, pack your things and live with your parents up in Greenwich till you croaked. Am I right?”

“First off,” Wilson took a breath, uncomfortable by how easily his counterpart saw through him, “does this mean that I have to call you Greg now? Since we’re neither co, nor workers, do I change your contact to Gregory?”

“Sure, Greg’s fine. You can even call me Greggy for short. Keep it light on the ‘Dr. House’ thing, though. It might freak people out, y’know, considering that Dr. House is dead and all.  ”

“Not calling you Greggy.”

“And what are you calling your parents?” Wilson rolled his eyes. “Mama? Dada? You’re gonna use their credit cards at the liquor store, have them drop you off and pick you up for dates?”

“I was just planning on visiting not staying.”

“But after that it was all open schedule, wasn’t it? You’d probably end up staying because you’d have nowhere else to go.”

--- once again I'm not a writer and this isn't finished but why do anything at all que sera sera

[paradoxolotl]

📚 please!! (I think I am 🍌 anon?)

Book asks

Bananon my beloved ♥️

For you I have this one:

Andrew runs a cooking vlog and Neil comments every single time that his recipes are shit and they never work. Endlessly amused exasperated, Andrew meets him to try and teach him to cook. Unfortunately Neil’s just a complete disaster in the kitchen

The vlogs change to both Andrew and Neil making the recipes together while they’re back to back, Andrew guiding the recipes and both of them contributing their scathing commentary. At the end they turn around and try each other’s dishes. But a fan favourite is when one of them is blindfolded and has to guess what the other is making based on what ingredients are being added, with a final guess after a taste test

Neil’s dishes always looks like garbage but (usually) taste half decent. Any sweets they make Neil is overly dramatic about

(Planned out commentary and videos below the cut)

“This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Neil, it’s a brownie.”

“It’s so rich. Only saving grace is the nuts.”

“That is what I’m know for.”

“Your nuts?”

“Fuck you, you know that’s not- oh my god, Jesus Neil why are these salty?!”

“That’s what I’m known for.”

~

Andrew: and now we carefully fold in the eggs

Neil: okay * folds in whole eggs without cracking them *

-

Andrew: separate your egg whites

Neil: how do I do that

Andrew: I thought you watched all my videos

Neil: I did, I did.

Andrew: I’ve separated egg whites before

Neil: …are you sure

Andrew: we’re moving on. There’s lots of ways you can do it. Some people use a bottle to get the yolk out, some people do like a seesaw motion-

Neil: oh, okay. * vigorously shakes egg *

-

Andrew: grab your fruit-

Neil: * reaches back and grabs Andrew * got it

-

Andrew: now I’m not one for dramatics

Neil: * looks into the camera like he’s on The Office *

-

(Blindfolded)

Neil: okay now eggs

Andrew: what kind of eggs?

Neil: uh. They’ve got brown shells. Free range

Andrew: good to know. But whole eggs?

Neil: no last time you got mad at the shells being in your food

Andrew: so…the egg minus the shell?

Neil: yeah. No shell, just how you like. Oh, also I added bacon grease and cinnamon

Andrew: what…what the fuck are you making

Neil: it’s one of your recipes

Andrew: I have never used that combination in my life

Neil: well I had to make a few substitutions

Andrew: a few?!

Neil: I couldn’t find the butter

Andrew: did you check the drawer in the fridge? Where we keep the butter?

Neil:…uh. * checks fridge * oh. I’ll just add it now. I’m adding butter

[loyaltykask]

Chapter 24

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

WUKONG YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE XD HE SO MEAN I LOVE IT

Wukong: You had a wild night didn't you Bajie: This is kosher being tied up!!

Even Wujing has to tease him there is no mercy for the middle child vibes

Precious

I like how they ask Wukong when they might be going there and they listen to him seriously. Like they know he is the strongest there and that he has been all around the world. Poor Sanzang being human has no idea when he could make it, whether in this lifetime or the next. But Wukong putting that tidbit of determination and will is actaully really sweet that he thinks Sanzang has a chance.

