#the lights were shit in this segment what the fuck

[r-truth]

[sluttysanemi]

AHHH !!

i have this request with sanemi or even obanai, smut ofc although i love comfort & fluff !

sanemi or obanai during&after nnn (no nut november) ???

🤍 🤍

ੈ✩‧₊˚ – MORNING ARISES.

c/w: smut, thigh fucking, mirror sex? , established relationship

a/n: i promise ill write 4 obanai one day i jst rlly like writing and posting sanemi.. also what do we think of fallen angel sanemi?? idk that could be pretty hot

A new morning dawns as another month begins. You groggily vacate from your bed, as segments of light emerge through the window. It'd been an uproarious month, particularly for Sanemi- who slept, half asleep, beside you.

He restricted himself of you the entire november, for particularly petty reasons. There was no intimacy across those days, and you knew he grew desperate by the second week.

This was, however, not what rang across your mind. Rather, you proceed to your customary morning routine, shuffling your body to the common bathroom.

Gazing at the mirror across, you crank the tap, letting the water stream along your palm; before splashing it against your face. You clear the nightly buildup your body formed upon your face, whilst awaking yourself. 

While performing your morning dues, Sanemi would promptly stumble from the sheets. You could hear the heavy thud of his feet as he staggered along the floorboards to the lavatory. His rich sandalwood fragrance quickly spreads across the small space. You whispered an earnest greeting, as you continued. 

It was until he suddenly drew closer, throwing his robust arms along your waist and sinking his face in the crook of your neck. His chest was rigorous against your back,  you could feel the faint twitch of his pectorals. His hips were particularly close, as he pressed against you boldly.

It was evident he was still half slumbering as he laid his light lips against the exact region upon your shoulder.

“Missed ya so much…”, he spoke dazedly. 

You swiftly realized what he meant, as he drove his hips against you. You could feel the hard contour of his famished shaft as it pushed along. He dressed only in his boxers, thus you could feel every detail of his length, as it struggled against the thin fabric of the garment.

“Please…”, Sanemi uttered. 

Your cheeks flush, and your breathing grows heavy. You grant his plea with a subtle nod,  watching as he slowly tugs at your panties, exposing your cunt to the warm air. 

He follows, pulling his firm dick from his waistband. His rigid cock lubricated with the sinful beads of his pre, as it trails downwards.

Still barely conscious, he struggles to push himself into you, instead driving between your thighs. You could feel his veins throbbing against your clit, whilst he groans in ecstasy. It hadn't mattered where he was buried, you still felt phenomenal. 

He took a firm hold of your hips, and began to move slowly, humping himself between your legs. 

You could feel him rutting against your lower lips, as your slick stained his cock. He pulsed with excitement. 

“Hnn.. so good f’me… so soft…”, Sanemi’s words spilled incoherently, his mind clouded with pleasure. 

You looked wistfully to the mirror, your cheeks a deep scarlet. His cock pushes against you endlessly, while you clutch to your bathroom's surface.

A hand would slowly surface along your body, wrapping itself around your tit. His fingers delicately pinch at the soft nub, eliciting a groan from your lips. You grind yourself against him, desperately yearning for more of him, more of his desperation. 

His head separates from your shoulder, tilting back, as his hips grow more fervent. The sound of his labored breathing and the feel of his skin on yours send thrills down your spine.

His grip tightens around you, his rough nails pressing into your skin. His breath feels hot on your neck, his presence overwhelming and stifling.

“Fuck… s–so-.. Shit–..”, he pants endlessly. He's pulsating ceaselessly, so close to achieving a rush that he's starved himself completely of. His firm tip continually humping against you, twitching in elation as he feels the clench of your thighs, strumming against his sensitive skin. 

His balls begin to tighten, as his ability of thought fades. 

With a few more ruts of his hips, he spills himself, his spurts of pleasure trickling between your thighs, and the counter- too eager to feel ashamed of having finished so swiftly.

His formerly cruel fingers begin to gently knead your hips, while he splays kisses around your neck. You tilt your head backwards, indulging into his expression of affection. 

“C’mon, sweet girl… ‘nother one. Wanna show you how bad I missed you.”, Sanemi coos softly, against your ear.

[bimbolita]

I’m so glad everyone is having the same visceral reaction to episode 4 like I did. I thought I was being too sensitive but fucking no. It is painful. It is horrid. Knowing that this type of abuse actively happens to sex workers and those who are trafficked. It’s jarring because I didn’t expect to see this dark and explicit depiction in a cartoon that jokes about penises every 2 minutes. It’s like when light hearted coco melon shows start talking about death, it was just unexpected because I never took this show serious. I’m going to share more of my thoughts below! Trigger Warning: Mentions of SA ⚠️

I don’t think it’s my place to deny or confirm if the ‘poison’ scenes were fetishized, I personally believe it’s subjective. I know how I feel but I think no matter where you stand, you are right in your own way. Many things can be true at once. What we can all agree on, is that it was harsh. In a way, I hope the audience is able to understand how exploiting and non glamorous sex work is. There is nothing fun about having your body used multiple times a day by people you do not know and having said scenes recorded then plastered all over the media. Of course all forms of engaging in or creating adult content are different, I am specifically talking about sex workers who have no say or control over their bodies and finances. Like Angel. Let us put emphasis on WORK in sex work.

It is demanding. It is laborious It is scaring. Remember that and remember the unheard voices who must do this to simply survive.

There is a lot of criticism about angel’s personality and yes I agree it is annoying but you have to understand, it is a trauma response. Hypersexuality is a common trait among those who are sexually abused. Angel just outwardly expresses it all the time because it is all he knows. This thought process is the only way to tolerate his behavior. I say thought process because it is only an interpretation. It’s very obvious viv just adores writing sexed up characters with zero nuance or depth but let’s just pretend she can actually write male characters that think beyond their cock and balls. Let’s pretend that Angel Dust is a two dimensional character and not (grits teeth) fetish bait.

Now, let’s talk about Charlie. Alright great, she saw her friend being mistreated and was about to stand up to his abuser, ok good good. The victim (Angel) gets upset and wants her to leave because he was beaten. Yes, average response of someone who is an abusive relationship, he is afraid and wants to avoid more conflict between him and Val. The situation at hand couldn’t be more than obvious. How does Charlie respond? She cries. And not because she is frustratedly concerned for the safety of her friend. It is because he yelled and rejected all her poor attempts at helping. Charlie is weak as shit and I think that interaction was weirdly written. I wish she had the mental fortitude to understand how much danger Angel’s life was in at that moment. I cannot enjoy her ‘aggressive kindness’ cutie do no wrong baby girl type of character in a moment like that.

And I feel the same about Husk’s song. Out of all the responses you could’ve made, this is what made it to the final cut? Do better. I don’t care if I lack the mEdIa LiTeRaCy twitter keeps yapping about. It’s bad. You just showed a sexual assault montage and the rebuttal was basically “my uncle broke his neck tap dancing once :/“ lol we’re both losers and that’s ok, suck it up buttercup, I like you regardless. This was the best response to an SA victim? No degree in media literacy would ever help me think that was an acceptable response. I dunno about ya’ll but I major in common sense at the university of using my eyes and fucking ears. Now imagine, if that entire segment, when Husk and Angel are at the bar plus the musical number; imagine if all of that was placed BEFORE we see Angel and Val interact and then poison plays as the final song. It would be 10x more impactful because then the audience sees how deep and stuck Angel actually is. Trauma olympics is never acceptable but neither is trauma participation trophies. It is not right to make Husk’s issues be seen as the same as Angel’s issues. They are not the same and it is ok to acknowledge that Angel has it worst than Husk. It’d be more genuine if Husk were to just hug him in complete silence after dragging him out of the bar and have Angel tearfully embrace him back. The first non sexual and benevolent interaction between them. The first physical act of care with no ulterior motives of lust.

I grind my teeth at the wasted potential.

[gay-wh0re-slut]

Are You Mine?

rhea x reader

content: reader accidentally gets knocked out causing memory loss but rhea is there to help you remember. a cute fluffy lil fic (gonna try first person in a more diary kinda way?? i hope this makes sense and works??!?!)

One Monday Night RAW went a little too crazy. Rhea and Shayna were arguing which ended up becoming a fight. Things got out of hand and chairs were being thrown. Sitting in the front row, I got free tickets because Rhea is my hot goth buff girlfriend, anyway, one of the chairs ended up hitting me in the head. Everyone thought it was planned but it surely was not.

I was immediately out, on the floor. For the sake of television, Rhea and Shayna continued to argue but once the segment was over and the commercial came, the goth wrestler jumped out of the ring and flew to my side.

Medics ran towards me, rolled me out on a gurney and drove me to the local ER. Once the show was done, Rhea drove to the hospital and forced her way towards my bedside. She was crying and holding my hand begging and pleading for me to wake up. I had tubes and lines all over me.

“Is she okay? Will she wake up?” the australian asked the nurse.

“She had a bad hit, so she’ll be out for a while. But everything inside is looking as good,” the nurse sounded dull and tired. I was probably her fiftieth concussion that day.

“So she will wake up?”

“It looks like she will be able to. Considering how hard she was hit, she might have some memory loss, so be prepared for that,” she wrote something on my chart.

“Fuck,” Rhea growled.

The nurse jumped a bit at the muscular woman in her intense makeup and dark clothing. She was scared of her when she walked in but it wasn’t even close to the craziest thing she saw that day.

“I’ll be back later to check on her,” she placed the chart on the hook.

“Okay…Thank you,” Rhea kissed my hand and rested her head on the bed.

The nurse left and closed the curtain behind her.

You’re probably wondering how I remember all this…well I don’t. This is what was told to me and a little bit of dramatization for the story. But this next bit I do remember because it was after I woke up and I was able to recover my memory, but not at first. Don’t worry, it’ll get good.

So after a few hours, according to the doc, I finally woke up. I forced my eyes open and looked to see who was resting beside me. I tried to not freak out about this large dark woman holding my hand but I couldn’t think at all other than “Where am I ?!”

“Y/N!! You’re awake!” she kissed my hand and I immediately pulled it away but she didn’t take too much notice of it because she stood and called for the nurse, “Nurse!! Please hurry she’s awake!! Nurse!”

The nurse walked just a bit quicker than her normal gait. Followed by two more who were checking on different tubes and monitors. She shined the small light in my eyes as I squinted away from her, she checked my pulse and my breathing before spewing off some random medicines.

“Can someone please tell me where I am and why I’m here?” I sat up trying to avoid everyone touching me.

“You had a bad concussion, you were out for a good few hours. You’re at Rosendall Grace hospital,” the nurse said as if she was reciting lines from a play.

“How?” was all I could say.

“It was my fault,” the scary muscular woman said sniffling in the corner, “I was arguing with shayna and we threw a chair and it hit you, I’m so sorry baby.”

“Who’s Shayna and why’d you call me baby? Who are you?” I felt the side of my head that was pulsing. It felt like my brain was going to burst out.

“Don’t touch, there’s a wound there,” the nurse pulled my hand away.

“Shit,” the dark woman slammed her hand on the wall, “You lost your memory. I’m Rhea, I’m your girlfriend and have been for two years. I’m a wrestler for WWE, and Shayna is another wrestler and we were arguing on television but you were in the audience.”

The nurses that were swarming around me looked at each other as if it finally clicked in their head why she looked the way she did and why she was here with me.

“What’s WWE?”

“You’ll remember later, too much to explai-”

“Please don’t pull out your IV,” the nurse grabbed my wrist.

“I’m scared, I don’t know who she is, I’m in a random hospital with nurses that could give two shits about me. I want to leave, please!” I tried wriggle my arm out from her grip.

Rhea sits down in the chair in the corner of the room, “Please just listen to them for right now and you’ll be out sooner. Fighting them won’t help,” she sighed putting her head in her hands.

“Fine,” I huffed crossing my arms refusing them from touching me more.

“Please, we need to fix it,” the nurse held out her hand.

If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now with the daggers I was shooting at her. She didn’t budge. So I so dramatically give her my hand.

“Thank you,” she snipped, “this is medicine that will help with the pain… morphine,” she shot a look to the australian, as if she was making sure she knew what was going to happen. “You should get your memories back within the night,” she looked back at me giving a fake smile. Taking a big sigh and checking the medicine bag hanging near me, “try to jog her memory like talking about things she likes or about the moments leading up to the injury,” she turned towards my girlfriend before nodding her head. Who knows how long she’s been here.

