#there is zero ground for that claim

[nururu]

genuinely if you're one of those ppl who's like "I wish Zoro smiled and laughed post timeskip :(" block me bc you're not watching the show and y'all are dumb asf for continuing to say this when it's 10000% completely a lie. you want him to be emo and angsty so fucking bad it's embarrassing. like 90% of the ppl who watch one piece are so used to mid writing and mid anime that depends on tropes and your brains are mush to the point you literally cannot comprehend anything if it's not blended up and made into easily digestible baby food for you.

[party-gilmore]

there was literally… ZERO reason… for her to bring up Jews in that article… at all…

this was a devastating story about a military man fatally self-immolating in protest of america supporting the ongoing message and should have REMAINED focused on him and message, there was… literally no fucking reason for that article to derail and complain about “israel supporters” being “afraid of antisemitism”

…like what the actual fuck.

“You simply cannot fit more America into a single incident than a man dying a horrifying death in protest of war crimes while a first responder screams at cops to stop pointing their guns at him and go get fire extinguishers. If you were to pick a single moment in history to sum up the essence and expression of the US empire, that would be it.”

Caitlin Johnstone, The Most American Thing That Has Ever Happened

[yanderenightmare]

Aemond Targaryen

♡ TW: arranged marriage, implied incest, HOTD in general

♡ fem reader

Aemond took Vhagar, and you took his eye for it. It became the day your family tore down the middle. Your mother, heir to the throne, retreated with all of you back to Dragonstone, where you’d been hiding for a longer time—once again leaving Kingslanding in the hands of its dying King and the surrounding Greens.

You think it’s all the same, really—you’d rather stay away from that place anyway. Of course, you regret having taken your uncle’s eye. It was, after all, not even your fight—nor was it very ladylike. But you can blame your mother for that. She never taught you temperance—or any manners at all, for that sake. Still, blinding one’s own family isn’t right. And yet, it’s a sin you learn to live with over the years spent removed from its victim.

On Dragonstone, you’re free—on dragonback, for the most part. You’d long left the matters of the court to your brothers. Jace was the one who’d be King after your mother, while Luke would be Lord of Driftmark, and you’d stay here—on Dragonstone. By yourself and to yourself. You’d still have to marry, of course, there’s no way around it—but like your mother, you’d get to choose for yourself. That much, you have no doubt.

If you could, you’d always stay on Dragonstone, isolated from anywhere else, but it seems, once again, Kingslanding calls for your return. The King has taken a turn for the worse, and with it, your mother has grown wary of her claim. And so, the heir to the throne and her family along with her were all to voyage home.

You sigh as you look at the approaching castle. It’s not how you remember it, but whether it’s uglier or smaller or something else entirely isn’t clear to you as you watch from the ship. When all this bickering and uncertainty would end, you couldn't know but hoped it would be soon so that you could return swiftly. In a way and in a thought you would never voice out loud, the King’s death would bring about a much-needed calm in your family. Your mother would take the throne as is her birthright, and all else would be put to rest.

Oddly, no one came to welcome you when you arrived. Even your red Targaryen banners had turned green in your absence, as if the groundskeepers had neglected their duties and let the weeds grow as they pleased. No doubt, it would be yet another troubling topic over dinner.

But not one you’d bother yourself with. You make your way to refamiliarize yourself with the grounds instead—walking down a hundred turning memory lanes in the castle as if trying to find the center of a maze. You remember why you left this place—barren halls, all filled with nothing but the whispers of your hair color not being silver. Such things didn’t reach across the waters—they couldn’t touch you back on Dragonstone. Being back doesn’t feel much like a homecoming at all—more like a return to something foreign—even though that makes little sense.

You tell your assigned kingsguard to escort you to your chambers, but on the way, you hear the chimes of something more compelling. And following it, you find yourself on the balcony of the training arena.

And oh—you hardly recognize him. Tall and lean, all riddled with taut muscles he’s sharpened like the blade held in his grip. His hair is neatly combed, long, and perfectly silver like moonlight off a lake. The only thing disrupting it is the black leather patch covering his eye. And while you watch him swing his sword all so mercilessly but with a certain grace you’ve never before seen, you can't help but imagine you're the straw doll he's practicing on.

His eye meets yours without warning. One moment, he’s focused on his training and the next, he’s zeroed in on you.

You can’t help but flinch, skirting back as if the railing had suddenly burnt you. And then, well, shamefully, you very nearly ran away—skittering back into the maze as though wanting to find someplace to hide.

You want to return to Dragonstone. More than a yearning now, it’s almost a must. You’re nearly fetching your dragon from the pit to leave immediately, but you know that wouldn’t be proper. Your mother would be upset with you, and you’re not one to disappoint her. She has enough worries as is. You wouldn't make yourself one of them. And so you stay.

Your maids bathe you and then help you get dressed. And then you join the rest of your family for supper—dreading the presence you’d felt earlier, knowing he’d be there as well.

You keep your gaze fixed on your meal, and yet you can feel his one-eyed stare from across the dinner table. Neither of you looks anywhere else. And neither of you speak.

Aegon says many things—none of which you hear—though, possibly slights about your origin. It seems he and your brothers are arguing. But it’s nothing new. The King, your grandfather, the poor old man, shares words of family and love to defuse the tension once and for all. But you can’t agree—not when the one-eyed glare feels to lash out at you like the fire of an untamed dragon.

The Queen, of all people, salutes your mother. It seems genuine enough. And still, you don’t feel her sons share in her show of respect.

Jace rises and offers Helena to dance—ever the dutiful son. Luke follows in his lead and offers the same to Rhaena. And then, much to the twist of your own empty stomach—your plate of food untouched—Aegon also rises and takes a drunken step in your direction.

Still, he’s the lesser of two evils around the table. But shortly after taking his second step, he’s beaten to the punch by said greater evil. His hand reaches out, yet you don’t dare acknowledge the offer. Coated in goosebumps, you feel frozen.

“Didn’t you hear the King, dear niece?” he speaks—lowly in a hush. “The family feud has been resolved now. We ought to usher in its newfound peace while it lasts. You and I more than anyone. Take my hand and let us dance atop grievances, dead and buried.”

You recognize the threat in his words. To deny him would mean rejecting said peace. And so, with a deep exhale, you lay your hand in his death grip and follow him to the floor. And now you really feel no different from that battered straw doll in the arena.

“You’ve grown up rather beautifully since last we saw each other,” he says.

You know you ought to utter a thank you, but no words dare escape the choke of your throat as he positions an all but crippling paw on your waist—the other in the air pressed flatly against your own.

“I, on the other hand, am too hideous to look at, it seems,” he adds when you don’t answer. Voice lowering even more so into a brisk whisper that no one but you would be able to hear, “Won’t you face me, dear niece? And gaze upon the atrocity you dealt when we were children.”

Finally, you pick your head up. “I—” You falter just as quickly—his smile catches you completely off guard. Still, your eyes go to the scar escaping his patched eye—deep and unforgiving where you’d ruthlessly slashed your knife. You swallow thickly. “You have my deepest regrets, uncle. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t asked the Gods for forgiveness.”

To that, he laughs. “There’s no need. I long forgave you.”

There’s an utterly misplaced joy in his eye you’ve never before seen. And you’re left wondering if he’s really the same Aemond you remember.

“Not a blade has struck me since,” he says, simpering. “In a way, I ought to thank you for it. It seems it’s given me luck.”

He doesn’t seem grateful, despite his words. Yet, he doesn’t sound spiteful, either. You don’t know what to make of it. If anything, he seems satisfied with something.

“Anyway, it’s not right for a man to bear ill will towards his wife.”

Your brows furrow. And a creeping chill befalls you. Certainly, you heard him wrong, or he misspoke, or you’ve misunderstood something somehow.

“Oh? They haven’t told you?” he asks—his lips curling further at the corners. “Oh, dear niece—why do you think you’re here? Just visiting?” he snickers.

You still don’t understand. Or maybe it’s that you refuse to. Looking at him desperately in wait for him to stop laughing and explain the joke, even if it’s on you.

“The King spoke of peace, but peace, as you must know, isn’t brought about without payment.”

You remain silent. Still waiting to have your doubts eased.

“Oh, do I have to spell it out for you?”

Despite his sigh, he doesn’t look any ounce worth of exasperated—no, rather amused.

“You’re unwed. As am I,” he finally clarifies, and yet it does nothing to dispel your troubled head. “Marriage has always been the Targaryen way. I’m surprised you didn’t know,” he continues unbothered, a certain snideness to his tone, “But then again, you and your kin aren’t very Targaryen at all, are you?”

You don’t humor the insult. After all, you were way more concerned with what he’d said about marriage.

“Don’t worry. It’s not what matters. Not to me, at least,” he says. “I, for one, welcome our union.”

Your feet follow his lead as he dances with you in the palm of his hand.

“It’s rather poetic, isn’t it?” he smiles again. “You took my eye. And so, dear niece, I shall take your hand and everything attached to it.”

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - January 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Landmark debt swap to protect Indonesia’s coral reefs

“The government of Indonesia announced this week a deal to redirect more than US$ 35 million it owes to the United States into the conservation of coral reefs in the most biodiverse ocean area on Earth.”

2. [FWS] Provides Over $1.3 Billion to Support Fish and Wildlife Conservation and Outdoor Access

“Through these combined funds, agencies have supported monitoring and management of over 500 species of wild mammals and birds, annual stocking of over 1 billion fish, operations of fish and wildlife disease laboratories around the country, and provided hunter and aquatic education to millions of students.”

3. Philippine Indigenous communities restore a mountain forest to prevent urban flooding

“Indigenous knowledge systems and practices are considered in the project design, and its leaders and members have been involved throughout the process, from agreeing to participate to identifying suitable land and selecting plant species that naturally grow in the area.”

4. Responsible Offshore Wind Development is a Clear Win for Birds, the U.S. Economy, and our Climate

“[T]he total feasible offshore wind capacity along U.S. coasts is more than three times the total electricity generated nationwide in 2023. […] Proven strategies, such as reducing visible lights on turbines and using perching deterrents on turbines, have been effective in addressing bird impacts.”

5. Illinois awards $100M for electric truck charging corridor, Tesla to get $40M

“The project will facilitate the construction of 345 electric truck charging ports and pull-through truck charging stalls across 14 sites throughout Illinois[…. E]lectrifying [the 30,000 daily long-haul] trucks would make a huge impact in the public health and quality of life along the heavily populated roadways.”

6. Reinventing the South Florida seawall to help marine life, buffer rising seas

“[The new seawall] features raised areas inspired by mangrove roots that are intended to both provide nooks and crannies for fish and crabs and other marine creatures and also better absorb some of the impact from waves and storm surges.”

7. Long Beach Commits to 100% All-Electric Garbage Trucks

“[Diesel garbage trucks] produce around a quarter of all diesel pollution in California and contribute to 1,400 premature deaths every year. Electric options, on the other hand, are quieter than their diesel counterparts and produce zero tailpipe emissions.”

8. ‘This Is a Victory': Biden Affirms ERA Has Been 'Ratified' and Law of the Land

“President Joe Biden on Friday announced his administration's official opinion that the amendment is ratified and its protections against sex-based discrimination are enshrined in the U.S. Constitution.”

9. A Little-Known Clean Energy Solution Could Soon Reach ‘Liftoff’

“Ground source heat pumps could heat and cool the equivalent of 7 million homes by 2035—up from just over 1 million today[…. G]eothermal energy is generally considered to be more popular among Republicans than other forms of clean energy, such as wind and solar.”

10. Researchers combine citizens' help and cutting-edge tech to track biodiversity

“Researchers in the project, which runs from 2022 to 2026, are experimenting with tools like drones, cameras and sensors to collect detailed data on different species, [… and] Observation.org, a global biodiversity platform where people submit pictures of animals and plants, helping to identify and monitor them.”

January 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[igotanidea]

Superstition: Jason Todd x witch!reader

requested by anon because it's October!

***

For some reason, the world is always in danger on Tuesdays.

And the newest threat to the existence of the people involved a group of superheroes and vigilantes and even anti-heroes gathering together to discuss the best way to tackle it.

Familiar faces and new ones, arrived at one deeply hidden lair (not really), not causing any reasons for suspicions (again – not really).

Who would pay attention to various, spandex-clad people, climbing to one apartment in the suburbs through the doors and windows, from the ground, air and water, right? It was freaking Gotham after all, weirdest things have happened.

And she was definitely someone new.

He didn’t pay much attention to that girl.

But somehow he noticed how she stood in the back of the room, watching everyone instead of joining in the conversation. How she mostly stayed quiet while the gathered was discussing plans and methods to defeat the newest opponent, only now and then throwing some well-pointed argument.

She was weird with that watchful eyes, focused face, specific kind of humor, wearing unusual clothes, speaking in a manner that indicated she knew something no one else did.

And that smell, he couldn’t quite decipher.

What was it?

Sage? Lavender? Rosemary?

Who, out of normal people, smells like kitchen seasoning?!

But –

Out of it all, she was at least useful. Or so it seemed, otherwise Dick would not bring her out to this meeting in the first place.  

And hell, he wouldn’t let her know everyone’s identities.

Well – not everyone. Jason was pretty stubborn with keeping his signature helmet on. He was not risking a stranger to know too much about him. Always the one to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Who is she?” he muttered to Dick, his voice distorted by the metal

“Her name is-“

“I don’t care about her name. What is she?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make that face on me, Dickhead. You have aliens friends, robotic friends and turning-into-an-animal friends. What is she?”

