#so far it's actually turning out quite lovely

[missbehavior0u0]

See the thing about Eridan and Feferi is they are a bit like sharks and dolphins. One of them is a lovely little smiley creature that makes chittering noises and does tricks and is overall very anthropomorphizable, and the other is a big nasty biting thing that you wouldn’t want in your entourage. Meanwhile Feferi is a nice young lady with sentiments about social justice that appeal to Homestuck’s exclusively (as far as I know) non-Alternian audience and very adorable mannerisms, and the other one is Eridan.

But then expert scientists start taking a closer look at the two species and start to spot some discrepancies with the general idea of what they should be. It turns out dolphins do all kinds of nasty things (ie: premarital sex, stockbroking, pyromania) and sharks are actually big softies who wouldn’t hurt a fly when you aren’t dressed up as a seal or making sensationalist blockbuster movies about them.

Similarly, upon closer inspection you realize that maybe Feferi isn’t really all that nice or even necessarily respectful towards lowbloods (re: conversations with sollux, VrIska, Jade) and that Eridan, despite having adopted his worldview because it puts him in a socially acceptable position of power, might not buy into those ideas and isn’t quite so awful or as much of a lost cause as first impressions might have him seem (re: conversations with Karkat, Gamzee regarding Sollux, requests for faulty doomsday devices, etc).

So naturally you as the reader get very excited about all these developments and start wondering oh boy oh boy, where will the story push these characterizations next, given that it’s already managed to tell us so much with so little? Who will remain true to their ideology, and whose will crumble? And then Eridan goes and does that. Sad! Oh well, there’s other tools of a genocidal regime to unpack. Sometimes the shark really is just a big nasty biting thing, and there’s nothing sinister lurking beneath the dolphin’s adorable trick.

But you, understandably, are a little pissed off by all this. You were eager to see all the secret nice and nasty bits of these characters come to fruition, and as the reader you’ve been denied your delectable prize. Plus, it seems not everyone has caught on to how things could have gone. So in your analysis you push things a bit, maybe to bring them justice or to make things clearer. Dolphins are actually murderous rapists who delight in stealing candy from small children, while your average shark is on par with Mother Teresa. Feferi’s plans for societal rehabilitation were tantamount to genocide. Eridan Did Nothing Wrong. And so on.

However, it’s important to settle on a few things at the end of the day. Bits of nuance are usually intended to make characters more similar rather than push them further apart. It might be more helpful to see what those similarities are pointing to and analyze them on that basis. Eridan and Feferi are both troubled little soldiers of a fascist state positioned very close to its head. Similarly, when all’s said and done, sharks and dolphins are both large marine predators with very sharp teeth who humans would benefit from not getting close to.

[airenyah]

#@airenyah has so many profound and vasts analysis about these characters journey I think some of you might like them (@benkaben)

here's a masterlist of my style meta series, if anyone is curious <3

this meta series is basically my own love letter to style the character and dunk's portrayal of him. and especially the metas about eps 1-5 go into detail about how i see style falling in love with fadel

why u like fadelstyle so much? the show ended and i still don't feel like theres love between them, same with all jd couples they don't seem like a couple at all

oh man how to answer this in a way that will do fadelstyle justice? I think @secriden and @bentnotbroken1fanfiction have much better, very in depth analysis of them as a pair and their wonderful dynamic.

but for me personally? simply, it's a type of love that I'm looking for. my personality is very similar to fadel's, the way style always goes out of his way to understand him and push back against all of fadels attempts to push him away - it really warms my heart.

they see each other, do you understand? style guesses that fadel could be a hitman, even if it was just a joke - style always saw him for who fadel is and fadel has been in wanting for that devotion, fadel has been aching to just be held and be able to fall apart - when fadel goes to prison style keeps his dream alive. fadel finally found someone who can understand how much he's had to give, how much he's always had to put himself second, someone who appreciates fully when fadel does it for him - I think style is the only person who's ever even attempted to feel the extent of fadel's sacrifice let alone tell him that he's deserving of the same and then go out and do it.

joongdunk have so subliminally portrayed that growing trust between them, that lived through all of fadel's anger at being betrayed, all of style's fear of fadel's dangerous life. they've just done so well to show what it means to slowly make space for each other, to fall in love through a gradual understanding of each other, I really felt that no matter what happened between them no matter how angry they were or how much distance there was between them every episode fadel and style loved each other more than the last.

fadel and style's romance is one of my favorite couple dynamics period I'm sorry you didn't feel it and even though we are allowed to interpret shows differently and like different things its a pity that I have no way to make you experience the beauty with which they touched my heart.

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn. NON-CON/DUB-CON, pussy spanking, PIV, creampie.

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

You haven’t spoke for twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately twenty minutes so far.

You avoid looking in his direction or saying anything to him. Anything, really, even when he forces himself in your way – a dick move, he knows, and he’s probably using up all the quota of being a dick and then some when he was around you – bumps into you deliberately, and not a word, not a noise would come from you. You just … carry on with your life.

You have decided to treat him like someone invisible. Or air. Air is probably more similar to the reactions (more like no actions) he’s getting out of you.

“Have ye tried apologizing? Actual apologizin’?” Soap slaps his large palm over Simon’s shoulder when they are having a drink together, all of them in 141, slurring in alcohol as Simon rolls his eyes because of the pain that booms over his bones, “Coz yer being a massive dick. Dickest-dick, I’ll give yer ‘at.”

“I’ve tried.” Simon groans in half misery and half reluctance.

John Price, otherwise known as “Captain”, clears his throat in amusement, “Riley, chasing after her back and shouting out your apology doesn’t count. Apology, as in, say it in her face and she’d accept it. With flowers. It’s probably for the best.”

Simon Riley has known his team, his brother-like porn-producing family for a little over five years now. And every now and then something they say still gets under his skin because they are right. They are often right and never wrong in life and war.

Still, Simon kept that bit where his newfound love interest is his patron from the rest of his founded family. Something is best hidden, he supposes, not quite sure why he did so.

“Wha’ ‘bout your porn career, eh? Did lil’ missy find out?” Soap laughs loudly. It is clear that now seventy-five percent of his body runs on rum and tequila shots – whatever the brand they were just drinking – instead of water.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny boy.” Simon punches Soap on the shoulder, “Jus’ shut up ‘bout it.”

“Nooope. Not a chance.” Soap grins from ear to ear, “Yer in love, matey. Yer in luuuuv-”

“Yeah, and yer out of love, you doofus.” Simon growls like a bear woken up during hibernation, all pissed and agitated, “Your ex dumped your sorry arse -”

Price stops their childish mocking and punching with a glance before this could very well turn into a bar fight. He is well aware of what would happen when he puts two grown men with a pile of drinks together; he knows them like the back of his hand.

Price decides to change the topic for now: “On a happier note, our team’s Pornhub account has reached ten thousand subscribers, and our website patron number is heading steadily towards five thousand. I think the stats look promising.”

He might be wrong, but Simon seems gloomier on the changed topic. More sullen. And Simon’s mood doesn’t get better even when Price announces the next round is on him.

Twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately fifty-five minutes.

That’s how long before the bloody silence between you finally crumbles into dust.

Thirty minutes after the get-together with his pals, Simon makes up his mind to take up the suggestions his friends kindly offered - an actual apology.

But his stupid brain hesitates. It’s almost the middle of the night. He is drunk. Hazy. They don’t have some flower shops around here because many people tend to grow the flowers in their front yards. And what would he even say to you? That he’s sorry? That sounds pathetic and weak.

“Sorry I think you were a stalker. Just my friend Johnny had this experience and I have to be cautious.”

“Sorry I’m mean towards you. I didn’t mean it. I want us to fuck … to be friends.”

“Sorry I kissed you. But then you slapped me so I’d call it even.”

No. No. And no.

How on earth are the apologies he comes up with filled with layers of phony and pretentiousness?

He walks up to your door, while knowing perfectly that his house is a few feet away.

Right. Apology.

“Sorry, I think you look like someone. My future girlfriend, I mean.”

The hand he lifts to knock freezes in mid-air.

Certainly not this bloody apology.

Maybe another day then? Another day when he’s more sober.

Simon pulls a few steps back from your porch. On another thought, he advances, and lifts his hand again to pound – he means, knock on your door.

He knocks, twice.

The streets shiver under the crispy autumn wind. It’s approaching midnight, driving Simon’s thought back to the comfort of his residence, with some warm tea and nice buttery biscuits.

Faint rustling of leaves rings everywhere. The cackling of someone’s fence someplace alerts him for a brief second, but that is what it is, iron bars clatter. There is not a living soul on the street in this godforsaken hour.

Right. Another day.

He makes up his mind to leave when the door opens. Your door opens. You drape a thick bathrobe over your shoulders, frowning, “Simon? What are you … What is it?”

The part of his mind that has slightly less alcohol invasion takes you in carefully. Your watery eyes, the lower lip you unconsciously chew on, and the leg bouncing border lining on impatient.

Simon sighs heavily, "Hey, listen … I'm sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said ’ose things about you being a stalk’r. I’m a dick – That’s … not an excuse, but I didn't think … I'm very sorry …"

You let out an exhausted exhale. Honestly? It’s almost relieving to hear the apology coming out of his lips. But he couldn’t have found a worse time to deliver this speech. You thought his house was on fire or something.

A strange, but not unpleasant smell hits the tip of his nose. He sniffs. Then sniffs again. Simon narrows his eyes. He hasn’t deciphered what the smell is, to be exact, but it is certainly unusual, and his mouth waters simply on cue.

“Look, I appreciate we can work this misunderstanding out. But can we discuss this another time, please?” You rub your temple to ease the tension thumping in your brain. Your mind is just as tired as the rest of your body. Even though your body, your traitorous body gets turned on the minute you see this big hunk of a man at your door; frankly, the last thing you want to do right now is to deal with him.

Somehow, Simon’s eyes travel down. Below your thick white bathrobe, a small trail of creamy substance slowly makes its way down your left calf. Despite the dwindling of the clogs of his mind falling in place, he is able to put two and two together: your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

You can’t help but hug your bathrobe tighter under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well? If there’s nothing else, I’d -”

He interrupts you mid-sentence by swiping his fingers between your thighs, gathering some of the creamy arousal at the tip of his fingers.

“Christ.” He murmurs. “Leaking.”

You let out a shriek. Your instinct is to jump back into your house and slam the door right in his face, but the truth is, you raise your hand to smack him, and he captures your wrist in the air before it swoops down on his cheekbone, and brings it to his nose.

Sniff. Sniff.

Fucking bloodhound.

“You dirty little thing.” He muses, takes his massive body as an advantage, forces himself into your house, and pins you onto the wall, invading your personal space like he owns this place, “Playing with yourself for one second and coming to answer the door at the next? Tell me, do you use toys? Or your fingers alone could do the trick?”

You can smell alcohol in his breath, which makes you glare at him: “You’re drunk. Get out of my place before I scream for help.”

Simon nudges the door open with a kick of his boot. His eyes dart to the opened door before focusing on you, “By all means, scream.”

Your scream thrives for only two seconds, barely making its way out of your throat before his other hand circles your throat. A shallow hold. A forceless grip. Your mind somehow drifts to the toy upstairs. Stained with your juices. Lying cold on your towel.

These fingers are much bigger than your toy. Your mind helpfully supplies.

“I’m gonna take that up as an offer, sweet’art.” Simon runs the tip of his nose over your jawline, murmuring as if you were lovers instead of enemies over the past month, “Either you tell me to back off, or-” darkened desires swirl beneath his chocolate-brown eyes, “or you are goin’ to let me do every-fuckin’-thing I want to do to you. You’re not leaving your bed until I’m done with you and I’m gonn’ stuff you so good that ’ose pathetic audios will never be enough. All you gotta do is to say ‘Thank you, Simon’. ’at sound like a deal to you?”

Your brain has already gone mush at this point, the voice coming out of his hoarse throat seems to have pulled the bones out of your knees and below, rendering them weak, soft, unable to support your body.

“Say ‘Yes, Simon’.” His lips hover above yours, whispering like a man in love.

“Yes, Simon.”

Honestly, you have no idea what you have signed up for, but the fire itching in your core would do whatever he wanted to relieve you of this misery.

He sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, hoisting your thigh up to circle his waist on hearing the confirmation, lips crashing into yours, while carrying you like a bag of feathers to your bedroom.

Your toy swept to the floor with a throaty snigger. Your phone falls out of your pocket when you are put – more like pressed into your own bed.

Must have touched your skin or his, because the next thing you know, the goddamn Bluetooth speaker by the bed starts playing one of his audios.

He spares a glance, disabling the poor thing in seconds. And by disabling it, you actually mean slamming his fist on it.

“Jus’ a pathetic cock slut f’r me, hmm?” He smirks.

That cools your skin, dissolves the thirst you had.

You knit your brows into a tight knot, “Why’d you always do that?”

“Wot?” Stripping, he is soon down to his boxers.

“Be mean.”

He snorts. “Bollocks.”

“There’s a big difference between sounding mean and being mean.” You shove his shoulders out of your way, attempting to sit up, “I like you better when you are behind that screen.”

Simon does not waiver.

Warm skin blooms under your palm, soft muscles and hard plain. Some hard as rocks, some incredibly soft.

“Let me go, Simon.” You push his shoulder, but he doesn’t speak, nor does he react. Dark brown eyes bore into yours, like you spoke Klingon instead of English.

He flips the Bluetooth on again.

“Wha – Si -”

Ghost’s voice booms by your ear almost painfully and heart-strikingly.

Careful, sweetheart, sharp knife.

His hand brushes at the side of your breasts, down your abdomen, circling near your navel.

It is different from your own hands, your own arms, your own fingers.

Foreign. Alien. Wet.

Sweat from the heel of his hand.