Haha Equal is Earth

Creepy fruit, however living to 47,000 is also kinda dope. Like that a fuck ton of years

These guys are just around Wukong's age. 1,212, and 1,200

These shits are like "But we Daoists and they Buddist why would we welcome them?" their teacher has to be like "Cause he a nice guy assholes now shut up and do it"

This guy is pretty generous but also what an ass. Oh sure, Sanzang gets 2 Fruits that like 94,000 years of life for his past life, TEN LIFETIMES AGO. And Wukong, Bajie, and Wujing getting nothing for being 'rowdy'

Even Wukong says this guy is full of himself which is saying SOMETHING from him.

Wukong has to pull a Sanzang life all over again and make sure no one eats his baby. These Fucking brats really are just as bad as they are in the Movies Not a single ounce of respect for Earth Even Wukong is behaving better than them

Wukong calls them FLIMFLAM

TARADIDDLE! BULL SHANK! THIS IS AN OLD MAN!

Also love that Sanzang is trying to change the subject else these two brats rile Wukong even more. Like Sanzang becoming a master of trying to dodge topics

I like how Sanzang is more worried that these brats are going to start some shit to rile Wukong up rather than Wukong actaully being riled up. Like he knows he talked to some brats but he can't change that XD just like customer server. I love that Sanzang just straight-up makes plans to fucking leave. Like "we can rest here but yeah lets gtfo" And now these boys are like "no please come in we were told to serve only you"

Bunch of two-faced assholes

Probs not even then, they represent hard Confucianism where Daoism and Buddhism are not meant to interact with one another and not even respect one another. Wukong is a legit representation of fighting that stereotype by being a symbol of both and achieving true immortality for it. Honestly, Sanzang refusing to believe those aren't real ass babies makes me wonder how fucking close to babies these fruits actaully looked liked. Like Sanzang the most gullible and naive of them all refuse to believe those are actaully ass babies XD That says something

I mean if I was eating something that looked too human I would also probs pass on it

This is honestly my favorite arc cause it is just such a 'boys will be boys' like the idea was Bajie's but he shared it with Wukong who was 100% on board, he didn't need an ounce of convincing, he just said "fuck yea, fuck those brats lets get that fruit, I'll do it myself" and then they just get Wujing his own too cause he just that good of a homie Like..... sometimes it's the stupid stuff you do together that makes it all the more memorable. Crimes committed together are enjoyed together.

WUJING WAS SO EXCITED HE WANTED TO TRY. WUKONG REALLY IS THE BEST BIG BRO HE GOT HIS HOMIE COVERED

I have to admit calling someone a baldhead is be fighting words indeed

Sanzang like: Hey even if they did commit the crime let's watch the fucking language

it's like breaking someone's sports car and being like "well we can at least say sorry, that should be enough" LIKE IF THAT IT SANZANG'S PHILOSOPHY NO WONDER HE LETS PEOPLE GET AWAY WITH SO MUCH SHIT DAMN And he still like: hmmm, doesn't sound like my boys

HE TRUSTS HIS BOYS He also got to love the homies for agreeing that snitches get stitches and that they should all lie together damnit

True brotherhood

[funky-fox-fics]

Prompt: animal

this work takes places in the AU of my 2023 zedweek work "and you knew every word / and we both sang along", and it may not make sense if you haven't read that one first!

A dog carrying a silver feather in his teeth slips out of the house as soon as his owner falls fast asleep.

His paws land lightly on the wooden bridge as he makes his way to the grass. The dripstone shivers as he bristles his fur, and the door creaks open slightly as he opens his mouth to taste the air. There’s a gleam in his eyes, sharp and distinctly intelligent, and it catches the light of the moon to reflect a thousand times over. His shape is sharp against the night, a grayish-brown in the moonlight.

There’s a soft shape in the corner of his awareness, a vague presence, a shadow—a ghost. Skizz is the name it goes by. It’s his owner—or, well, it likes to call itself his owner. He’s the owner, really—and the base itself, and the stone that the pyramid will be built of—and also a mortal dog. It’s not that Skizz is a bad owner—quite the opposite, actually—it’s just.

The cockatiel’s supposed to be here by now. 

Kevin barks once, pointedly wordless, and then he sits back on his haunches and flicks a glance up to the night above. There’s no silver shapes winging across the sky, a shade against the moon—no harsh cries breaking the silence—no scent-taste of fruit and salt against his throat, thick and undeniable. 