“Oh, that!” Dick laughed, but then turned serious “I am not telling you that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This was obviously a bait, and he was not some silly fish to rise to it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“You will have to- wait, what? You don’t want me tell you?” Dick’s face dropped a little

“Nope.”

“But-“

“I said nope.”

“Come on, Jas-“

“Don’t use my real name, idiot!”

“But I want to tell you!”

“A second ago you claimed that-“

“You are no fun.” Dick pouted like a five year old, crossed arms over his chest and after a moment of zero reaction from his brother walked away, probably to share how unfairly he had been treated.

***

She was a witch.

A freaking witch.

Without hair in her ears, warts, boils and hooked nose.

A witch!

Where was her cat? Her broom? Her – whatever else was a signature for that type of supernatural being.

“You might want to take it a little easier on me, you know?”

“Huh!?” Jason spun around only to notice she was now standing behind him with a soft face expression. “What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t you know that witch can read minds?”

“What now?” he blushed under the helmet on being called out on that, but obviously did not let it show. “Who gave you the permission to invade my head, witch!?” The last word was almost spitted with anger and venom dripping from the voice, followed by crossing arms that was supposed to be intimidating. However, much to his surprise she only chuckled. “Are you laughing at me now?!”

“Yes.”

“Careful there, harpy.” The second that word left his mouth he regretted it. First, she did not deserve to be judged so superficially and Jason should know better how painful it can be. Second, it showed that he was getting agitated and that was not the point. Third, fourth and fifth – she could drop him dead on the spot with her dark magic powers.

“Careful there, tin-head.”

Oh wow. She was mean.

“Or what?” he challenged

“Or I threw a curse at you.”

“And what?”

“Don’t test me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh I bet, you’d be so happy, being able to boost to everyone who’d love to listen that you battled a witch that’s half your size, huh?”

“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, feeling a little offended and hurt.

“Well you don’t know me.”

Shit.

“What’s that scent you smell of?”

“Excuse me?!”

Idiot. At this point he felt like facepalming. So stupid trying to rectify the situation while simultaneously not wanting to say anything that would even resemble apology.

“The- ”

“It’s thyme. And verbena.”

“Why-?”

“It’s supposed to bring out luck and peace . And thyme brings out mental powers.”

“Hence the mind reading?”

“Oh, I was kidding about that. I cannot truly read minds. You were muttering to yourself and since I was standing close there was no way for me to not overhear.”

“So you are not-“

“A I’m -going-to-curse-you-with-pain-in-the-ass witch? No. I’m a little bit more reserved when it comes to that, but don’t tell anyone. I would be casted away from the clan.”

Despite himself he chuckled.

“So, what other discrepancies are there between you and the myths about the witch.”

“I’m not giving such secrets to just anyone, Hood.”

“I can respect that. Got my boundaries too.”

“Hence the helmet still on your face?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I can respect that.” She nodded, “The world can be awful when it comes to quick and superficial conclusions, right?”

His head snapped her direction. How come she was speaking freely all those words he was holding deep inside his heart. Why did it feel like she actually meant everything said and didn’t just throw around empty platitudes?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you look at me like I’ve just murdered a cat for a dark ritual.”

“You can’t see my face. And I don’t like cats.”

“Sure not. Cause you are a dog person, right?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

God, he was hating her already.

***

Two weeks later, he was sitting in her apartment, helmet off, with her black cat on his lap, caressing the soft fur, observing carefully how Y/N was getting ready for the Valpurga Night, taking the weirdest clothes existing from the wardrobe. Judging by the style she had either robbed a homeless man or a prank store.

“Seriously this is how you guys are dressing?” he pointed out at the black robe and a pointy hat.

“What? No! Of course not, are you crazy? This is my Halloween costume. No respectable witch will ever wear a hat like this. God, last time the chairwoman of the assembly had a channel costume and three sets of pearls. Show off she was…”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“You’ve got a Halloween costume six months in advance?”

“Stop laughing or I’ll-“

“Curse me, yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He raised hands in surrender, causing the cat to meow desperately, demanding more touches. “See, your cat likes me, why can’t you?”

“That cat happened to swallow too much catnip when I was preparing my potions earlier today. He’s not a credible judge at the moment.”

“I’d rather take his judgment over yours.”

Y/N flicked her wrist and the blanket on the bed wrapped over Jason turning him into a giant burrito.

“Seriously, this is the best you can do? Claiming to be powerful and –“

A second later he was levitating by the ceiling, heads down, not liking it at all.

***

One month later he found himself having a panic attack during the night. All the memories from the pit, the pain, the hurt, the trauma came back flooding him like a freaking tsunami.

The last thing he wanted was seeing and hearing things that did not exist.

A lunatic that was what he was.

And there was only one person he knew who was familiar with supernatural things and knew how to play with minds and reality with her skills.

“Y/N.” he stuttered to the phone, her name the only lifeline connecting him with the remnants of crumbling reality.

“I’m on my way.”

Of course she already knew what was happening.

Of course she was already coming to him, to save him from himself.

Ten minutes later, the window creaked and she just flew inside effortlessly, discarding her cloak on the floor and rushing to his side.

“The doors are out there, you weirdo” he stuttered, hating that she saw him in this vulnerable state. “You had to make a show, didn't you?”

“Though it could lift your spirits.” She muttered, without a hint of tease in her voice “and speaking of spirits, can I?” her hands lingered around his head.

“Please…”

Softly and slowly, she placed both palms on his temples, whispering something that might have been a spell, incantation or that curse she was threatening him with since the moment they met.

Regardless of what she chose to place on him, it seemed to work. The fog on his brain slowly dispersed and he almost felt the fear and anxiety floating away.

At least she was useful.

“What- what did you-?”

“hush. Quiet. Here, take that” she handed him a little vial.

“what’s that?”

“A poison. What do you think, jar-head? It; a potion. It will strengthen you.”

“I don’t need strengthening-“

“Just take it.” Her smaller hands wrapped around his, forcing him to keep the bottle. “Please.” For a moment their gazes met and the time seemed to stop. “I can’t risk having you waking me up in the middle of the night again, right?”

“Waking you? Thought you were out casting spells and running naked over the meadow?”

“Not really. It's the incoming moon phase. It’s the time for white magic, and we both know I’m a dark witch right?”

They both chuckled softly. She was as dark as Jason was lenient towards criminals.

“Stay?” he asked softly

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

***

He didn’t plan it.

Definitely not, but how was he supposed to help being drawn towards that weirdo that seemed to shake up his world? How could he resist the pull towards the otherworldly and the only person that seemed to understand him completely?

The first time she saw him use the all caste he almost noticed the admiration in her eyes.

The first time he observed her actually casting curses and using her powers he felt like he could jump into fire for her.

And it was not because of a spell.

He was –

Oh boy….

A vigilante and a witch.

A walking zombie and a mistress of spirits and supernatural.

What could possibly go wrong?

[justwannabecat]

“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”

Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”

“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.

“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.

“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“

Like that, Phantom vanished.

The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.

Most, but not all.

——————————————————

Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.

Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.

After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.

A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.

They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.

If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (7/?)

Initiation! First time engex with Skywarp <3 Starscream is decidedly not pleased.

Double whammy post bc I need some crack after the last one.

Hammering on the door of Starscream's habsuite is the last thing you'd expect when winding down for recharge. Earlier, Starscream had comm'd you with curt instructions not to wait up because he would be working late - you had no idea who would be here at such a late hour unless it was something urgent.

The door slides open with a grand whoosh to reveal Skywarp, smirking as he leans against the doorframe. It's been a while since you last saw him and Thundercracker, and it's nice to see him again despite the unexpected nature of his visit. He's probably not here for you, though.

"Hi," You greet. "Starscream's not here." Oddly enough, the smirk on his faceplate only widens.

"Exactly," Skywarp drawls. "Wanna go out?"

Out? At this hour?

More importantly, would Starscream allow it?

"I'm not sure I should," You begin, the incident with Ratchet still fresh in your mind, but Skywarp waves your concerns away with a flippant servo.

"Don't get your processor in a twist, kid. Screamer already gave us the A-OK."

You find this slightly dubious, but you don't think Skywarp would outright lie to his trine leader like that, so Starscream must have approved something. In spite of Skywarp's mischievous nature, you do trust Starscream's trine, so you shrug and slide off the berth to follow him. Skywarp makes no attempt to hide his satisfaction.

"It's a bit of flying to get there," he says airily. "Little place off-planet. But that makes it all the more fun, huh? When's the last time you got off this dirtball?"

It's true, you suppose. It really has been a while. You're not high-ranking enough to accompany the officers on off-planet missions, and the war is now firmly situated on Earth, after all.

"Are we even allowed?" You hedge.

"Pfft," Skywarp casually waves your concerns off with a servo. "We'll probably see half the ship there."

He pauses for a second before adding: "We'll probably see Autobots there, too. Just giving you a heads up - Swerve's is kind of a neutral ground, so no storming in with guns blazing, 'kay?"

You know he's joking around - you generally don't do any storming, and your weapons at most are a wheezing ember rather than a blaze, but his carefree attitude about running into The Enemy gives you food for thought. You'd never really aligned yourself with the Decepticon cause, and that run-in with Ratchet and Bumblebee had only strengthened your convictions that war was stupid, but you hadn't expected others to be so open about it.

Quick as lightning, Skywarp transforms, a streak of purple blitzing into the sky, and you quickly follow. Breaking the barrier into zero-gravity is exhilarating - without gravity weighing your frame down, your speed practically doubles. The Terran planet falls further and further behind as stars, twinkling like diamonds, wink in the darkness of space before you.

"This way," Skywarp's voice crackles into your comms, and you jet after him. This airspace is unclaimed - close enough to the Terrans' planet that no race had staked a claim on it, nor bothered to legislate use of it - yet far enough that the Terrans' space technology was still too undeveloped to reach it within the time of one lifespan.

Eventually, Skywarp leads you to a little square block of a building planted firmly on a rock you could really only term space debris. Energon still thrumming in your veins as you land, you feel absolutely invincible. Zero gravity flight really was something else. Skywarp lands next to you and, laughing, slings an arm around your shoulders. "Not bad," He teases. "You kept up pretty well. Looks like Screamer's actually been pulling his weight - I don't have to worry about losing you in outer space, after all."

He hustles you through the door and immediately, raucous chatter and uproarious laughter fill your audials. Decepticon insignias mingle with Autobot ones in a sea of vibrant paints, gleaming as they catch the neon light of the bar's interior. Much like the building itself, the bot behind the bar is square and stocky, broad grin on his faceplate as he cheerfully polishes a square glass.

He turns his equally polished visor on the two of you, grin widening as Skywarp swaggers up to carelessly plunk his elbow on the bartop.

"Look what the turbofox dragged in," The bot - Swerve, you assumed - joked. "I was starting to think that Megatron had finally gotten sick of you."

Skywarp smirked. "What, been missing little old me?"

"I'd be nothing without my highest-paying customer," Swerve threw back, and both of them roared with laughter. You were still soaking in the atmosphere of the bar, far from refined but cozy and harmonious - something you weren't used to - when Swerve finally noticed you.

"You sure this one's legal?"

"As legal as your bar is."

"Oi! I'll have you know this is a licensed establishment."

"There's your answer."

Skywarp winks at you, laughing as Swerve rolls his optics and turns away to make your drinks.

"Swerve's a good guy," Skywarp says, patting the barstool next to him. You settle yourself on the stool as he continues talking. "The place is his. No guns, no swords, no briefcases."

"It's nice," You say softly, and Skywarp glances at you, clearly having picked up on the real meaning of your words.

"Sure is," He finally says. "Tell you what. Say the word, and I'll bring you here anytime you want."

He laughs when you turn your shining optics on him, making zero effort to hide your hopefulness. "Yeah, I know, I'm the best. No need to thank me, kid."

Swerve reappears to plunk two cubes of fizzy pink liquid in front of you.

You blink at it for a nanoklik. It's unlike anything you've ever seen - the energon you're accustomed to is blue, and this liquid bubbles in a way you've never seen before. You lean closer to take in its scent, and Skywarp cackles as a bubble pops irreverently in your faceplate.

"Cheers," He grins, and promptly downs his in one swallow while you watch in a mixture of horror and fascination.

You glance at Skywarp uncertainly.

"...Do I have to do that too?"

"Yes," Skywarp says, with an air of exaggerated gravity, but the look on your faceplate must have been utterly hilarious because he breaks more or less immediately. "No, no. Of course not," He wheezes, as you slump on the barstool in poorly disguised relief. "Take your time. Tiny sips."

You cautiously lift the cube to your intake. The sharpness of it immediately assaults your senses, and you sputter a bit as it burns all the way down. Mindful of your wings, Skywarp thumps you on the back to clear your pipes. "Engex," He chuckles. "Takes a bit of getting used to. But give it another try, yeah? Dunno if you can pick up a bit of smoothness towards the end..."

You're more prepared for the second sip, allowing the liquid to settle over your glossa for a nanoklik. Not viscous, but thick and rich in the way high-grade jet fuel is - it summons a memory to the forefront of your processor. Near the end of every stellar cycle at the Academy, cadets would be given a small allowance of high-grade jet fuel as a reward. Even before the war, high-grade was a rarity - you'd been lucky enough to try it once before it pretty much became a thing of the past. This time, the heat of the engex melds pleasantly with the warmth in your chassis.

Skywarp watches the change taking place on your faceplate with smug satisfaction. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent. I'll have myself a real drinking buddy in no time, unlike those party poopers back on base. Hey, Swerve!"