Shivers buzzing your exposed skin.

You know everything, every word, every second by heart. The content of the audio. The dozens if not hundreds of times you’ve listened to it.

What scares you and excites you at the same time, is that he’s following every word of it.

The Mr. and Mrs. Ghost script. Two spies making hate more than love when they confront each other after trying to wring the life out of each other.

Trouble thinking? Answer me, sweetheart. Ghost laughs almost coldly.

“What are you doing, Simon – Simon!” Your nails bite into the back of his neck as he descends and licks a stripe between the valley of your breasts.

He gives you a wordless look. But you think you read his silent reply.

They just look so … perfect.

Simon pinches your nipple mercilessly, slapping on it simultaneously as the voice of a crisp slapping echoes in the speaker.

So perfect that I want to make it. Ghost whispers. Hurt.

You scream. Or you think you did. Your pussy clenches on its own.

Traitor.

A gleam flickers behind his eyes.

But that’s not a problem, though, is it? Ghost chuckles. Pain slut. Dripping. Leaking. Already.

Two fingers plunge inside your folds. Filthy squelch rings in your ears and your body. One more authentic than the other.

Oh no, oh fuck –

You widen your eyes, not out of horror, but out of your knowledge of what comes next.

A gentle rub on your long-ignored clit.

The fuck? Did you just slap me?

“Simon!” You cry out, “Simon don’t you dare-”

Two more crisp, swift slaps from the speaker.

Ghost curses.

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve landed. Ghost chuckles darkly after being slapped, three times. It’s only fair if I return the flavor.

A slap.

White hot pain and pleasure shoot through your core. Sprawling over your stomach. Paralyzing your spine. His palm comes in contact with your clit. Hard. Fast. Takes all the breath out of your lungs.

Your slick runs down your thighs, running over the dried-up trails, running into his palm.

A slap for a slap. Fair, no? No? You fuckin’ don’t think so?

“Simon!” You scream, “Fuck you, Si-”

He smears your cream around your poor abused clit, before striking down again.

Your hips buck up violently.

Come on, sweetheart. Just one more. Won’t hurt. Ghost announces, which sounds like your death sentence.

Much.

You think you just died. Squirt on your thigh. His thigh. Tears down the corner of your eyes. Your cheek. You have never cummed so hard so fast.

Sorry? Ghost pauses. Sensitive?

You whimper.

Huh? Didn’t quite hear you, sweetheart. Ghost mocks condescendingly.

“It’s sensitive.” You sob as Simon traces his fingers on your pussy lips.

Ghost huffs out a laugh.

Afraid you have to be louder, sweetheart. My ears are still half deaf from that bullet you shot at me half an hour ago. But I can see this pretty pussy begging me to fill ‘er up. That what you want, sweetheart? To be my personal little whore?

“Fuck me”? That’s part of the ‘slut’ job description, if you insist.

Simon’s lips curl into an amused smile.

You feel his smile on your lips as he kisses you deeply. Licks over the roof of your mouth. Nips your lower lip. Unlike Ghost. Unlike what’s in the audio. Unlike his sharp teeth and tongue.

The sound of the zipper being pulled down.

Uh-huh. This is me fucking you like I mean it.

One deep plunge.

Not so snarky now, are you?

Reaches your cervix.

He moans unabashedly. Grunts. Breathes.

You owe me so much than you can count, sweetheart. I’m tryna’ make up for our lost time.

Slapping. Skin on skin. Panting. Kissing.

Bottoms to the end. Draws out.

That. Ghost grunts. Was for the time you tried to poison my drink in Moscow.

Simon follows every instruction. Every pause. Every comma. Every time the breath becomes heavy in the speaker, he bullies your pussy just as hard.

That. For the time - when you bought out the corrupt police – Christ, stop squirming, sweetheart - and locked me up in a Guatemalan jail.

How. Pants.

Could. Breathes.

I. Fuckin’. Forget. A low groan.

That. Time. You. Nearly. Put. A. Bloody. Bullet. Through. My. Skull. Loud and rushed and wet slapping noise.

Reaches the depth you didn’t know of. Rearrange your organs that felt out of place more than anything. Hitting all the spots you weren’t aware of until now.

I’m being petty? Ghost retorts. Guess I am, then. Huffs. Oh, you want to cum? You can cum as many times, as you bloody please, sweet’art. His Manchester accent slips out in all the anger. Go on, make a mess on my cock. Ah fuckin’ ‘ell, missed this tight lil’ pussy.

Pause. A scream from your lips fills the void.

Stop? You can’t cum anymore? He bullies his cock into your clenching hole again. And again. And again.

Let me make one thing clear- Ghost purrs by your ear. I’ll stop when I cum, sweet’art. ‘Til then, not gonn’ stop shaggin’ you. Coz ‘at wot slut is for, bein’ my personal fuck doll an’ all …

Thick, long fingers find your clit again.

C’mon, sweet’art. Know you’ve got one more in you.

Your nails dig into his wrist. Having just cummed twice, the pressure he puts on your clit felt like scorching flames. Stung and overstimulated.

Jus’ one more. Ghost coos. One more. Jus’ one more.

He rubs with precision. Slow yet undeniable. Even though your legs kicking. Your nails leaving bruises on his skin. Your breath ragged, shallow, broken.

“Can’t … I can’t, Simon … ”

Gonn’ be a good girl f’r me and cum, won’t you?

“Si-”

Right ‘ere, sweet’art. Good fuckin’ girl. Empty yer pretty lil’ head for me.

‘s bett’r when all you could think ‘bout is my name.

His voice becomes strained, tensed. Almost rambling.

Fuckin’ hell, I’mma fill you with my seed. Gonna put a plug in you so it’ll take root. My personal cumdump. Take it, baby, take it. Fuck, fuck –

Stripes of cum coat your insides. Making your whimper and your eyes water in sensitivity.

He collapses on top of your trembling body, covering you up like a thick warm blanket. Soft, delicate kisses bloom over your forehead. Rough pads of his fingers run up and down the side of your arm. It is a harsh fall, after your pleasure skyrocketed, but you find yourself caught by the web he weaved. A dark web with a white skull mask knitted in the middle.

You lift your arms to hug his broad shoulders so that his heart might beat right next to you above the thin layer of skin and flesh. He has yet to pull out, and somehow … you are not in a hurry to remind him of it.

“Hope this is as good as an apology.” He – Simon – says.

A small fit of laughter bursts out of you, some giggles, then he joins as well, rumbling chuckles that vibrate on your chest. It is silly and comes out of nowhere, but this laugh turns out to be just the trick in resolving the tension you have had for days.

“I’ll give it an eight out of ten.” You bite your lower lip from smiling too hard.

“Eight?!” He pushes himself up, staring at you in disbelief, as if deeply offended, “That was at least nine for effort.”

“If you say so…”

Noticing your twitching cheek and the corner of your lips, he exhales out of relief, burying his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You cheeky little … eight?!”

You giggle, “The sound effects of Ghost are a little over the top, don’t you think?”

He muffles your words with a deep, searing kiss, when you feel his cock throb in the confines of your walls. The sight of his sweating forehead and thin lips pushes your heart beat faster.

“Brought this on yourself, swee’art.” A lop-sided grin makes its way over his face, as he surges forward all of a sudden and adds pressure to your already-sensitive clit, forcing a moan out of your throat and his cum gushing out of your abused hole. “Let’s see if we can have a nine, should we try hard … enough.”

Taglist (also tagging the ones who may be interested): @vnknowcrow @splaterparty0-0 @prettygirleli @ksa01 @laciaheavenm

@mrs-marc-spector @msilwrites @kawaiisugarinjectionattack @eccentricallygothic @mothex

@aishidunno @gluttonybiscuits @bittyslxt @cersei-phoenix-thorn @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@reader-1290 @ohdrey89 @brittney-121

Part 1 Part 2

[icallhimjoey]

I can’t find the post where it said you were writing poppy and mark joe and also a ski fic — arguably those go so hand in hand, like that version of joe is so ski trip coded and reader being like of course you ski, of course you’re so good at it too🙄

babe, thanks for this! ive received a few ski fic requests after those vids dropped, but this one clicked all of it into place for me, so mwah, love you, you're a star <3 it helps to have read this beforehand! Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Said It Without Saying It

This is supposed to be a fun trip. A couple of days away with your friends. Nice scenery. Good food, lovely drinks. Board games and laughter – the whole ordeal.

You’re not quite sure what’s fun about this.

It’s cold. Fucking freezing.

“You all right?” Joe asks over his shoulder, holding onto Poppy’s ski stick as you cross a flat plane of snow after getting off the chair lift.

“Yea.” You lie, following your little group as best you can.

You’re wrapped up in so many layers of clothing that even something as simple as walking is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. It’s hard to see. Hard to hear. You can barely turn your head, scarf so tight around your neck, you feel like you can’t breathe properly. But you’d had no other choice but to tie it the way you did. The zipper of your coat had to be done all the way up if you didn’t want the snow to get in.

Snow is still getting in, though, for fuck’s sake.

And there’s absolutely zero give in ski boots. It’s all hard plastic, digging into your calves.

Mark had bent through his knees a little and had told you, “No, it’s nice. Look, you can sort of lean into them. Takes less effort to stand.”

You know what takes less effort to stand?

Sitting down.

Going to bed.

Having a nap.

Preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

Yet you can’t do any of those things, because you’re stood on the top of a mountain, looking down a dangerously steep slope, and it’s snowing. Fat flakes obscure your vision, making you blink and squint fiercely, frowning as you try to follow your friends right to the edge.

You see how Mark checks his phone, holding up your whole group, and you half wish that he would just keep moving so you don’t get more than a second to think about what you’re doing. The other half of you wishes that he’d stall for another hour. Or two.

With hunched shoulders, chin tucked into your coat, and eyes barely open, you wait. Joe uses the moment to slide himself in between your skis from the front, smiling as he taps the goggles on your helmet and says, “Put these on. It’s easier to see with them, even if the sun’s not out. Especially as the snow will feel like it’s going sideways when we go down.”

You doubt you will go down that fast.

God, this is supposed to be a fun trip, but so far, the fun you had envisioned the four of you to be having feels miles away. Nonexistent, almost. You kind of wish you had never left the country.

You’re inside of a fucking cloud, and you can’t feel your fingers. Not properly anyway. You’re holding two ski sticks and your hands are inside of two thick stiff skiing gloves, but Joe just said to put your goggles on, so you give it a good shot and try your best to move your goggles over your eyes. It’s tricky though, because you can’t get a good grip since you’re entirely unable to see or feel what you’re even grabbing at.

“Here,” you hear Joe laugh and feel how two bare hands, no gloves, move your goggles from your helmet to your face.

“There you go.” He says, smiling, giving them a little tap with his finger before he pushes both his hands into his gloves again.

You’re not sure if this is helping your vision at all, but at least it’s all a little less bright now.

“Is this what skiing is?” you ask warily. “Because I’m not sure if I’m made for this…” you’ve had skiing lessons, but it’s different when you’re up on an actual mountain without a person in a bright red coat to help you down safely, especially in bad weather like this.

You had never considered snow to be bad weather before, but this is… everything about this feels scary, and insane, and illegal. Like this should not be allowed. Why do people willingly take these idiotic risks in the name of fun and games?

“See you at the bottom!” Poppy shouts, and before you even register what she’s said, you see a bright pink snowsuit shoot down, followed by Mark who is just as fast.

It’s nice that they’re having fun.

Mark and Poppy are constantly laughing, cutting each other off, and clanging their ski sticks together. They’re bumping into each other for a cuddle as they wait for you and Joe, and never seem in too sour a mood for a mid-slope snow ball fight...

It’s a different experience from the one that you’re having, and you silently wonder if you should suggest for you to maybe take the chair lift back down again. For you to maybe go back to the cable cars that took up the mountain this morning. Meet everyone later, preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

“Of course you’re made for it.” Joe says, far too generous with his compliments. “You’re good at this. I’ve seen you ski, you know how to do this. You’re an expert.”

“Liar.”

“Come on,” Joe laughs. “I’ll carve out a path that you can follow.”

Which is a really sweet suggestion, but he’s got two much more flexible boots strapped to a snowboard, and snowboards tend to leave icy patches behind. You’ve not even quite mastered going down a perfectly prepped snowy slope, let alone a big plane of ice.

Your friends should count themselves lucky that you’re not panicking at the look of how steep every slope actually is. Even the blue runs.

Joe jumps a few times to move his snowboard from between your skis, hops and slides a bit as he waves his arms about to balance himself.

“Ready?” He bends to check his straps.

You’re not ready, but you’re glad that at least your legs aren’t strapped to a singular board. The restriction of movement is quite enough the way it is. You don’t need your feet bound together like that.

Positive thoughts.

Joe starts his ascend and, like he said he would, he leaves you an easy path to follow.

It’s only about three minutes later that you think maybe it would’ve been better if your legs wouldn’t have been able to move independently from one another.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up where you are, but you do understand that you weren’t meant to speed up the way you had. Weren’t meant to have steered yourself in the direction you had. Weren’t meant to lean on one leg and raise the other off the ground for balance.

From down where Poppy, Mark and Joe are waiting, all they were able to make out was how you suddenly went too fast before you disappeared in a big cloud of snow by your own making.

Everything’s white.

And you’re in pain.

There’s shouting coming from somewhere on your left. Far away. Down, you think. It feels like that should be down, but you’re actually not sure.

There’s a blinding pain in your leg.

Sharp.

Something’s pulling. Like it’s twisted a way it shouldn’t. A way it can’t.

You’ve landed on your back, skis still attached to your boots somehow, and snow is falling directly into your face.

Fuck.

Your knee hurts.

You’re bowing your back to alleviate pain but, it’s not enough, and your breathing quickly becomes short and shallow to help you manage the pain you suddenly have to deal with.