“Okay, yeah… I can do that,” Rhea dragged the chair back to the side of the bed.

“We’ll be back later the check on things,” the nurse gave a nod and shut the curtain once more.

“Hey,” she tried to grab for my hand but I pulled it away.

“Don’t touch me, I don’t know who you are,” I turned away from her.

“You know me very well actually,” she sat back in the chair, “You know how much vegemite I like on my toast, you know that I love to be the little spoon, you know that I-”

“Vegemite?” I looked at her confused because what the hell is that, legitimately.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved me away.

“And you,” I gestured frantically to her big arms and muscular stature, “like to be the little spoon?”

“Yes. Don’t start with me, princess,” she began to play into the memory loss as if I was someone she had never met before.

Unbeknownst to me, she was trying to win me back over but obviously I had no clue who this dark haired goth woman was. Did I think she was attractive? Yes but that’s not the point.

“Oh now you’re trying to flirt with me,” I said.

“I’m always flirting with you actually,” she winked.

The butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I tried my best to hide them but…

“Now how did I know that would fluster you, hm?”

“I don’t know! You’re good a flirting?!” I shrugged.

“I am, thank you,” she giggled.

“Ugh,” I huffed and crossed my arms. I remember thinking that she was so incredibly attractive and mysterious. I needed to know more about her but I had no clue where to start. We sat in silence for a good long minute before I decided to break it. “What did you say you did?”

“I’m a wrestler for WWE.”

“And what’s that?”

“It stands for World Wrestling Entertainment. My nickname is Mami, and I’m the big scary villain along with three other guys but we’ll get to them later.”

“Oh,” I really did try to process what she said but I was so far out of it that I had no clue what wrestling was. I thought that if I faked it, she would believe me.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember, you will eventually,” only then did I notice what she was wearing because she was putting everything on display by her manspreading. She noticed that I was staring pretty hard trying to take it all in, “What’re ya looking at so hard?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’m trying to figure out what you’re wearing and why you’re wearing it,” I shifted in the bed.

“Oh,” she chuckled before she stood. “These are my boots,” she pointed at them as her feet turned in, “these are my fishnets,” she pulled at them with a snap, “they always gets holes in them but I think it makes me look cooler, and these are my lil booty shorts,” she pointed at them with both of her hands gesturing to her center, “this is my shirt with the group on it… that’s me,” she pointed at each of the silhouetted figures on the shirt, “that’s Dom Dom, that’s Damian and that’s Finn. They’re my boys,” she smiled.

“Hmm,” I said contently. I was really was fascinated by this woman. She was so… interesting.

She sat back down pulling the chair closer to the bed but I didn’t feel the need to shy away again. Something about her made me feel…safe.

She cleared her throat, “so do you remember anything at all?”

“Well, I know my name is (y/n) only because that’s what you said earlier, and I know I got hit in the head, and obviously I know how to talk, but other than that…” I couldn’t think of anything, nothing at all. I began to freak out a little but I tried to hide it as best I could.

“Hey, hey," she grabbed my hand, "it's okay, you'll get your memories back soon, I'm sure. Nothing to worry about, just a lil blip is all," she kissed my hand.

A shot of warmth from her voice as the kiss flew through me and calmed me almost immediately. I guess I did know her.

We sat in silence for a good moment as I studied her. Her eyes are an icy blue that almost close when she smiles wide, her teeth are perfectly white, her nose is long and skinny with a bump in the middle, it suits her. Her tattoos are dark but fit her style as if she was born with them, her calloused hands look rough but are softer than you can imagine. The way her black wavy hair falls perfectly around her face, framing it just right to accentuate her cheekbones. Her arms are muscular but you can’t tell when she’s relaxed, though I’m sure that if she flexed I’d go into cardiac arrest. I laughed at myself with that one.

“What’s so funny, love?” her voice was quiet but gentle.

The pet name didn’t phase me as much as the first one did, “just thinking.”

“Bout what?” She crossed her legs leaning on her elbow with her chin in her hand.

“How I wish I remembered who you are because I definitely think you’re my type,” I could feel my face getting red and hot.

“Oh trust me, I wish you could too because I most definitely am your type,” one of her blue eyes winked at me and the monitor started beeping faster.

She laughed as she looked at the heart rate going up, “Told ya.”

“Knock, knock,” a different nurses voice came through the curtain before she walked through, “your nurse left for the night so I’ll be taking care of you for now,” she grabbed my chart, “So how are you feeling?”

“My head isn’t throbbing anymore so that’s good, but I guess I still don’t have my memory yet.”

“It’ll come soon, but I’m glad the morphine is working,” she smiled as she put my chart back and flicked the IV bag to get rid of the bubbles, I’m not exactly sure why she did that though.

I gave her a weak smile before looking back at the dark woman beside me. She gave me another wink and the monitor beeped faster again.

“Oh! You okay?” the nurse shot me a look.

“Yeah, uh… I’m fine,” I tried to shrink myself down.

“She’s okay Doc, just trying to jog her memory,” the wrestler said.

“I see,” she giggled, “I’ll be back to check on you later. Maybe try to get some sleep, that usually helps others with their memory. Like a hard reset!” She quietly left the room, if that’s what you wanna call it.

“That’s actually a good idea, wait, when did we eat last?” my so called girlfriend asked.

“Around 5 I think?”

“What?”

“What what?”

“You remember when we ate?” She started to get excited.

“Oh… I guess I do!”

“Do you remember what you ate?”

“Uuuuhhhhhh….” I really thought hard about what food was, “Damn, no I don’t.”

“Damn,” her face dropped immediately, “I’ll get some stuff from the vending machine though, I’ll be right back, baby,” she stood and kissed my forehead.

As if someone hit me with another chair, my head pounded with memories. True Love’s Kiss really came through with this one. I remembered everything, who she was, what I ate, who I was, where we were, why we were here. I held my head as they came rushing back, “Rhea?”

“Yeah?”

“Do that again,” I pointed at my forehead.

So she did, but she didn’t notice that I said her name, which shoulda been the dead give away because I’ll be honest, I didn’t remember her name when she said it at the beginning of this whole mess.

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“What?” she stepped back a bit.

“That I love you,” I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt.

“You do?! You remember?!” She was almost jumping she was so excited. “So who am I? What do I do?”

“You’re Rhea Ripley of the Judgment Day, you wrestle for WWE and most importantly you’re my girlfriend,” I shook my legs with excitement.

“Yes! Yes!!” She bent down and kissed my lips holding my face, “What else?!” she didn’t let go of my face though.

“We had burgers for dinner with the boys, Dom, Finn, and Damian. You had a match against Shayna that ended with me getting hit with the chair,” I laughed it off.

“YES!!” she kissed me once more, “NURSE! She remembered! Nurse!!!”

She came running in, “YAY!!” she was much more enthusiastic than the other one, “That’s exciting news!! Oh I love hearing about things like this, it’s so cool how the brain works,” she laughed. “I’ll get the doc to come check on you once more to see of you can be discharged. Be right back!” as she slipped out.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!!” Rhea kissed all over my face and down my neck finishing with a long kiss on my lips.

“I love you too…Mami,” I giggled.

“I can’t wait to get you out of here,” she snarled playfully.

“Me either.”

[marleyybluu]

Truth or Drink 2

Pedro x fem!reader

WC: 1.4k

omg not her posting another Pedro one after she said she wouldn't for a while... not sorry

Same spots. Same interview but under different circumstances. The makeup artist added the finishing touches to your face. Pedro was in awe of you as usual like a smitten kitten, love was written all over his face. You could feel it, you didn't even have to ask if he was looking at you. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He innocently shrugged. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you were invited back for another segment of Truth or Drink but this time it was no movie promotion, though you two had separate projects going on, this was about your blossoming relationship. Since the last interview, you and Pedro had finally confessed your feelings to each other and it'd been a blissful ride ever since.

A whole year of surprise dates, endless compliments and kisses, whenever he touched you it made bumps form on your skin as if every time was the first. You too had never loved anyone the way you loved Pedro, you would do anything for him and you made sure he knew that. The makeup was done and soon it was time to record, you were a bit more nervous for this one because the crew had told you guys these questions would be different.

"You guys ready?"

"As always," Pedro answered. The cameraman counted down and pointed for you two to begin, but neither of you said anything. "Am I doing it first this time?" You asked. "By all means."

You blushed and looked at the camera. "Hello, I am YN YLN and this is my... boyfriend Pedro Pascal-" He uttered a giggle and covered his mouth soon after. You laughed hiding behind your hands, this interview might be more chaotic than the last one.

"What do you guys notice about this interview?"

"We didn't have to write our own questions." You answered. "We have pulled questions from various sources. Instagram, Twitter and even people you two are close to."

Pedro playfully frowned. "Shit."

"Same rules apply. You ask, you either say the truth or drink, and you can go ahead with a starter shot."

Pedro picked the drink this time, pouring his and about to pour yours until you stopped him. "Can I have this one, please? I asked them to get me this one." You politely informed pointing to the bottle in the middle. He shrugged pouring your shot and closing back the bottle before placing it back with the others, just like the last time you raised your glasses with a little nod and, "Salud." Once your drinks were down you asked the first question. "Where did you take me on our first date?"

Easy.

He became giggly all over again. "So, you've always said that you hate restaurants as a first date, too bland, too formal, so I booked out an entire arcade for the both of us and we were in there for hours."

You proudly nodded. "Best date ever."

"Good, I'm glad." He blushed. It was his turn to ask. He cleared his throat. "Do we have any pet names for each other?"

You winked. "You love my pet names. I call you Pedrito, Pookie, baby, love... papi Pascal." And judging by his reaction, that might be his favourite one. "My names for her are in Spanish though. So I'll call her mi amor, mi corazon, bébé... I think I'm missing one."

"Cariño." You added. "Oh yeah, she's my cariño."

You leaned back in your chair reading the next question. "What do you like about me, physically? Oh lord." Pedro rubbed his hands together and laughed menacingly, you hid behind your cards knowing he'll say the obvious answer. "Your boobs."

"Alright, interview over."

"No, no, no... relaaax." He played along. "I mean I do like your boobs, but, your eyes do it for me. They're so big and pretty and wondrous, they allow me to look into such a kind loving soul that puts up with me and my antics."

You pouted. "Aww,"

"Boobs are a close second though." He added. "I love your smile the most. When you smile or laugh your eyes close and it's the cutest fucking thing, your entire face lights up too and I could just squish you." You cooed.

You two continued your string of questions, so far nothing was asked that made you want to drink but you still took shots in between for entertainment and the fact that it's free liquor who was passing that up? The first round of questions, you were informed, were mostly from fans and that this round was from close friends and family so it was definitely about to get risqué. You sighed. "Do you think we have enough sex?"

Pedro beamed. "I think we may have too much for people with such busy schedules."

"Are you guys saying you do it whenever and wherever you can?"

You two nodded. "Have you ever done it at a movie premiere or something?"

He reached for the bottle and poured, both of your attempts at keeping a straight face were slowly failing, until you let out a snort that triggered Pedro's. You clinked glasses before taking the shot. "Do you think we'd last if we got married?" Pedro asked. You scrunched up your face, what a ridiculous question. "Of course. You are the most caring and kind person I've ever met, the way you treat me is insane, I've never had anyone love me the way you do," Your voice broke and your eyes burned, you fanned your face and giggled nervously. "Got me crying on camera and shit."

Pedro reached over grabbing your free hand, soothing you by caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "You know I love you, mama."

"I know." You pouted. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much more." You rolled your eyes gently hitting his arm with the cards, he always had to get the last 'I love you.' He flashed that cute smile that made you melt 100 times over. "Come here," You didn't take even a second thought before getting up to sit on his lap, you rested your head on top of his while he held you close. "How long did it take you guys to say I love you?" One of the crew asked. "Three months," Pedro chuckled. "Truthfully I wanted to say it sooner."

You nodded. "Me too."

Last question. You had a surprise that came with this one. "Are you excited to be a new dad?"

The question didn't really register just yet. "Of course I am. I can't wait for us to start a family one day, and to have another cute face to wake up to. I mean I think maybe I'd wait until I could take a break and then that way I could spend all my time taking care of... wait."

It hit. "Am I excited to be a new dad? But we don't... you're not..."

Pedro bit his lip. "Are you pregnant?"