Skywarp's tolerance really is sky-high, you note. You watch him knock back an objectively impressive amount of engex as you slowly nurse your cube. Before you know it, he's unsteady on his pedes and evidently, while under the influence, really, really sociable.

"'m gonna go say hi to a few bots," He cheerfully informs you. "Be right back. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"

Before you can answer, he's already off, loudly greeting a group of bots who react with equal enthusiasm when they see him. Swerve sighs, shaking his helm, but it's fond.

"You'll be here a while," He tells you. "Take it easy."

For a while, you feel great. Amazing, even. Your frame feels light, your processor clear without the fog of anxiety to cloud it, and you even make some small talk with bots waiting for their drinks. If only you were this confident all the time. Wouldn't that be great?

Unfortunately, allowing your thoughts to stray in the direction of hypotheticals was probably not the best thing to do. You're nowhere near purging, but some long-buried emotions begin to rear their ugly heads when your cube is half empty. What could have been, what hadn't been - and even though you and Starscream had ironed out your little incident about missing training, you still felt guilty about it. You're grateful that Swerve makes a point to come and check in with you every so often, because you spend the next half of your cube fluctuating wildly between immense guilt and wishing Starscream was here so you could direct all your newfound confidence into telling him just how much you looked up to him.

Cube empty, you plunk your heavy helm onto the bartop with a clang. "Oof," Comes Swerve's concerned voice. "You alright there?"

Before you can respond, you suddenly become aware of an unsettled silence that befalls the bar behind you.

"What's Starscream doing here?" A bot whispers. You furrow your brow as you pick up on the unease in the room. The Starscream you knew could be scary, sure, but was there something warranting that level of dread which you didn't know about? Secondly, Starscream, here? You clumsily peel your faceplate off the bartop to look. Sure enough, even as bots uneasily resume their chatter, your commander's frame easily stands out from the rest. There's a scowl on his faceplate as he scans the crowd, snarling as a reveller accidentally bumps into him. While others shrink back, you can't help the silly smile that spreads across your faceplate. You know that scowl - it's been directed at you many times. Starscream is worried.

You barely hesitate before sliding off the barstool, pushing through the crowd to get to him. Your smaller frame is easily hidden by the larger warframes that mill around you, so the naked surprise on Starscream's faceplate when you wrap your arms around his waist is genuine. All at once, the relative return to normalcy in the bar is once again disrupted. You, however, are completely unaware of the atmospheric equivalent of a bucket of ice water being dumped over the room, because you're too busy smooshing your burning faceplate against the cool glass of Starscream's cockpit.

"What the frag," Some bot whispers.

You pay it no mind. Without letting go, you pull back slightly to meet Starscream's gobsmacked expression. "Sir," You say severely, with all the furious determination of a bot who will make themselves heard (even if the furious blue tint of your faceplate robs you quite significantly of your intended decorum). "Have I told you that you're super cool?"

Furious chatter explodes promptly around you, though not without some poorly suppressed snorts of laughter.

"Who is that?"

"...Starscream, super cool?"

"How are they still in one piece?"

"Super cool?"

Starscream looks utterly mortified, servos hovering awkwardly in the air like he has no idea where to put them.

"We're in public, cadet," He hisses. "Pull yourself together."

Yet, he makes no effort to push you away. Just like that, the tense atmosphere in the bar lapses back into one of easy relaxation.

"I talked to them earlier at the bar. Nice kid. Guess Screamer can't be that bad if he's got someone like that looking up to him."

You feel a tremor run through Starscream's rigid frame. His left optic is twitching - he looks utterly torn between interpreting the comment as an insult or a compliment. But soon enough, he seems to realise that shows of power are useless currency in Swerve's bar, and your little show of humanity might actually have elevated him in the eyes of many overnight.

It is at this moment that Skywarp chooses to reappear, supported by an exasperated Thundercracker. He's clearly just purged somewhere out back. "Screamer!"

"I'm going to kill you," Starscream hisses. "I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece. I must have been out of my processor to let you supervise tonight. Look what you've done to my student!"

His threats, of course, are the furthest thing from intimidating considering that you're still clinging stubbornly onto him. Like it's your fault he's so warm, and his presence makes you feel safe.

You blink up at him, all wide and innocent optics. "Are you still mad at me?"

That makes Starscream stop. Did his word really mean that much to you?

"We've been over this," He scolds, even as he's gently wiping engex from your faceplate with his thumb. Starscream carefully tilts your helm this way and that to inspect for any damage - upon finding none, beyond your unfocused optics, he ex-vents and lets go of you. "You've already made up for it with extra training, have you not?"

"Oh," You mumble, decidedly not letting go of him. "Okay."

Burying your faceplate back into his chassis, you feel the steam of his heavy ex-vent before the warmth of his servos settle over your shoulders. He'd rather die than admit it in the middle of a busy bar, but learning that he actually, genuinely, matters to you makes his spark pulse with warmth.

He already knows that there's no way you can fly in this condition and he'll have to tow you back. But just as you'd go to the ends of the earth for him, he would also do the same for you.

"Come on," He murmurs. "Let's go home."

Previous / Next

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[obxsummer]

i love you // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: finding the blue crown would mean saving poguelandia, sending groff to prison, and a final win for the pogues. but sacrifices must be made, and winning never comes without a price.

warnings: usual obx angst, cute flashbacks that might make you cry

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--

Savannah, Georgia held so much warmth and newness as you walked down the cobblestone streets with JJ. The two of you had talked about this getaway trip for a while now, and while JJ wanted to surf, you wanted new scenery. You wanted somewhere new that the two of you could claim and experience for yourself.

So, here you were. A small chunk of gold turned cash that allowed the two of you time away from the chaos that awaited at Poguelandia 2.0. You didn’t care where you went, in all honestly, so long as you did it with JJ by your side. 

Moss covered trees distracted the sunlight, dipping the two of you in and out of the golden rays as you continued with no real destination in mind. The humidity warmed your skin, but you paid it no mind. 

“Wanna go on a ghost tour?”

You laughed loudly at JJ’s question, bumping into his side purposely. “We’ve hunted how many so-called fake treasures and you wanna go on a ghost tour?”

The blond boy shrugged, delighted to see so much joy and carefree on your face. “I just wanna be with you. Don’t care what we do.”

The statement was sickly sweet and you couldn’t believe your once reckless boy had melted into the one next to you. You paused, your eyes catching sight of a store sign and a well-lit OPEN in the window. “Anything?”

JJ paused, watching your expression carefully. He’d treated you so fragile these past few weeks/months after you’d gotten out of the hospital before you made him swear to not look at you like a pane of cracked glass. “What are yo-”

“Get a tattoo with me?” 

JJ swore your smile would make him do anything in the world. “Yeah, gorgeous. Let’s get tattoos.”

The statue was much more massive than you anticipated, towering above you in every way. The wind was relentless against your skin and every breath burned your throat with sand. 

“Come on, we’ve gotta try this before the storm hits,” John B shouted over the wind rushing in your ears. You could hardly hear him even with his increased volume as you, Kie, and Sarah followed the boys up the hill. 

The rocky terrain shifted under your feet and you cursed as you lost your balance, nearly tumbling into Sarah’s back before JJ’s hand wrapped around your wrist in precaution. 

“The crown must be inside it, yeah?” Rafe asked as you all came to a stop on more solid ground. You sighed, looking at the climb that would be ahead and wondering how the hell you guys were going to even know where to start.

“Get down!” JJ was pushing against your back with zero explanation just as a large cloud from the sandstorm kicked up and nearly took you all down the hill with its force. Pulling the neck scarf over your mouth, you were suddenly glad Cleo had the mind to grab protective eyewear for all of you with the way things were looking. 

You could barely make out Rafe saying he was going up to scope it out, which apparently, JJ wasn’t having. “Hell no, I’m not leaving it up to him. I’m going.”

You grabbed his hand to stop him from walking before turning toward your brother. “Get Sarah and Kie out of here, check on Pope and Cleo.”

John B shook his head. “No, you’re not staying up here-”

“John B, go!” You left no room for argument and started up the base of the statue with JJ, missing the way John B rolled his eyes and huffed before tugging Sarah into his side and starting back down with Kie following. The latter called out that she would try to find Pope and Cleo as soon as she made it back to the lower ground where the wind hopefully wouldn’t be as powerful.

JJ kept a tight hold on your hand as the two of you scaled the remainder of the climb to where Rafe was waiting at the base of the statue. The Cameron boy had managed to get up one level of the condensed rock before stumbling and losing the grip from his bleeding hand. 

“I can’t get up there, not with this hand!” He explained when he caught sight of the two of you. 

“I got it!” JJ was volunteering before you even had a chance to speak up. 

You pulled on his hand, turning him toward you. “What are you doing?”

“I gotta go, I gotta get up there,” He repeated as he pointed up the rocky structure in front of him.

The wind shoved at your back, a reminder that this sandstorm was only beginning. You shook your head. “JJ, no! We should wait it out, it’s way too dangerous!”

Your blond boy pulled you in for a hug and you hesitated for a split second, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him navigating this storm. JJ pulled back to kiss your forehead and squeezed your shoulders in reassurance. “I got this, okay? I’m the one who got us in this mess, I gotta fix it. Let me take the risk for once.”

Tears burned your eyes as he turned to walk away. You hated watching anyone put themselves at risk for treasure hunting, especially JJ. But he was right, with the mercenaries surely behind you, there was only so much time you had before they caught up and beat you to it. 

“Be careful!” You shouted after him as he grabbed Rafe’s shirt. The duo seemed to exchange a short conversation, one you could only imagine what JJ had to say before he was clapping the other boy on the back. 

You took a few steps backward, Rafe coming closer as the two of you watched JJ scale the side of the statue as fast as he could. Taking a deep breath, you nearly threw up when JJ’s hand slipped as the rock splintered apart beneath his grip. He barely faltered though, launching his weight up in a skilled movement that had you questioning where the fuck he learned to rock climb in his spare time. 

“Didn’t know he could be this coordinated,” Rafe joked next to you and it was enough to make you smile despite the nerves swirling in your stomach. He was right, JJ had never been this coordinated in anything he did. The face-planting occurred more than often and clearly, his balance was never steady. 

“You dumbass!” You laughed to yourself as you watched JJ eat shit in the sand as he tried to run to you while holding his surf board. He had ungracefully face planted when the strap pulled on his ankle the wrong way, sending him tumbling into the soft sand below.

He popped up looking like a sandy golden retriever, only his bruised ego as an injury. Spitting sand from his mouth, he tugged the ankle strap off and discarded his board before continuing on his path toward you. 

“Are you okay?” You asked around infectious giggles, the sight of his bare chest covered in the texture still funny. He seemed to ignore you and scooped you up without a word, causing you to yelp, “No! JJ, put me down!”

You squirmed in his grip as he took off toward the water with devious intentions, his own smile forming as you held him tightly. “Hold your nose, babe!”

You barely had time to follow his instruction before he dunked both of you underwater, the salty waves crashing over your heads. After a moment, you swam back to the surface with a gasp, wiping your eyes as best as you could until you could see him floating in front of you.

“Oh, you’re so in for it, Maybank.”

“Is that a promise?”

The next few minutes felt like hours as you watched JJ’s careful movements. Rafe kept glancing over his shoulder, which didn’t help your anxiety in the slightest. One misstep, one minute taken too long and you could end up with a bullet through your back. 

“Shit, they’re here.”

You followed his gaze to see the dark figures approaching the base of the hill, their weapons loaded carefully. “Shit.” You turned back to see JJ still prying at the rocks in search of where the crown would be stored. He was on the neck of the lion figure now, higher than you’d ever realized. 

“Hey.” Rafe grabbed your arm with a gentle hold, something he’d never done and it made you dizzy. “Stay here. I’ll go down and buy us time.”

You shook your head instantly. “No, no. Rafe! Are you crazy? They’ll kill you.”

If you blinked, you would’ve missed the small twisted smile on his face. “I’m a killer too. You said it yourself, you knew. I’ve got nothing to lose!”

Without another word, he squeezed your arm lightly before taking off down the hill until you could barely see him in the mess of sand. You shivered with nerves and turned back to JJ. His hands were slipping into the cracked features, fingers searching for any kind of hint of the crown. You knew telling him they were coming would only stress him out, so you kept quiet as he moved.

“Hey, I think I found something!” He struggled to remove the eye before the rock shifted and broke into pieces as your feet, adding to the mess of sand and debris piling up. He shifted his stance to the top of the head so he could lean down and reach into the statue. 

His yelling wasn’t understandable as the sandstorm made it nearly impossible to see or hear. You yelped at the near loss of balance and tried to catch sight of him. “JJ, we gotta go! This isn’t safe!”

He was suddenly in front of you, practically bouncing with adrenaline. You looked down toward his hands where a crown figure was being held tightly and you swore your heart was in your throat. 

“Holy shit. You found it!”

“I found it!” He yelled back, hands shaking as he secured the object before grabbing your hand in his. “Let’s go!”

A gunshot rang out just as you two took off, JJ in the lead as you practically slid down the sandy hill. Your chest heaved with the movements, sand filling your airway as you tried to keep up with him. At some point, JJ’s hand slipped from yours as you made a sharp turn, your knees hitting the ground as you lost your footing.

You coughed, trying to find where JJ had stopped, and struggled to get to your feet with the wind wrapping around like a vice. “JJ!” 

Managing to find a wall with your hand, you kept your fingers against it to follow down a set of stairs into a clearing before taking a second to breathe. Pulling the neck scarf down, you shifted your backpack off in search of a water bottle, managing to crack one open and soothe your dry throat. 