Shit, shit, shit.

Somehow one glove’s come off entirely, and your wrist hurts from where the strap of one of your sticks yanked at your hand.

Fuck.

You vaguely hear your name, followed by a distant, “You okay?” as the snow you’ve kicked up settles around you along with all the flakes falling from the sky.

You don’t get the chance to answer. To shout back that, no, you’re not okay. Something’s wrong with your knee.

Next thing you know, a small avalanche covers your arm from a skier who stops to check on you, and they speak to you in what you think is German before they ask, “Are you okay?” in English with a heavy accent. They hold your glove out to you as they tower over you, something they likely must have picked up as they approached you.

Embarrassment overtakes you entirely as you don’t want attention from strangers, you’re just a clumsy cow, so you attempt to sit up.

“Yea, I think s–”

Oh no, fuck, fuck, shit.

It’s futile.

You’re bum rests on the back-ends of your skis, your knees up in the air, so sitting up is a job for your abs and your abs alone. You’re simply not strong enough.

Where the fuck are your arms?

Why aren’t they working to prop you up?

Your knee hurts.

Why are your boots still attached to your skis?

You need to get out of these skis.

You need to move.

“Don’t move!” Joe suddenly sounds a lot closer, and the swishing of waterproof fabric, of feet digging into the snow as he does his best to rush his way up the slope, sounds like music to your ears.

“Stay still! You’ve got to– stay still, you’ve–”

“My knee! It’s my knee, I need to–”

“Stay still!” Joe sounds more panicked than you do, and that alone is enough for you to listen and follow his orders.

You can’t see how your knee looks twice it’s width.

How your lower leg looks like it’s no longer connected to the rest of you.

It’s a harrowing sight that Joe doesn’t want you to see, so he repeats, “Stay still, stay still, stay still,” through quick breaths, and disappears from your vision just as quick as he had popped into it, falling down to his knees into the snow by your feet. You feel some pulling, followed by a build of pressure as two hands take a firm grasp of your calf.

Through your padded trousers, it feels like Joe’s not wearing any gloves.

There’s some talking between Joe and the stranger but you barely follow any of it.

All there is, is white wet snow, thick flakes that somehow look grey when you stare up at the sky like this.

All of a sudden, there’s your glove. Someone is holding it out to you, and you’re surprised to find yourself reaching for it. Your arms are fine. That’s good.

There is snow, and there is pain.

There is prickling behind your eyes from tears.

A throat that feels sore from the cold air you’re inhaling in quick pants.

The ski stick of the stranger gets used to unclip your boot from the ski, and the relief is instant.

There’s more distant shouting, and Joe barks back a loud, “No!” over his shoulder that makes you flinch.

Joe catches it, immediately apologises, because he doesn’t want you to move, and says, “Please don’t move. You can’t move, okay?”

“Is it bad?”

“I–... I don’t know.” Joe answers honestly.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don – what?!” You feel Joe get up a little, coming into your vision just slightly as he looks down the slope. Someone shouts something you can’t really quite decipher, and then Joe answers, “It’s on the map! Check the map!”

The stranger tells Joe he’ll go down to help, and for a moment, it’s just you and Joe and snow and pain.

You can still barely see anything, the snow falling down is a wash of specks that seems to be picking up more and more and, then, suddenly, Mark is there.

“Mark,” you raise a hand in hopes of your best friend grabbing it, so happy to see him there.

“Hey– oh my God, that’s disloca–”

“Did you call?” Joe cuts him off, voice stern enough to shut him up instantly.

“Poppy’s ringing them. I couldn’t get any signal. Hey,” Mark drops down to his knees in the snow next to you, just like Joe did before, but he doesn’t leave your vision. “Do you even know what happened?” You see how he immediately uses his mouth to remove a glove before he moves his own ski goggles from his face, revealing a pair of worry-filled eyes.

You wish he’d put them back on.

You’re glad your eyes are covered, still, because it means that the tears you’re silently blinking from your eyes go unnoticed.

“How did you even do that? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Too many questions at once.

You can’t answer any of them.

“Mark,” Joe catches his attention, tells him to use your skis to make a stand-up cross in the snow a few steps up the slope to prevent any other accidents with oncoming skiers. “I don’t know how quick they can be here.”

“Who?” you ask, voice suddenly so very small. Your throat feels tight. Maybe the tears don’t go quite as unnoticed as you thought.

You shift slightly, and, fuck. Your knee really fucking hurts.

Did Mark say dislocated?

“Careful,” Joe says when he hears you hiss, and you hate how you can’t see him. “Don’t want you to move. Is your jacket riding up your back? Do you feel any snow getting in?”

“N-no, I’m– I–” you can’t get through your words and take a shuddering breath instead. If anyone knows what you sound like when you’re about to burst into sobs, it’s Mark.

“I’m here, I’m here. Shh, hey. It’s fine, I’m here.” Mark’s back at your side, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep your sobs inside.

You don’t want Mark.

“Joe?” you ask with a shaky voice as one arm reached for him, and it’s a good thing that you miss how Mark’s face drops a little. How his head turns to Joe who’s still holding your leg. For a short moment, the two men look at each other, both unsure of how to react to that.

“They’re on their way!” Poppy suddenly shouts, and all three of you turn your heads to see a pink vision of a person enter on your right, making your group complete.

“Took me a second to figure out where we were, but they’re coming.” She turns to you. “Babe. That looked sick.”

“Pop,” Mark warns.

“What? It did.”

This was meant to be fun.

Your arm is still reaching for Joe, and with Poppy there now, Mark decides that he can take over his job of holding your leg in place.

“Here,” you hear Mark say by your feet, “Get your gloves back on, mate.” And with some new touches to your painful leg, you understand Mark and Joe have switched places. Joe moves Poppy out of the way and kneels down next to you, hovering over you, close to your face, finally in your line of vision.

“Do you want the good or the bad news?” Joe smiles down at you, sounding impossibly sweet. You understand it’s to keep you from panicking.

His nose is red from the cold, and somehow focussing on that works like a lifeline.

“Neither.” You’re not sure how wobbly your lips are – if they are even able to wobble at all in these low temperatures.

“Okay. Can you answer some questions instead?”

Joe asks where you can feel pain. If your head is okay. If your back feels fine. If you know why you suddenly started speeding up so fast. If you still think Poppy’s pink outfit is fucking ugly, which gets a loud laugh from Mark, and an offended “Hey!” from Poppy.

Joe also asks if you’re crying when he notices how you’re doing your very best to control your breathing. Says, “Oh, poppet!” through a sigh when you try to shake your head no, obviously lying. For comfort, he links his arm through yours, because holding hands is impossible when wearing these gloves, and he leans down to press his cold lips to yours.

They still feel warm.

“You’ll be okay. I promise.” Joe comforts. “They’re going to take you down safely, and we’ll be having some hot chocolate before you know it, all right?”

“J-Joe,” you stammer, but before anyone can say anything else, Poppy suddenly says, “I can hear them!”

The arrival of the mountain rescue team is meant to relax you, you’re sure. Help is here. Things will get better now.

Except, it kind of does the opposite.

It’s scary to let yourself be manhandled by people you don’t know. You listen to two men talk to each other in a language you don’t understand as they prepare to lift you onto a sled attached to a snowmobile. Mark gets moved aside, away from your leg, and you hold onto Joe even tighter as your leg slowly gets straightened.

You get told to relax, and you wish you knew how.

They’re moving what hurts.

Shit.

You’re freezing.

Fucking terrified.

Fuck, fuck, shit, shit shit shit.

Suddenly, an extremely painful snap makes you scream involuntarily, and you feel how Joe squeezes you impossibly tight as you burst into actual sobs now.

“Oh, Jesus,” Poppy comments, turning around to look away as she has a hard time pretending that any of that was easy to witness. Mark’s got an arm around her in an instant, doing his best to comfort her as well as you when he cheerfully shouts, “It popped into place! That’s good, that’s so good. It’s back in place. Trust me, that’s good.”

You don’t care if it’s good.

That fucking hurt, and the pain you’re left with now is somehow worse than before.

All you want to do is cry.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

Instead you’re left to cry in said fucking snow as two men lift you onto a sled before they strap you in, preparing you for the ascend. It’s only then that you realise that Joe won’t be coming with them.

With you.

“Joe,” you croak, and are immediately scared that you’ll be taken away too fast. “Joe! Joe!”

Poppy turns a curious eye to Mark, and she knows this isn’t the time, but she takes mental note to ask him how he feels about that later. About how you’re calling out for her best friend, rather than yours.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Joe coos, back on his knees again, close by your side. “They’re going to take you down to the cable cars we used this morning, all right? The three of us are going to find our gear and get our asses down as quick as possible to meet you there, okay?”

Their gear. Their snowed over skis and snowboard, he means.

How the fuck are they ever going to find those? Heavy snow has been falling this whole time.

They’re going to leave you on your own.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Don’t worry, we’ll be faster than you–”

“Joe, I–”

“We can take a few reds and blacks, and will be waiting for you there, all right? It’ll be fine. You’re okay. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.”

Joe leans down and kisses you again, warming your mouth with his once more as you silently cry.

“Joe, I–...” you falter, scared to say what you’re thinking, but the words are right there, and you’re scared, and in pain, and you’re cold, and you want Joe to come with you.

“I–...” you give it another shot, and see how Joe’s eyes suddenly double in size.

“Don’t you dare!” he begins. “Don’t you dare fucking say it right now! Not here. This can’t be–” he stops to laugh, and you can’t help the wet laugh that escapes you in return. “This cannot be the first time you say it, all right? Please save it for later. For when we’re inside and you’ve had your leg looked at by a doctor.”

“B-but,” you’re choking back tears as the snowmobile starts its engine, the two men now sat atop and ready to transport its precious cargo down a steep mountain. “I do.” you finish, just because you want him to know.

“I do.”

You said it without saying it.

It’s not exactly the same, it doesn’t really count, but Joe will take it.

“I know, me too.” Joe replies fondly as he knits his eyebrows together and leans down for one last kiss. He hates that he has to leave you, even if it’s for a short moment. “Me too.”

He’ll kick himself for weeks, months, for suggesting a skiing trip.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still could be, Joe thinks.

You’ll likely not get back onto another set of skis very soon, but that doesn’t mean the trip’s ruined.

You’d almost said it.

Fucking silly.

He had been waiting around for you to find the perfect moment to say those three words aloud to him, just so he could say them back, and you were going to say them now?

Here?

Not a chance.

Not acceptable.

Maybe later, in the hotel bed, when you’re warm under the covers and safe in his arms. You’re allowed to say it then, and he’ll say the words back before yours have even left your mouth properly.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still is.

Joe’ll make sure of it, he thinks, as he straps his board back onto his boots and doesn’t wait for Poppy and Mark.

“I do.” you’d said.

Asked for him instead of Mark.

“Me too.” he’d answered.

You said it without saying it and now, all Joe wants to do is hold you close and kiss your eyelids. He wants to kiss you on the eyes so fucking bad.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

---

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Add yourself

[lorelune]

chopped chives

|| feixiao x reader x jiaoqiu|| E/18+ || domestic fluff & smut || wc: 4.4k|| ao3 ||

You share a day, and all its parts, with your lovers. You are good to each other.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: :3cc oowoo what's this?? the second of the commissions i took last night!! a fun and soft, very domestic fic with the feixiao/reader/jiaoqiu polycule 🩷 gentle energies 🙂‍↕️ please read and enjoy loves ❣️

CWs: afab reader referred to with they/them pronouns, oral (f receiving), light dom/sub, domestic fluff and smut out the wazoozel

You aren’t sure what time of the day you like the most with them.

The nights are lovely, of course. Feixiao has been making a bit to come home at a reasonable hour for the past while, and Jiaoqiu is more often than not home a few hours before she is. The evenings usually include an indulgent, nourishing dinner made by him, followed by ample nighttime reserved for skinship and sharing space.

Middays are nice too. You’ve been staying home lately; Feixiao’s salary more than takes care of both you and Jiaoqiu, not to mention that despite Jiaoqiu’s semi-recent injuries, he’s still at her side more often than not, and a counselor’s wage on the Yaoqing is nothing to sneeze at. It leaves you time to rest—

(After not resting for so long. Running yourself into the ground, really. Jiaoqiu had been appalled by your state when the two of them first truly started to get to know you and see the deeper pieces of yourself that you had so diligently tucked away.)

The two of them insist that you enjoy the luxuriate three-story abode that Feixiao keeps. It can get a bit... lonely, during the day, if Jiaoqiu isn’t around. 

So, you most enjoy mornings. Feixiao usually leaves around dawn, to train and primp for the day, but Jiaoqiu has gotten in the habit of lazing in bed with you for several extra, pleasant hours. When you finally do rouse, you cook a meal together.

...

“How is that shallot coming along?”

Jiaoqiu hums, the tip of his tail brushing the back of your bare thigh.

“Almost done,” you say, focusing on your task at hand, finely dicing a shallot, just as he had instructed.

The kitchen smells lovely in the morning. Jiaoqiu, despite his preference for intensely spicy food, retains an impeccable palette and he makes use of it by managing the meals for the three of you. Breakfasts are always quite the affair. Feixiao ‘needs her strength which starts with a good meal’, he insists. You need it because you like tasty food and he likes making sure you’re fed. You can’t argue with him.

Jiaoqiu stands at the stove wearing soft lounge clothes that he prefers. He’s gotten more sensitive since losing his sight; he’s come to prefer softer, less restrictive garments when at home. He stirs at a pan, making some egg dish you know will be delicious. 

You look down at your little pile of shallots.

They’re quite irregularly cut, though you really did try your best. You scrutinize them for a moment with a frown.