You reached into your back pocket and pulled out a folded picture of your first ultrasound. He broke. "YN... you're joking."

"I am not," You leaned in and pointed to the little dot. "That little peanut is ours."

Pedro sat speechless which was a rare occasion for him, he took the picture in his hand really trying to comprehend that he assisted in creating another life, that in just nine short months he'd get the one thing he deeply craved, that he yearned for. His own family.

He smiled as a tear slipped from his eye. You wiped it away kissing his temple. "Wait, so what have you been drinking?"

"Diluted apple juice," You answered, you turned the camera and pointed. "Which fucking sucks by the way so my faces were real."

The crew laughed. Pedro still stared at the photo, you rested your head on top of his. "You didn't answer my question. Truth or drink, are you excited to be a dad?"

"Of course, I'm fucking excited," He looked up at you, you pecked his lips. "Thank you," He whispered. "I love you." You whispered back.

"I love you more," He turned to the crew. "I guess the next time you see us we'll have another drinker in the mix." He joked. "Last time we ended this video as a potential couple and this one we are soon to be parents."

"When we come back we'll be married. I promise you that." He hinted. The cameras cut, the crew applauded and congratulated you two. Pedro grabbed your stuff and held them for you as you walked off-set. It's weird to think one little interview that involved a few shots would lead you to where you are now completely and utterly in love.

yes i made him a dad again. yes i warned yall i do this

if you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. peace and love

tags @skyesthebomb

[subskz]

RINNIE I JUST HAD A THOUGHT!

jisung with pierced nipples is already crazy hot, like i would spend an entire day with my mouth on them, BUT WHAT IF he wore those nipple RINGS, like those segment rings or whatever it’s called, and you attach a pretty chain which connects the ring on each nipple together. you can either:

A) tug on it while you’re fucking him, or while he’s fucking you, and watch how deliciously he arches his back

B) attach a little leash on it and drag him around while he’s walking on all fours like a lil puppy

C) attach small weights onto the chain and make him ride your strap (your biggest one, ofc) so that it’s constantly tugging at his pretty nipples

i think jisung would love it if he had nipples piercings with a chain that connected to a cock ring, if you know what im talking about?

jisung also would have a shit ton of jewelry for his pretty nipples. he’d have some simple ones and some decorative ones—whether it’s embedded diamonds/jewels, or ones for certain occasions, like holidays. he’d definitely pull out ones with jingle bells on them when christmas comes around, he loves hearing them when you’re fucking him hard. but beware, every regular jingle bell he hears during the festive season will have him bricked up since it reminds him of his nipple piercings and when the two of you fucked.

he’d also feel super bare without any on him. it just doesn’t feel right, like he needs something in his pretty nipples. he absolutely loves playing with his nipples, and loves it when you play with his nipples too, maybe even more. rub them with your fingers, lick them, suck them, literally anything, he’s not picky. i think he loves getting his nipples played with so much to the point that he probably can’t cum without any stimulation to his nipples, or at least cumming but not in a satisfying way. it would be super cruel to not touch his nipples the entire time and watch how he gets so needy. tie his hands up too, because he’s definitely going to be touching his nipples if you won’t be touch them for him.

also, i think he’d cum so hard if you were to press a vibrator on his nipples, since not only is it stimulating the outside of his nipple, but also the inside since the vibrator will make the steel of his piercing vibrate too. pair it with a vibrating plug in his ass and he’d be in heaven.

oh my god 😵‍💫 feels like this ask just punched me in the gut five times in a row

nipple piercings really do have hanji written all over them…he’s so sensitive that just feeling them brush against the fabric of his shirt would drive him absolutely wild, he’d be getting turned on over the most harmless touches at the most inopportune times all bc he can’t control the way his body reacts to every little jolt of stimulation against them. on days where he has his piercings in you know he’s got only one thing on his mind, bc you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him inevitably tugging at you and whining into your ear to help him bc he made himself hard “on accident” yet again ):

if you took his piercings into your mouth and tugged at them w your teeth his brain would short circuit…but connecting them w a CHAIN? biting the chain and pulling at both of his nipples at once while you’re fucking him would earn the loudest filthiest moan you’ve ever heard him make…he arches his back and throws his head back and might just cum on the spot. attaching a leash to it is also crazy business i’m obsessed w that idea…can you imagine giving the leash a light yank when he disobeys you but instead of it serving as any kind of effective punishment it just makes jisung groan pathetically, arms buckling like the lil masochist he is. pressing a vibrator directly to his piercings or having a vibrating cockring attached to the chain would definitely drive him over the edge faster than anything else, he wouldn’t be able to string together a coherent sentence or even think to warn you before he cums bc the buzzing is just so good it fills up his head

conditioning him to get turned on just from the sound of the bells attached to his nipple rings is so cute…you could even have a lil bell of your own that you ring whenever you want just to mess w him <3 i can see him really liking those cute heart-shaped barbell piercings especially!

[hwaightme]

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.” 

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don���t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hiii! I was wondering if you could write a angst/fluff fic on Bam, where the reader is a female dirt bike rider, and they absolutely hate each other but they have to work together bc they're both in Jackass, and the reader ends up getting severely hurt doing a stunt on the dirt bike? maybe this is based in 2002ish. I luvv ur work btw <333

Crash and Burn

Bam write Y/N off immediately, and her teasing doesn’t help her case, especially after she gets a leg up on him, but Ryan makes a bet that helps him see things in another light.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

(Fluff, angst)

3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, Madonna-Whore complex, misogyny, injury, blood, hospitals, broken bones, alcohol, flirting, enemies to lovers

An: Thank you so much for the request! Yet again, me returning to the whole Madonna-Whore complex thing XD I love writing for bolder Y/Ns, and this lady definitely fits the bill! I got to doma lot of research on motocross for this fic, and I always enjoy the more research intensive focus, so no matter how niche, please feel free to send any requests my way!

After Bam got word they would be flying out this female motocross rider alongside Tony Hawk and Matt Hoffman to film the loop, he kind of wrote you off without a second thought. Just went back to helping the guys set up. So when you pulled up on set that morning and took off your helmet, he was a little confused at how…normal you looked. In fact, you were pretty damn hot. Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, Bam peered around a ramp to squint at you watching like some weirdo as you, Matt, and Tony chatted it up with Knoxville by the lake you were set to jump into. “The hell’s she doin’ here?”

Ryan, who was helping carry a large piece of plywood from the bed of Chris’ truck, leaned the board against a half built structure before glancing over towards you, “You mean Y/N?” Blinking in disbelief at that, Bam’s jaw practically hit the ground, “Wait, that’s Y/N?” He had this idea of you before you even stepped foot on set. You know the type: the tattoos, a couple holes in your face, or some kind of edgy hair color- in his eyes, as masculine as a girl could get without growing a beard. I mean, there were attractive women in the skateboarding world, but Bam wouldn’t look at them the same way he looked at hot chicks at the bar or something. Whatever. Who did you think you were anyways, walking around like you were hot shit? Probably only there because MTV was desperate for them to get more sex appeal on the show. It’s not like you would be doing anything crazy.

How wrong Bam was. Your stunt was first, and after they got you suited up in all the compulsory safety garb as dictated by standards and practices, you actually landed the thing in two tries- two fucking tries! After that first attempt, Bam didn’t think you were even getting up after he saw that spill you took off your bike, the way you hit the ground like a ragdoll. The air swam with that silent worry while everyone was kind of scared to say anything, (and you know it’s bad when that group of guys shut up) but before Jeff could punch in that last digit of 9-1-1 into his phone, there you went, stumbling up with a smile to excitedly shout over to Rick, “Can we try that one again?”

After you trugged out of the lake to much applause after your second and last attempt, Tony and Matt went off to film their segments, and while you always like watching the big air that bikes can get, you had something else on your mind. You walked over to where Bam was sitting off to the side and strapping on a pair of wrist braces. Glancing down at where he sat on the grass, you toweled off your hair. “What’re you gonna do?” Your shadow blocked out the sun as you looked over Bam, who shot a scowl up at you, “Huh?” A fat drop of water dripped off of your clothes and hit him right between the eyes, making him flinch. You didn’t seem to care, “BMX, dirt bikes- what’s your deal?” Bam stood up to meet your gaze, which he literally could, given the fact you were pretty similar in height, “I skate.”

You already knew who he was and what he was gonna do- I mean, in 2002, who didn’t know who Bam Margera was? And that’s exactly why you wanted to fuck with him. “Wait- seriously?” There was this glimmer of disbelief in your eyes at his simple answer before your knees buckled a little. “Holy shit!” And you started laughing. “That is just…god, that’s adorable…” It's not like you could help yourself- he sounded so proud of himself and that little boy sport of his. If Bam didn’t hate you before, he certainly did now. And while he could bring up the fact that you seemed totally cool with the fact that Tony skateboarded to try and call you out on your bullshit, he had a better idea.

He couldn’t do it. Five attempts, and Bam still couldn’t make it all the way around the loop. Maybe it was something wrong with his stance or the way he held his legs- he would’ve tried it until the sun went down if it meant he could spite you, but Jeff cut him off after that last try where he missed the pad completely and fell about ten feet to the patchy grass to land directly on his head- something about liabilities and the blood that was now dripping from his forehead. And guess who was the first person he saw when he groggily blinked his eyes open to someone knocking on that dumbass helmet they forced him to wear. “How’d that go for you?” See, he wanted to sound all confident and badass telling you off, but it came out a lot more pathetic than he intended as he mumbled out, “Fuck off…”

“Aww, don’t be mean…this is one hell of a first impression from you. Keep this up and the only thing you’ll be sleepin’ with tonight’s that dinky little board’s yours.” Yeah, you think you’re soooo fucking funny, huh? He got plenty of ass, thank you very much- enough to not feel the need to suck up to you just because you were a chick. “Listen, Y/N- whatever the hell your name is,” Bam tried to gather his bearings as he staggered to his feet, “I couldn't give a fuck if you were Ricky Carmichael’s secret love child-“ He got all up in your face as he continued like some kid getting into a fight on the playground while also trying to sound totally nonchalant, “I don’t need some amature dirt bike chick like you gettin’ all on my ass about my shit! Just- leave me the fuck alone.” The crew gathered around to get a front row seat to the action, but nobody was backing Bam up. Not even Ryan, who always had his ass even when he was blatantly wrong. In fact, when he looked back at him for some sort of escape here, he could’ve sworn his best bro was making cartoon heart eyes at you behind those sunglasses. Holy shit. How could this get any fucking worse?

Well, there’s something in seeing a very angry, fully grown man in protective gear that doesn’t quite fit him right that you found hilarious. There was this holding back a laugh sparkle in your eye that told Bam exactly how seriously you took his anger, “Alright, tough guy. Don’t get your knee pads in a wad...” His jaw clenched as you reached out to pat him on the shoulder condescendingly, delivering one final blow to Bam’s fragile little ego, “Maybe you should stick to something you’re good at, like pushing your buddies around in shopping carts or throwing yourself into bushes?”

Cocky MTV millionaire skater boy, walking around like he’s the best thing on wheels with those shitty tattoos and that dumbass facial hair and those big eyes that almost made him look like a baby deer. Yeah, like Bambi- you’d have to use that one later. But there was something to his blind overconfidence that you found, for lack of a better word, sexy.

Thank god for the fact they went to the bar that night: a chance to get away from the host of shit that happened that day- or at least, it would be if Ryan was able to keep Y/N’s name out of his mouth. The fact that he was so smitten with you was starting to make Bam believe that his best friend was either completely blind or some kind of masochist. “She is such a fucking cunt- what god’s name do you see in her?” Thank god the bar was loud enough that their conversation couldn’t be heard over the chatter and the other guys’ bad behavior. Ryan just shook his head at his obliviousness, “You’ve got no idea what’s going on, do you?” Bam, who couldn’t usually see beyond his own nose, still had no clue what he was saying- this chick was a bitch who hated him for no reason, end of story.