You took a moment to catch your breath before securing the water bottle and getting to your feet. JJ had to be close, and even if he wasn’t, you still needed to find the others, which wouldn’t be easy unless you guys had phone service here, which you doubted. International plans weren’t on the top of your head when you were running for your lives.

“Well, look what we have here.”

There was suddenly an arm against your throat as your back collided with the rough surface behind you, the familiar pain rattling your spine as you winced. You nearly screamed before another hand covered your mouth, preventing any noise from coming out.

Groff’s familiar face was inches from yours, a gleaming knife in hand as he pinned you against the wall with a vengeful look in his eyes. “Shh, don’t want to spook me with this in hand, do you now?”

You glared at him with as much hate as you could muster up, eyes unconsciously searching for a way out of this. The second your leg shifted to kick him, the knife was poking at your abdomen and you froze.

JJ’s voice entered the space not a second later, your name echoing in the silent area before he caught sight of the scene. His hair was so chaotic and his eyes wide as he stared at you and his so-called father. He swore his heart stopped beating and all he could do was freeze in his spot to make sure he didn’t piss off Groff into making the wrong move. 

“Let her go,” JJ’s voice was direct and steady, like the love of his life wasn’t at knife-point and you wondered where the hell this conversation would go.

“Stop right there,” Groff called back as JJ took a few small steps toward you. The pressure on your neck was pushing against the previous bruising and it took so much effort to get a strangled breath in your lungs. “You know what I want.”

When JJ didn’t move, Groff added pressure to the knife near your side and you could feel it digging into the fabric of your clothing. The slightest wince on your face answered JJ’s question and he was lifting his arm to offer the crown in exchange. 

“You could’ve stuck with me, JJ. Think what you could’ve had.” Groff whined and you rolled your eyes at his pathetic attempt to sway.

“You would’ve killed him,” You rasped out, pulling the attention back to yourself. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

A beat of silence followed as Groff stared you down. There was nothing more you wanted than to watch him rot with the karma he deserved. How he’d managed to do so much damage to your group in such little time, you didn’t know. 

“I already have everything,” JJ interrupted your stare down, as he held the crown toward the man in front of you. “She’s everything to me. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, there’s nothing you could give me to make me even consider leaving her. Things you’ll never have. So let her go, and I’ll give you the crown.”

Groff’s hand left your throat as he reached out and in a split second, you were throwing yourself away from him and into JJ’s arms as he tossed the crown.

“You’re okay, I’ve got ya,” JJ shushed your yelp at the quick exchange, tucking your head against his chest as he held you tightly. His hand was warm against the pain of your back, the two of you taking the small chance to reassure each other. 

“JJ.”

The smile on said boy’s face dropped as he looked away from you to face the man ahead of him, the happiness practically draining from him. He tried to shift around you, but you refused to move away from him and simply turned in his hold to look at Groff yourself. Your heart was racing in your chest, but you weren’t ready to let Groff off so easily. 

“It’s a shame,” Groff sighed like he held an ounce of sympathy. His eyes shifted from JJ, to you. “I never did want a daughter.”

The pain was instant in your side, and you stumbled back against JJ as Groff closed the distance between the two of you.

“No!” JJ tackled him within a second, the man’s grip on the knife that was lodged in your side disappearing as the two collided on the ground. 

You stumbled back in shock, your hand moving to hold your side where the blade was still embedded before easing yourself to the ground. You tried to breathe through the pain despite your head being filled with yelling from Groff and JJ.

Pope’s voice filtered in the back of your mind, telling you not to pull it out in case it bled more and you whimpered as the pain grew even further. 

“No, no no, stay awake, hey.” JJ was in front of you seconds later, his hand landing on yours to apply pressure. “Don’t move, don’t move.”

“J?” You whispered quietly, hissing when he pushed down harder. It was getting harder to get air into your lungs with each breath.

“Sorry, shit. I’m so sorry, just hold on. John B!” JJ’s voice cracked as he yelled out for your friends. Your eyes felt heavy with each blink and you didn’t know what to do.

“JJ, look at me.” You reached up to hold his cheek, forcing a bit of a smile on your face. “It’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

Tears streamed down his face as he looked back at you. “Baby, respectfully, shut up. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Do not talk to me like it’s the last conversation we’ll have.”

A broken laugh followed his words. “Oh no, I’ll haunt your ass forever, you can’t get rid of me.”

He leaned down to kiss you softly, brushing hair from your face. “Don’t wanna ever get rid of you, sweetheart. Never ever.”

Your vision blurred for a moment and you swore you felt like you were floating. You tried to blink away the confusion, but it was getting harder to do. “Wanna know my wish?”

JJ sobbed, his forehead resting on your shoulder for a moment before he met your gaze again. “Lemme hear it.”

“Just want you to be happy. You, John B, Sarah. Everyone. Safe, and happy, and-” You forced a deep breath in your lungs, the call to sleep pulling at you.

“John B! Sarah, please!” JJ’s hands were so warm against your skin and you tried to act like it didn’t hurt for his sake. You weren’t sure what would happen, but you needed to be strong, for him. His fingers tapped your cheek when you zoned out. “Hey, keep your eyes open, okay? You’re doing great.”

Your vision turned hazy again, his voice fading as you managed to catch sight of a dark blur moving behind JJ’s shoulder. Your brother’s form came into focus a moment later, his knees slamming into the ground as he landed next to you. “No, hey. Talk to me, baby bird. Come on.”

“Hi,” You whispered as you looked up at him, taking his outstretched hand. “Promise me somethin’,” Your words slurred together as you tried to stay awake. “Gotta keep it, Bee. Yeah?”

John B’s lip quivered as he held your hand tightly. “I suck at promises, you know that.”

“Not this one,” You reassured and blinked up at him. “Take care of them? For me?”

It felt like such a big ask, and John B’s tears fell faster. “With my life. Promise.”

You could barely make out more figures crowding around but you weren’t looking at them. JJ’s eyes didn’t leave yours, his hand holding yours tightly. You tried to squeeze back, to reassure him, but you didn’t think it was working very well. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too,” JJ’s words were so quiet you could barely hear them, but you did. You did, and that’s all that mattered.

And you would continue to love him, if it’s the last thing you ever did.

“Gonna marry you, one day.”

The night was buzzing around; stars in the sky, a warm breeze, and the chirping of various insects surrounded you. You were tangled in JJ’s arms, the two of you swaying in the hammock as your friends burned the last of the firepit out. 

“Yeah? Wanna be stuck with me that bad?” You joked, your finger poking JJ’s bare chest. The topic made your heart race, but in a good way.

JJ rolled his eyes at you, his hand pinching at your side teasingly. “I mean who wouldn’t? You make great homemade pizzas and we have great sex. What more could a man ask for?”

You groaned dramatically at his boyish behavior and made a move to roll out of the hammock before he was pulling you back and wrapping a leg around yours to hold you down. “I’m kidding, sweet girl. Of course I wanna be with you that bad. Where you go, I go, remember?”

A content sigh left your lips as you pushed up slightly to kiss him, letting your fingers slide through his hair. “Wanna be with you too.”

“Forever?”

“Yeah, forever sounds good.”

--

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[q1ngqve]

tonight’s food for thought! "૮₍ •⤙•˶ being spread on the table with your clothes unbuttoned and eyes blindfolded like a meal prepared for the the three men 😋 with your vision obscured, your other senses are heightened and you try to ground yourself by listening out to who’s who, but it only gets you even more anxious because you have absolutely zero idea who is standing between your legs and who is by your side :( one moment aventurine is on your right and the next he is on your left. your fingers dig into the shoulders of the man fucking you right now, nails threatening to tear through his clothes and onto his skin. at this point you’re still able to form coherent thoughts, but when his tip kisses at your cervix and makes you cum around his cock, your body goes limp and your brain shuts down! he sheaths himself and steps away, and the next man takes over his place. he slides in easily and you think you might know who it is! sunday? he angles himself deep into you and grips at your throat, constricting your airflow. no, that feels more like ratio… but wait! he’s circling your clit with his thumb and it feels like aventurine… but wasn’t aventurine on your left just mere seconds ago? you cum too fast on the second round, pussy still sensitive from your first. a soft grunt comes from the man above you by your ear and warm spurts of cum join the first’s, and you frown, unable to determine who it was. the last man steps up to you and drags you off the table before turning you around and making you bend over the table. you collapse against the surface, trying to support yourself because your legs are literally shaking. the third man plunges in and you gasp, feeling him stretching you and pushing the previous two loads of cum back into you! his hand grips at your waist and hair, chuckling when he notices the wetness on the blindfold from your tears. all three men tease at you, asking you to guess who’s who when they know you’re already too cockdrunk to give a correct answer. rips the blindfold off after he cums and manhandles you to the bed, making you straddle sunday and take aventurine in your mouth, while ratio’s fingers prode at your other hole! ‘tsks’ in disapproval when you squirm and beg for them to be gentle, but they claim that this is your punishment for not making the correct guesses! so just take it like a good girl, okay? ☆〜（ゝ。∂ )

[tanadrin]

Revised version of "polytheism vs elaborateness" religion chart. I started with a list of around 150 religions, sects, denominations, philosophies, and spiritual tendencies, whittled down to 100 based on what I could find information on and what meaningful differences would actually show up in a chart like this. Dark blue is Christianity and Christian-derived tendencies; light blue is Judaism and Jewish-derived tendencies; green is Islam and Islam-influenced tendencies; purple is ancient Mediterranean polytheism and related schools of thought; red is Dharmic/Hindu-influenced schools of thought; tan is Chinese religion and philosophy; orange is new religious movements; black is other, unaffiliated religions and movements.

Obviously, "what is a religion" is a complicated topic. Some of the things on this chart might strike you more as philosophical schools (Carvaka, Stoicism), epistemological approaches (Unitarian Universalism), or different ways of slicing the same tradition. The scholarly definition of "religion" is sort of fundamentally circular, and that's not something I'm interested in trying to untangle for this entirely non-scientific exercise.

Religions etc. are scored on two axis: polytheism vs elaborateness of practice. Polytheism is a rank from zero to 11, thus:

0. Strict atheist and materialist, denying the possibility of both gods and the supernatural, e.g., Carvaka.

1. Atheist. Denies the existence of significant supernatural agents worthy of worship, but may not deny all supernatural (or psychic, paranormal, etc.) beings and phenomena (e.g., Mimamsa).

2. Agnostic. This religion makes no dogmatic claims about the existence of supernatural beings worthy of worship, and it may not matter for this religion if such beings exist (e.g., Unitarian Universalists). It does not preclude--and may actually incorporate--other supernatural, psychic, or paranormal phenomena (e.g., Scientology).

3. Deist. This religion acknowledges at least one god or Supreme Being, but rejects this being's active intervention in the world after its creation (e.g., Christian Deism). Deism is marked with a gray line on the chart, in case you want to distinguish religions that specifically care about all this God business from ones that don't.

4. Tawhid monotheist. This religion acknowledges only a single transcendent god above all other natural or supernatural beings, who is usually the creator of the universe and the ground of being, and is without parts, division, or internal distinction (e.g., Islam).

5. Formal monotheism. This religion acknowledges a single god, usually transcendent above all other natural or supernatural beings, but who may have aspects, hypostases, or distinct parts (e.g., Trinitarian Christianity). Pantheism may be considered a special case of formal monotheism that identifies the universe and its many discrete phenomena with a single god or divine force.

6. Dualism. This religion acknowledges a single god worthy of worship, alongside a second inferior, often malevolent being that nevertheless wields great power in or over the world (e.g., Zoroastrianism or Gnosticism).

7. Monolatrist. This religion or practice acknowledges the existence of many gods or divine beings worthy of worship, but focuses on, or happens to be devoted to only one of them (e.g., ancient mystery cults; pre-exilic Judaism).

8. Oligotheist. This religion worships a small group of divine beings, who may function for devotional or rhetorical purposes as a single entity (e.g., Mormonism, Smartism).

9. Monogenic polytheism/Henotheism. This religion worships many gods, which it sees as proceeding from or owing their existence to, a single underlying or overarching force or supreme god (e.g., many forms of Hinduism).

10. Heterogenic polytheism. This religion worships many gods, who have diverse origins and/or natures. Though the number of gods is in practical terms probably unlimited, gods are discrete entities or personalities, i.e., they are "countably infinite" (e.g., many polytheistic traditions).

11. Animism. This religion worships many gods which may or may not be discrete entities, and which may or may not be innumerable even in principle, i.e., they are "uncountably infinite" (e.g., many animist traditions).

What counts as a god is naturally a bit of a judgement call, as is exactly where a religion falls on this scale.

Elaborateness of practice is based on assigning one point per feature from the following list of features:

Uses vs forbids accompanied music in worship

Saints or intermediary beings accept prayers/devotion

Liturgical calendar with specific rituals or festivals

Practices monasticism

Venerates relics or holy objects

Clerics have special, elaborate clothing

Clerics have special qualificiations, e.g., must be celibate or must go through elaborate initiation/training

Elaborate sacred art or architecture used in places of worship

Sites of pilgrimage, or other form of cult centralization

Sophisticated religious hierarchy beyond the congregational level

Mandatory periods of fasting and/or complex dietary rules

Specific clothing requirements for laypeople

Specific body modifications either required or forbidden for laypeople

Liturgical language

Complex ritual purity rules

Performs sacrifice

Performs human sacrifice (or cannibalism)

Uses entheogens

Uses meditation or engages in mystical practice

Additionally, a point is taken away for austerity for each of the following features:

Forbids secular music outside worship

Claims sola scriptura tradition

Practices pacifism or ahimsa

Requires vegetarianism of all adherents

These scores are probably pretty inexact, since I am not a scholar of world religion.