Jiaoqiu has better knife skills than you do. Far better, actually, but Feixiao has strictly forbidden him from exercising those abilities after a few too many house calls from another healer to look over a wound or give him a few stitches. Since the rule has been put in place, you’ve been relegated to knife work in his stead.

“Dear?” Jiaoqiu asks, his hand settling lightly against your lower back. It yanks you from your unpleasant reverie. He’s turned down the stove. “Were you able to get that shallot chopped?”

“Oh,” you breathe. “Yes, sorry— I don’t think I did a great job.”

“I’m sure you did wonderfully,” he soothes easily, without a moment’s hesitation. His tail brushes against you as it swishes. “Can you put them into the skillet for me?”

You nod, remembering to speak just after, “Okay.”

Your voice sounds weak and fragile. Though Jiaoqiu doesn’t show it in any way, you’re certain he picks up on your tone and demeanor. You scoop up the chopped shallot and toss it into the pan to saute with garlic, oil, and an ample amount of chilis. They shimmer when they hit the steel. The fragrance fills the air Jiaqiu inhales deeply with a pleased sigh.

“Stir for me?” He asks.

���Sure.”

You take his place in front of the stove, and let him wrap himself around you as he sees fit. His arms twine around your waist, his chin chooks over your shoulder, and he noses into your cheek in that explicitly foxian way that you’ve come to adore from both of your lovers. You stir, as he told you to, careful to not let anything get too toasted or near burnt.

“You’re doing well,” Jiaoqiu praises you. “You needn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“... I could do better though.” You both know you’re talking about more than just making breakfast.

“Perhaps you could,” he replies smoothly. “But, it’s unfair to yourself to keep such high expectations for yourself that are nearly impossible to meet.”

“Jiaoqiu, dear, I was chopping a vegetable.”

“An allium,” he corrects gently, and you can’t help but snort. “It’s a microcosm of something larger, isn’t it?”

(It is. He and Feixiao are always acutely aware of it.)

“Perhaps,” you parrot.

He hums, lips dragging across the column of your throat. His teeth rest over your nape for a mere moment, fangs pricking the skin, before he soothes the spot with a kiss. You shudder down your body.

“You know we’re here, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

He leaves it at that. He and Feixiao— they’ve become good at picking you apart. Taking you apart bit by bit, each in their own unique ways. They’re very different lovers. To you, to each other, and as a unit of three. The way that both of them deign to peel away at you is distinctly different.

Jiaoqiu does so as he is doing now; gentle prodding, poking, and encouragement. He prefers soft skinship like this outside of the bedroom. It’s soothing for him, especially now that he lacks sight. Touch has become more meaningful, especially the small casual kind. You find yourself orbiting him most of the time, while he orbits you in tandem, both craving the same connection. ‘Attached at the hip—’ the aunties at the market stalls say when you and Jiaoqiu wander the markets. You don’t mind it.

You like folks knowing that Jiaoqiu is yours, and you are his. 

...

Jiaoqiu doesn’t have responsibilities until the early evening, so the remainder of the morning is spent curled up together on your favored plush loveseat together. Deliciously warm light sprays in from tall windows as you perch on his lap. A book, bound with leather and paper rather than projected on a digital readout, rests over your thighs.

You like reading to Jiaoqiu.

It’s become one of your favorite pastimes with him. His head rests on your shoulder as you read passage after passage of the romance novel you’ve been getting through. It’s not particularly exciting, but the prose is poetic and it sounds nice aloud. Jiaoqiu’s ear twitches against your cheek as you get to a particularly raunchy section. 

You stutter through it, he chuckles to him and rubs your ribs over your soft house clothes.

You like this with him— how slow things have gotten, how soft and kind you can be with him. Both he and Feixiao like it when you’re a bit meek; Feixiao should probably mourn that she doesn’t get to see you so soupy and soft. Jiaoqiu could certainly tease her about it.

As you finish the chapter you’re on, Jiaoqiu squeezes your sides. “Our General forgot her lunch. Would you like to bring it to her?”

“Of course.”

(You like when he tells you what to do.)

There’s a lunch already prepared for her in the fridge, a byproduct of your morning cooking. It’s in a cute, round box with a handle to carry it. Jiaoqiu tucks a note into it before you’re off, kissing you on the cheek as you depart.

Feixiao ‘forgets’ her lunch often.

Seemingly, anyways. She didn’t really leave her lunch at home by accident. You know this. You put it together some time ago. She tends to rush off in the mornings with only a quick goodbye while routinely leaving her box lunch behind. The Merlin’s Claw is not one to forget much of anything, so you found this quite odd.

And at some point, it dawned on you that she just wanted a midday visit from her lover. It’s quite sweet, really.

It’s also good for you. For as much as the two of them push rest onto you, getting out and walking about the Yaoqing on your own is good for you too. The sunshine, smells and sounds of the thriving vessel serve you well. The parkways are lovely and lush, and it’s nice to walk beside them and enjoy the scent of blooming flowers.

You pluck one for Feixiao, and tuck it on the top of her lunchbox.

Your General is doing what she so often does— train. She’s instructing a Cloud Knight squadron as you enter the familiar grounds. Her posture is straight and proper. Despite her usually relaxed attitude, she has cultivated a great deal of discipline.

She sees you almost instantly, ears twitching and a smile growing on her face. It makes your belly feel hot. She dismisses the group for a break before striding over to you.

Before you’re even able to speak to her, Feixiao is dragging you off to a more... private quarter of the grounds. A tucked away enclave where she cajoles you into a corner, back against a stone wall. You gulp— loudly— as Feixiao cages you in with a hand planted next to her head. She has a bit of height on you, even without counting her ears. She looms over you with a toothy smile.

“Did my sweetest thing bring a lunch delivery for me?” Feixiao laughs, light and airy and content all over.

You nod, resisting the urge to lean toward Feixiao’s outstretched arm. You’re sure you’ll get some much-needed snuggling later. For now, your General is balmy with sweaty, eyes dilated. The vestiges of a Hunt still cling to her, and it’s better to let her have her fun for now.

“I picked you a flower too.” 

She beams, eyeing the bloom.

Feixiao is easy to please. Especially like this, thrumming with energy and eager to be by your side. She presses a messy kiss to your cheek and nose at your jaw. The fluff of her tall ears tickles against the skin of your face. 

“If you get any sweeter, I think my teeth might rot right out of my mouth,” she sighs, wistful and pleased. “Eat lunch with me?” 

Jiaoqiu almost certainly packed an additional portion for you. How can you refuse?

You nod, nuzzling into her hair. It smells like the shampoo you both use and the scented oil that Jaioqui uses on his wrist each morning. Her arms, densely muscled, wrap around your waist and she picks you up with a squeeze.

...

You love your evenings together. 

The meal is always good, and the hours that you become entangled in your splendorous, shared bedroom is, somehow, better.

You all have your roles, your parts to play. 

Feixiao is the most active participant of the three of you. There’s a vigor in her that’s only satiated movement and touch, regardless of setting. Keeping her still and below either you or Jiaoqiu is a difficult task, and one she’s rarely in the mood for. When she does want to be flattened, it always involves a good-natured scrap beforehand.

Jiaoqiu enjoys directing. He’ll perch on the large, lavish bed you share and feel you and Feixiao out with a familiar touch. He’ll direct how you should touch each other, how you should enjoy and feast. 

You tend to be below the two of them, in some regard. Sometimes, you are very sweet and pliable. Being spoiled by them is quite nice even though it has taken some getting used to. Other times, you push and snap your teeth. It’s futile; the two of them easily push you back down in the most satisfying of ways. It’s been... affirming, to know that the duo of them can handle you and want to handle you, regardless of your flavor and state. 

You like your dynamics very much.

This evening, you feel more toothy. Perhaps it’s the quiet festering of your melancholy in the morning. Or, seeing your General heated and playful during your private lunch, but still having to leave her to mince about an empty home for the afternoon. 

It starts after dinner, as the three of you tidy up the kitchen. Jiaoqiu and Feixiao are discussing some administrative occurrence. On another night, you may have joined their conversation. You do miss... some of your old work. Poking at what Jiaoqiu and Feixiao bring home usually gets you a bit excited. But tonight, you don’t want to hear it. You feel needy and a bit upset about it. 

(You want them. All of them.) 

You wrap your arms around Feixiao’s waist from behind, leaning your forehead in between her shoulder blades. She reached over her shoulder and pets over your hair a few times, a paltry amount of attention. Something a little bitter rises on the back of your tongue. You thump your forehead into her back with what you think is a soft, but audible thump.

Feixiao and Jiaoqiu fall silent.

“Does someone want something?” Jiaoqiu tilts his head. Your stomach swoops.

Feixiao deftly spins you in a single motion, so you’re in front of her, rather than behind. Her chin hooks over your shoulder and she nuzzles into the softest skin of your neck. Jiaoqiu gathers up your hands in his own and squeezes. 

Feixiao presses words into the hollow of your throat. You feel the sharp points of her canines. “Use your words.”

“... Must I?”

“You must,” Jiaoqiu nods and steps closer. His hands smooth up your forearms, rubbing as he does. “You’ve been fractious since before dinner. I’d love to help, but I can’t if you don’t tell me.”

Feixiao hums in agreement. 

You chew your lip, stewing within yourself. Admitting your wants— needs— is difficult, even when they make it easy for you. Neither seems all that hurried in getting you to speak. Feixiao kisses up and down your neck and shoulders. Jiaoqiu traces his nails lightly over your skin, just so he can feel your shudder— probably.

You gulp. It’s an audible sound.

“I want you,” you admit to both of them, as if it weren’t obvious to them. “I want both of you.”

...

You have them both.

It happens as naturally as breathing when you finally give into them both. 

Jiaoqiu and Feixiao are always operating in tandem, even if it’s at different speeds. It’s the overhand of their dynamic outside of the bedroom, outside of this relationship. It makes quite an effective weapon in tormenting you.

You lay below Feixiao, propped up on a mound of pillows that Jiaoqiu lounges against. A clawed hand of his pets through your hair, scratching along the lower curve of your skull, your temples, behind your ears— all the sensitive spots that Jiaoqiu knows you love. 

Feixiao is eyeing you like you are a morsel to be feasted upon. She even licks her lips, like a predatory animal preparing for a meal.

You... like when she looks at you like that.

Your arms are tied above your head, the soft ribbons looped in between the wooden notches on the headboard. It’s secure enough that you could tug as much as you please and the knots wouldn’t budge. You like... the security of it. The weight of Feixiao straddling your hips produces much the same feeling.

“It’s very cute,” Jiaoqui runs a hand over your cheek and squeezes, “when you attempt to be coy.”

“‘Thas’ mean—” You reply, the words squished between your lips as he squeezes your cheeks together. You shoot him a half-hearted glare.

“It’s a valiant effort.” Jiaoqiu’s hand smooths down the front of your throat. “But you’re quite obvious when you’re needy.”

“It’s cute either way,” Feixiao leans over you, an eclipse in the low light of the moon. Her hand hooks on the back of Jiaoqiu’s neck and she rubs there. “Desperate or pretending not to be. I think you’re just cute in general.”

Feixiao smirks as you squirm underneath her, and she swoops closer to kiss Jiaoqiu. He makes a lightly startled noise but quickly relaxes into her. You watch as Feixiao nips at his lips, as Jiaoqiu slides his tongue into her mouth. It’s debauched. In the interim, Jiaoqiu’s freehand slides down your chest and cups your breast. You arch into his touch with a soft, breathy moan.

Feixiao cracks an eye open and smiles into her kiss with Jiaoqiu. 

“See?” She turns her attention to you, nosing closer and rolling her hips over yours. “Cute when you’re needy.”

“Very.” Jiaoqiu hums, clearly pleased as he tugs your hair with enough force to get you facing him. 

He kisses you— dirty. Somehow sloppier and wetter than Feixiao. It’s less hungry, more indulgent and sticky. As he licks into your mouth, it tastes sweet like the fruit and whipped cream you had shared for dessert. You kiss him back, straining against your behinds and Feixiao shifting weight over your middle. 

Jiaoqiu pulls away just enough to instruct Feixiao— “Why don’t you spoil them, hm? Give them what they need. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You can’t tell if the question was meant for you or Feixiao, but all the same, your throat bobs and you nod. Enthusiastically. Feixiao laughs and descends down your body. Jiaoqiu takes up kissing you once more, scratching at your shoulders and collarbones. It’s a pleasant type of contact, one that makes you full body shudder.

Feixiao seems pleased as the pleasure rolls through you. Her lips skate down past your collar bones, your sternum. She nips at the softness of your tummy, making a few shallow bruises as she does. The marks will bloom over the course of the evening, more joining them, surely. Feixiao enjoys them, as does Jiaoqiu, even if he can’t see them himself. Feixiao will guide his hands to the marks and show him where they are, and let him press and probe. Enough to make you squirm, but never enough to be truly painful.

Jiaoqiu’s hands drag up into your hair, and he moves you enough so that he can settle behind you. Your skull is pillowed on his thigh, his tail curling around his hip, just barely brushing up against your cheek. You squirm as Feixiao licks lower, over your hip bones. You yelp when she chomps your thigh and you can’t help shooting her an indignant look.

She beams.

“Be nice, you two,” Jiaoqiu sounds like he could be attempting to soothe, but the teasing tone he uses riles Feixiao up and he knows this. She practically purrs against you, slipping lower between your thighs. She jostles you a bit, lifting your legs up over her shoulders. Her muscles feel tight and hard beneath the softness of your own. Her own build radiates strength in a way that has you dripping. 

She nuzzles at the tender spot at the juncture of your thigh and cunt. You shiver, overwhelmed by the contact, the attention. 

“Go slow,” Jiaoqiu tells Feixiao, his nails tap and scratch the shell of your ear. 

Feixiao obeys him simply. You fall to both of them.