It’s probably a trick, mutters his internal monologue—still new to having a body, still new to using Kevin’s body, still new to this whole collection of basepets that apparently existed, not just him. Maybe all cockatiels talk like that. Maybe the basepets hate us for being us—for some stupid reason we don't even know about in the first place. It’s useless just standing out here where all the mobs can see us and come to attack us—head back inside and go the fuck to sleep.

Kevin flattens his ears, whipping his head about wildly. New plan, his thoughts declare. Murder that cockatiel the second it flies on out here to poke its feathery little beak into our territory, and then eat it and then go back to bed. Make it pay for leading us on. For being such a nuisance. He growls, low and deep in his throat, and glances back around for a silver-white shape in the sky, soaring on its stupid birdy wings, just like it had on the day they'd met.

Oh, you’re the new guy’s basepet! the cockatiel had crowed, fluttering its white wings and letting out a little squawk of amusement as it perched on a nearby tree. Well, pleased to meetcha, mister Kevin-whatever you said your name was! Yeah, there’s a lot of us. One for every base, in fact. And also in fact, I’ve got to tell ya—there’s a meeting! A meeting, a meeting! Very soon—two weeks and a day from now, in fact—and ya can’t tell anyone about this, yeah, you can’t tell your owner—or your inhabitant, whatever works for ya—and maybe go find some other basepets while you’re at it! A meeting, though! Don’t miss it!

And then, before Kevin could wrestle an explanation out of the damn bird, it’d flown off, leaving only a single silver feather behind. He sniffs it again—the faint scent of fruit and salt, faded after two weeks and a day of restless waiting. It's a little frayed, but still intact enough. The only tangible reminder of the cockatiel's existence, and therefore the existence of basepets as a whole.

There had been no other basepets nearby. Kevin’d checked. Basepets might as well not exist, outside of the silver feather and, well, him. There’s been other animals milling about in the days since, but none of them talk back like the cockatiel had; they'd brayed or meowed or baa’ed at him when he’d tried to talk to them. If the cockatiel had a way of identifying basepets based off looks alone, it wasn’t something immediately obvious.

The other basepets must be different, then—intelligent things that talk when you talk at them, things that have owners-that-they-own, things that'll teach him stuff like how to pretend you're just a normal dog and how to identify other basepets just by looking at them and, most importantly, how to tell your owner you're a basepet.

He… hasn't quite gotten there yet. He pretends to be a regular mortal dog, but who knows if Skizz’ll even understand him? Sure, his instincts say it will, but his instincts also say that every storm’s a horrible awful disaster that'll kill him and set him aflame and no storm’s done it yet. Even if Skizz did understand him, how exactly does a previously-mortal dog explain… all of this to it, when he doesn't even really understand it himself?

But how long can he keep this secret? How long can he bark wordlessly and gnaw on bones until Skizz finds out? How long can he keep up this charade? 

He barks again, sharper, still wordless. No patronizing little bird calls answer him; no basepets, not even a player. Just the night, and the crickets, and the sound of—

Pawsteps?

Kevin pauses, glancing sharply around. There—movement, a flicker of white against the dark of the night. His tail flags, and the fur on the back of his neck bristles. His lips lift in a snarl. His eyes laser-focus on the movement, straining for any further glimpse of whatever had—

The sound of pawsteps grow louder, and he twists around, the door flinging open, the blocks pulsing like a cat coughing up a hairball—

It’s not the cockatiel. It’s a curly-furred brown dog, with green eyes that glint in the meager moonlight. It pads up to him, gives him a good sniff, and then settles next to him. “Kevin?”

“You’re late,” Kevin growls, sitting back up. Then: “So you’re a basepet?”

“Apparently.” The dog huffs, touching its nose to the black soil. “Look, I don’t—I’m new at this whole basepet thing, but the cockatiel told me—”

“That fucking cockatiel,” Kevin grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. “Did you kill it? Is that why it’s not here right now? Because I swear to the Watchers, if you did—”

“Well, I wanted to,” the dog answers him. “But I didn’t. I’m courteous like that. Oh, by the way, name’s Rick. Just in case you wanted to know. And I’m the owner of Joel too, so there’s that.” The dog gives a little laugh. “Who’re you? Besides the Kevin thing.”