This chart is not scientific, it's just a goof based on that @apricops post.

Other fun dimensions along which to chart religions might be:

Orthodoxy vs orthopraxy

Authoritarianism/control of members. This would add some much needed distinctions to Christian sects in particular, and to the new religious movements.

Elaborateness of cosmological claims. Some religions (looking at you, Buddhism) really go hog-wild here.

Social egalitarianism. Even within the same framework/tradition/philosophy, some practices differ radically on how egalitarian they are.

[sirenedeslily]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 ‎⛧ 𝐜hristopher 𝐬turniolo

❛ long shady eyes, i’m all about her. ❜

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 6k!

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, you find yourself in a dark alley, heart pounding as you lock eyes with chris sturniolo, the cocky frontman of a band. as a man-eating demon, the hunger within you stirs, and the thrill of the chase ignites something primal. with only a few moments to spare, can you resist the urge to claim him as your next victim, or will he awaken desires you never knew you had?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, smut! softdom!chris x fem!reader, plot, use of pet names, unprotected sex, biting, scratching, overstimulation, hair pulling, slight choking, blood play, dark themes (?!), substance use

the bar hummed with a low, pulsing energy, the kind that clung to your skin and thickened the air. the stage lights cast a warm glow over the band as they played, catching in the sheen of sweat on chris’s neck as his fingers moved across the guitar. his voice, rough and deep, filled the room, cutting through the haze of cheap drinks and muted conversations.

from your spot in the corner, your eyes stayed locked on him, your lips curling as you swirled the cherry in your drink, trailing the rim of the glass. you were dressed to blend in—just another face in the crowd—but the way you carried yourself was far from ordinary. there was a confidence to you that felt dangerous, like you were playing a game only you knew the rules to.

your friend beside you babbled about something unimportant, oblivious to the shift in the air, the way your attention had zeroed in on one target. chris hadn’t noticed you yet. not fully. but you could feel the moment coming, the spark when his eyes would find yours, and the connection would snap into place.

you lifted the glass to your lips, biting down softly on the cherry stem, your tongue swirling around the sweet fruit. the tension was there already, crackling in the air between you, though he was still lost in the music, strumming and singing like he didn’t have a care in the world. your gaze didn’t waver, watching him, the predator in you lurking just beneath the surface, hungry.

when chris finally looked up from the strings of his guitar, his gaze swept across the crowd before landing on you. the second your eyes met, something shifted. you smiled, slow and deliberate, sinking back into your seat, letting him feel the weight of your stare. the game had begun.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

the band finished their set, the last notes of the guitar fading into the chatter and clinking of glasses. your friend cheered, calling the band amazing, but you barely heard her. the room felt charged, as though everything had dulled except for the throbbing in your chest and the pull you felt toward chris.

“be right back,” you murmured to your friend, slipping away from the table without waiting for a response. you weaved through the crowd, your movements languid, deliberate, and out the door. the night air hit you like a shock, cool and refreshing compared to the heat of the bar, but your mind was on one thing.

chris.

you found him outside in the alley, the glow of his cigarette flaring as he took a drag. his back was against the brick wall, his dark hair hanging in his face as he stared off into the distance, lost in thought. you stepped closer, letting the sound of your heels against the pavement announce your presence. his eyes flicked toward you, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” his voice was low, a quiet challenge, almost amused.

you tilted your head, your lips curving into a playful smirk as you stepped into the shadowed alley, closer to him. “maybe i like the view,” you said, your voice sweet but laced with something darker. “besides, i thought i’d find something interesting here.”

chris chuckled, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. he pushed himself off the wall, closing the space between you, his eyes raking over you in a way that was far too confident. “something interesting, huh? and what would that be?”

you looked up at him through your lashes, your fingers trailing down your bare arm, your skin practically buzzing with the tension in the air. “depends on how much you can handle,” you murmured, your voice soft, teasing.

his smile widened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes now—something cautious, a spark of intrigue mixed with amusement. “you’ve got quite the mouth on you,” he said, voice dropping, teasing. “bet you already knew that.”

he took another step closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “got you speechless now? come on, sweetheart, use that mouth of yours. I bet you’re good with it.” his smirk lingered, challenging, daring you to respond, as though he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

you didn’t flinch under his gaze. Instead, you stepped closer, your body brushing his as you tilted your head up to look him in the eye, the smirk never leaving your lips. “careful honey, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

for a split second, his confidence faltered. It was barely noticeable, but you caught it—the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty, the brief hitch in his breath. He didn’t know who—or what—he was dealing with. not yet.

but he would.

chris leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice nothing but a low rasp now. “oh, i think i can handle whatever you’re offering.”

your lips parted, the sharpness in your gaze softening just enough to let the desire show through.

for a second, you considered making this quick, ending it before it even began. but something in the way he looked at you, the raw challenge in his eyes, made you pause. there was something different about him, something that made you want to draw this out.

you reached up, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, your touch almost tender. “is that so?” you whispered, leaning in closer until your lips were barely a breath away from his. “you should be careful, chris. sometimes , the things that look good are the most dangerous.”

his hand caught your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm, almost possessive. “i like danger,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, taunting. “and you don’t scare me.”

for a moment, the world seemed to slow. you could feel the tension between you thrumming in the air, thick and heavy, like it was holding its breath. you could taste the anticipation, the hunger that burned just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

then, you smiled—slow, wicked, and full of dark promise. “you will be.”

you pressed even closer to him, the thin straps of your tight red tank top brushing against his chest. the fabric clung to every curve of your body, your short denim skirt teasing the tops of your thighs as the night air chilled your skin. you could feel his eyes on you, lingering on the low neckline, on the way the red popped against your skin, as if daring him to look further, to touch.

and you wanted him to. the pull between you was undeniable—an electric current thrumming through the space where your bodies met. he smelled of cigarettes and leather, and the cocky grin he wore only fueled the tension between you, like he thought he had you figured out.

but you weren’t like the others. not at all.

his curls fell loosely over his forehead, dark and wild, framing his sharp features. there was a lazy confidence in the way he looked at you, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you. but the hunger in your eyes was feral, barely restrained, and he didn’t even realize how close he was to being devoured.

you leaned in, your lips ghosting over his jaw, the faintest brush of heat that made him inhale sharply. He was so sure of himself, so cocky, like you weren’t the most dangerous thing in the alley. “what are you going to do now?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, your lips grazing his skin. “you think you can handle me?”

his hand gripped your waist tighter, pulling your body flush against his. you could feel the strength in his hold, the way his fingers pressed into your skin, possessive. “i told you,” he growled softly, his voice rough with desire. “i like danger.”

you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched when your hand slid up his chest, your nails dragging lightly over the fabric of his shirt. you smiled, slow and dangerous, before pushing him back against the wall, your body pressing into his, trapping him between the brick and you.

the shift in power was instant, but you could see that flicker in his eyes—the spark of excitement, of challenge. he liked the fight. and you loved to give it.

your lips met his in a crash of heat, teeth, and hunger. there was nothing soft about the kiss—just raw desire and the clashing of dominance. he kissed you like he was trying to claim you, but you weren’t going to be claimed. not by him. not by anyone.

you bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw a soft growl from his throat. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you. the pain only fueled the fire burning between you. you felt his body respond to yours, the hardness of him pressing against your thigh as his hands roamed down to your ass, grabbing you roughly.

he grinned into the kiss, cocky as ever, like he had the upper hand. “you’re a wild one, aren’t you?” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and teasing.

you pulled back, your breath ragged, a wicked smile tugging at your lips. “you have no idea,” you whispered, your fingers curling in his hair, tugging his head back roughly. his curls felt soft between your fingers, but the way you yanked made him hiss in pleasure.

with a sudden move, you dragged your nails down his chest, hard enough to make him wince. he bit his lip, the pain only spurring him on. he wasn’t afraid of you. if anything, he loved it. and that made you want him even more.

your hands slid under his shirt, nails grazing the taut skin of his abdomen. he groaned, the sound low and rough, as you scratched him, marking him as yours in the most primal way. his cockiness faltered for a split second, but the grin was back as soon as you pressed your lips to his neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.

chris’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and in a sudden motion, he spun you around, pinning you against the wall now, his breath hot against your ear. “you like to bite,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “i can do that too, baby.”

his lips were on your neck in an instant, sucking and biting the skin there, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. you moaned, your body arching into him as his hands slid up under your tank top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your back. every touch was rough, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t control the desire that raged between you.

but you weren’t going to let him have all the control.

you scratched down his back, hard, your nails digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake. he growled in response, the sound sending a thrill down your spine, and bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp. you loved the way he reacted to you, how much he enjoyed the pain you gave him.

even though you weren’t killing him like the others, you couldn’t stop the predator in you from taking over. your movements were fast, animalistic, every bite, every scratch a reminder of what you could do. and yet, he wasn’t afraid. he matched your intensity with his own, his hands grabbing at your hips roughly as he ground himself against you, his breath hot and uneven.

“fuck,” he breathed out, his voice a low growl. “you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

you smiled, licking your lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood from the bite you’d left on him. “you love it.”

his hands slid down your body, gripping your thighs and hoisting you up against the wall, the rough brick scraping against your back as your legs wrapped around him. his lips crashed into yours again, bruising and desperate, his fingers digging into your skin as if he couldn’t get enough. the tension between you was unbearable, the need to take and be taken surging through your veins.

you tugged at his hair again, pulling his head back to expose his neck. your teeth grazed his skin, the urge to bite hard and deep surging within you, but instead, you left soft, teasing nips down his throat, letting him feel the danger without fully giving in.

chris’s grip on you tightened, his cockiness fading just enough for you to see the raw desire in his eyes. “you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

you smirked, your hands roaming down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the muscles there. “good,” you whispered, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “let’s see how long you can keep up.”

chris’s hands gripped your thighs tighter as he pressed you against the cold brick, your back scraping slightly against the rough surface. the heat between your bodies was undeniable now, burning like a fever. he grinned, that cocky smirk never leaving his face as he moved his hips, grinding against you just enough to drive you mad.

your body arched into him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the hardness of him pressing right where you needed it. he was teasing you, his lips hovering just inches away from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

you tugged his hair harder, pulling his head back so you could bite down on the side of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on your thighs as his hips pressed even harder into you.

“i could tear you apart,” you whispered against his skin, your voice low and dangerous. you ran your tongue over the bite you’d left, savoring the salty taste of his skin. “and you’d let me. wouldn’t you baby?”

chris chuckled, a deep, raspy sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “i’d love to see you try,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust.

with a sudden movement, he set you down, spinning you around so you were facing the wall, his chest pressed against your back. his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool night air. his fingers traced the hem of your panties, teasing but not quite touching, making you squirm in anticipation.

your breath came out in ragged gasps as you felt his lips press against the back of your neck, hot and hungry. “you look so fucking good like this,” he whispered, his breath sending chills down your spine. “bet you taste even better.”

before you could respond, his hand slipped under your panties, his fingers brushing lightly over your clit, teasing you with just the faintest touch. you moaned, your hips bucking back against him, desperate for more. but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet.

his fingers circled you slowly, agonizingly slow, just enough to drive you mad. you gritted your teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but every touch was breaking you down piece by piece. “you think you can tease me like that?” you growled, your voice rough with frustration.

chris leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “i told you, i’m not scared of a pretty girl like you.” his fingers pressed harder against you now, making your body jerk in response.

you were losing control, the animal in you rising to the surface. you turned around quickly, pushing him back, your nails digging into his chest as you shoved him against the opposite wall. the look in his eyes was pure excitement—he wanted this fight, this struggle for dominance.

pressing your body against his, your lips crashing into his once again, biting at his lower lip hard enough to make him gasp. his hands moved to your ass, squeezing roughly as he kissed you back with equal ferocity, tongues clashing, breaths heavy.

your fingers moved to the waistband of his jeans and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him, your hand wrapping around his length, feeling the heat and hardness of him against your palm. he groaned into your mouth, his hips bucking into your hand as you stroked him, slow and deliberate.

but you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand. you were in control now.

you broke the kiss, your breath ragged as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “on your knees doll,” you commanded, your voice dripping with dominance.

for a moment, he just stared at you, that cocky grin faltering for a second as he realized you weren’t playing around. but then, with a smirk, he obeyed, sinking to his knees before you, his hands gripping your thighs as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

you tugged your skirt up higher, letting it rest on your hips as you stared down at him, running your fingers through his messy curls. he looked so good like this, on his knees, waiting for your command, ready to do whatever you wanted.

without a word, you stepped forward, pushing your panties aside as you pressed yourself against his mouth. He didn’t hesitate, his tongue immediately flicking over your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he licked and sucked at you, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

his tongue moved with expert precision, teasing and tasting every inch of you, making your legs tremble as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building in your core, every flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“fuck, sweetheart,” you moaned, your head falling back as you ground yourself against his face, the pleasure overwhelming. “just like that.”

he groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body as he pressed his tongue harder against you, his pace quickening. your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.

you were so close now, teetering on the edge, the pleasure almost too much to bear. and just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right, sending you over the edge.

your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your entire body shaking as you cried out, your thighs trembling around his head. chris didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you were left gasping for breath.

you pulled away from him, your legs feeling weak, but you weren’t done yet. not even a little bit.

before he could stand, you dropped to your knees in front of him, pushing him back against the wall. his cock was hard and throbbing, and you could see the way his chest heaved as he looked at you, his eyes dark with lust.

you wasted no time, taking him into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base of him as you sucked him deep, your tongue swirling around his length. he groaned, his hand gripping your hair as you bobbed your head, your mouth working him with the same intensity he’d given you.