She kisses the innermost pudge of your thighs, restraining all of her impulses for speed in order to indulge the order of one lover, and lavish the other one with attention. She breathes, open-mouthed, near your core. Foxians are keener to scents to scents, especially those of the body. More than once, Feixiao has commented on how she particularly enjoys the smell of your arousal. She’s attuned to it, you know. Your want may as well be another sense of hers. 

If the heady scent of your arousal wasn’t an indication of your want, then the wetness spilling from your cunt would be a clear sign.

Your cheeks spark with heat as Feixiao laughs lowly, tilting her head with a flick of your ears.

“We’ve hardly touched you yet.” She teases so simply. “You need this badly, don’t you?”

You whine in the back of your throat; it’s enough of an answer for the both of them to chuckle. 

Feixiao licks over your cunt in one stripe. Instantly, your hands ball into fist and jerk against your bindings. There’s an ache there that you can’t pay any mind too. It’s hard to think of details and the minute as Feixiao laps at your clit. Your hips jolt and you squeeze your eyes shut with the pleasure of it. Your turn your face into Jiaoqiu’s clothed thigh like you can hide from how good it feels.

Jiaoqiu slides his hands down your body, bracing your hips to the bed.

“Take it,” he orders, voice gentle and lilting but entirely unignorable. “I know you can.” 

Feixiao laughs against your cunt, the vibration of it makes you gasp and scramble for purchase in her hair, on the rapidly soaking sheets of the bed. Jiaoqiu slides his hand into yours and squeezes. It grounds you enough for Feixiao to take her fill.

She’s a voracious lover. She does nothing in halves. The foxian licks and sucks at your clit, spiking a delirious type of pleasure in you. Jiaoqiu sings sweet words in your ears, commands to her. 

“Use your fingers,” he tells her. You know you’re fucked.

Feixiao wastes no time before stretching you on one of her lithe, manicured fingers. It’s fairly often that they have you like this. Usually Jiaoqiu is the one that opens you up, but Feixiao likes her turn too. She growls against your sex as a moan cracks from your throat.

Jiaoqiu pets over your damp cheeks as she presses a second finger into you. There’s no ache, just the slick slide over her in you— curling her fingers just right to punch against your sweet spot. You gasp, writhe, beg. 

“Please,” you gasp, “please, please, please—”

“We’ve got you,” Jiaoqiu assures. “You don’t need to worry, we’re taking good care of you, aren’t we?”

The way he speaks down to you, especially when you’re surrounded by the two of them, at their tender mercy— it’s quite undoing. Jiaoqiu’s smiles as he plays with your breasts, rolling over your nipples. The pleasure is arcing, sweet in your mouth and rich like you can sink your teeth into it.

You crest against Feixiao fingers, begging for more, grinding against her face as she so enjoys. Jiaoqiu hushes you through as Feixiao eats your cunt through your orgasm, unyielding in her pace and intensity. A second one is pulled from you, in quick succession, the product of careful attention in a way that makes your belly feel like its full of a hot, blessed honor.

When your vision starts to tunnel, black nipping at the edges, you whimper and writhe. Even kick a little. 

(On another night, you’d take more. You’d let them have you any which way, however long they want. Feixiao is partial to bouncing you in Jiaoqiu’s lap, on his cock, until you’re both strung out of your minds with overstimulation. Jiaoqiu will finger you open much more thoroughly in order to prepare you for whatever strap Feixiao chooses. Feixiao is partial to sitting on your face and grinding to her heart’s content while either eating you out, bent over your tummy— or sucking Jiaoqiu’s cock until he deigns that she stop.)

But this night, this cricket-chirping twilight that you’ve settled into you— there isn’t enough thunderous energy for such a romp. What this is is more than sating. It’s the touch that matters. The sharing of bed, the exchange of wants and desire and trust.

Feixiao pulls off of you, and you drag her up, closer, so you can kiss her filthy and stupid. Jiaoqiu chuckles at this, petting through your sweaty hairline. You turn your attention to him to give him one as well, mixing the taste of him with you and Feixiao. Just as it should be.

...

It’s the deep night, now. Early morning at worst. You should be sleeping. Feixiao is fast asleep, against your front. Her back pressing into your tummy, her shoulder blade against your cheek. Jiaoqiu is spooning you from the back. You’re nestled between the two of them, warm and clean and comfortable in a soul-deep sort of way. 

Jiaoqiu is still awake.

“Are you okay?” You ask in the still quiet of the room.

He squeezes around your middle. “I’m alright, dear. You should rest.”

“So should you.”

“I will when you do.”

“Nuh-uh.” You whisper back, and nudge your hips back toward him in protest. You hear his tail thump against the bed. “We both need to rest. Is something keeping you from sleeping?”

“Hm… Cravings.”

“... For?”

“An omelet with kalaiki pepper jam and chopped chives,” he says. “And, for the three of us to have more time like this— when we’re all settled.”

“‘Settled’?”

“You and Feixiao,” he begins, kissing the nape of your neck. “Have trouble sitting still. You both tend to get quite sleepy after a bout in bed. It’s lovely.”

“You two do wear me out, and Feixiao,” You nose into her hair and she presses back into you in her sleep. “I think she tires herself out.”

“I would agree.”

You both share a little giggle together, one that’s eaten by the moonlight.   

“I think things are getting better,” you tell him. You mean it, too. 

(You entered their own entanglement out of coincidence. Your presence settled their own lingering affections and connection in a way that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. There’s been much learning that’s had to occur— even more so since Jiaoqiu lost his sight. Doubly so, since you stopped working and have become more homebound.)

“I agree.” He practically chirps. It’s a cute thing, a foxian trait you have become so endeared to. “I’m proud of you, dear.” 

“I’m proud of you too.”

Jiaoqiu, always so careful about showing his own cracks and vulnerabilities, cozies into you. He’s a line of heat against your back, warm and unfailing. You squeeze him over where his arms are wrapped around your waist.

You hum, voice blurry with sleep and satisfaction, “We’ll make that omelet in the morning, yeah?”

“I’d love to,” he replies simply.

It’s a good thought to fall asleep to. Another passing day of good things, little melancholies aside. You appreciate each noon, dawn and dusk with them. And, you think they both appreciate them with you, too.

[militaryapple]

I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER.

synopsis. you go out to forget about your dead best friend, though its hard to forget when you miss him so much.

cw. mentions of death, reader has auditory and visual hallucinations, grief, sad like genuinely disheartening, angst. pure angst.

add ons. ok so what i was sad im allowed to take it out on caleb probably first fic out of a series idk anyways smut coming soon

wc. 3.1k

parties. you had a love and hate relationship with them. you loved them because of how free you felt. how reckless you could be without anyone telling you that its dangerous to drink so much with a low tolerance, or how you shouldn't wear such a revealing outfit knowing your job. fuck, you were.. free.

but that was the worst part about it.

you were free. you didn't have anyone holding you down. being your anchor. you didn't have anyone making sure if where you were going was safe, even going as far as to go with you. it was fine, you were used to this routine by now. you partied to deal with stress, problems, grief, him.

it was just the thought of him that haunted you. you knew that partying didn't change how you felt, how it couldn't make anything disappear. it did distract you though, even if it was just for a bit. it wasn't your first rodeo either. it was those tiny moments where you thought of him.

thought of caleb.

how when you get ready, you wondered if he would tell you that you looked pretty in the dress you wore. how he looked at how snug it fit you, or how caleb would clench his fist, telling you that you shouldn't go. how much of a bad idea it was. sometimes you imagine, what if he saw you? in the bar or club. how he would look at you with his eyes softening the moment he found you in the crowd of people.

time would move slower, his once worried expression now calming into a relieved one. how he looked at you like you were the world. his world. you imagine how he would squeeze his way through people, with murmurs of "excuse me" and "I need to get by, sorry". just to reach you. to hold you. to know that you were okay. the sight of his hands lingering over you, not quite touching you but enough to feel that he would be shaking, how he would cup your face and lean down. heads together while you could feel the steadying of his breath.

"you're okay."

it was one of the few sentences you could remember from him. the words echoing in your head so clearly it was like he had just said it. it was one of the many things that calmed you down. the only thing you thanked your brain for remembering that had actually made you feel soothed. it was just to help you calm down if you were having a panic attack, or if you were overwhelmed. how his voice and a couple of slow breaths made the fast-turning world suddenly slow down.

oh how you missed caleb.

this is why you needed to leave the house.

your therapist advises against you doing this. how dangerous it is for you to constantly go out whenever your mind was in a state of distress, but you've never gotten hurt. so it didn't matter right? it was the only thing that cleared your mind of him. that made you remember that you're still young, free. so what if you didn't have an anchor? someone helping you? you were a big fucking girl. you have a job, friends a life. he's been dead for a year. you need to get fucking over it.

and god did it hurt your heart to think that.

you can't be angry at a dead man. yet you somehow managed to be. why you were angry at him? you don't even know. maybe it was because when you last saw him, you didn't know it was going to be the last time you saw him. maybe it was because it was the only day you both were free, and how you missed seeing his face and eating his cooking after so long. maybe it was because you missed the dumb promises he made when he was younger, still managing to keep long after your adolescence. or maybe it was because of the argument you both had, before he was gone. right before your very eyes.

oh god. you really needed to leave the house, it was becoming a pity party. you grabbed your purse, and put on your pumps. walking to the door and grabbing your keys. "here we go" you sighed to yourself, opening the door and shutting it after walking out. once you locked your door you made your way to the elevator and down you went.

checking your phone, you looked for tara's location. it was one of the few weeks you two were able to meet up, and its not because it was caleb and gran's death anniversaries so you were told to take a week off because captain couldn't have her best hunter overworking herself again. seeing how tara was nearby, you shuffled to one side of the sidewalk. tara pulled to the side, stopping her car while you got inside in the passanger seat.

"I'm telling you," tara voiced "maybe your therapist is right, we shouldn't be going out on a day like this, no matter how much I would LOVE to be out dancing it doesn't seem right - and as your best friend.." tara trailed off, looking over at you. you trembled, hands clutched together. she couldn't help but sigh. "fine. lets just get some flowers to lay at their graves first at least. so you won't feel guilty about not going tomorrow." she said softly. her gazing shifting back to the road.

tara pulled over at a nearby flower shop. she got out, and you followed her actions. you went in saying "hello" to the shop-keeper. her face soft. she must've known you were here for a loved one. she didn't know, she couldn't know. your stomach bubbled. how would she know about him? did she know you were there? your heart ached. why did she look at you so pitifully? what if you were there for just flowers? what if you wanted to give them to someone alive, breathing? your hands clenched and your face started to boil.

"hey, are you okay?" for a moment you paused, feeling the sensation of someone resting their hands on your shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. was it? could it be? whipping your head around. caleb? was that really him? it sounded just like him. your illusion soon shattered with your view focusing on tara. ah, just another one of your imaginations. you sighed, nodding your head.

"you're okay." you silently reminded yourself, taking a deep breath. you looked at the flowers tara held up. smiling in approval, tara paid for them and you both started to return to the car. you couldn't help but look back at the woman behind the desk. she felt.. off. nonetheless you shook it off, it was just "grieving emotions" or whatever your therapist called it. she doesn't know you. she doesn't know caleb.

tara soon made another stop, your heart beating faster with each movement you pushed yourself to do. it's routine, you have to see them, see him. you walked behind tara, she didn't say anything. you felt like a ghost, mindlessly floating around whenever you go visit their graves. "we didn't have to do this now, tara." you forced yourself to say. your breath hitching and voice cracking. you just did your makeup so nice, it'd be a shame for you to ruin it with tears you could shed tomorrow.

"I know" Tara said with a faint smile. you two managing to reach the top of the hill as she got down to place the flowers. you stood next to her this time, closing your eyes and making a prayer before turning around and walking back to the car, now ahead of her. "but if i didn't come with you today, I don't think you'd ever come this week to see them." and she had a point. that's why tara was your best friend, she knew you so well. she knew this week, you wouldn't get up. wouldn't visit the graves of the most precious people who ever lived.

you could only huff as you both returned to the car.

it wasn't until soon after tara had gotten out the car, smiling brightly as she walked to the line of the bar. "okay," she said gleefully, turning her head to you. his face stern as she pinched your cheeks, you smiled hitting her hand away playfully. "you aren't getting black out drunk this time, you hear me? i'm making sure tonight you aren't being so reckless. i always think to let you have fun and when I turn around - it's chaos!" she huffed and scrutinized you.

it was sweet on how she attempted to be your anchor, but she didn't compare to him. she couldn't compare. god, it was even worse on how you were comparing your dead best friend to the one who had just visited his grave with you. your stomach did a twirl of uneasiness.

"okay okay tara" you said softly, "i get it, lets go in now." you nudged her into the bar. it was crowded. the lights flashing different variations of colors as you watched how people moved and wiggled. this is where you needed to be, this was your home, your safe place. no matter how bad that sounded, no matter how self destructive you were, this is what helped you.

you maneuvered your way towards the bar. ordering yourself a drink. "here's to the first drink of the night" you mumbled to yourself lightheartedly. you could hear another chuckle next to you, turning your head you saw a man. he looked about 3 years older than you, his hair ruffled and his eyes a hue of blue. if you were really desperate you could even say purple if the lights hit his face in a nicer view.

he looked like caleb. it could make you shiver.