Taking a swig of his beer, Ryan had this demeanor about him like he was imparting ancient wisdom onto him, “Let’s ignore the fact that she’s ridiculously hot, because all motocross chicks are hot-“ Bam cut him off, “The hell you mean?” Dunn sighed before he began to explain, “Have you ever watched a woman ride a dirt bike? It's the goddamn hips, man. I can’t explain it- point is, she was flirting with you all day- frankly, I’m jealous!” He made it sound like basic logic because, to everyone except Bam, it kind of was. In the other corner of the room, Steve-O just broke a cue stick over his thigh and was using it’s splintered remains to threaten a guy who he swore cheated him out of a hundred bucks, but the entire bar might as well have been dead silent as Bam tried to process all of this. He could only scoff at his best friend’s words- clearly, he was under the influence of this she-devil. “No way...” He was used to chicks throwing themselves at him left and right, so he took any signs of boldness from a woman as a threat to him and his masculinity.

“I’m serious! Some women just work like that…You know what?“ Ryan loudly put his pint glass down on the sticky bar top and turned to him, “I’m willing to bet money- actual money on this.” Bam was a little surprised at his eagerness, but more than that he wanted to prove him wrong. “You know what? Sure. If this chick flirts with me tomorrow- by your definition- I owe you fifty bucks.” “Deal.”

Luckily for Bam the next day, most of the other guys were too distracted filming that slip & slide stunt on the repurposed plywood loop that got configured into some sort of hellish ski jump to notice what was going on between him and you. As they went through filming their bits, you had a lot of time to yourselves to fuck around. Bam would’ve completely ignored you that next day filming after all that bullshit yesterday, but Ryan’s little bet seemed to motivate him to be more of an obnoxious ass (which, mind you, he was really good at). You were idly chatting with Dunn about which of the guys you thought was going to eat the most shit with this piece, when Bam suddenly jutted into your conversation, “Y’know, I don’t get what the big deal is with the whole dirt bike thing-“ Plopping down next to where his buddy was sitting on one of the various plywoods structures that littered the shoreline of Camp Payne, that slight defensive tone seemed to slip through, “I mean, skatin’s way harder- you don’t have some thing between your legs doin’ all the work for you...”

Ryan actually choked on his beer, but honest to god, there was no euphemism behind Bam’s words. You would’ve thought he just got slapped by the speed the visible realization hit his face after those words left his mouth. Idiot. He tried to play off the fact he just said that to a chick by pretending it was totally intentional, but his laughter was tinged with nerves. But you didn’t feel threatened or try to defend yourself- in fact, his whole “open mouth, insert foot” slip up gave you an idea. Coyly cocking your head to one side, you took a few slow steps toward Bam who was starting to turn this really cute shade of pink. “Really?” Everyone was in their lake gear for the stunt, so the fact that you were half naked didn’t help the tension as you leaned in close- a breath shy of touching him- to whisper right into Bam’s ear slowly, drawing your words out, “Well, i think your problem is that you don’t understand that feeling of riding something so powerful…” Teasingly, your hands slid down the length of your thighs, “The cold, hard steel between your thighs, the-”

Your little tease was cut off by Ryan toppling backwards off of whatever he was sitting on, because even though your words were this soft, drawn out coo only intended for the ears of the embarrassed, flustered mess in front of You, you were apparently barely loud enough for him to overhear. Not that you cared. You were more preoccupied with the wide eyed, borderline slack jawed expression plastered on Bam’s face. Satasified, you spun around on your heel, slapped your ass, and walked away, leaving the two men alone in the silence. “Holy shit…” Well, that is until Ryan eventually spoke up, ”Dude, you owe me fifty bucks.” Still trying to process what the hell just happened, the only response Bam could conjure up was a nod, “Yeah. I guess I do.” “So pay up.” Turning to Ryan, Bam slapped his outstretched hand away, “I ain’t got no pockets! I’ll get’ya later...”

From that day on, the teasing between you and Bam started getting less mean and more playful. MTV wanted more seasons, then a movie, and as such you’d be seeing Bam a whole lot more. Although he got on your nerves half the time (yet again, anyone who spent more than a minute around him would say the same), a part of you found the way he could be such a little bitch really endearing, not to mention that it was equally as fun to piss him off as it was to fluster him, neither of which took much effort. Sure, to the rest of the world, Bam was this insane badass with no regards for his own safety, but all it took for you to make him melt was you wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind and squishing your boobs up against his back. While totally innocuous to you, that one encounter by the lake completely changed his mind when it came to that hot motocross chick. What simple creatures men are…

You couldn’t remember for the life of you what magazine wanted that photo shoot they flew you in for while they were promoting the second movie, because you were more excited at the prospect of messing with your favorite boy toy. “I’m still surprised you got that Right Guard commercial, seeing as you care so much about bathing and staying clean…” Standing behind in the cover of a trailer, you stripped down to your underwear to change into the tight, black riding gear they had for you, not even bothered by the way Bam was shamelessly watching you from where he leaned against the trailer wall. “Yeah- An’ i'm wondering whose bright idea it was to dress you in that…” Turning to press your hands against Bam’s shoulders, you put on a mock pout, “Aww, c’mon Bambi! I thought you’d like a woman in leather…” The little back and forth the two of you had wasn’t the only thing that made Bam crack a grin, judging by the way he was shamelessly sneaking glances at your half naked body, “Not saying I don’t like it…”

Now, what you were slated to do was a pretty basic jump, one you’ve done maybe a hundred times before: one ramp, over a gap where the cast was lined up underneath you, and down to the other ramp. Your overconfidence here may have contributed to the outcome of your stunt. Picture, if you will, this photo sequence in some magazine: first shot, you making your way up the ramp, the next moment you’re airborne, soaring up- photo two, photo three- then the fourth, after you began your decent, when your front wheel barely grazes the lip of the ramp, and the fifth, when helmet makes contact with plywood and your bike goes flying off into the background. In fact, the moment when you felt your brain bump against the back of your skull as your head sickeningly cracked against the wood was the moment anyone noticed anything was amiss, and who was the first to run to your aid after you skidded down to curl up at the base of the ramp? “Jesus- fuck!” Yep, there Bam went after you, practically shoving Dunn out of his way to dash towards you like a gazelle on the Savannah. The shouted orders not to move you from the medic were mere white noise in his ears next to the thrumming of his own heartbeat.

Bam showed up at the hospital quickly, around the same time you got there, but the only reason he didn’t run into you sooner was that he spun on his heel halfway through his dash towards the elevator to make a U-turn for the gift shop and grab you flowers. Even so, his concern was palpable when he actually got to your floor and started questioning the nurses on where you were, despite you not even being there for five minutes. Though you could very well hear Bam and his little tizzy through the door that was left open as he asked fifty nurses where they took you, he was completely, totally chill when he walked in the door, like some switch flipped in his head.

“So, how is it?” Sitting across the room in one of those stiff hospital chairs, Bam dropped the bouquet of periwinkle bellflowers onto the white sheets at the foot of your bed. Glancing down at it, you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut at the shooting pain going up your arm, “Dude- this sucks fuckin’ ass…” Ask him when he met you what he would do if you broke your elbow, and he would probably say something along the lines of high fiving Dunn or having a drink to celebrate, but not now. “Don’t sweat it. I broke my elbow seven times- you’ll be fine, I promise.” You smiled softly at Bam’s comforting words in the silent ER room, thinking about how he must really care about you.

[kaeso4ka]

You're just afraid of horror movies

Pairing: Optimus Prime x human reader

You snorted, and then laughed softly.

"Do you really think I'm going to be scared?"

"Of course," the miko smiled wryly, "you'll be scared."

"I was on another planet in another dimension. I'm in the middle of an alien war. And you really think I'm going to be scared of… Horror movie sessions?"

"Uh-huh."

"Turn it on."

***

That was probably a mistake. That's what you thought after six hours of watching all sorts of horror movies, good and not so good. The phone showed it was about one o'clock in the morning, the main bay of the base was empty (Ratchet had said he wasn't going to work for the disgusting Earth cinema and gone to his bay), and the only people left on the couch were Miko and you. Rafe immediately refused, and Jack decided on the second movie that he'd rather sleep it off before the new shift in a cafe than waste time watching horror movies.

As the next movie came to an end, Miko yawned contentedly, stretching.

"Okay, your taken. You're not afraid of scary movies."

"Of course," you nodded slowly, listening to the rapid beating of your heart, "what's there to be afraid of? They're fairy tales."

"Right," the miko nodded, and then headed towards the Portal, "fairy tales are fairy tales, but I'm going home. See you later!"

The vortex flashed, Miko waved goodbye once more and was gone.

You cursed noisily.

The walls of the largest compartment on the base suddenly began to press down on her. No, you weren't afraid of monsters or ghosts… It was just that after six hours of scary music, carnage, and the screams of dying people, you wanted to cower in a corner and not come out of it until morning. But then, of course, you weren't afraid.

I guess.

Maybe.

Just a little!

"Calm down," you always, in moments of irrational fear, said out loud, "calm down. Monsters and demons don't exist. There are lights on all around, there's a bunch of multi-ton military vehicles at the base. All is well."

"Meow."

You jerked up off the couch with a loud yelp. From underneath that very couch, two red eyes were staring at you.

"Meow?..."

"Fuck you, Cat!" you clutched at your heart. The tension spilled out with a nervous laugh, "shit, okay."

"Meow!"

You were about to go into the compartment to see Optimus, but as soon as your gaze fell on the dark tunnel, you immediately reached for your phone. Oh no, you're definitely not going into the dark.

"Hello, Optimus? Come into the main compartment," you frantically looked around, afraid to bump your gaze into something that just wasn't supposed to be there. A moment later, Prime was already close to the human platform, noting with concern your high stress level.

"Is something wrong, my Spark?"

"Oh no," you nervously shrugged, "everything is fine. I called you to carry me to our compartment."

"You know I never lock it..."

"So?" you interrupted the mech, folding your arms across your chest. "Are you incapable of carrying me yourself?"

There was nothing to wing it at Prime.

"If you wish it, my Spark."

"I wish it," you stretched your arms forward, hinting for Prime to pick you up quickly. Your back felt like it was baking from someone else's baleful stare, but you didn't risk turning around.

The mech released the plugs that immediately wrapped around your body. Greedy as ever, almost intimate.

Optimus Prime headed for his compartment, somehow, parallel to his all-encompassing love for you, sensing someone else's presence.

"No!" you clawed into the shoulder segments of the mech as it sought to place you on a platform. A large, lonely platform that stood in the darkest corner of the compartment. The platform where you were supposed to be alone while Prime would be working behind the monitors at the other end of the quarta. "I want to sit with you today... Yes, sit and watch you work."

Optimus frowns, but finds no reason to object here either.

"You usually said you weren't interested... I'm still doing the same thing. Deciphering Iacon's coordinates," there was no logic to your actions.

"Now I'm getting curious. Do you have something to hide? Are you watching Cybertronian porn so you don't want me here?" The inappropriate humor chased the fear away.

"Nonsense. I don't watch, as you put it, Cybertronian porn. I'm far more attracted to contact with you."

"I'm sure you do," you settled yourself more comfortably, kneading your stiff back, "get to work, Optimus. I'll find something to keep me busy around here."

***

An hour later, you had a headache and your eyes were slipping shut.

You. Wanted to. To sleep.

But to sleep alone... You cast another glance into the dark corner and shuddered. There was a flicker of scarlet dots. Or was it your judgment failing you?

"My Spark, my sensors are registering that your body is demanding offline... You must not force yourself to stay awake."

"I realize that," you suppressed a yawn, "but I don't want to go to bed alone, and you're working, so... I'll wait for you."

"There's still seven more joors of work to do here," Optimus turns off the monitors and feels your trembling intensify, "what's wrong? You're scared."

"I'm not afraid!" when the only source of light in the compartment was the mech's eyepieces, you jumped up from his shoulder and clung to his helmet. "I mean… Ah, hell, okay! Me and Miko have been watching horror movies, and I'm… I'm scared! Okay? I'm scared to be alone in the dark now. Here. Those damn thrillers were killing me, but I couldn't lose the bet."

There was silence for a while. Prime headed towards the platform, taking you gently in his palm.

"Your fear is irrational, my Spark. I think you realize that yourself," the mech lowered himself onto the platform, giving a short command to the segments of the chasplay armor to expose Spark, "but you can sleep here, close to Spark's chamber. You'll have light, and you'll be protected."

You barely finished listening to the mech: as soon as he assumed a horizontal position, you immediately climbed into the chevplight, moving closer to the source of light. And I don't care if it was someone else's soul. Didn't care about anything but the realization that the fear was slowly drifting away. Really, you're a big girl now, and you were so scared because of stupid movies.