“fuck, you’re so good at that,” he growled, his hips bucking into your mouth as you took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. You could taste the salt of his pre-cum on your tongue, and it only made you want him more.

you moved faster, your hand stroking what you couldn’t take in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head of him, making him gasp. his grip on your hair tightened, his hips moving in time with your movements, desperate and rough.

he was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the way his breaths came out in short, ragged gasps. and then, with a low growl, he came, his release hot and thick as it spilled into your mouth.

you swallowed every last drop, licking him clean as you pulled back, your lips swollen and red from the intensity of it all.

as you rose to your feet, chris’s cocky expression remained, but his breathing was ragged. he leaned back against the brick wall, watching you, still catching his breath. his body screamed of satisfaction, but there was something darker, something more primal still pulling at you.

you weren’t finished yet.

you wiped your lips with the back of your hand, eyes locked onto his, feeling the rush of power surge through your veins. his release had only whetted your appetite. You could still taste him on your tongue, but it wasn’t enough. not for you.

chris pushed himself up slightly, still towering over you, the smugness returning to his gaze as he reached for you. “you’ve got quite the ego on you,” you muttered, your voice hoarse, thick with desire. “but i’m not done with you doll.”

without missing a beat, you slammed him back into the wall, harder this time, your hand pressing against his chest, keeping him pinned in place. the impact knocked the air from his lungs, his eyes widening as the force of your strength became undeniable. you smirked down at him, your nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“you think you can handle me, huh?” you hissed, your voice low, dangerous. “you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

he looked at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. if anything, he leaned into it, into you, his cock still hardening again, his desire growing. the thrill of your intensity, the danger, had him on the edge of insanity.

you straddled his waist again, your hands gripping his shoulders as you ground yourself against him. his head fell back, a low groan escaping his throat as you teased him, not giving him what he wanted but making sure he felt every bit of your hunger. the friction between you both was electric, the heat from your bodies nearly overwhelming.

“fuck,” chris rasped, his hands moving up to your hips, but you slapped them away, asserting your dominance once again. he stared at you, his dark eyes blown wide with lust, his lips curling into a grin.

“you’re dangerous, aren’t you?” his eyes flicked to your lips, his voice dropping lower. “those pretty eyes, that perfect mouth… you look all sweet and innocent, but i know there’s venom hiding underneath.”

you leaned down, your lips hovering just above his as you whispered, “i could devour you.”

the truth hung in the air between you. you weren’t like the others he’d been with. you were something more. something insatiable. his cockiness, his bravado, it all fueled you. he didn’t know just how close he was to being consumed by you, but that’s what made it fun. it was like playing with your food, savoring every moment before the final bite.

with a swift movement, you tore his shirt open, the buttons popping off and scattering across the alley as you exposed his chest. your nails raked down his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake, causing him to hiss in pleasure. you watched as his muscles tensed beneath your touch, his body responding to the roughness with eagerness. he loved it. He craved it.

“you like that?” you teased, biting down on his neck again, harder this time. he groaned, his hands gripping your thighs as you marked him, your teeth sinking into his skin just enough to draw blood. the metallic taste of him flooded your senses, and you felt the hunger within you grow stronger, more urgent.

chris’s breathing quickened, his hips bucking against you as you licked the blood from his neck, your tongue gliding over the wound you’d left. you pulled back, staring down at him, the sight of him disheveled, bleeding, and desperate making you feel invincible.

“you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” you whispered, running your fingers over his chest, down to his stomach, watching the way his body reacted to every touch. he was yours now, caught in the web of your hunger, and you could do whatever you wanted with him.

but you didn’t want to kill him. not yet. you wanted to savour this, to drag it out, to play with him until he was begging for more.

chris growled, pulling you closer, his mouth crashing into yours, the kiss hungry and feral. his hands moved to your ass, squeezing roughly as he ground himself against you, the friction between you both driving you wild. you could feel him growing harder beneath you, and you knew he was close to losing control.

but you weren’t going to give in to what he wanted—this was about you.

you pulled back, breaking the kiss, and shoved him down onto the ground. the rough pavement scraped against his back, but he didn’t care. he looked up at you with that same smirk he loved to adorn, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched you, waiting to see what you would do next.

you stood over him, your foot resting on his chest as you stared down at him, your eyes dark and dangerous. “beg,” you commanded, your voice dripping with dominance.

chris’s smirk faltered for a second, but then he grinned, his hands moving to your ankles as he looked up at you. “you want me to beg? again?”

you pressed your foot harder against his chest, your nails digging into your own thighs as you fought to maintain control. “i said, beg.”

he stared at you for a moment, his eyes burning with defiance, but then he nodded, his voice low and breathless as he muttered, “please love. i want you.. crave you, need you.”

the sound of his pathetic submission sent a wave of heat through your body, your blood pounding in your ears as you stared down at him. you had him exactly where you wanted him, and it was intoxicating.

you knelt down over him, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “good boy.”

before he could respond, you pressed yourself against him, guiding his cock into you with one quick motion. he groaned loudly, his hands moving to your hips as you rode him, the feeling of him filling you completely overwhelming.

you weren’t gentle. moving with a brutal, animalistic intensity, your body grinding against his, your nails digging into his chest as you took what you wanted. chris’s moans filled the air, his body writhing beneath you as you fucked him, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the alleyway.

you leaned down, biting his shoulder hard, your teeth sinking into his flesh as you marked him again and again. each bite drew blood, and each drop only fueled your hunger further. you could feel him tensing beneath you, his body responding to your every movement, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he tried to keep up with your pace.

you moved faster, harder, the pressure building inside you as your nails scraped down his chest, leaving deep red lines in their wake. chris’s breath came out in ragged gasps, his body shaking beneath you as he neared his breaking point.

“you’re mine,” you growled, your voice rough with desire as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “say it.”

chris’s eyes fluttered open, a mix of surprise and desire swirling in their depths as he gazed up at you. “fuck—i’m yours… all yours,” he murmured, and those words ignited a flame deep within you, fueling a primal need to dominate him completely.

you began to move, your body gliding against his with a fervor that made his breath hitch. the sight of him unraveling beneath you was intoxicating; every shudder, every gasp that escaped his lips stoked the fire inside you. his hands gripped your thighs with a desperation that left marks on your skin, but you thrived on it, feeding off the power you held over him.

“can’t—please, i need—” he gasped, trying to articulate the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. you pushed him to the brink, reveling in the way his body responded, muscles taut and trembling with the need for release.

his pleasure peaked, and you felt the heat radiating from him as he reached his climax, the ecstasy washing over him in waves. you watched him, captivated, as he came undone beneath you. his body trembled, every muscle quaking as he surrendered completely, and for a moment, he lost himself in the pleasure.

but even as he caught his breath, you weren’t finished. the moment he came, a dark hunger surged within you, an insatiable need to keep him teetering on the edge. as his body shuddered, you continued to grind against him, feeling the remnants of his pleasure pulse inside you.

“please, i can’t take it,” he begged, his voice raw and desperate. but the plea only fueled your desire, igniting a wicked smile on your lips. you leaned down, your chest pressing against his, letting him feel every inch of you as you whispered, “you’re my doll now, and i want to see just how much you can take.”

he groaned, a mix of frustration and desire, but you could see the way his eyes darkened with need. “you’re sick,” he muttered, a hint of amusement lacing his voice despite the overwhelming sensations. you took the moment to tease him, rolling your hips just right, and the way he writhed beneath you made you feel powerful.

“just a little more, sweetheart. let me hear you,” you encouraged, and he nodded, biting his lip as you began to move again. the way he squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensations, made your heart race. tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, a testament to how far you were pushing him, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at the sight.

“do you want to stop?” you asked, feigning innocence, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in closer. but as you did, you could feel him hardening again inside you, the evidence of his desire undeniable.

he shook his head, a mix of determination and desperation etched across his features. “no… please don’t stop,” he breathed, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth as he surrendered completely to the pleasure. the sight of him, completely undone, fueled the demonic urge within you, and you continued to tease and torment him.

“you’re such a good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness as you picked up the pace again. “my little doll, just for me.” each thrust sent shockwaves through his body, and you could feel him pulse within you, the remnants of his previous release mixing with the new waves of pleasure you were drawing from him.

with every movement, you made sure he felt every inch of you, your breasts pressing against his chest, teasing him with the soft curves of your body. he groaned again, the sound a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you reveled in the way he lost himself in the sensations.

“you’re going to make kill me,” he gasped, a mix of pleasure and frustration dancing in his eyes, yet the way he writhed beneath you told a different story. he was completely at your mercy, and you loved it.

“is that what you want?” you teased, leaning down to nip at his neck, savoring the way he shuddered beneath your touch. “to die with pleasure? you’re already so close; i can feel you pulsing inside me.”

you continued to ride him, pushing him over the edge once more, each thrust a reminder of the power you held. the way he quaked beneath you, tears streaming down his cheeks, only intensified your desire to keep going.

“look at you,” you murmured, breathless with excitement. “so beautiful when you’re like this—my doll, completely mine.”

with a final thrust, you felt him spill into you again, hot and thick, but even then, you didn’t relent. you reveled in the feeling of him, still hard despite his release, and the realization that you could push him to the brink over and over sent you into a frenzy of lust.

“one more,” you commanded, and the way he shook his head, helpless yet yearning, made you smile. “i want to see you fall apart again.”

“please,” he whimpered, body trembling as you continued to ride him, teasing him relentlessly. the overstimulation drove him wild, his body responding eagerly to every thrust, every twist of your hips.

“such a good boy,” you praised, your voice sultry as you leaned in to capture his lips with yours, drowning in the intoxicating mix of pleasure and desperation. the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in your own little realm of ecstasy.

he was yours completely, and the knowledge sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you as you continued to tease, torment, and ultimately consume him, reveling in every moment.

and with those words, you felt him come undone beneath you, his body shuddering as he reached his release, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it hurt. the sight of him losing control, the feeling of his body trembling beneath yours, sent you over the edge as well, your own release crashing through you like a tidal wave.

your body convulsed, your breath catching in your throat as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin one final time as you collapsed onto him, both of you panting, completely spent.

you stayed like that for a moment, your bodies tangled together, the heat of your shared desire still lingering in the air. and then, slowly, you pulled away, standing up and looking down at him.

chris was still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared up at you, a mixture of awe and exhaustion in his eyes.

you licked your lips, tasting the faint trace of his blood still on your tongue, and smiled.

“i told you,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “i could devour you.”

chris lay on the cold, hard pavement, completely spent, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. his body was covered in the marks of your nails and teeth—evidence of the savage hunger that had consumed you both. his skin was littered with deep red scratches and bruises that would take days to heal, and he loved every second of it.

you took a step back, admiring your work, watching his chest rise and fall as his eyes fluttered open. his once-cocky expression was now one of complete submission, his body spent, vulnerable beneath you. but you could still see it, deep within his gaze—the desire, the lust, the craving for more. even now, he wanted you again.

the thought of it sent a shiver down your spine. the hunger in you hadn’t dissipated. you’d taken what you wanted from him, yes, but you were still hungry, still aching for more. that gnawing need that lived inside you—the one that drove you to consume—was never fully satisfied.

you crouched down next to him, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face as you ran your fingers lightly over the scratches on his chest. he winced, but his lips curled into a grin, his gaze never leaving yours.

“you’re… something else,” he panted, his voice hoarse and ragged. he let out a breathless laugh, his cocky smirk returning despite the state he was in. “i’ve never… fuck, i’ve never had anyone like you.”

you smiled down at him, but it wasn’t a smile of affection. it was the smile of a predator, pleased with its prey. you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “you have no idea.”

chris shivered beneath you, his breath hitching at the sensation, but his hands twitched toward you again, desperate to touch, to feel more of you. the man was insatiable, even after everything. you almost admired that—almost.

you stood, leaving him there on the ground, as you straightened your clothes. your red tank top clung to your skin, sticky with the sheen of sweat, while your denim skirt had ridden up just enough to show off your legs. you fixed your hair, the wildness of the moment still clinging to you as you turned to look back at chris, who was now sitting up, still breathless but watching you with that same hungry look.

he was on the verge of saying something—maybe something cocky, or maybe something sweet—but before he could, you placed a finger over your lips, signalling for him silence himself.

“shh,” you whispered, your voice sultry, the dominance still dripping from every word.

chris stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t speak. he just watched you, his eyes trailing over your body, still wanting more even though his body had been pushed to the limit.

you knelt in front of him, getting on his level, your hand sliding up his neck, your nails grazing his skin. his pulse was rapid, his heartbeat quick under your touch, but you didn’t care. he was still just prey. you were the one in control. you always had been.

“you should be careful,” you said softly, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his lips. “not every girl you meet is going to let you walk away alive.”

the words hung heavy in the air, and chris’s eyes widened just slightly. His smirk faltered, realization dawning on him as he started to understand just how dangerous this encounter had been. but there was still a spark of arrogance in him, a thrill at the danger.

“guess i’m lucky tonight then, huh?” he rasped, his voice strained but full of bravado.

you laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood up, towering over him once again. “maybe,” you replied, your tone teasing but laced with a hint of something darker. “or maybe next time, i won’t be so merciful.”

chris’s gaze darkened, a mixture of fascination and fear dancing in his eyes as he watched you. he had no idea just how close he had come to being consumed by you—how easy it would’ve been for you to take his life like the others before him. but tonight, for some reason, you’d let him live.

he was still sitting on the ground, staring up at you, his body bruised and marked, his pride wounded but not broken. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted more. he craved the danger, the thrill, the raw, animalistic intensity that you brought out in him. But he had no idea what he was playing with.

you gave him one last look, a predatory smile curling on your lips as you turned to walk away. his voice called after you, a breathless plea disguised as arrogance.