"another one of those nights?" he nudged your arm. you nodded and chuckled in response, taking another sip of your drink. "can't help it." you joked. now's not the time to mention your dead best friend's anniversary. "shit happens." the man swallowed down his drink getting up. he moved towards the crowd watching to see if you'd followed.

you watched him. how he said "pardon me" and "gotta get through here." it was scary. you blinked, and instead of him, you saw caleb. please not right now. you had hoped not to see him. how he smiled waving you over. how easily you've given into this little mind illusion. he felt so real.

you leaned in closer to 'caleb' and your stomach did a leap. your face buzzed with heat washing over your cheek. you missed him, you missed his touch and his warmth.

it was like you could almost sob with how real this was. you looked up, and saw his beautiful eyes. the eyes that washed you in so deeply, that made you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

so you couldn't help it if your hand moved to his neck, and the other moved to his face. how your eyes fluttered with utter love for the man standing in front of you. the man you've known your entire life, now here, dancing with you. you wanted to talk to him, hear his voice. you wanted to hear how much he missed you, and how he was holding you, how he was here, holding you.

"caleb," you said softly, placing your head back to his chest. it wasn't until you felt a sudden halt between you two. in confusion you looked up at caleb, before feeling a shove. your eyes blinking, brows furrowing. the illusion that long comforted you now slipping away as the man who once held you looked at you in pure disgust.

caleb's scent was no longer there, instead a heavy coat of musk and beer loomed over it instead. the once sugary dream you had was swiped away from you while another hand gave you licorice. it was sickening.

"the hell? the fuck's wrong with you?" he cursed under his breath storming away. "next time, you don't call a fucking guy another mans name when dancing with them." he spat at you before flipping you off. fuck. fuck fuck. did you really imagine caleb as this man? are you fucking insane?

you could only laugh at yourself to keep your composure. to keep yourself from bawling your eyes out. you moved back to the bar. ordering a new drink and sipping out of that. your eyes glazed around the bar, tara was dancing with some guy which meant you were either going home alone today or you could third wheel in the backseat, listening to the sounds of kissing and small moans.

you would take your chances walking home alone today.

tapping the bar counter, you asked for the tab and paid in full. mimicking the way caleb used to do it when you watched him order you both shirley temples when you were younger. yet there was no caleb, and instead of mocktail's there were full blown drinks made up of your own pity and guilt.

you walked outside, it was freezing and you could see the clouds beginning to brew. great, you'll just call a taxi instead. waving on the side of the road, you watched as a yellow car pulled over to you. getting in you told the driver your address and asked to get you there fast. you would even throw in a 15$ extra tip.

the ride was silent, and the rain began to pour. how cinematic. you thought to yourself. you've always hated the rain. the sounds of thunder and lightning that would be too close for your liking, alarmingly close. on those nights, you would walk to your door sniffling. opening it to find caleb, with his arms held out. instinctively you would rush in his arms as he coo'd you. bringing you back to bed and holding you.

"it's okay. you're okay." he'd say softly. rubbing the center of your back as he watched you trying to fight your eyelids open "i'll be here when you wake up. so sleep all you want, okay pip-squeak?" though this time it would be a lie. if you woke up tomorrow morning, he wouldn't be there anymore, and the day after that, and the day after that. repeating until you eventually took your last breath.

you sighed, before looking out the window. you thanked your taxi driver, paying him a 20$ tip instead. he tried to beat the rain, so A for effort. as you got out you looked up at your apartment, the sight of it looming over you. how you hated being here, hated the thought that again, tonight, you would be crying over the death of him.

closing the taxi door, you turned around to walk to your apartment, moving into a halt. there was a man. his frame was big and his size was taller than you. you looked closer at his back. he was in some sort of uniform. his hat hid his hair while the umbrella he held up kept him perfectly dry. he looked up at the apartment, like he was scanning in each and every window for something, or someone.

is he okay? does he need help? even though you were an average person, you were a hunter first still. you moved towards the man in black, placing your palm on his shoulder.

it probably wasn't a good idea to do this. he was probably a creep, and you were in a dress just returning from the bar you would no longer go to out of pure embarrassment. something in you tugged at the man though. you couldn't shake the feeling, and your heart skipped beats.

as the man turned you could catch a faint smell of vanilla. vanilla, apples and oak. it wasn't a heavy scent, but it was faint enough for you to swoon - oddly it reminded you of him. it was his scent. a scent you could recognize a thousand times in a thousand lives. your face shoved down. reluctant to look up, yet you forced yourself to.

no. you didn't want to imagine him again. not like this. it was new, you've never seen him like this. yet you couldn't deny yourself. you wanted to escape this illusion - this torture. yet you stood, looking.

the umbrella dropped, the sound of a small splash and thud could be heard as the man in front of you looked down at you.

it was caleb.

he was home.

your eyes fluttered, you wiped them as you stared at him. you dug your nail in your finger to make sure this was real. the pain confirming the actuality of the scenery. you couldn't help but sob. your hiccups matching the way your body huffed up and down. the way you hyperventilated as your lungs tried to clutch on as much air as they possibly could.

caleb looked down at you, his hands at his side while he stood in disbelief. emotions swirling in his chest. should he reach out to you? comfort you and hug you? tell you that it's okay, hes here now? caleb leaned into you. his hands finding their way to your back and he tugged you closer to him. it seemed all so natural for him, as he's done this countless times before.

you couldn't help but hold on to him, cling to him like he could disappear at any given moment. like if you let go, he'd leave you once more. caleb rubbed your back, holding you as close as he could. oh how he missed you, your skin and your beautiful eyes. he missed your scent and your voice. it pained him to know that just the mere sight of him made you burst out in tears.

it devoured him knowing that he caused all this anguish for you. you had already saw him, so there was no other way for him to make up the absolute torture he put you in the past year. caleb planted a small kiss on your head, his coo's soothing you as much as they could.

"I know pip-squeak, I know. its okay, I'm here, lets go inside okay? It's cold and wet out here. I promise I won't go anywhere." was what he had said to you, he wanted to calm you down. make sure you were okay, even if he would be making empty promises.

[lunathepinkprincess]

I built some Gundams; I’m cool now, right?

So the other day I was at Hot Topic of all places when I noticed they had Gunpla model kits; they were like $16 each since everything in the store was on sale, and my initial thoughts were “oh, cool, I’ll build these and then they can be used in stop motion”… and then I ended up watching The Witch from Mercury and started Iron Blooded Orphans, and…

shit. I’m one of those tumblr Gundam tgirls now.

The first kit I bought from Hot Topic was the HG Rouge Strike + I.W.S.P., and… yeah. It was definitely a first model, lol.

I dunno if you can tell in the pictures, but… I didn’t use nippers for this thing. I started out cutting the pieces off the sprues with scissors, but by the end I was just punching them out with my hands xP . Miraculously, none of the parts snapped, but there are a LOT of nubs left on this thing, even after I tried cleaning it up with an xacto knife and nippers when I got some.

It’s a so-so kit. Definitely my least favorite of the three I’ve built so far, but not bad at all. It’s a rerun of an older kit, apparently, and it definitely feels that way. It’s a little flimsy.

My next kit also was done without nippers, but this time it was okay since it was an EG kit which quite literally requires no tools. This is the Build Strike Exceed Galaxy, to be specific, and to be honest I couldn’t find what anime it’s from.

I vibe with this thing heavily. It’s sturdy, the articulation is great, and its accessories are top-notch. Not only does it come with a gun, but another gun that can turn into a sword and a shield that can turn into a sword. That’s not even the best part; it’s got a backpack that’s actually a spaceship!

This was also the first kit I did that had color-separated eyes as opposed to the Rouge Strike’s annoying eyes sticker, so that was also a plus. Finally, last but certainly not least, we have my third kit; The HG Gundam LFRITH Ur, from The Witch From Mercury .

This thing is a beast. It’s big, it’s heavily armored, and it comes with a giant Gatling gun. It was pretty much what I thought the Rouge Strike was gonna be when I looked at its box… I LOVE it. It also helps that Sophie was one of my favorite TWFM characters and this is her mech :P

Not much else to say about this one, tbh. I bought nippers along with this thing when I got it online so it’s much cleaner looking than my first go at an HG kit.

here’s all three of my kits side to side. It really shows the size of the LFRITH Ur, lol.

This… is not the last I’ll be talking about Gundam. I have two more kits to be assembled, after all; the sister of the Ur, the LFRITH Thorn, and the Barbatos from Iron Blooded Orphans. Please excuse me while I go do that.

[lemotmo]

I'm shaking with excitement at this point

Q. They have been filming 8x12 for weeeeeks!! My god how big must this episode be? And clearly Eddie is not in it because he's not been seen in any of the bts pics and videos we've received and boo on that.

A. It does feel like they've been filming that episode for a while now but it's hard to tell because they also shot episode 13 in the midst of it; so I think one of the reasons it seems so long is because they clearly held the outdoor filming for this one block. It might very well be a big episode but it might also just be the way the filming block worked out for the outside shots. And to be fair we have no proof Eddie isn't part of the episode. The only BTS stuff we're getting is 118 stuff and Eddie is in El Paso for episode 12 so just because we're not seeing him in these scenes doesn't mean we won't see him at all. I'm quite sure he'll be in the episode to some degree. Especially if episode 13 and 14 are the big episodes it's starting to feel like they are. I'm more curious about what episode he actually leaves in. Does he leave in episode 9 before they find out Maddie's been taken? Probably not. Does he leave at the end of episode 10 once Maddie is safe? That seems more likely. That would allow Eddie two full episodes on El Paso before returning in episode 13. And I think the goodbye scene in the rain would make a good final scene of an episode. I do think something bad is going to happen to one of them. It's technically Eddie's turn but I'm not sure if they would put Chris in the story position of almost losing his dad again right after they reconcile, or at least begin to reconcile so I actually think it might be Buck again. Who knows really they could both be fine and nothing bad happens, but that would be odd for this show if we're being honest. I do believe once the kidnapping plot is resolved the Buddie stuff will start moving at a pretty steady pace though so we really need to mentally and emotionally prepare ourselves as best as we can, lol. Eek.

Thank you Nonny!

LOL! I just made a post about this topic! Here it is!

I'm not going to repeat everything I said in my post, but I will say this:

I am very sure that Eddie will be a part of 8x12. While they are filming the 118 calls for the episode, they might as well be filming El Paso scenes with Ryan (and Gavin) on another location. It only makes sense to show how he is doing in El Paso.

Personally I think he leaves at the end of episode 10 and I think him and Chris will decide to return at the end of 8x12. They'll be back in LA for 8x13, because we have seen footage of Ryan at the fire station when they were filming for 8x13.

I fear that I will never truly be mentally and emotionally ready for Buddie though. I am going to lose my mind the moment they start the Buddie story arc. EEK indeed! 🤗

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[mobagehelllocal]

“chain ‘round my neck”

a/n: my wrist won’t let me draw :c but my delusions never end ! bye dont mind that i wrote this ages ago this is inspired by these stupid 22000 yen necklaces. (it is pictured below)

this is dedicated to @hanafubukki my favourite person ever.

warning: possible outdated characterisations (im sorry :c), possible delusional characterisations (im NOT sorry)

when you wonder how you got into this situation, you’ll think back to that one lunch break where you bet ace trappola that he could never plan “the perfect date”.

how unfortunate for you that he took that as a personal insult.

now, here you are: having lost said bet. and by the looks of that insufferable, cocky grin that curled his lips, he knew it too.

the idea of a perfect date was entirely subjective to the people involved in said date. and trappola had not wasted a single moment he had spent with you, to craft something so magical and utterly destructive for you. you.

brunch in a sun dappled cafe at a quarter past twelve (and oh perhaps you grew a little jealous of how the sun kissed the little curls in his hair, the soft squish of his cheeks). then a quick duck into an old time arcade with the sun at its peak, where he proceeded to beat the shit out of you at all the music based games (and you can't really get mad at him when you're a little in lo infatuated with the way he smiles). escaped the arcade near sundown to explore an open market where you spent your thaumarks on little trinkets and street foods (and he gripes and moans and refuses but he holds your stuff and spends a second too long thinking about how the warmth of your hand suffused into your things-).

before finally, he took you home (to ramshackle). hands behind his head with an insufferable, cocky grin on his stupid, smart-talking, clever mouth.

“so, didja enjoy it?”

you bit your lip—did you really want to tell him how well he did, knowing he’d lord it over you for (probably) the rest of your lives? ace smirked at your uncertain expression; his hand lowered into his pocket and fiddled with his final card.

because he wasn’t quite done with you—no.

he was going to get you to admit that he had done a perfect job, and he had planned the cherry on top for your wonderful day.

“maybe.” you managed; he barely held his snort in and you glared at him. cheeks flushed with embarrassment, with the inability to admit defeat… to him, of all people.

“then it’s good I’m not quite done yet.” he watched in delight as your expression changed from indignant to confused.

“you…” you began before he shushed you loudly and gestures for you to turn around. which you did, almost immediately (barely considering how far have you come that you’d trust ace trappola with your back!?).

and with your back to him; he has a second where he loses his breath. because if he were to be honest (and he’s not one for honesty); this part wasn’t really in the plan. he had added it in as a silly ‘heeheehaha’ moment because he wanted to ruin you.

but this would ruin him too; him and all his ‘love is just a pain’ speeches.

but your back was to him, and you’ve already started fidgeting and with every shaky inhale you both make, the awkwardness only lengthened; and he’ll do it just so you wouldn’t ever think (in the future) there was a possibility that he almost chickened out (because he actually was, and fuck why was his hands sweaty, now?).

you flinched as you felt something touch the nape of your neck. in the next second you realised that the featherlight touch is the tips of his callused fingers and in the second after; it’s cool metal—a necklace. your shoulder twitched, but you hold yourself steady. and was it wishful thinking that his hands lingered a second after he fastened the necklace properly?

he cleared his throat and you turned slowly. your hand raised to touch the necklace, fingers fiddled with the pendant that now hung around your neck. every twist of your fingers was in time with the beat of your heart.

“how about now?”

it takes you a breath (maybe two) before you remembered he was asking you about the perfect date. (you were a little lost by how close he was). about the bet. (you were a little lost by the cherry red of his eyes).

you nod, incapable of words that could summarise the internal warring over the destruction of your peace of mind and this overwhelming desire to just—just—

‘if there was nothing left between us then—’

but ace pulls back; and the second that could have been your forever, shatters.