“Kevin, owner of Skizz,” Kevin says curtly. “Where’s that cockatiel? It was supposed to come earlier—”

“Oh, you got visited by that cockatiel too? Did you happen to catch its name?” Rick asks. “Because I didn’t. Rather rude of it, really, just—squawkin’ up in your face and then leaving without a trace. Smelled awful, too.”

“Didn’t catch any name.” Kevin says. “Sorry.”

There’s a moment of silence; then, Rick yawns, a properly long one. “Well, are we going to be going or not? They’re probably waiting for us. Or for you, really. You didn’t seem like the observant type. Or the remembering type. And you’re probably not observant considering you literally never noticed me staring at you all those times.” The dog pauses. “But you are out here already, so maybe points on the memory thing? But also points deducted considering you aren’t going. To the location.”

“I was never informed of any location.”

“I—wait, hold on, you weren’t?” Rick asks. “I mean, I thought you weren’t going ‘cause you were scared or something, but—”

Rick cuts itself off, leaving them with silence—and the distant sound of wingbeats.

Kevin and Rick both glance around with equal amounts of wildness before they both find the same silver shape soaring across the sky. It’s far off, but it’s definitely small enough to be the cockatiel, and white enough. It circles once, blotting out the stars with its whiteness—and then it circles lower and lower in the same fashion, careful not to dip into a dive.

Its eyes gleam as it gets low enough to flap to the ground and land, alighting on the frost-adorned grass. Kevin glances down at it. It looks much different under moonlight—colder, a bit more gaunt than the brightness of noonlight had shown him—but ultimately it is the same cockatiel, down to the little green band around its left leg.

“You’re late,” Kevin says, peering at the bird. 

He leans in close to sniff it, but it hops back with an undignified squawk. “Hey! Getting eaten by dogs was not on my bucket list, thank you very much.” It—or, he supposes, she—pauses, and then adds, “If you’re wondering about the delay, I spent forever looking for Nugget but she’d gone on ahead! Without me! The audacity, really. I should kill her for that.”

“You didn’t even tell him the location?” Rick asks incredulously.

“Well, look, I was kinda in a hurry—his owner was definitely weirded out by me being there, because cockatiels are supposed to, ahem, ‘stay in the jungle’—and it was like, well, do I go back later and risk us being found out, or do I just accompany him when the day comes to go to the meeting? And, well. I thought Nugget was going to come with us. But she bailed.” The cockatiel flutters up to perch on his back, its talons digging into his fur. “So I was late.”

“What is a basepet, anyway?” Kevin asks. “How did you know I was one?”

“Well, a basepet is what happens when players put a tad too much of themselves into their work.” The cockatiel tilts its head. “I don’t really know, actually. Just that gist. I’m sure someone like Okapi or Husky knows a bit more about it than I do. And for the second one—well, you just had that sort of…” It pauses. “I don’t know how to describe it, actually. You just… have that look to you? Like you’re more intelligent than the rest of the mobs here. Which you are, evidently.”

“Okay, thanks,” Rick says. “New question: what’s your name again?”

“Oh, where are my manners? Clearly somewhere with Nugget.” The cockatiel clicks its beak together. “You can call me Opaline. It/its. Or you can call me the Lighthouse, since that’s what seems to be my little thing over there. Uh, owner of Gem.” 

“Well, Lighty-line,” Rick says gracelessly, “nice to meet you. I’m Rick. This is Kevin. Owners of, uh, Joel and Skizz, respectively.”

Opaline eyes him. “Please never call me that again,” it says. “Anyways, we’d best be going. Everyone wants to meet you, you know. Frank’s the happiest I’ve seen him in—well, however long it’s been since we got back from Empires, honestly. Uh, fact about Frank, he’s, like, never happy. Or at least he never looks happy. Crayola probably knows more about that than I do.”

“Noted.” Kevin stands, and he glances out over the rolling plains, waits for Opaline to glide out over the sky and guide them both to these new basepets. He can barely keep from bounding out and trying to find them himself. New basepets—new friends—thrilling things, these are. “Are we going?”