"Are you feeling better?" prime's voice was full of concern. You mumbled something unintelligible as you made yourself comfortable. Once again the segments shifted, closing off Spark and you from the outside world.

"Yes. Thank you," you murmured sleepily, feeling unprecedented warmth and comfort. The fear receded completely. "You're right, completely irrational fear..."

Stupid. How silly to be afraid of fake monsters from movies when you're literally sleeping in the actual monster. You so wish that fur beneath you and around you was once again just a hero of myths, not a real creature that causes pain.

... and only on the verge of dreaming did it occur to you that you hadn't taken the cat from the house to the base that afternoon.

[hiemaldesirae]

Arrax here: image Vox is doing another broadcast about Alastor or the hotel or something, when another Overlord breaks in and just out and out attacks him--because the other Overlord is in love with Alastor. All the Cannibals in Cannibal town and Rosie immediately shake their heads because they know this other overlord is a dead demon walking--Vox usually let's his challengers live after they've signed their souls over to him, no matter how badly they've wounded him....but Alastor definitely would have seen this. And attacking Al's muse, his everything because you think you love Al? Yeah, even if Vox owns you...it doesn't mean shit. You're a threat to his muse and you must be dealt with. Alastor can easily find Vox a better soul to have as an underling.

you know another anon was worried about you giving me painful ideas? yeah they were right

i think, honestly in theory, this sort of situation could be very comedic if in the hands of the right person. i however am the completely wrong person if you were searching for anything other than the worst possible writing ever. (putting a readmore because i cant fucking control myself when i get rambling LMAO)

picture this: vox is on tv for one of his usual broadcast segments, taking an interview about his involvement with the radio demon/dissolvement of their rivalry and the hazbin hotel or something. alastor is "begrudgingly" sitting with the rest because admit it or not, he does still have a lingering fondness for the "noisy picture box" demon and, well, that *is* the hotel he's running being promoted, so might as well... (he's mostly just here to stare at the other's face, and husk knows this but he's sworn to silence and niffty is. Niffty. so. whatever)

anyway, blah blah blah they cut to a segment and go off for intermission, but things start to drag on longer than they should. the ad theyre running for intermission stops, but the screen still stays black until it eventually flashes to an error. at this point, the hotel cast is like 'uhhh did something fuck up on set' but theyre not worried about anything until the lights start to flicker, and one by one, every streetlight begins to shut down and fizz out before the electricity cuts off completely, the constant white noise of tv static cutting out alongside it and the buzz of vox's own frequency in alastor's chest going flat with the rest of his power.

before anyone even realizes al is to his feet and out the door, shadows wrapping around his form and carrying him halfway across pentagram city to the vee's tower. when he enters the studio, it's already been trashed to hell and back, with black and red bloodstains from both the hellborn employees and whatever sinners were present at the time of the altercation staining the walls. there are bodies, of course, but none of them are important to him because none of them are *vox*. and he doesn't know where the hell the other is except the fact that he might be hurt. and that's- well, that's unacceptable. if anyone was going to kill vox, it would be him, with the other's blood on his claws and flesh in his mouth and the beating, pumping heart in his chest in his hands-

anyway. he needs to find him. so in classic radio demon fashion, alastor sweeps in and out of shadows and terrorizes those employees not already dead or dying, until he finally reaches-

"vox."

the overlord is standing in the middle of an empty room, completely devoid of any furniture or lighting. it's dark, and there are no windows. at the sound of alastor's voice, he turns to face him slowly. when he finally looks over, alastor almost wants to retch at the sight before him. the others screen is so cracked he looks like a stained glass window, and a seemingly endless stream of blood pours out from the giant gaping hole in the middle of his tv head. what looks like it could be mistaken for a human eye peers out at him before it softens, and a humming static fills the room as vox approaches him slowly, like *alastor* was the wounded prey and not the predator.

when vox reaches him- well, alastor isn't quite sure what the other was going to do anyway, but he pulls the other overlord forward and holds him up by his shoulders, gently tilting the other's screen up to look at him.

"who did this to you?"

it doesnt matter if vox cant reply right now. alastor will find out soon enough, and he'll make sure that whatever fool decided to lay a hand on his muse would suffer for it hundredfold.

(when he finds out that it was because of the other's foolish love for him, alastor not only proceeds to mock the other overlord on a live broadcast but literally proposes to vox on the spot just out of sheer pettiness)

[powderblueblood]

BEAUTIFUL!

ronnie ecker recounts the last first day of the worst of her life or i wanted to rewrite beautiful from heathers the musical, hellfire and ice version. warnings: first person narrative (ronnie's pov), swearing, era-typical misogyny, bullying and slurs, mention of eating disorders, everyone's a dick, everyone's kind of gay for lacy doevski. wc: 3.8k

September 1st, 1984. 

First day of the end of your life. It’s hard not to get a little intro-outrospective.

If I was a diary keeping person, which I’m not because I don’t like to leave a paper trail outside my own goddamn academic brilliance, I’d write something like this. 

Dear diary, I believe that I’m a good person–y’know, relatively speaking, if you don’t count that one time I bit that one kid for catcalling me. But, here we are! First day of senior year! And I look around at these kids I’ve known all my life and I ask myself–what happened?

We’re in the hallway, bottlenecking toward the cafeteria. It’s right around lunchtime, so everyone’s getting a real good look at everybody else, categorizing who they hate, who they hate more, who got boobs over the summer. God, do we ever stop slinging shit at each other, even when we think no one’s listening? There’s a constant cacophony in the hallways of Hawkins High.

Freak! Slut! Burnout! Bug-eyes! Poser! Lard-ass!

And no one does anything about it. 

It’s pretty sad, considering where we came from. 

We were so tiny, happy and shiny, playing tag and getting chased.

Freak! Slut! Loser! Shortbus!

Singing and clapping, laughing and napping, baking cookies, eating paste. Especially me. I was crazy for that shit.

Bull-dyke! Stuck-up! Hunchback!

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome. “Shit, my bad!” That underclassman I just walked straight into looked terrified. And for good reason.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. 

Trailer trash!

For the very first very last time, I crane my head around the swamped hall and try to recall where my new locker is. First star on the right, and I wiggle in my combination and dump my books inside. I take a second, shoving my head inside the cool metal darkness (voluntarily, for once) and mutter, “Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon–”

“–Christ. College will be paradise, if I’m not dead by June.” 

I crane my neck out. Two lockers up from me, elegant fingers pull open an identical door to mine except hers, of course, already has a vanity mirror hung up inside. She checks her reflection, not like it ever needs checking. One of her faithful little redheads stands beside her, smacking bubblegum so loud it makes my ears pop.  

“You are so melodramatic, it’s crazy.” 

“What was that?”

“Nothing…”

It sucks how the chrysalis of adolescence has made most of us completely obnoxious. I try not to be a sucker for nostalgia, but I can’t help but remember how much easier this was in middle school. Waking up on a weekday didn’t have to be like living in a segment of Creepshow. 

I know, I know, I know, life can be beautiful. No plastic Jesus on my dashboard (or… handlebars, I guess) but I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again… 

Then I get a whole shoulder of dork, right to the face. Bubblegum snaps between snorts, I can see that he’s been shoved my way. Yeah, we could be beautiful…

“Ow!”

Just not today. “Hey, are you okay?”

This Jansport sporting asshole twists his face up right in mine. “Get away, nerd!” Jesus Christ.

The choir of angels go on–I’m just trying to make it to the cafeteria and grab a fucking chicken pot pie. I’m starving, and I could use a little less soundtrack.

Freak! Slut! Cripple! Homo! Homo! Homo! 

But, listen. It’s not a total nightmare. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke or Brown–

–or, NYU, if we’re being really serious. 

“Wake from this coma, take my diploma–” God. This chick’s voice seems to cut through the din of the hallway like a bell, “Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy covered walls and smoky French cafes…”

“Sooo uber pretentious!”

“Watch it, freak!” I don’t even need to turn around to figure out who that’s directed at. But, I’m a little preoccupied with singing my own tune, here! Muscling through to the lunch line, grabbing a tray while I–

“–fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze. Hey, Ronnie!” 

Dude, shut up! I swing around, trying to spot the owner of that very different, very familiar dulcet tone when some duckbill hat wearing dickwad upends my lunch tray. Dressed in Hawkins Tiger green and gold, this is one of many prize dickwads. 

Bear with me, I’m trying to place him.

“Ooops.”

Andy Sweeney. Indiana’s worst point guard… “whose true talent lies in being a huge dick.”

Did I mention before about that lack of filter between my brain and my mouth? I patch it up pretty good most of the time, but sometimes…

“What did you say to me, skank?” Andy demands of me all darkly and shit. It’s scary. Even if I’ve got a foot and a half on him.

“Aaah!” I recoil, looking at his flexing fists, “Nothing.”

I back up from him, way way up, leaving my mess of a lunch tray on the ground. Even though that makes me feel shitty–when did I become the guy who left stuff for the already harangued janitorial staff to clean up? 

We were kind before; we can be kind once more… 

Head down. Stalk through. Find the Hellfire table. But, not before someone chucks me lightly on the arm. 

“Agh!” I holler before I register him. I am totally on edge. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Hey,” he grins in a sardonic way that says I cannot believe we’re putting ourselves through this again. 

Eddie Munson. My best friend since pre-pube. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother, unless Granny finally lets me get that gecko I’ve always wanted. I’m almost eighteen, for Chrissake, I should be allowed. 

Anyway, Eddie rocks. We know this. Look at him. 

“We still on for movie night?” he asks.

I beam. Our first day of school comedown tradition. “Shit yeah, you’re on Jiffy Pop detail.”

Eddie’s got a little pep in his step and it jangles his wallet chain. Dude can’t help but attract attention– almost all of it unwanted. “I rented Evil Dead.”

“Hohoho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say?” Before I can even warn him, Eddie’s backstepping straight into– “I’m a sucker for a gory ending.” 

“Eddie Munson, king of the trailer park! What, you didn’t qualify for free lunches this year?”

A hand comes down hard on the age-old tin lunchbox Eddie’s carrying. The clatter it makes against the lino makes me want to cover my ears and hide, especially when I see Eddie’s face. Total resignation. It’s humiliating. 

This guy?

Tommy Hagan. He’s the smartest guy on the basketball team, which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Too goddamn easy, man!” he guffaws, and I would try to figure out what farm animal he most resembles, but apparently I’m too busy–

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!” –being the hero.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Tommy also tries to tower over me, but I’ve got a decent number of inches on him too. 

My cheeks blaze.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. Tell me, Tommy, do you actually have a personality outside of sticking your nose right up Steve Harrington’s ass?”

Tommy gets closer and closer. So close that I can see the nose hair move as he huffs through his freckly nostrils. His finger points right between my eyebrows.

“… you have a zit right there.”

Cue rapturous laughter from the peanut gallery. 

Dear diary…

Why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do I act like such a creep? Why won’t he date me? Why did I hit him? Why do I cry myself to sleep? 

Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me!

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope here! Something to live for!

The doors of the cafeteria burst open and Tommy’s attention is thankfully wrenched away from me. Everyone’s attention is wrenched away from me. Because we’ve all been waiting for this.

They enter the caf in a solid formation, so solid that people part for them. Some gazing, some gawping, some glaring. The name calling ceases, the bullying pauses. 

This is the royal court. They float above it all. 

Tina Burton, head cheerleader. Her dad is loaded. He sells engagement rings. 

Heather Holloway, runs the yearbook. Badly. No discernible personality, but her mom did pay for implants. 

Even the lessers are notorious. Carol Perkins has been having sex since, like, seventh grade. Cass Finnigan’s been pretending to save it for Jesus but giving a backdoor key to whoever buys her peach schnapps. Nicole Summers invented three new slurs last year alone. 

And finally, Lacy Doevski. 

The Almighty. 

She is a mythic bitch. 

These girls, they’re solid Teflon. Never bothered. Never harassed– 

“I would give anything to be like that.”

And I know I don’t sit in that thought alone. Glancing around the tables, the coagulation of cliques, I can hear the desire coming from my classmates. 

I’d like to be their boyfriend. If I sat at their table, guys would notice me. I’d like them to be nicer. 

“What’s the over-under on one of those harpies getting kidnapped, taken to some abandoned warehouse to be photographed naked and left for the rats?” Eddie mutters into my ear as we slam ourselves down at our regular table. 