“what’s your name?” he called, his voice rough, still hoarse from your earlier encounter.

you stopped in your tracks, your back still to him as you considered his question. it was almost amusing, how after everything, he still wanted to know you, still wanted to pull you closer.

without turning back, you answered simply, “you don’t need to know.”

and with that, you disappeared into the night, leaving chris behind, still hungry, still aching for more.

the city lights glowed faintly in the distance as you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, but not from excitement or pleasure—it was from the hunger. it always was. chris had been nothing more than another thrill, another taste to keep you going. it wasn’t enough. it never was.

as you moved through the streets, blending into the shadows, you felt the gnawing emptiness inside of you growing again. the hunger was insatiable, and no matter how many boys you consumed, no matter how many times you let yourself indulge in the thrill of the hunt, it would never be satisfied.

that was the curse of being what you were. you were a predator, a hunter, forever driven by the need to consume, to dominate, to devour. and while chris had been fun—cocky, arrogant, thrilling in his own way—he was just another meal. another prey in the endless cycle of your existence.

you couldn’t deny it—the thrill of it all was intoxicating. the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d fought for control only to lose it, the way his body had trembled beneath yours… it was addictive.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him live because deep down, you wanted to feel that thrill again.

after all, you were a predator. and predators always come back for more.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ get this freaky aah outta here 😭😭 man this is my first ever smut so the writing does in fact suck but juhvibe twin.. freaktober is here and we 🆙 (might be the only smut i write)

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss

© sirenedeslily

[imagionationstation]

Today on the Mikey Is Not Abused news

Research shows that 78% of the “Poor Mikey” fanclub claims that Mikey is incapable of standing up for himself, whether that be because he fears further abuse, fears his brothers in general, suffers from intense depression, an abuse sort of conditioning, or *insert other incredulous views here* (Statistics may not be entirely accurate and should be used with caution).

Unfortunately for them, Mikey does knows how to stand up for himself and it has been shown that he can speak his mind to even the main abuser, Raphael, and walk away unscathed.

Astonishing claim, I know, but the facts prove themselves.

Mikey has brought up beliefs on several occasions, but his lack of awareness outside his own mind often disproves his own claims.

Years of leprechauns, cream cheese demons, and certainty in cupcake uprisings have worn down his brothers’ trust in his word on many different subjects. This is not his brothers ignoring him out of spite. This is merely because he has proven himself to be an unreliable source when it comes to reality.

His lack of interest in taking most battles and training sessions seriously grate on his brothers’ nerves and often lead them to doubt his prowess and abilities on the field. Mikey being the youngest and earning all of their must protect with life instincts doesn’t exactly help his case. He knowingly brings much of their wrath upon himself- with tauntings, and purposefully infuriating acts, and the constant reappearance of Dr. Prankenstein.

When Mikey doesn’t go gun-hoe or call Raph out for a whack on the head, it’s probably because he’s conscious enough to know he likely said/did something stupid, or because he purposefully did something annoying.

However, if he sees an injustice affect another by his brothers’ hand, he will be the first one to stand up and correct it.

Mikey is proven to be more likely to speak his mind when it comes to others around him getting retribution that he deems underserved.

IN FACT, a few of the only times fans actually see an aggressive argument/challenge poised to a brother is to Raphael, often in regards to his crass judgement.

Take Fourfold Trap as an example:

“I got the answer for you! Karai’s a lost cause!”

“Don’t say that, dude!”

Mikey shoves at Raph’s shoulder to make him face him and they both begin yelling/bickering/roughly gesturing. Mikey is in no way scared of how Raph will react to this and is immediate in getting physically aggressive and speaking his mind.

Not normally how someone who’s been abused all their life would act towards the main abuser, I think. Not convincing enough?

Well, The Curse of Savanti Romero is another:

In it, Renet is seen admitting to her mistake of letting Romero loose. Raph responds by immediately coming down on her for it, even though she understands and regrets her mistake.

Mikey has zero hesitations about jumping into the picture.

“You really are the worst time traveler ever! The worst!”

“Back off, bro! She needs our help!”

Psychology of most abusers would not point to this kind of situation going well. If this were the case- in no universe would Raphael have relented under his brother’s glare and stepped away, especially not after being shoved and yelled at in front of someone outside the family. That would be seen as a calling for punishment.

Moving away would be letting the abused assert dominance and think that they’ve gotten away with a win.

If this were really an abusive relationship, then Raphael would have had a far more violent reaction to his youngest brother butting in.

Instead, he growled, glared, and then relented. He could tell this was not an issue that could be further challenged. Mikey was standing his ground, intensely meeting his glare, and so Raph stepped away.

Now, have there been times where Mikey felt like he was left out or being ignored and that made him feel insecure?

Yes. Absolutely. Mikey Gets Shellacne is a prime example.

But, have the abusers, his older brothers, been made to share similar feelings of being unable to rely on their brothers at one time or another? Perhaps due to his direct or indirect actions? Why, yes.

Because, as hard as it is to believe, every person in that family has made mistakes when dealing with another family member. Relationships are hard. Not one person, or mutant, is perfect, and facing or accepting insecurities is always a fact of growing up.

Is this to say Mikey never stands up for himself?

No. Not even close.

Is it ever portrayed as something big and dramatic as a focal point of an episode? No. Because it doesn’t need to be.

If Mikey holding onto resentment and depression from how his brother abuse him was meant to be part of his character, it would have been a plot point in the episode where they’re literally in his brain. There would have been the slightest hint of something going on somewhere in that chaotic realm.

Instead, Mikey’s brain welcomed all of his brother with open arms.

And the true, inner Mikey runs ecstatically toward his brothers and into Leo’s open arms for snuggles, no more scared of his brothers inside his mind than outside of it.

The only time that he has thoughts of “my brothers are so mean to me I should run away” is the episode The Croaking, where he takes accountability and has the realization that his brothers aren’t the jerks that he thought they were when he ran off…

“Dude. Your brothers sound awesome.”

“Yeah. They are… Even after I trashed the house.”

Mikey doesn’t often react violently to his brother’s teasing because there’s not a reason too. He understands that his brother’s pick on him, but in reality, he picks on them too. It’s not a big enough deal to point out unless an evil planet is letting Angry Mikey consume all of his thoughts and then everything is terrible.

Mikey can stand up for himself. Mikey will always stand up for others.

And that brings this article to an end. Subscribe for more!

Next time, we’ll discuss why Parasitica May or May Not have a worse reputation than it truly deserves. Cowbunga!

[ak319]

i hope this one is different so you dont think it's repetitive... arthur become jealous whenever (teen?) reader show affection/politeness to the members of van der linde gang!! she is so kind and caring, it's like arthur gave all of his positive emotions to her.

i hope you're not too overwhelmed <3

(AN: It was fun to write this, lmao, and I'm good, thanks for asking! <3<3)

Warnings: Not incest, strictly platonic, fluff

Arthur stretched, savoring the cool evening breeze as he woke from his afternoon nap. Rubbing his eyes, he scanned the camp, noticing some of the boys lounging around, and then his gaze fell on you. You were nestled beside Hosea, who was explaining something, gesturing with a worn book in hand. The two of you looked deep in conversation, and Arthur’s jaw tightened just a touch.

Of course. You and Hosea with those endless stories.

Arthur strolled over, trying to keep his voice casual. “(Y/n)... my coffee?”

You looked up, blinking as if you’d just noticed him. “It’s in the pot.”

“So?”

“So… go get it?” You turned back to Hosea without a second thought, the two of you picking up right where you left off, as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Arthur’s mouth opened in slight disbelief. So he’s gotta get it himself now? Is that how it is? He clearly saw you serving one to Hosea before he went to nap.

He stomped over to the coffee pot, pouring a little too forcefully, spilling half of it over the side. Huffing, he took a bitter sip, casting a sidelong glare at you and Hosea. You were still engrossed, nodding eagerly as Hosea continued his storytelling, clearly delighted by the attention.

You, Hosea, and those books. Why didn’t you tell him stories like that, like when you were little, always rambling on about what you’d read or about anything? He couldn’t help thinking, Maybe if he’d acted interested back then…Even now, both of you barely chatted ever since settling here.

Determined to stake his claim, he grabbed a chair, dragging it loudly across the ground until he was right in front of you both. He plopped down with his coffee, not budging.

You and Hosea paused, exchanging a look as Arthur sat there, arms crossed, expression defiant. He took a loud sip, smirking a bit. “What? Go on, I’m only listenin’. ”

Hosea chuckled, giving you a gentle nudge to continue, but Arthur’s smirk softened as he watched you. He wasn’t about to let anyone else claim his spot as the one you looked up to, even if he had to work for it sometimes.

⋆⋆⋆

“Charles, here, I bought it,” you said, holding out a small glass bottle.

Charles put down his dagger, inspecting the vial with a pleased nod. “Hm, thanks, (Y/n). This’ll be really helpful. I'll be sure to use it.”

Before Charles could say much else, Arthur’s gun clattered down onto the table, his gaze zeroed in on the bottle in his hand. “Woah, woah, what is that?”

You folded your arms, already anticipating his reaction. “It’s rosemary oil. It’s good for hair, you know? I use it too, and Charles was complaining about hair fall. You should use it too Arthur.”

Arthur’s eyebrow shot up, his lips pressing together as he rolled his eyes and resumed cleaning his gun. Hair oil? Really? He bit back a scoff, the faint irritation simmering in his expression. The things you’d done for Charles lately, you were really taking him being your 'other brother' thing too seriously, acting like he was the camp’s best friend and personal confidant. More like 'other better brother' at this point.

"My hair's fine." He pouted which was subtle enough for both of you to miss.

Maybe you thought Charles was better than him somehow. Was it because of his hair? Arthur’s eyes flicked over to Charles’s neatly braided locks and he bristled, pushing away that little jab of jealousy. Those braids were another evidence of your craft and experiments on him.

“By the way, Charles-" you started.

Arthur snapped up, feigning nonchalance as he muttered, “What’re you askin’ him now, huh? Got another herbal concoction to fuss over or a new hairstyle?”

“Actually,” you continued, ignoring his tone, “I was thinking Charles could teach me some tracking. Thought it’d be useful when you sometimes take me to hunt.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly. He tried to play it cool, returning to his gun, but not before muttering, “Right… and just let me know when you’re done with all that ‘learnin’. Don’t need you forgettin’ your real chores now, got it?” You huffed slightly in reply, embarrassed and stomped away. He seemed to love bringing up your damn chores.

⋆⋆⋆

You peeked through the tent flap, hesitating slightly before stepping in. Arthur lay back on his cot, one knee propped up as he casually read through his journal. The sight of him looking so calm made your stomach twist just a bit, this wasn’t the look of someone who called you in for a friendly chat.

“Arthur… you called?” you asked cautiously, stepping inside.

He didn’t even look up, but you could sense the tension in his posture. “What is up with what I heard?”

You chuckled nervously, playing innocent. “Heard what?”

Finally, he glanced at you, setting his journal aside. "Feeding Kieran. An O’Driscoll, for God’s sake, and a captive one at that. You think that’s a good idea? Are you nuts?!”

You folded your arms, barely batting an eye. “What, we’re just gonna starve him to death in camp? That’s a great plan,” you said, throwing a glance toward Dutch’s tent with an exaggerated scowl.

Arthur caught the look, his gaze hardening. "Hey, don’t go blaming Dutch for making sense. You think Kieran’s just some stray dog? He’s a danger, and feeding him, treating him like… like one of us, it just ain’t wise.”

"But Mary- Beth did it too, why didn't-"

"I don't care what she did! I am talkin' to you right now! Also, she only gave him water while you served a damn feast to his ass. So, you...listen to me. Got it?" Not your fault that you cooked well and wanted everyone to have a taste. Poor guy was dying out there just from the smell of it.

“But why?” you retorted, the fire in your voice undeniable. “You’re all acting like he’s gonna break loose and take us all down with a spoon. He’s tied up. He's a person, Arthur, not a monster. And maybe, just maybe, if everyone here wasn’t so fast to turn people into enemies, half of this mess wouldn’t even exist! This isn't what mother taught us, Arthur.”

Arthur’s expression shifted from anger to something deeper, like a storm passing over. “Don't bring her into this! This is a different life from what we came from, why do you keep insisting upon those memories?” His voice softened but kept its edge. “And that big heart of yours? It’ll get you hurt if you’re not careful. I don’t want to be pulling you outta trouble because you’re tryin’ to see the good in a damn O’Driscoll. Now, are we clear?”

You stared back at him, the defiance slipping just a little as you noticed the strain in his eyes. Beneath his anger was worry, and for a moment, you softened too.

“Fine, fine, I made a mistake, apparently, and I’ll stay clear of him,” you mumbled. Being human here seems to be a crime.

⋆⋆⋆

You walked into the camp’s small, makeshift office, the familiar smell of paper and ink in the air. Strauss was hunched over a pile of bills and coins, his glasses perched precariously on his nose as he jotted down figures. His furrowed brow and concentration didn’t go unnoticed.

"Hey, Strauss," you called out softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, adjusting his glasses as a small smile appeared on his face. “Ah, (Y/n), good to see you. Just trying to get these numbers in order, but it’s a bit too much for one pair of hands.”

You moved closer, casually offering your assistance. “Mind if I help?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’d be willing to help count all this?”