“Give me a moment.” Opaline glides off his back and hops forward, before him. “Rick? You ready too?”

“Ready since you came calling,” Rick answers.

Opaline takes off into the ebony-dark sky, and Kevin finally begins to run, wind whipping against his face. The dewy grass is beneath his paws—the sky is open above his head, vast and starlit entirely. His eyes flick up to follow Opaline as he runs and runs and runs through the tall grass, a creature in motion, a thing wound up and being let loose. Like a mortal dog—like one who doesn’t know about basepets, or bases, or Hermits at all. 

(Somewhere, the pillars that hold Skizz’s starter base up creak inward, and the sheets of his bed shift a little with excitement. Kevin is of two bodies, but one mind. This is what he is—a unity of block and beast, a hybrid of dog and deepslate. An impossibility, and yet.)

A return to form, he thinks, as he races through the fields and plains. It’s freeing, in a way. 

He likes it.

[doctortonytchopper]

Godddd I am so glad I went back and watched the punk hazard arc though.

Partly because WOW I am really blown away by how early and THOROUGHLY Oda started just absolutely laying in on the gear 5 reveal hints. Holy shit.

Also because it's so fuckin great seeing the introduction of Momo and Kin to the crew and Law now that I know the backstory that was revealed in Wano. Like imagine being them (I'm focusing on Kin's POV here to lessen confusion btw).

You've been living under a hellish dictatorship - a shitty piss bitch snake, and this murderous dragon Kaido who's as powerful and unkillable as a god. Your beloved lord fights them and loses despite being literally the strongest fighter you know, by like, several orders of magnitude. He is then brutally executed, and the fight you put up to save him isn't even a fight just a half-failure of a retreat (not everyone made it) and it all ends in utter despair. There is no hope of ever beating this villain.

In an act of pure desperation, as the only option available as an alternative to absolute slaughter, his wife shoots you like 20 years into the future. You find the dictatorship is thriving; your beloved home is a wasteland. There are some people on your side but pretty much everyone is enslaved, weakened by starvation, or dead. You've got like ten people on your side to fight an army, and a fucking invincible dragon.

You take to the sea to see if you can find two guys on an elephant who will probably help you. You are so desperate for any help. This is a last ditch effort. You keep up an air of determination but are convinced you will all die. This man is a monster, an immortal dragon from hell ruling with an iron fist of bloody claws; not even Oden could do more than put a single scratch on him. It was over so fast, Kaido's victory so absolute, his hold on your country so firm. MAYBE these two guys will help you, but it's still just a drop in the bucket. You don't think anyone will be swayed by any plea you could make; no one on this earth will be willing to help you.

You land on a strange island where you're all separated, one guy gets lost, your lord's son (now your new lord) gets abducted, and you try to follow the ship he's on.

[That's what we learned in Wano recently. But I had forgotten the next part since Punk Hazard was so mcfuckin long ago.]

You arrive at this insane island that's half on fire and half frozen and just start killing. Then a guy shows up and dices you like a fucking onion but you stay alive. That's fuckin weird! Then you run into a group of pirates who absolutely INSIST on helping you stay alive despite your vicious complaints and argument.

They help rescue the boy, your lord, and make him smile despite the devastation and utter hell you and he have been through this past two-ish months of your personal timeline. You're so relieved to see him again!! He looks super normal and like he's hungry but is having a normal samurai amount of reluctance to trust food from strangers. Nothing going on there, probably! He probably didn't eat one single thing while on this island, definitely no magic fruits, no sir!

Anyways you hitch a ride with these weird pirates on their weird boat and they feed and clothe you, and they're kinda crazy but they treat you very kindly, despite having no obligation to do so. Oh, they're going the same way as you? Back to that weird island where your friend got lost? How fortuitous! Truly it was fate to meet these strange people!

You wonder if we could ask them for help. Hm, probably not. They'd be great allies but who in the world would ever want to willingly put themselves in that much danger, just to help people they don't know??? Caesar Clown is one thing but this is Kaido, invincible dragon, king of the beasts, emperor of the sea!

But then before you can say anything about it you overhear that insane stretchy boy say: "yeah, so that island's our next stop. After that, our plan is we're gonna go kill Kaido!"

And then Momo gets so startled he turns into a dragon.