I roll my freakin’ eyes. “I told you that your Barb Holland theory was insane.”

Eddie shrugs, flipping open his recovered lunchbox. “Just sayin’... They never found a body. Anyway, my money's on the ice queen. If everything they're sayin' about her dad is true, she is prime ransom material.”

“You are so unnecessarily twisted.” But my eyes are still following the crown jewels. I notice that Lacy, Tina and Heather all rise to the girl’s room immediately after they finish their minimal lunch. 

I interrupt Eddie and Gareth’s too-intense-for-lunchtime debate about the morality of posthumously publishing The Silmarillion. “I have to take a leak.” 

As I gently push the door of the bathroom open, I can see Tina standing nervously at an open stall door. Heather is ralphing like her life depends on it. The reptilian arch of Lacy Doevski is bent towards the mirror, touching up her lipstick. 

“Grow up, Heather,” Lacy says in this voice that could weirdly be misconstrued as concerned,  “Bulimia is so sophmoronic.” 

Tina grimaces. “Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather.”

From inside the stall, Heather’s voice echos. “Yeah, Heather– I mean, Tina. Maybe I should.” 

I’m about to open my mouth, say something about ginger ale or peppermint tea, but Mrs O’Donnell enters behind me. I dive into a nearby stall, pretty confident I haven’t been spotted. But, I leave just enough of a crack in the door to watch everything that unfolds out there.

“Ah, I should have known–”

Heather vomits again. Damn, how can she pull trig so much on so little?

“–the witches from Macbeth always travel in a trio.” Her heels click over the cracked, yellowing tile, but the way Lacy turns from the mirror gives even O’Donnell pause. “Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

Hey. Idea. I dig around in my backpack and scribble on a piece of paper, leaning against the bathroom door.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well.” Lacy says. Again, confusing enough to sound kind! “We’re helping her.”

O’Donnell chuckles all airly. Like she’s any match for her. “Not without a hall pass, you’re not. Week’s detention.”

That’s my cue. I scurry out of the stall, presenting O’Donnell with–

“Um, actually, Mrs O’Donnell, all four of us are out on a hall pass.” I gulp and glance at Heather, who’s finally hauled herself off her knees. “Yearbook committee.”

It’s super hard to breathe as O’Donnell inspects my handiwork. It hits me that this could go horribly, horribly wrong, and I can feel Lacy’s eyes boring into a hot spot on the back of my head.

O’Donnell arches her eyebrow. “I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

She goes to hand the note back to me, but Lacy intercepts. Once the coast is clear, she takes her time looking it over. 

“This is an excellent forgery,” she tells me. A drop of freezing sweat runs down my back. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Ronnie�� Veronica Ecker,” I stumble. “We were lab partners last year?”

Lacy’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t remember taking the lead on coolly dissecting a frog in front of me, it seems.

“Doesn’t matter. I crave a boon.”

She holds her glare on me. Jesus, why do I feel like I’m about to have my throat slit? “What boon?”

“Um. Let me sit at your lunch table. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone…”

What? It worked for Nancy Wheeler. Even if she had to boink Steve Harrington to do it, but I can't quite stretch that far.

The girls all chorus in laughter at me. Oof. 

“Before you answer, I can also do report cards, permission slips and absence notes.” Dude, I cannot tell you where this boost of bravery (or foolhardiness) is coming from.

“How about prescriptions?” Heather asks.

“Shut up, Heather,” Lacy cuts. 

“Sorry, Lacy.”

Then, she zeroes in on me. Takes slow steps toward me, just like Tommy Hagan did. But her stare is tearing strips right through me. I even freaking hunch as she gets closer.

“For a greasy little nobody,” Lacy says, her voice dropping low so I have to strain to hear her, “you do have good bone structure.”

Tina and Heather must already be tuned into this Lacy-only frequency.

“And a proportional body,” Tina adds. “If someone didn’t catch you during a basket toss, you’d probably only kind of fracture your spine. That’s very important. 

“Of course, you could stand to de-hobo your wardrobe.” Heather goes so far as to flick the flappy pocket on the front of my overalls. “Salvation Army much?”

“And ya know, ya know, ya know…” the shiniest jewel in the crown hums, tapping her lipstick tube against her cheek, “This could be beautiful.” Her painted fingers pinch my chin and turn it down toward her–because I’m fucking tall. “Mascara, maybe some lipgloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush– and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

A manic looking Tina produces a vanity bag out of absolutely nowhere. “Let’s make her beautiful…”

“Let’s make her beautiful?” Heather snarks, but Lacy shoves a hand in her face. 

Her eyes turn on me again. Dark and sparkly and… and… smiling. At me. “Okay?”

“Okay!”

Then, whaddaya know, smash cut, it’s the next freaking day. I don’t know how that works, but I don’t see another goddamn narrator so pipe down. 

The halls are their usual shitshow– Billy Hargrove shoves the new Hellfire freshman, Gareth, into a locker. Eddie hauls him up by the collar and they run headlong into a gaggle of girls, who all scream because every nerd that plays a fantasy game is contagious. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Get away, pervert!”

“What did I ever do to them?” Gareth yelps, exasperated. Hard not to feel bad for the kid.

But Eddie’s sage about it, even though he knows it’s as unfair as I do. “You’ll get used to it, freshman.”

“No, dude!” Gareth pushes back, verging on a panic attack, “Who could survive this! I can’t escape this–I think I’m dying!”

O’Donnell, hot on the tardy check, appears behind the both of ‘em. “Who’s that with Lacy?”

“Damn. Someone got a welfare increase,” Nicole Summers hatefully snarls.

“Who’s the babe?” says Andy Sweeney.

But Eddie Munson, oh-ho, Eddie Munson settles his eyes into slits. Anytime, any place, he’d know–

“Veronica?!”

“Veronica?” Cass and Carol caw.

“Veronica?” Steve and Tommy mimic. 

And Lacy Doevski… she looks to her dutiful right, and smirks. “Veronica?”

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful! 

My whole life, I haven’t had a choice but to be one of the boys. My best friend’s a boy. I’m in a band with all boys. I’m surrounded by boys all the time who make gross boy jokes and do stupid boy shit. Nobody, not even my Granny, even though she fucking rules, ever asked me if… if I wanted to put on a skirt and get my goddamned nails painted. And it’s not as if I mind being on the more masculine side of things but, shit, is it so wrong to want something? Even if I believed what I was pretty much dragged up to believe, by all my friends and the world at large around me–that being a chick was totally dumb. Couldn’t I try it on?

You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! 

Lacy beckoned me into her walk-in closet, which was about as big as my bedroom and smelled of gardenia, and put me in a pleated skirt set that she said didn’t fit her temperament anymore. ‘But it’d work for a novice.’

Ask me how it feels, lookin’ like hell on wheels–

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eddie seethes as I pass, carried on the cloud of Lacy’s perfume.

‘My god, it’s beautiful!’ I’d said, spinning around in the stupid, flippy skirt. 

“Those bobbleheads totally morphed her!”

‘I might be beautiful!’ I mumbled, fingering the diamond studs she put in my ears that she made Heather pierce.

“She looks like–like–” Gareth chokes.

And when you’re beautiful…

“A girl!”

… it’s a beautiful fuckin’ day!

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Now, at first, I think I’m fucking flatlining, expecting to wake up with goddamn tubes down my throat and shit– but I’m not. I’m in my regular old bed, with my regular old alarm clock screaming at me. I smash my hand down on it and jerk up, out of the covers.

First place I go is my wardrobe. 

I feel the physical sensation of my heart dropping like a lead kite when I flick through my old thrift store samesies and Granny Ecker hand-me-downs to find no such minty plaid skirt set. 

Just a dream. 

Which is such a bullshit conceit. Sorry to break it to you. 

I admit defeat and pull on my overalls, scrunching my ballcap over my head and muscle out the door. I’m already late, for me. 

But–then, there’s an apparition hovering at my mailbox. 

Someone who excitedly takes notice and waves when she catches me staring, arm stretching out of her fur-trimmed peacoat–which is looking a tiny touch shabbier than it used to these days. 

“Happy early acceptance day, asshole!” Lacy Doevski sing-songs. Sing-songs. Which is… something I have to readjust to, given the liminal version of her I just experienced.

“Oh.. jeez,” I mutter, feeling dazed still, “I forgot that was today.”

Lacy’s brow gets all pinchy. “You okay? You look like steamed dogshit.”

“Thank you so much,” I drawl sarcastically, “It’s nothing, I slept funky. Where’s Eddie?”

Lacy shifts in herself a little, tucking hair behind her ears and avoiding my eyes. “How should I know?” Right. That. The daylight version of this little tryst they pretend they’re not having. Honestly, if the two of them would just bang it out– well, maybe things might be worse off and this weird little platonic ménage à trois of ours would be totally ruined forever, but at least I’d have to stop tiptoeing around them. “Come on, are you gonna open it or what?”

Oh, right. There’s a whole gravity of a situation supposed to be happening here.

I kind of feel the saliva gathering at the hinges in my jaw, you know the way you do when you’re about to puke your guts up? But then, I remember. Bulimia is so sophmoronic. 

I yank open that rusty mailbox and a thick, thick envelope with a New York University imprint sits inside. I yank it out.

Lacy stares at me like I’m the dude holding the thing the Ten Commandments were written on. 

I’m not drawing this shit out. I am not teasing myself, dude, you couldn’t pay me to–savagely, I rip the envelope open, which makes Lacy cringe. She probably has a little knife for these sorts of things, knowing her. 

Dear Veronica,

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Well…?”

I thrust that hot, heavy paper right into that pretty girl’s face. “Full. Goddamned. Ride.” 

Lacy gasps, grasping the letter so hard it leaves claw marks. Her eyes shake back and forth, reading and re-reading the whole acceptance ream. It’s weird, and I know it’s weird, but I’m standing there, looking at her and trying to make her make sense with the Lacy that showed up in my dream. That girl existed, and she was mystifying, in a horrifying way. A total reign of ice cold terror. But now, I’m staring at Lacy, who’s all short, weird angles and specific enthusiasm and… it’s hard to see how those two girls ever lived in the same body. 

She’s a little Whitman. She’s got those multitudes. And, actually, so do I.

“I knew it!” Lacy hisses, “And I want you to know that I’m not at all bitter. While I should be celebrating early acceptance with you, I’m glad–”

I grin at her. “You’re a little bitter.”

“Fine, I’m a little bitter, but I’m mostly excited. New York City, Ron! That’s transformative!”

“Yeah… speaking of. Lacy?”

“Yes?”

Dreams are meant to be prophetic and shit, right?

“Doyouwannagivemeamakeover?”

She cocks her head at me. She still hasn’t let go of that acceptance letter yet. “What?”

“Do you.” I take the envelope from her hands. I know she’s capable of identity theft. “Want to give me. A makeover.”

“Huh?” Her fingers stay curled around imaginary paper. Oh, my god.

“You heard me! And I hate repeating myself!” I flail a little. I get like that, quick to bug sometimes. “Look, you said it, New York is gonna be… transformative. I’m going to be a freaking lawyer, dude, fingers crossed, all going well.”

Lacy nods, not a hair out of place, with perfect confidence,“You are.”

“And when was the last time you saw a lawyer wearing fuckin’ overalls?! Huh? The people vs Howdy Doody?”

“I like your overalls.” I know she’s saying this because it’s the right thing to say, and she’s been practicing doing that really hard. She also might like them now, after repeated exposure, in a Stockholm syndrome sort of way. 

“But they don’t scream esquire,” I impress upon her. And it’s true. I truly do believe that I can’t set foot in New York fucking City looking like I just fell off the back of a turnip truck–nor do I want to. 

It takes a big fat beat, but her face changes. Lacy looks almost dastardly–dark, sparkling eyes like Lacy from the dream. She looks me right over, making the calculations of how to reupholster tragically unfashionable me in her mind. And then she arches her eyebrow.

“Well, remember… you asked, Veronica.”

[wnchester67]

S1E1

Q: What makes this episode so fuckin good?

Well, kind of everything.

As any good narrative should, this episode sets up (even if briefly) a normal, apple pie life, and then disrupts that normalcy in a big way. There’s this sense of dramatic irony as the viewer catches on to the foreboding feeling the show is doling out (flickering lights, the MUSIC, etc) and the characters remain unaware until it’s too late. Then, the best moment of the introductory scene, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can.” I really feel like this sets up the entire premise of the show, a thematic motif if you will, wherein Dean is his brother’s keeper (KIN).