“great.” he grins, hands tucked into his pocket (not at all sweaty, certainly!) “then i’ll expect you to tell everyone i won.”

“… yeah.” because was there anything else you can say to him?

“—see you monday.”

“monday.” you echoed.

and you both turn around; ever more keenly aware of that thing that hangs, that lingers, that remains, that grows, that blooms... between the two of you.

-

"i want to wear his initial "on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck not because he owns me but 'cause he really knows me."

[fastcardotmp3]

❄️wip wednesday❄️

tagged by my beloved @kkpwnall! which is perfect because i was in a sharing mood anyway (:

i actually wrote a scene last night that i'm still buzzing about but i can't share it because it's too far ahead and too big a spoiler, so you get a snippet from part 4 of (all my friends) instead mwah <3

“I—” he croaks, clears his throat, tries again. “I was just doing my job.”

Eddie breathes deeply like he’s gathering himself and they’re standing close enough that Buck can see the flutter of his eyes behind their lids as he closes them for a moment, can see the way the movement radiates to the very tips of his eyelashes. 

“Y’know, I believe you mean that,” Eddie says. “That’s what scares me.” 

He turns his back to pull on his overshirt and then sling his bag over his shoulder and Buck stares all the while, caught between conversation and convalescence from the day at large. 

“Eddie,” he starts before promptly cutting himself off from arguing further and instead starting from the top. “Eddie, I’m sorry I freaked you out.” 

Eddie stops where he stands, the work of his jaw more obvious in profile than it would be head on, and then he turns and looks at Buck with this slow and deliberate exhale. 

“I know you are,” he says, and Buck knows him back just enough to realize what they’re both choosing not to say. 

Buck regrets scaring Eddie. He doesn’t regret what he did. 

“Okay,” Buck presses his lips together tight and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and grasps at words like straws. 

Because this tension hasn’t existed between them since Eddie stopped the fights. This tension hasn’t existed between them for quite some time and Buck does not like it. He doesn’t like being on this side of it. 

“Eddie, are we…?”

It’s like Eddie’s strings get cut. Buck isn’t sure what precisely he sees in Buck, if it’s the screaming abandonment issues or something else, but he sees something that has all of his anger sloughing off his shoulders and dropping anticlimactically at his feet. 

“We’re fine, we’re okay,” he drops his duffle at his feet with his anger and takes a few long strides back towards Buck, “Jesus, c’mere, we’re fine.”

Buck doesn’t get hugged very often. He’s single and he lives alone and most of his personal interactions happen in a work environment and so he doesn’t get hugged very often which is why his breath shudders, startled and unsteady, when Eddie wraps him up in a tight embrace. 

It’s why it takes a beat for him to hug Eddie back. 

tagging! with zero pressure and one trillion love: @judasofsuburbia @fragilecapric0rnn @cheatghost @snowangeldotmp3 @figthefruitfaeth @butchhorse @stevethehairington @lookforanewangle @ghostlandtoo

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@beef-brisket

It wasn’t hard to find where the little get together was. As it was the social event of the season. Nor was it hard it to get in.

We’ll actually sneak in but still, he was inside the party. He decided to disguise himself with a cloak. Surprisingly no one paid him much mind as they were all busy. Busy torturing any and everything that looked like him or Lilith.

Though mainly they were made in his image.

All six of the other deadly sins were here. Partaking in different activities. Even Satan was there.

He was guzzling down several bottles of Beelzejuice in a single minute. Clearly trying to drown out the hard feelings he was going through. His face betrayed his stoicism.

Lucifer didn’t know what made him go over there. Maybe it was vindictiveness, or perhaps pity, or he was simply morbidly curious. Either way he walked right up to the sin of wrath and said very casually,

Lucifer: Hey Satan.

Satan glanced down and immediately choked on his drink when he saw a pair of familiar red and yellow eyes. After coughing and wheezing trying to regain his breath he managed to speak,

Satan: Lucifer? What in your name are you doing here?

Lucifer: Oh nothing much just decided to see what the big hype was for this party.

Satan: Pfft well you certainly are lucky that everyone is busy getting wrecked or else you’d be fucking murdered right about now. Hehe hic!

Satan was wobbly on his feet and looked like he needed to sit. So Lucifer despite everything in him telling him not to directed him towards the nearest couch. Luckily it was in a separate room so that meant he and him could maybe have a little talk.

About what? Lucifer wasn’t quite sure.

Gently he pushed him onto the couch. Once on there and comfortable immediately summoned another bottle.

Lucifer: Wow, I have never seen you throw back so hard.

Satan lowered his drink and gave the king a dry look: If you must know I’ve had a shitty past few…years. I need this shit.

Lucifer: (scoffs) Oh YOU had it rough?! The guy who committed an act of treason with my wife in OUR FUCKING BED!

Satan: Please don’t tell me that you never suspected she was unfaithful.

Lucifer: Of course I fucking knew! I knew it from the moment you started seducing her! You were the one who turned her back on me and this marriage!

Satan: Don’t act like she’s the victim here. She already fooled you once do you want to be the fool twice?

Lucifer: What are you even talking about?

Satan: Does Eden ring any bells for you? You turned your back on Adam, your so called bestie, because your precious Lily claimed she hurt him. Even if the truth was far from that.

Lucifer: How…who…Adam was hurting her-

Satan: Did you ever see it happen?

Lucifer: Well I…um…no actually not.

Satan: And you just took her word without giving it proper consideration or searching into these claims.

Lucifer: How would you know if these allegations were true or not!? You weren’t there I was!

Satan: Because she told me she lied.

Lucifer: …What?

Satan: Lilith, she told me she lied in Eden about Adam trying to control her because she wanted to escape the place. She thought this wild story would help that.

Lucifer: How do I know you’re telling the truth? What if you’re simply trying to cause trouble between us?

Satan put his drink down and tapped his temple: You can still see into memories can’t you? If so go right ahead.

Lucifer almost didn’t want to. Because if he did it would mean that everything he thought to be true would have been nothing but a lie.

Still, he had to know.

When he saw the memory of the two lying together after a round of love making. Telling each other secrets Lilith finally admitted to her darkest of secrets. She was a liar.

Lucifer had married a liar.

He betrayed Heaven for a liar.

He inadvertently caused the death of his best friend for a liar.

He didn’t even know who she was anymore. If he ever knew her at all.

Once finished he sat there for the longest time staring at the wall in silence. Shaking like a dog in the rain. Satan partly pitied the guy.

He did after all porked his wife. Even if he thought what he and her had was more than just that.

He guessed he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all the things she’d done both on Earth and in Eden. She even went out of her way to have a child with the king just to keep her title.

Even after all those times of her telling him she never wanted to be a simple broodmare. Chained to the angels command to be Adam’s wife and mother of his children. It was what made her resentful in the first place.

But Satan was thinking too much into it. Lilith made her choice, she preferred power over love. That was her decision and he is accepting it.

He just wondered if Lucifer would accept it.

Finally after a solid ten minutes of silence Lucifer spoke: What do I do now?

Satan wasn’t expecting that: What?

Lucifer: What do I do now? What am I supposed to do? Everything I thought was right was because of her. I gave up everything to be with her, because…because she was the only one who ever cared for me, or at least I thought she did.

Satan scoffed: Oh that is straight up bull!

Lucifer: Excuse me!?

Satan: “Lilith was the only one who cared about little old me.” Lucifer you know damn well that isn’t true.

Lucifer: No I do!

Satan: Lucifer, take a moment to look around you! A man who cared so much about you, after you hurt him beyond belief threw a party dedicated just for hating you! And Lilith, but the point still stands! Do you realize how much you have to care to do something like this!?

Lucifer: That still begs the question of what I’m supposed to do now.

Satan sighs: Don’t ever tell anyone I told you this but…it starts with sorry. He didn’t need to know who he was talking about.

Lucifer didn’t say anything and only looked down sheepishly. They fell back into their tense silence. Until someone decided to speak to them, well specifically Satan.

Yogirt: Hello.

Satan: Uh hi?

Yogirt: Um I hope I’m not bothering you and I hope it’s alright but…would you like to dance with me?

If it were possible Satan’s face would have flushed. This little demon hybrid who was wearing a short, white dress that in a certain light reminded him of a sweet, little cherub. Wanted to dance with the king of wrath?

For a second he thought he was joking until he saw the sheepish but sincere look on his face. Satan can tell when someone was faking it. Having spent so long with Lilith helped.

Deciding to risk it he pushed himself off the couch, grabbed onto to the tiny demons hand, and led him to the dance floor.

Lucifer watched them go with a contemplative expression and decided to make his way to the host of the party, Adam.

It took almost an hour to find him and when he did he was leaning against the railing over seeing his party with a grim expression while smoking a cigarette.

Lucifer breathed out, here goes nothing: Hey Adam.

Adam: …So, you actually decided to sneak into the party huh? You’ve got a lot of balls Luci.

Lucifer: I certainly do, listen I…Satan told me about-

Adam: Oh I know, told me all about your little chat when I checked up on him. Good news is he at least found someone else’s hole to fill.

Lucifer: Good for him I guess?

Adam: Well he certainly needs to get over the tramp.

Lucifer: Ok seeing as how Lilith made me betray you I think that insult is in order. But that’s beside the point, Adam I….I just wanted to say that I’m, I’m, I’m

Adam: Don’t bother trying to pull a muscle like you’ll ever apologize once in your life. You’re the creator of pride after all.

Lucifer: Fine you want a sorry here’s your sorry! I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for shit I can’t undue! I’m sorry to everyone at this stupid party for hating me!

Adam: Oh ho, you truly are the shittiest being alive! Do you hear yourself!?

Lucifer: We’re all shitty Adam! Hello we got sent to fucking Hell! Why am I always the bad guy even when I don’t mean to be!

Adam flicked his cigarette away and start the little king down: Are you actually expecting some kind of sympathy from me!? Oh poor, poor Luci he finally has to own up that his actions affect others! Bitch please.

Adam leaned against the rails again and turned his gaze completely away from Lucifer.

Adam: Let me ask you this Lucifer, how do you think I felt when my best friend who I…cared for suddenly ended up cozying up with not just one but both of my wives!? I’ll tell you right now it was possibly the worst feeling in the world. But that’s not the worst part. The absolute worst thing is that you make me feel like I’m a fucking monster just for being angry at you.

Lucifer wished he was swallowed by the ground in that moment.

The Sin of Lust

@beef-brisket

Adam knew deep down. He had his suspicions on what his wife was doing. Now he knew.

For the evidence was staring him right in the face a few yards away. There under the shade of the tree that held the forbidden fruit were Eve, Lucifer, and Lilith committing the act of carnal knowledge.

The past week Eve had been a bit distant. Always making excuses as to where she was and what she was doing. Deep down he had a feeling of who she was seeing.

She acted the same way Lilith had before she left.

Now Adam stared with dull eyes as Lucifer had his face and mouth on Eve’s vagina with the second woman moaning in pleasure. Lilith stood by and watched her lover take Eve as she bit her lips.

Her face held an expression he could not pronounce but knew what it was deep down. For a split second her amethyst gaze met his and she smirked. She had won.

She took his first time.

She took his angel.

and now she took Eve.

She had completely broken the first man.

In her mind that meant she won. But Adam wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of rubbing it in. Turning on his heels he left the women and Angel to their devices.

He was done. He was not going to stick around and be stuck in a marriage with someone who obviously doesn’t love him. He wasn’t going to let the angels make another wife only for her to fall for the charms of that snake.

In fact he wasn’t going to be fulfilling his duties as the future father of humanity. Or as the first man. Someone else can have it.

He wouldn’t live in a place where everywhere he turned he was reminded of betrayal. Even the spots that once held sweet memories soured.

Soon he had made it to his destination. After making sure the angels guarding the gates weren’t looking he crept towards the doors of Eden. Turning back one last time he said only one thing.

Adam: Goodbye.

With all his might he pushed the doors open and stepped out into the world before him. Unaware of the consequences that this act of defiance would have on his soul.

[wildrangers]

so american // Anthony Boyle

Reader is Saoirse Ronan’s best friend and date to the IFTA’s where she catches Anto’s eye.

Word Count: 2.3K

Tropes & Topics: yet another meet cute, fem reader insert, some swearing, maybe some heated kissing, who’s to say? barely proofread

Moments before the ceremony begins, the most glorious laugh Anto has ever heard grabs his attention. His mouth quirks upward on its own accord at the sound, turning to try and find who it came from and hoping to pay them a compliment. His eyes snag on a young woman, her grin bright and eyes sparkling in amusement but the words freeze in his throat–she's stunning. 

Normally, he has no issue approaching women; he’s a chatty guy and can make conversation with nearly anyone. But his stomach was already in knots ahead of the ceremony and he couldn't force the words to cross the distance between them. She must feel his stare though because she glances towards him, head tilting in question. He feels his cheeks begin to pinken, so he nods, turning back around.

“What a fantastic laugh, huh?” Hazel asks from beside him and all he can do is nod before the host takes the stage and his attention shifts. 

Hours later, award tucked safely with his coat in the check closet, Anto’s head is still spinning. The lead up to his award categories felt endless. But, as soon as he heard his name called, time blurred and he barely remembered anything that happened other than saying something, hopefully intelligent-ish, onstage, taking photos, and getting interviewed. Specifics had been obliterated from his mind.

He was finally sitting down with a beer, backetted by Lola and Hazel at an after party, when he heard the laugh again and his hands tighten around the cold glass. 

“That’s a grand laugh, huh?” Lola asks, nudging his shoulder with a smirk that makes him pause.