How do you cope

[queermarzipan]

Hooooooo boy. I definitely have some stuff I'm not happy with. They were written on paper, however...

not in my school folder. not in my CTYI bag.. wait I found SOME. from like the single school class where we were instructed to collaboratively write a short story. ....OLD PLANS FOR MY UNWRITTEN DRARRY FIC!! and a SONG??? THAT I'D COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN I WROTE??? AAAA???

I don't think I'm gonna find what I was originally looking for (written and rewritten versions of "Draco smells Harry in the Amortentia without copping that it's Harry" lol). But I think we have enough to be getting on with😅

First up is the ones that I love.

Numero Uno:

...He'd started treating it like a project.

That had been his first mistake, he supposed, as he stared at the fruit of his labour like it was a sentient guillotine with a vendetta against him specifically. 

He was good at projects.

I just really like what I did there. With the metaphor. Analogy. Thing. Lmao

Second up:

Crowley was vaguely surprised when he wasn’t the one to break the silence. That hadn’t, he didn’t think, ever happened to him before – some stranger recovering from his presence enough to speak before the reverse happened, that was. It was unsettling.

I'm quite happy with all of the larger snippet I took this from, but this paragraph doesn't reveal the identity of the stranger, which I am not ready to embarrass myself by revealing. What I specifically like about it, though, is that it revealed something new about Crowley to me. I hadn't considered what Crowley's response to the stranger speaking would be before I wrote it. And that just stuck. That was the first way I wrote that, I think, and it just. fits. There's nothing I wpuld change there.

Uimhir a Trí:

And I know that I'm lying to you  And I know that I'm lying to me  And that we will never be okay without us  I know that you're lying to you  And I know that you're lying to me  And I hate that I've turned you into a liar  And I know that if I don't tell you the truth  That it's over, I'm over  I won't love me anymore  I won't be okay, nor you, no  I'll be dead to me...

OUCH. Hey look, it's a bit of the song I JUST FOUND :D. And, okay, it's two verses, but I couldn't pick between them, and they come right after each other, and the symmetry of the first one is so great and the second one is just OW. This is from 2018. I was thirteen years old. What the fuck, 13yo me. What the fuck.

...anyway, next up is the ones that I hate. HOO boy. Okay. Here we go.

Numero Uno:

Only way. The only way. Fluorescent lights lined the sign of Corey's Diner, illuminating her stark blonde hair. Ironic, that this had been where she'd followed Annabelle on her first date. She'd never found out, of course. Penny was, for all her faults, not careless. The door stood ajar, spilling warmth and light of a very different kind than the sun provided onto the street.

Ayyy, another thing I only just found!! It's the collaborative short story!! ...*sigh*. It's just. I like what we learn here, about their history. How the context for the thought occurring builds tension for what's going to happen in the here and now. But the setting. I would redo every line that describes the environment. And the had been where was would've worked fine, and been less confusing to boot. Hnmmrr. >:(.

Numero Dos:

All I'll ever want All I'll ever need All I'll ever ask you to be is my owner

...yeah. I was starving for BDSM music, as you can tell. It just. Doesn't. Work. Tonally, conceptually... Being an "owner", in this context, is hard fucking work. Gh. I remember trying to finish that sentence for so long, and then finally giving up and just sticking the right number of syllables in. It still irks me, now I've found it again.

Numero Très:

Your bedroom, your favourite book The straws you grasp at in the dark They haven't let you fall yet

This is the least done piece of my attempt at de-Christian-ifying Overcomer by Mandisa. I like the concept of the verse, but it just doesn't feel metrically equivalent to— The same Man, the great I Am / The one who overcame death / Is living inside of you. Especially that third line. I don't know. It feels like it needs more punch. Only the concept doesn't really.... maybe spite?? Spite is a powerful morivator. Hm.

SO. THAT'S IT. That took ages, I was here literally as this was posted. I clicked on it while its timestamp was counting in seconds. I'm positive there are plenty of entries by now, lmao. But I WAS HERE FIRST!! XD. Kidding. No prizes for seeing it ig, right? Haha

Tagging the only people I've interacted with in here who I know are writers (excluding Asmi, uh... obviously *gestures upwards*): @howmanyholesinswisscheese and @derinthescarletpescatarian !! Hey Derin, come join us here! Arthur, I don't care that you're getting tagged twice, no way am I ONLY tagging a big name author. You get to be the buddy. Well done.