The next segment of the episode sort of repeats the disruption of normalcy, settling the viewer into Sam’s life at school while creating this intrigue by setting him up as the estranged golden child. Then we get Dean’s introduction (which is the best fucking character intro possibly ever), aka the disruption of normalcy. I could talk about this for literally ever, but for now I wanna focus on one thing in particular: the dialogue. The writer's are presented with these complex characters and history and have like one scene to start revealing the important shit that sets up the rest of the episode, and they do that via clever, efficient dialogue between Sam and Dean. Most everything they say to one another either reveals plot or characterization, and does so in a way that feels really natural. My personal favorite thing about the dialogue is how it sets up this recurring theme of the struggle between wanting a normal, 'apple pie' life, and being unable to have it (and each brother's feelings on the subject, which makes me crazy). The dialogue for the rest of the episode is equally good at revealing who each of the brothers are, and how they were raised.

Now I'm gonna fast forward to the end of the episode, not because the rest of the episode isn't great (it's really great), but because the way the episode ends is a big part of what makes it stand out so much to me. Jess's death is the perfect example of a character death being necessary to move the plot forward. The show would not proceed the same way at all without her death happening when it does and the way it does, and the way it brings the episode full circle is just... as a writer I could actually piss my pants thinking about it.

In my opinion, while the middle bits of the episode are really good, its truly the beginning and end that make the episode such a stand out. It's the perfect introduction to the series, laying out enough information to let you know what's going on while still keeping a few cards close to the chest to keep you intrigued. I've already watched the whole series more than once, and every time I come back to this episode it's just really, really fucking good.

[multifandomtrashwritings]

Pros & Cons of Laboratory Mishaps Pt 3

Dottore x Fem! Reader

No NSFW here, but again some parts in future will. But I use some curse words (How scandalous :0)

A/N: This took so long because my brain did not want to dialogue :(

When you groggily open your eyes the next morning there's a moment where you seem to forget last night, rolling over to reach for your robe before you get out from under your covers. As you do this you notice the notebook you’d been keeping your observations in and freeze, hand gripping your robe. Shit.. Last night was… What do you even call it, straight out of an Inazuman light novel would be accurate you suppose.

Shaking your head gently to clear your thoughts you pull your robe towards you and slowly begin the process of getting ready for the day. As you do your thoughts continue to race. How the hell were you supposed to explain what had happened? Even if you got lucky and had to explain it to Beta, well you were still only really acquaintances. And worse case… You shudder as you pull on your coat. You did not want to be stuck explaining this to the actual Dottore… Before you know it you’re standing at your door, hand hovering over the handle. You can’t help but hesitate, how the fuck were you even going to begin to explain this. But you guess that being late won’t make this any easier, so you take a deep breath and walk out into the hallway, making your way to the lab and totally not walking any slower than normal.

As you push open the lab door it feels heavier than normal, like everything you touched shared your apprehension. Your glance across the lab and spot Beta, beelining for him before you’re stuck with another segment. You sink into a stool beside Beta with a sigh, unable to keep your swirling thoughts purely inside your head. Beta turns from the documents he’s reading with a raised eyebrow and observes your demeanor. “You seem tired.” He says, turning to face you more. He moves to speak again but is interrupted by the side door of the lab opening and another voice. “Return to completing your task Beta. I shall discuss the results with them myself.” Calls the unmistakable voice of the real Dottore. You can’t help but deflate a little, just when you’d thought you could get the ‘easy’ way out you’ve been shoved into the absolute worst scenario. 

If Beta notices your behaviour he doesn’t say anything, turning back to the documents and gesturing with his hand for you to go to Dottore. There’s nothing else for you to do anyways, so you turn and stand. Your feet feel like lead as you slowly walk over to Dottore, whose standing by another door that you know leads to his office. Which is even worse, you’ll be completely alone. As you approach Dottore steps into his office, leaving the door open for you. 

You hesitantly walk into his office, looking around as you pull the door shut behind you. This is the first time you’ve been in his office, so you distract yourself for a moment by looking around. One wall is covered in books, the whole wall turned into a bookshelf. There’s another door that you know leads to the palace corridors. The floor isn’t the familiar bare concrete of the lab anymore, instead a wooden floor. There’s a large desk in the centre of the room, which Dottore is already sitting at waiting expectantly for you to sit at the chair opposite it. You move forward, noticing a small couch tucked in a corner, as if a last minute addition. Sinking into the seat opposite Dottore your nerves really kick in and you just wait for Dottore to say something, even if it might annoy him. 

Dottore raises an eyebrow at your silence, but he begins to speak anyway. “The potion would’ve worn off by now. I’d like to hear your observations, in detail please.” He says, a glint in his eyes as he says ‘please’ that almost seems knowing, like he’s waiting for you to reveal something he already knows. You swallow, collecting your thoughts and deciding to begin small, trying to hype yourself up for the ‘big reveal’. “Well, I didn't notice much after the first dose. But once the evening came I was still feeling fine, no drowsiness or fatigue at all. I don’t think I was able to get to sleep until around midnight, which is later than usual for a Monday night.” 

Dottore nods. “And nothing else? No unexpected experiences?” He says with a smirk, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. Your eyes widen slightly did he know?! How? What are you even supposed to say to that? “What do you mean?” You settle on, trying to get him to elaborate, even if it was an admittedly risky move considering who you were conversing with.

Dottore’s smirk only widens and he shrugs “Nothing really. Just curious if you felt any odd sensations? Or perhaps any form of connection at all?” He says, clearly enjoying your reactions.

Your shock turns to a glare, he definitely knows. But to what extent? Was this the goal from the beginning? “You know.” Is all you say, clinging onto the idea that you might get away with not having to put what happened into words.

Dottore’s eyes shine slightly at your words. “Ah, so you did. How wonderful. I’m sure you’d like an explanation then?” He says, sitting forward again and dropping his arms to his desk. 

“If I could trouble you for one.” You respond. After the words leave your mouth you can’t help but think you should be more careful with your words. But something in the back of your mind tells you it’ll be fine. In any case Dottore responds before you can think it over more.

“I suppose I can take the time to explain, since this is all relevant to you now.” He begins, his eyes watching you intently for your reactions to his words. “Recently some Fatui agents discovered another Khaenri'ahan ruin. And as usual all items of interest were brought to me for research. One such document caught our Majesty the Tsaritsa’s interest, and as such I was asked to prioritise the recreation of this potion. This potion was called the ‘Soulmate Potion’ apparently it can be used to ‘link’ one with their soulmate for a short duration. Though how exactly wasn’t indicated on the incomplete records we had.” He says, waiting expectantly for your response.

“Wait, wait. So you gave me this ‘Soulmate Potion’?” Is all you can get yourself to say.

“Well, it wasn’t intentional. Someone messed with my vials, and I was tired enough to not notice the colour difference until afterwards.” He says with a shrug. “So did you feel a connection or not?”

“I- Yes, I felt something that makes more sense with the so-called ‘soulmate potion’.” You say, not elaborating.

“Interesting, would you care to explain what this connection was?” Dottore asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

“You sound like you already know.” You sigh, but answer anyway. It’s probably best not to be too insolent to the harbinger despite your instincts trying to convince you that it’d be fine. “I could feel their touch. Like when they touched their face and such.” 

Dottore grins, clearly whatever he was trying to get out of this conversation he was receiving. “Just their face? They didn’t touch anywhere else?”

You flush at his words, the reminder of last night hitting you again. You can’t help but level the harbinger with a glare, your embarrassment stronger than your desire to not get killed for the moment. “You know.” You repeat. “There’s more to this. How do you know?” 

Dottore chuckles. “Hmm, you’re more feisty than I’d pictured.” He says with an amused smile. “I suppose I can elaborate further if it would please you. Like I said the switch up wasn’t intentional but I also mixed my own up. So we had both taken a vial of this potion instead of what we were supposed to.” He says, letting the revelation sit as he watches for your response.

You blush harder, sinking back into the chair and wishing the floor would swallow you whole. So, then that would mean he was your soulmate?? But even worse? (or better?) He had been the one behind the ghost hands last night? You go to speak but all that leaves your mouth is a strangled squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “I- So we’re soulmates?!?” 

Dottore smiles, his sharp teeth showing, huh you thought only the segments had those not the real Dottore. “Evidently.” He says with a nod. “This revelation is perhaps less strange to me than to you. As the segments all like you, and getting the segments to agree on anything is nothing short of a miracle.” He lets out a soft amused huff. “Do you require more proof? We could each take another dose of the potion.” He offers with a cheeky grin.

“No!” You say immediately, clearing your throat nervously before elaborating “No I believe you. It’s like my instincts are telling me you won’t just kill me if I annoy you.”

Dottore laughs. “Interesting. What gave you the impression I just kill whoever annoys me? Surely it would be more efficient to use them as test subjects instead?” He says with a grin. Though you see a hint of relief at your lack of rejection, like a slip of the mask he’s presenting you.

You can’t help but let out a small huff of amusement. And as you think of what to say next the absurdity of the situation hits you full force, derailing your train of thoughts. Subtly pinching yourself just so you could be sure this wasn’t a fever dream, (It wasn’t) you manage to find your words again. “Why bother telling me? I’m sure you could come up with a reasonable excuse.” You settle on asking, because the idea that Dottore had discovered you were his soulmate and went straight to outright telling you the next morning was a little odd, at least to you.

Dottore just shrugs again. “There’s a few reasons. Mainly that Her Majesty wanted to be personally informed of any progress. And I doubt the Tsaritsa would allow me to tell her I’d used the potion to find my soulmate and not introduce them.” He says, grinning at the idea.

Dottore’s words aren’t exactly reassuring though. “I have to meet the Tsaritsa now!” I blurted out, my etiquette barely held up to my interactions with harbingers, how the hell was I going to act ‘properly’ around our Archon. 

Dottore chuckles and I realise I’d said my thoughts out loud. “It’s unlikely the Tsaritsa will interact with you much.” He says. “But moving on from that.. As soulmates we're supposedly a ‘perfect’ match for one another. What say you to testing this theory?” 

I can’t help but blush again, hating that I’m looking as much of a fool as I feel. “Are you asking me to date you?”

“I suppose, though not in the conventional sense. Since fate has deemed us soulmates I see no reason to stick to societal norms. Shall we simply agree to test the fates decision one step at a time?”

I nod, that at least I can agree to.

[noemilivv]

Hi! I just saw your post of the Hazbin hotel mashup! Can I have mine? I have to say I’ve been binge reading all of your works, they are really good!

My name is Melody

Pronouns: I don’t mind pronouns, any is fine but most people use she/they for me

Personality: I would say I’m shy and quite at first but when you get to know me I become very loud, energetic. Practically become the sunshine character + golden retriever in books, my friends tell me anyways. Which I see it. I also become really sassy overtime but in a kind way? I don’t know how to describe it, I become sassy to the person when I know them really well. I’m also very sarcastic as well

style: My style changes a lot to be honest, haven’t quite figured it out. But I would say my style is mix of romantic, dark and light academic and cottagecore

love language: physical touch is up there but when I know that the person close to me that doesn’t like physical touch (example: my friends), I show them my love for them by gift giving but hand made

hobbies: drawing, painting, poetry, reading, pottery, archery, writing

Interests: heavy on fantasy (Merlin BBC, Doctor Who, The hobbit, Lord of the rings), anything mythical, Greek mythology, true crime, history

appearance: I have a medium length butterfly cut, black hair but red is in there as well. You can see the red only when the sun hits my hair. I’m 5’3, dark brown eyes and Carmel skin

Dislike(s): rude people, people who does not have any manners, bitter food, really spicy food I only can take mild spice 🥲

Like(s): books, animals all kind, nature, sweets (I’m a sweet tooth person), all kinds of music it all depends on my mood, stuff animals, flowers, all kinds of potatoes (hash browns, chips etc)

Hopefully that’s enough information, sorry if it’s a lot! Take care of yourself and have a lovely day/afternoon/night :]

AAAA i love hearing people binge read my stuff and enjoy it, so tysm!!💕💕 i didn’t get what gender you preferred so i hope what i picked is okay but here is my pick for you…

Husker !!