“Strange, Hazel said the same thing earlier” he replies and his friends’ laughter confirms his suspicion that they’d discussed him going all dopey instead of saying hello prior to the ceremony.

“We share a brain cell, I transferred it over to them just now” Hazel quips, making Lola cackle louder.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off you two” he grumbles, taking a swig of his beer. 

“Feeling shy tonight, Anto? That’s unlike you” Lola teases. “Be careful, someone may beat you to the punch.” 

As he processes their words, his eyes dart around the room and he realizes he’s far from the only person glancing your away appreciatively. 

“Well go on then” Hazel adds, nudging him up. “I’ll buy you another beer if she rejects you.” 

“It’s an open bar you arse” he quips back, grabbing his beer and leaving the table before he can change his mind.

Fortunately, the girl she’d just been talking to is heading towards the bar as he approaches, leaving her alone for at least the moment.

“Hey there” he greets, leaning on the table beside her as his heart patters relentlessly in his chest.

“Well, hello” she smiles. “Congrats on the win tonight. Anthony, right?” 

His brain short circuits as he processes both her words and her accent, or lack thereof, before sputtering out, “You’re American?!”

She throws her head back in laughter and being the reason for that melody, even if he’s the butt of the joke, has him feeling quite pleased with himself. 

“Should I leave then, Irish people only? I don’t get honorary status for the evening based on my date?” 

“Is your date a nominee?” he asks, his heart sinking a little. 

“I am beyond proud to say Saoirse is a winner this evening actually” she replies, her pride radiating. 

“Oh you know Saoirse? She’s lovely, I’ve met her at a few of these things over the years.”

“She’s my best friend” she clarifies and his hope rises again. “We met in New York eons ago, she’s been stuck with me ever since.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, “I doubt she feels she’s stuck, your laugh alone must be worth the company. That’s why I actually came over, to tell you how lovely your laugh is.”

“Why thank you, is that what the look before the show started was about too?” she smirks.

He feels his cheeks warm again, cursing himself silently, “At first, but then I saw how beautiful you were and I was hoping to let you know that some time tonight too.” 

“Does your opinion of me change now that you know I’m American?”

“Only a slight deduction, it’s not your fault after all.”

She laughs again, lightly punching his arm, “That’s nice of you, when Ed found out I wasn’t Irish he was heartbroken.”

“Ed?” he questions, confusion washing over him. 

“Yeah, didn’t you know I inspired Galway Girl?” she smirks, seemingly trying not to laugh. “He wrote it on a bar napkin before approaching me while I was visiting Saoirse. Had quite the shock when he heard my voice.” 

A bellow of laughter erupts from him and she grins. “Well good thing I’m not the first man to make the mistake, I would never think you’re a Southerner though.”

“No?”

He shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer, pondering his words, “I thought you were a Northerner, just something in your energy” he shrugs.

“I mean, I’m from New Jersey, that’s basically the Northern Ireland of America.” 

“Fair enough then” he chuckles. “I never got your name, my rude shock got in the way.”

“I’m Y/N” she replies, offering her hand which he gladly takes in his own, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “What did you win for again?” 

“Rising star” he replies, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s boasting. 

“Hm, well that doesn’t help” she replies, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. The movement steals so much of his attention that he almost misses her continuing, “You look so familiar but I can’t quite place you.” 

“I’d be a right prick if I just listed off my filmography, don’t you think?” he poses, earning himself another laugh before she assesses him for another moment. 

“Oh my gosh, wait! You played Brendan Hughes didn’t you? Your mustache and hair are a bit different, that's why I got stuck I think.”

“You watched Say Nothing?” 

“I read the book over the summer so I was excited but skeptical when I saw a limited series was in post-production at that point.”

“You have me in suspense, what did you think?”

“I’m shocked that the opinion of an American even matters when it comes to a show about the Troubles” she replies earnestly. 

“Your opinion matters to me.” 

“Why’s that?” she questions, the growing tension ratcheting up a notch. 

“Because I’m clearly trying to impress you so if you hate the show, I’m working from a deficit here” he replies and she snorts, gripping his upper arm briefly. 

“I loved Say Nothing.”

“And she means it! She was going on and on about it while she watched, I have the WhatsApp messages to prove it” Saoirse’s voice chimes in from behind him seconds before she appears by Y/N’s side. 

“Well thank you, Y/N that’s very kind of you. I’m glad that Saoirse here can vouch for you” he replies, feeling off kilter by the sudden intrusion. 

A brief look passes between the two women that he can’t decipher before Saorise speaks again. “Hey, we were going to head to a pub a few blocks away, let loose a bit. Want to join us? Hazel and Lola are welcome to come along too.” 

***

“Does he know he’s your current celebrity crush?” your best friend teases quietly as you slip your coats on. 

“Saoirse!” you chasten, eyes darting to make sure he isn’t nearby. “I do not have a crush on him, I just thought he was so…impressive in the show.” 

“Okay, Y/N/N” she replies, rolling her eyes as she opens the door, the cold blast of air making you shiver beneath your light coat. “I told you to bring a heavier jacket.” 

“Yeah, yeah” you answer, startling slightly when a warm hand lands on your shoulder. You turn to see Anthony, his coat clasped in his outstretched hand. “I couldn’t, you’ll freeze” you argue weakly as another shiver shoots down your spine.

“Please, I was born for this kind of weather. Take it” he insists, opening it up so you can easily slide your arms inside. Its warmth and his scent envelope you and you smile up at him gratefully. 

“Thank you, seriously.” 

“That’s our Anto, ever the gentleman” Lola, who you’d just met along with Hazel, chimes in, clapping him on the back before moving past you to join Saoirse. Hazel follows closely behind but not before you catch her wiggling her eyebrows at Anthony, whose face flushes from more than just the cold. 

“Anto, huh?” you ask, bumping your shoulder into his playfully. 

“Anthony is a bit formal, you know?” he responds, nudging you back. 

“Of course, Anto” you tease lightly, leaning into his side as your heart thunders. His arm quickly encircles your frame, pulling you close as your own arm circles his waist.

“I’m sorry about them, they like to bust my balls.”

You shrug, glancing up to see his eyes are already locked on yours. “So does Saoirse” you admit, biting your lip nervously. “Plus, I didn’t curl up into you just because I feel bad for stealing your jacket, you know.”

“You had an ulterior motive?” he asks, faux shocked. “What a cheeky little lass you are.”

“God, you’re so Irish” you laugh and he scoffs. 

“And you’re so American but you don’t hear me complaining.” 

“Fair enough” you chuckle. “Do you still live mostly in Ireland?”

“Most of my jobs end up being in America but when I have downtime, I go home to Belfast.”

“I’ve never been to that part of Ireland” you admit. 

“What cities have you been to here?”

“Well, Saoirse is in Cork now. She was in Galway for a while, Dublin a really long time, that’s where her folks are from, so I’ve spent a lot of time in those three cities. I was briefly in Derry once but that’s about it for the Northern part of the country.” 

“You haven’t seen Ireland if you haven’t been to Belfast” he argues.

“That’s your unbiased opinion, right?” you tease and he chuckles. “To be fair, I’ve never had someone to show me around that part of the country so I haven’t really had the chance.”

“Well, you can’t say that anymore” he smiles and the street lights hit his dark eyes in the most stunning way, stealing your breath from you. You’re familiar enough with this part of Dublin that you know a small alcove is set into the building coming up on your right. 

In the silence that stretches between you, his eyes dip down, ever so briefly, to your mouth before meeting your eyes again. When you near the spot, you make sure your group isn’t looking before you stop short, pulling Anto with you into the opening just big enough for the two of you. 

“Everything o-” he began to question but you crash your lips to his before this brief moment of bravery flees your system. He pauses for long enough that you begin to pull away, an apology working its way up your throat, before his hands tangle in your hair and his lips are on yours again. 

He tastes like beer and the mint he must’ve popped before leaving the after party and you can’t get enough. Most of your first kisses started slow but this one is immediately at a fever pitch and stays there, his tongue brushing your lips before you eagerly open up to him. Your thumb grazes his jawline before one hand finds its place resting on the back of his neck, the other fisting the front of his shirt to pull him even closer. A gasp falls from your mouth as his hips meet yours, his growing excitement mirroring the heat pooling in your core. 

You could stay here forever, wrapped in his embrace, all of your senses filled with him until a few guys across the street catcall you both from across the way. Anthony pulls his hand from your hair to flip them off and while you hear them continue on their way, the moment’s shattered. You break the kiss to catch your breath, keeping your eyes shut as you rest your forehead against his. 

His warm breath caresses your cheek before his hand rises to gently move a strand of hair that’s fallen out of its pin in the heat of the moment. You open your eyes to find his deep brown ones already intensely studying your face. 

“Can I be honest with you?” you question quietly. 

“Please.”

“I knew who you were as soon as we made eye contact before the ceremony” you admit and he tilts his head slightly in confusion. “I may have been nursing a small crush on you since I saw you in Say Nothing.” 

He laughs, pinching your hip gently as he shakes his head, “So you played dumb to make me work for it?”

“No! I mean…maybe a little. Just because you find someone attractive on a screen playing a character doesn’t mean there’s anything beyond that necessarily.” 

“Well is there anything there beyond that?” he questions softly, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’d say so” you admit quietly before gently biting down on his thumb, making him pull it away with a chuckle. 

“Would you two hurry up already?!” you hear Lola call before he can say anything else. Anthony laces you fingers, pulling you out of the alcove to see your friends waiting at the end of the block.

“I know that’s your favorite spot, Y/N, but the last guy you pulled in there didn’t keep you nearly as long. We have drinks and dancing to get to!” Saoirse yells, shooting you a wink before they continue towards your destination. 

“Did you just pull a move on me?” Anto asks, voice incredulous but also impressed. 

“I kissed a guy there one time like five years ago when I was piss drunk” you admit and he laughs, seemingly delighted at your embarrassment. “So, no, I wouldn’t say so.” 

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of alcoves I want to drag you into while I show you around Belfast.” 

note: there's a serious shortage of Anto fics on here so I hope I'm not alone in feeling that way ☺️ please let me know your thoughts! if people are interested, I could definitely write for him more.

[viiisenyas]

god every time i find myself being self-deprecating about wanting to write bizarre shit, i just breathe in and remind myself that it's for me.

[ima-ghost-art]

Here he is!

The one

The only

Husband and Romance Partner to Cody Walsh himself

LOOSE BARON!!!

he's not exactly how I planned but I'm not going back to change it now lol

made sure to add the oogie boogie tattoo that made Cody fall inlove with him too lmao

[sheevanator]

Dude! I was just thinking about this the other day!

Hell yea! They are beautifully intertwined characters and I love that other people are seeing it too!!

Both were violently wronged by the system in place on Cybertron pre war (Whirl getting taken apart and put back together in such a way that he could no longer do what he loved, no more hands no more clocks, and Megs having Trepan digging around in his brain trying to quash the rebellious tendencies he had, thus making it harder for him to write for the rebellion) and both ended up dealing with it in pretty similar ways. Violent and unchecked outbursts.

Hell, Whirl got kicked out of the Wreckers for reckless behavior. Those fools were front line maniacs already how overboard must he have gone to get the boot???

And MTMTE Megs has some insane crimes on his wrap sheet! No matter how much we end up loving him by the end of Lost Light he’s not exactly wrong when he says he probably deserves a worse fate.

There’s also the similar timing of their characters starting to see the light. If I’m remembering right, both their turning points happened pretty closely within the issues (it’s been a little bit and I read it all really close together so this I could be misremembering on this but I doooon’t think I am soooo…) and made some really interesting symmetry. Whirl deciding that sacrificing Tailgate for Gettaway’s plan was a shit move, especially compounded by the fact that Cyclonus came to him for advice just before and basically giving him the, we’re both shit but out everyone here I know you won’t yank my chain speech, was awesome! Even tho he gets soft reset by the amnesia gun his last conscious action was to warn the slow burn idiots that something was going down, and I think that says quite a lot! Then there’s Megs who, upon seeing a quantifiable and very real representation of just how many people’s lives he negatively impacted, basically immediately turns around and decides No! There will be no more! I think it’s then that he also stops running the crew in circles to forestall his trial and mentally accepts any punishment the people of cybertron are going to give him.

To have their arcs so similarly timed seems to me to absolutely be on purpose and I love it to bits and peaces!

Also! I think Whirl’s bad ending (bad in comparison to the open and much more uplifting ending everyone actually likes) and Meg’s good ending are linked as well. Think about it, whether your version of Schrodinger‘s Megatron was imprisoned or put to death, he’s not coming back. But in the bad end, who’s also in jail?? Whirl! And how does Whirl’s bad end go? He’s offered a place to stay the two bots closest to him at the end of Lost Light. Now I might be reaching, I’m not year of the monkey for nothing, but I ask you, is what happens in Meg’s good ending not basically the exact same thing? He gets a place to stay with the people he cares about!

And that’s not even scraping what y’all discussed earlier! On several levels Megatron, as the IDW continuity knows him, would not exist without Whirl!

I love both of these idiots to pieces and I’m so glad others are seeing the things I saw while reading! Anyways, I think I’ve hit my yap allotment for the day, if you read this far, uhhh hi? Thanks for giving me a reason to verbally explode about these guys!

Bye!

Whirl and Megatron are actually sort of narrative foils for a moment in MTMTE. I think the scene where Whirl attacks Megatron is meant to highlight how similar yet different the two are.

Whirl was forced into violence, and chooses to continue being violent and awful because he thinks nothing can change the way people see him.

Megatron chose violence, did terrible things, yet chooses to atone, because nothing can change the way people see him, but he doesn’t want to continue being violent and awful and putting more pain into the universe.

Its 1AM so feel free to disagree or add something I missed cause my thoughts aren’t all together

[sysig]

The brainworms are winning, clearly (Patreon)