ALSO OMG ALMOST FORGOT (cause ur never on here grrrr): @urlocalrockstar GIVE US IT. GIVE US IT MS. RIDICULOUSLY POPULAR ON WATTPAD

starting a tag game for writers

Hi, it's Asmi! Okay, so, I've seen so many people afraid to start/continue writing because they're afraid it'll be garbage. And it's so sad how much joy and creativity is getting lost because of that fear. I've written utter shit before, and looking back on it is actually hilarious, and also, it's a reminder of how far I've come as a writer.

I really, really want people to be less afraid of the written word and of creating, and to get rid of that aura of mystery and elitism that often covers the writing process. Writing is messy and it's hell and it's torture. And it's amazing.

So here's the tag game:

Give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you love [fiction, non-fiction, from different works or the same, from completed stories or poems or WIPs, from yesterday or ten years ago] that you love. If that seems hard, even one will do. It doesn't have to be perfect. It can just be something silly that gives you joy.

And give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you dislike and find shitty. Anything at all as long as you wrote it. If you think it's ridiculous or absolute fucking garbage, even better! That's the point of this game. To see that we all write good things and bad things. Yeah? You can do this. And remember that both these categories are subjective.

I'll start. It's not as scary as it seems, I promise.

Things I've written that I find shitty:

The first man grabbed him by his collar, pinned him against the wall of the cave in which they were standing, and spat, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done before. If the Queen’s not in the graveyard tonight, King Baza’s going to plan a most delightful execution for you. And even if he doesn’t, you being his nephew and all, I will arrange an accidental blowing up of your house when you are, tragically, inside.” [discount wall slam scene courtesy of 2016 Asmi, you're welcome]

“Overreacting?” said Dextor in disbelief, staring at Jay like, ‘What is wrong with you, dude?’ [sigh. my serious-scene-writing left a lot to be desired.]

“Don’t go,” I said, fighting tears. “Please, don’t leave me, too! You’re all I have left.” Strange thoughts for a child, but I meant every word. She looked at me with anguish. “I am sorry, Phil. Believe me, you are all I have, too, and this hurts me more than it does you. You’re like my son.” [I'm hysterical rereading this melodramatic shit, which was NOT the intended effect]

Things that I've written that I love:

He dropped the books onto a nearby chair and pulled her into his arms as he’d been longing to do all day, the smell of blueberries and hair product and her. The books she was holding were pressed against his chest, and he didn’t care. Why did he need to love the stars when he could love her, why did he need to look up at the sky for answers when they were right there in his arms? [I love this because when I first wrote it, I thought it was romantic, but I realised later that the boy, Ant, is aroace, and it doesn't change a thing about this scene, except that their love is platonic]

"Maybe being happy is the best that we can do. Maybe that’s more than most people manage, anyway.” They stood in front of the entrance, over puddles that reflected all the broken skyscrapers and the colours of the street and the grey-yellow sky. “Whatever you do with your parents,” she said. “Don’t let your guilt get in the way of doing ballet. It’s not wrong to be happy. It’s not.” [This is from the book I finished and I published, and I just really like this paragraph. It's not my favourite, but it makes me smile.]

The last you may leave wherever you please, wherever it is birds land to die. [A line from a poem I wrote in 2022, I like the rhythm]

(It took effort to find ones that I wanted to share, oof. If you find this difficult just know you're not alone. I usually like my writing, but turns out it's hard to take something you created and go hey, look, I'm proud of this. But we can do it.)

Alright, of course anyone who sees this is welcome to join, and tag the writers you know so we can all be uh writerly together :") but to start it off, no pressure tags @howmanyholesinswisscheese, @1800ineedshelp, @queermarzipan, @thescholarlystrumpet, @madfangirlontheloose.

Oh, and also tagging @neil-gaiman, @dduane, @drchucktingle just because maybe if you see this and join in, new writers will find comfort in knowing their role models have ups and downs, good and bad days too :")

Have a lovely day, everyone, and keep writing.