First then I thought of when you said you have ‘sunshine + golden retriever’ energy was AAA HUSK ‘grumpy + sunshine’ duo and I just about screamed because I fucking live for that shit LMAO

When Husk first met you, he instantly likes you, you were quiet and chill which was a contrast to pretty much everyone at the hotel

But then you guys got closer and started dating BOOM it was like a smack in the face!! Within the blink of an eye, you were this energetic and talkative person! Husk didn’t mind by any means, he was just shocked

Husk doesn’t mind physical touch in small segments, but the fact that you think he is worthy of a gift? He doesn’t understand, but he accepts the gift, even if it’s something stupid

Also your hair matches his color scheme, so I thought that was cute :3

Ya know how Husk takes Angel and dances with him in that one part in ‘Loser, Baby’ in E4, yeah, you too do that shit all the time

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Holy shit I was working on this since late October, and I'm the most proud I've ever been of a picture I've drawn?

Details and graffiti transcriptions below the cut! 'Cause I worked on that shit for like three entire days, and I'll be damned if I don't show off some environmental storytelling word crimes.

So, first we have a couple closer looks of Sasha! Their outfit was pretty fun. I haven't done modern outfits in... probably ever, and it was nice having a lot more references to work off of.

Their sefirot necklace was fun to draw because I have one almost exactly like it. The flannel was the first time trying to do plaid by hand with a new little technique (Base colors+Multiply layer for dark stripes+Overlay layer for light stripes) but it went way faster than the god damn quilt?

All in all, my favorite detail was doing cosmetics, because I got to do little chips missing in the nail polish, and that's probably the first time I've drawn eyeshadow and willingly shown the result! : D

Next we have the little rat family in the background, with the wall-dwelling Rat King peeking through the wall, which is where I did dipped into tracing a couple photos instead of just looking at references.

Generally my process has been doing anatomy lines over a reference, then working off of those for about... three to four layers for body->clothes->hair->Full sketch, then another with whatever brush I wanna do the lineart with (usually a watercolor detail brush from one of two sets on Krita), but I'll note where I skipped that process and committed some art crimes.

The two background rats (Pestis and Mortar) are from a pair of stock photos from Getty, while the one in the foreground (Yersinia) is a mix of a pic that pops up in meme dumps from time to time of a smoking rat and a few bits that weren't in the original image. (Jewelry, the legs that were covered by an ash tray in the original pics, the "Buns and Roses" lighter she clearly stole from Sasha.)

Time for some graffiti transcriptions! Most of the variation in the graffiti came from switching the size of my brush and trying to mix up my handwriting, but there's a few segments where I use a font, then outlined the font with a 2px across brush to make it fit more into the art. Mostly, this was through screenshotting google docs, but some of the fancier fonts are from cooltext.com.

Top:

This is really high

No it's not?

Top Right:

A drawing of a clown that clearly used to be titties

"What's wrong with Bipo's eyes?" (Referring to the tape over the nipples)

"Their titties, bro"

"What about them?"

Top Left going down:

"Hail Satin" written next to a six pointed star

"Rong star, dumass"

A sticker reading "Apologize to your English teacher"

"Yeah, get a brian, morans!"

"You're just as bad as the other two!"

<The URL for the Wikipedia page on sarcasm>

Bottom Left:

Gazebos ate my ass

Bottom center:

"My sister turned into a bird but no one believes me."

"That's rough, buddy."

Bottom right:

A sticker of a possum with "Live Weird" written on it.

A sticker of a more poorly drawn character wrapped in blankets with "Seep eeps" written on it.

...So I made up a fake BDSM club for this one and named the majority of the bands dirty jokes, but I will die on the hill that there should be an all-trans metal band called "The Book of Dead Names."

CHOKE POINT

PRESENTS

LIVE MUSIC

THIS SUNDAY

CUNT MUNCHIES

THE BOOK OF DEAD NAMES

SOME GUY NAMED STEVE

FIST FUCK DUMP TRUCK

WOLFGANGBANG

THE PENIS MIGHTIER

A sticker with a set of vampire fangs that says "Got Blood?"

"Parasitic fucks"

"U got beef w/ Count Chocula?"

"Bro, vamps suck."

"Duh"

"So does your mum.

A sticker of a cross made out of a bunch of interlocking parts with some mirrored Hebrew in the middle. (I'm really proud of making this shape up on the spot. I had an idea for a religious monster hunter group named after the Watchers from Enoch, but I've got no idea if this story will ever happen.)

"Your Hebrew is backwards, you twatwaffle"

A sticker reading "Deus Vult"

"I fucking love Powerwolf"

"VULT DEUS NUTS, GOTTEM!

A cut off poster telling people to vote for, I presume, their favorite chainsmoking rat, clearly.

A sticker of the Autism Creature

"Rizz 'em w' the Tism" with the last S being the one everyone draws in school, but also backwards.

"It's like if Kirby was a centaur"

"I will never unsee that."

"It looks nothing like my vaccuum"

A paper with "Missing Printer" and a cut off phone number written in sharpie.

A meme of a bear in a suit (Partially a trace of the actual meme template) with "You have seasonal affective disorder because you need Vitamin D. I have seasonal affective disorder because one of my ancestors fucked a bear. We are not the same"

"Is that how it happens?"

"Oh, sure, this dude's ancestor fucks a bear, he gets a meme, BUT WHEN I-"

"Going insane by yourself, handsome?"

Three pieces of paper with "Yes" "Yup" and "Yass" written on them, two stuck on with tape, while the third is stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

"You guys seriously pay to print out memes just to vandalize shit?"

"No, I stole the printer, too."

"YOU"

"Paulie never died"

A sticker of the Mothman

"TAX FRAUD"

A large printout with a dramatic portrait of Mitch McConnell with "ARE YA BREEDING YET?" written below it. Several tear off strips are missing, but the remainder all say different variations of "Yes"

A cut off sticker of a smiley face

A sticker of a machete

"BURGLE TURTS"

A sticker of a crying laughing emoji.

A sticker of a pot leaf

A sticker with a picture of bigfoot with pasties on her boobs walking up to a stripper pole with "I want to believe" written in the X-Files font

"Whoever gave Bigfoot tits will never enter the Kingdom of God"

Three notes pointing to the previous message with "Noticed the tits first" "Weirdo" and "Your preoccupation with cryptid mammaries betrays your discomfort with your own sexuality. Consider meditation, therapy, or possibly fucking yourself!"

"Weirdo" pointing to the previous paragraph before being crossed out and replaced with "BASED"

"K, but y tho?"

"No one insults the Bigfoot big naturals on my watch"

(She has them in the Patterson-Gimli footage, too)

"BIGFOOT BIG NATURALS" "NOW LORE ACCURATE"

A swastika being covered up by a peace sign

"Degenerates should be purged" "AMEN" "U FIRST."

A drawing of a penis that's been turned into a weasel in a familiar pose with "Dick weasel" and "Had to do it to 'em" written next to it

A sticker of a stalk of corn labeled "CORN"

"See? Iowa is with us!"

And, finally, "Does reading this hurt your back, too?" which was the last thing I added because I literally spent two days just doing graffiti for this shit.

So, the map behind Sasha is made up on the spot, with some inspiration from a map of the Seattle Bay. Kinda proud of just how dirty this fucking place is, but the final, and greatest achievment in making this picture look grimy...

THE RUST

I didn't exactly nail the perspective on some of these (The sketchy layer for the floor grating was done once, then dragged into place and warped with the perspective... and then completely fucked that up) but god DAMN do I love texturing the fuck out of things!

There's like six Multiply layers scattered about because it turned out it's a phenomenal way to make the shading of multiple textures make sense without losing that texture, and I feel so god damn powerful!

Oh, right, the posters.

Not much to say about them. The righthand one was 95% traced from a mafia stock photo, while the hands in the left came from another stock photo.

Honestly, I drew the frames, then had no idea what to put in them. There was briefly gonna be a pic referencing a cosplay photo I have of myself, but eh...

The rats and the guy in the wall were originally referencing a Vampire the Masquerade character I had named Pretty Paulie, who was a mafioso turned nosferatu who dubbed his crew the Rat Pack. I figured if there was some kind of dramatic, Scarface-esque movie about him, he'd definitely find a way to keep the poster nearby, and I wanted to slap in one of those "Give blood!" posters from the Red Cross except... not from the red cross.

I don't really feel like I put in much effort into these (compared to the Graffiti-a-thon with several subplots), but hey... they covered the tile, which before shading was boring and very flat, so they did their job.

I'll leave you with some zoomed in textures, because I do feel proud about those! I make them via a combo of oil paint and watercolor brushes, usually with a whole lot of different coats of varying opacity until it looks like the thing it's supposed to be. :)

I've only just started drawing again this year (I've been editing a looooot longer) so there's a lot of spaces where I have hiccups, but I'm figuring out the areas I do well in.

...Also sweet Jesus this started as me trying to figure out what a character looked like. It says 3 full days worth of editing was done in Krita on this file, and I don't think it's counting the idle time.

[highwarlockofbookworms]

“He hears Andrew scoff on the other side of the line. “My PR agent just called; SPORTS UNLIMITED wants to know if they can use the picture Kevin tweeted last night on the cover of their upcoming issue. They’re running a segment on you two for some unknowable reason. Also – I do not want to deal with this.”

“Hold on,” Aaron says as he logs back into his Twitter, begrudgingly. Nicky is quiet, so Aaron assumes that he hasn’t seen the picture as yet either. “Also, how is your PR agent even involved in any of this?’

“Also also, why do you even have a PR agent when you refuse to talk to literally everyone?” Nicky adds. He’s not wrong. Andrew doesn’t really need a PR agent. Neil needs a PR agent.

“Probably because I’m in the picture too and because you don’t have a PR agent and we have the same face – now what they should have done is contacted Kevin’s agent, but he’s kind of an arsehole who is dealing with a lot right now I assume he told them to shove it. Also, you may need to get your own PR agent.”

Aaron finally bypasses all the (still active) notifications and finds Kevin's tweet from 13 hours ago. It’s a picture that Aaron doesn’t immediately recognize, of both Aaron and Andrew, just like Andrew had said. It was taken from a few paces behind them and features the twins engaged in conversation – heads slightly turned towards each other – walking together through the village market near the stadium.

The factor that intrigued SPORTS UNLIMITED was undoubtedly their attire. Both twins are sporting exy merchandise of rival teams. Andrew is wearing his own team shirt – probably his own uniform since they seem to be on their way to one of Andrew’s games. It’s his Knights shirt with their surname and the number 3 on the back in clear, white letters.

Aaron, however, is wearing Kevin’s merchandise. The Wyoming Wolves shirt – the team Kevin used to play for, at the time – with the name Day and the number 2 in black letters. It wasn’t actually Kevin’s own shirt, just merchandise.

Aaron admits that in light of recent events, it’s a cute picture. But the true story isn’t even a romantic one. Aaron isn’t wearing Kevin’s number to be cute; he’s wearing Kevin’s number to be a shithead to Andrew – it’s become a sort of tradition.

Since they’d graduated and Andrew and Kevin had both gone pro on rival teams, Aaron had found himself attending their games whenever he was free. He obviously supported them and wanted them to win, but – that’s boring. The first time he’d done it, it was to annoy Andrew – Andrew didn’t care, but Neil got annoyed, so it was still a win-win situation. Aaron had worn his Kevin Day Wolves shirt to a knights game when the Knights weren’t even playing the wolves. He thought it was funny, and even if Andrew didn’t give a shit – pissing Neil off is always a good pastime.

The next game he’d attended was one of Kevin’s, and he wondered if he could get the same rise out of Kevin he’d got out of Neil. The Wolves were playing the Panthers, and Aaron showed up in a Knights shirt with Minyard 3 on his back.

It became a fun game, wearing Andrew’s shirt to Kevin’s games and Kevin’s shirt to Andrew’s. Finally, the Wolves and Knights played each other, and the Foxes had placed bets on what Aaron’s move would be. Choose between Kevin and Andrew, finally? Normal attire? Wolves merch in the first half and Knights merch when Andrew finally shows up in the second half?

Aaron had worn his own Foxes, Minyard 5, shirt to that game, and every game Andrew and Kevin played each other in future.

“I do not need a PR agent,” Aaron finally says. “I did not get as far away from exy as I could, and go to fucking medical school, to be on the cover of a sports magazine,” “that’s the type of thing you should tell your PR agent,” Andrew advises.

-Chapter 3, The One Where Everyone Finds Out