“Sure,” you replied, already rolling up your sleeves. “Looks like you’ve got a lot on your hands.”

Strauss chuckled softly, clearly appreciative. “I suppose that’s why I always need help with these things. It’s too much to do alone, even for someone as meticulous as me.”

You settled next to him, carefully picking up a stack of bills and sorting them by denomination. The coins came next, their jingling noise filling the air as you organized them into neat little piles. Strauss watched, impressed by how quickly and efficiently you worked, and before long, everything was sorted and ready to be counted.

“By my word, (Y/n), you’ve done this faster than I could’ve hoped,” he said, adjusting his glasses again, his tone warm with praise. “It’s quite clear you have an eye for details.”

You smiled, grateful for the compliment. “I’ve had some practice.”

Strauss leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Then, with a slight flourish, he pulled a few bills from the pile and handed them to you. “As a token of my appreciation, take this,” he said, his voice warm. “A few dollars for your help. I think you’ve earned it.”

"No, no , please, no need for this. Thank you, though."

"C'mon, kid, like I said you earned it or just think of it as a gift."

You kept politely declining him but he forced the cash in your hand and the flap of the tent suddenly opened, and Arthur stepped inside, his boots thudding loudly against the floor as his eyes immediately narrowed at the scene.

Ugh.

"You givin' her a loan or something, Strauss?" He threw you a sharp look. You were well aware that he didn't appreciate you asking others for things.

"It’s not like that!" you snapped, already feeling your frustration building. “I helped him, that’s all. I didn’t ask for anything, Arthur. I wasn’t even about to take it!”

Arthur’s expression didn’t soften. In one swift motion, he turned back to the desk, and without a second thought, he placed the money you had been holding, still in your hand, back onto the table. He dropped it with a bit more force than necessary, the sound of it clinking harshly against the wood "Well, like I said, no need," he muttered, his voice polite but edged with an authority that suggested he just wanted to end the conversation. “Let’s go.”

You stumbled slightly as he nudged you toward the door. "You takin' handouts from him? Don't I give you enough pocket money already?" Arthur’s voice was tight with disapproval as he guided you out of the small room, his fingers almost too firm on your arm.

You shook your head, refusing to let the tension get the best of you. "Oh my God, he was just being nice, you damn well know I am not like that!" you muttered, glancing back at Strauss, who had returned to his work, probably already regretting offering you anything at all. "I didn’t ask for anything."

Arthur huffed, his mood sour. “And never do. I don’t trust that man with money.” He gave you a quick, pointed look as he nudged you forward, his steps quick and purposeful. “Go do somethin' else. Get out of here, kid. I don’t want to see you dealin’ with him.”

You bit back the sharp retort that formed on your lips. Instead, you let out a sigh, recognizing the stubbornness in your brother’s tone. “Fine. I’m going. Jeez,” you muttered, feeling a little put out as you walked away, already knowing this conversation wasn’t going to be the last of it.

⋆⋆⋆

Arthur nearly choked as he took another bite of the stew, his throat burning with the intense heat. He quickly grabbed his canteen, taking a few desperate gulps, trying to quench the fiery sensation that was assaulting him. What the hell was this? He wiped his mouth, glaring at the bowl like it personally offended him. What the fuck…

His hand slammed the canteen back down onto the table, and he stomped over to Pearson’s cooking station, frustration bubbling up inside him. “Why the hell is this so spicy?!”

Pearson looked up with a nonchalant grin, clearly unbothered by Arthur’s indignation. “It is? I think it’s scrumptious. Plus, (Y/N) cooked it, some Mexican recipe. Javier was feeling a little down today, so I thought I’d let her make it for him...cheer him up a bit.”

Javier, huh? Arthur’s blood began to simmer with something far more heated than the stew he just choked down. His jaw tightened as he turned on his heel and stormed towards you, who was happily swinging under the tree, carefree and unaware of the storm brewing in your brother’s chest.

"If he’s sad, does that mean you get to give me an ulcer?!" Arthur’s voice cracked like thunder, cutting through the air. “What, did you pour the whole damn bottle of chilies in this thing?”

You rolled your eyes without missing a beat and kept swinging like a kid, not even bothering to look at him as you kicked your legs lazily, enjoying the gentle breeze. “You’re being dramatic. Everyone licked their fingers clean. Even Molly liked it."

Arthur’s face contorted with disbelief as he approached you, the irritation in his veins flaring up like wildfire. Everyone? Of course. Everyone loved what you made. How could they not? You were sweet, and everything you did, even if it caused chaos, seemed to be met with nothing but approval. It’s a strange cycle, really, if you think about it. You’ve got this sweetness about you that makes it impossible for anyone to complain, even when you’re walking all over boundaries, like cooking up some wild, fiery dish for Javier. No one says a word, not even when you turn the camp upside down, because they’re all too afraid of making you upset, or worse, 'messing with Arthur's sister'.

And that’s when it gets tricky for him. All this unspoken leniency has slowly given you free rein, a field to roam in, and it’s hurting him in ways he can’t even explain. It's like you've unknowingly got the upper hand, and every little thing you do chips away at his patience, even when you’re just being you.

His lips curled into a hard, annoyed frown, and he leaned in close, voice low and harsh. “You listen here, brat," he growled, irritation lacing every word. "I’ve had a long day, and I damn well deserve a proper meal when I come back.”

Before you could even respond, Javier appeared from behind, sensing the rising tension between you two. He flashed a grin and confidently strolled over, his voice smooth and cheerful as he clapped his hands together. “Ah, but hermano Arthur,” Javier teased in his thick accent, completely unfazed by the tension. “Maybe it is not the food that is the problem, hmm? Maybe it’s your taste buds that need some...adjusting.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, his temper threatening to snap. He was about to retaliate when Javier continued, his voice warm and inviting.

“No no,” Javier continued, ignoring Arthur’s scowl entirely. “(Y/N)'s cooking is the best here. Nobody can do it quite like she can.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head, but part of you could feel the tension between them rise, even if it wasn’t entirely apparent to you, "Oh , it's nothing really."

As Arthur glared at you, his frustration mounting with every word that left your mouth, Javier, ever the peacekeeper and always with a grin on his face, flashed his usual cheeky smile, and before either of you could say anything, he burst into song, his deep voice carrying through the air with effortless charm. The dulcet tone of the guitar was sweet to you, yet bitter to Arthur.

“Oh, (Y/N), who brings the light,

To the fire, and to the night,

His voice was smooth, almost theatrical as he continued, completely ignoring the scowl Arthur was throwing his way.

“The stew you make, so full of spice,

Turns every frown to something nice,

And though it burns, we can’t resist,

The magic in your tender twist...”

Arthur muttered under his breath. "You better stop singing before I lose my damn mind," he grumbled, but his voice was laced with an unmistakable irritation that he couldn’t quite hide, even if he tried.

Javier finished his song with a flourish, giving you a playful wink as he stepped back, clearly proud of his impromptu performance. “And that, mi amiga, is a little song of thanks,” he said, his grin wide, while he sauntered away while Arthur bore daggers at his back.

Arthur turned back to you, arms folded tightly over his chest as he narrowed his eyes. “Was that all a silly prank of yours or something?” he asked, his tone stiff with a mix of irritation and jealousy.

You, however, couldn’t hold back the laughter. The ridiculousness of it all was just too much. You burst into a guffaw, your shoulders shaking with amusement, and the sound was enough to disarm Arthur, just a little.

You looked up at him, barely able to contain your grin. “Depends…” you teased, still giggling, making it worse for Arthur.

Arthur’s scowl deepened, but only for a moment. When he saw that sparkle in your eyes and how you couldn’t stop smiling, he felt a soft tug at his heart. "Kid, you’re a menace for real," he muttered, the words half-hearted, even though he was secretly relieved to see you happy in this new life.

[spacerockfloater]

Every time Team Black stans talk about Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Dragon Twins as if they’re blessings upon this earth, an angel loses its wings.

Like, okay. They’re children, I’m excusing all of them up to a certain point. But they’re some of the most vicious, aggressive, cowardly, snotty brats we’ve ever seen in this franchise and pretending that they’re not is so foul.

Lucerys is a hypocritical twat that bullied the boy he grew up with because he didn’t have a dragon, but then he’s totally okay hanging out with Rhaena who doesn’t have one either. And then he pulls out a knife and blinds Aemond for no fucking reason, after his gang attacked him first, and faces zero consequences for his actions. He eventually grows up to become an even worse person by literally laughing in his cousin’s face, whom he disabled. And then he tries to boss lord Borros around by telling him that he’s obligated to ally with Rhaenyra even if there isn’t anything in him for it.

Jacaerys is also very two faced for the exact same reasons as Lucerys, with the addition of having anger management issues. Like, remember how he beats the living shit out of his little brother when they’re training at the beach, kicks him to the ground and grabs him by the throat because he is upset their uncles are better warriors than them? That’s the good future king you’re all talking about? He is already obsessed with the idea of becoming king, to the point that his own mother has to remind him that she’s actually alive and well and he would have to wait a good fucking while before his dreams come true. That’s actually so sick on his behalf. Not to mention that he very likely married Sara Snow, betraying his fiancée, in order to gain the Starks’ help, which is very dishonourable. At least Lucerys told Borros he’s betrothed and refused to marry one of his daughters to get his support, I’ll give him that.

Baela is a deranged evil girl who was ready to throw hands on sight, too. And have we forgotten that she becomes a drunkard and whoremonger who spends her money gambling in the rat pits, the places where children fight one another in King’s Landing, once she grows up, or is it wrong only when Aegon II does it?

Rhaena is an aggressive coward who seems more preoccupied with the acquisition of a dragon than her mother’s death. She didn’t have the guts to go and claim Vhagar, but she feels powerful enough to confront Aemond when she has three people backing her up.

Finally, even without taking all of their problematic traits into account, these people are so severely uninteresting and unimpressive. Lucerys does not convince Borros to side with his mother and drops dead like a fly. Joffrey gets shrugged off by Syrax and plummets to his demise. Jacaerys is immediately killed during his embarrassing attempt to fight the Triarchy, not to mention that he was the reason his youngest half siblings were captured and nearly killed because he had the brilliant idea of sending them away. Baela loses the only dragon fight she was ever part of to Aegon II and Sunfyre who were very injured by a previous fight already! And Rhaena is just… there. Doing nothing. Never avenging her husband’s death, eventually marrying a Hightower. Yikes.

Are there much more ill behaved children in ASOIAF? Yeah, for sure, but we actually acknowledge that children like Aegon II and Joffrey Baratheon are pieces of shit. But if we could like, stop glorifying these four mediocre and borderline malicious kids solely because some of you feel the need to ride the dicks of everyone who is part of Rhaenyra’s crew, that would be great. They might be children, but they’re children with shady, putting it mildly, personalities, wielding new-clear weapons of mass destruction who actively participated in a war, especially Jacaerys and Baela. They sure were victims of the world they were raised in, but they were aggressors as well. And like, this is the ASOIAF universe, nearly all of our protagonists are children. We can’t constantly apply modern day morals and coddle them forever because “OMG, they are just babies!”, unless we are ready to apply the same logic on the Targtowers, who were basically the same age as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 45

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

45. halcyon daze

With Christmas on the horizon you take a break from your Persephone-inspired series to work on a present for John. There’s not a thing in the world you could buy him that he couldn’t buy for himself; but you have two hands, some talent and creativity: things that can’t yet be bought on Amazon. You’d noticed that he’s been working on an old set of Russian Fairytales. 

It still never fails to destroy your heart, that John favors mending the binding of children’s stories, as though he can recapture and sew back together some aspect of his own broken youth. 

Some of the illustrations in this edition are faded, one is even half destroyed, the paper torn. The writing is in cyrillic, you haven’t learned to read it yet, but with some [you hope] casually peppered questions, you manage to glean enough information to look up what they’re supposed to be. You make some replacements for him, and in the case of the Knight of Night in the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful, the warrior in black might bear more than a passing resemblance to your own dark assassin.  

When he opens this gift the wonder in his eyes is priceless to you. “I didn’t make you anything,” he apologizes guiltily, and while you are sitting amidst the piles of your freshly bestowed loot, which you still can’t help but feel guilty about. He bought you a stylish new motorcycle jacket, a fresh set of artist series gouache tubes and paper, an antique gold art nouveau lavalier necklace in the form of a flowing narcissus flower with glowing enameled accents and a dangling pearl –you are filled with so much love you fear your heart might burst.

You crawl across the floor, into his lap. He barely has time to set the drawings aside before your mouth is on his, and you are toppling him back almost into the Christmas tree with your ardor. By the time you are finished with him, you’re pretty sure he knows how happy he makes you, but just in case you tell him for good measure. “I love you more than I know how to say.” 

***

As winter drags on you look to John’s in-house gym to get exercise, even though you despise running on the treadmill. You feel like a hamster, jogging your ass off to nowhere. You try to keep up with your yoga practice, though you rarely get to finish a session. Somehow, John always manages to time walking in on you when you have your ass in the air. “Have mercy, I’m only a man,” he teases you, like this is an excuse for toppling you over and pinning you down with his body and his mouth on yours. 

It’s hard to get too mad about it, considering. 

You suppose you do still get a stretch and a workout, not to mention a belly laugh, in the end. 

Continuing your training stays interesting, although he wasn’t lying before when he said he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. More often than not when you spar, you end up fucking on the floor. He’s never more beautiful than when his dark eyes glitter with anticipation of the hunt; you’ve learned a lot, but you know you stand zero chance against him. 

Maybe it’s not fair, when he loses patience and uses his experience and his size to put you down on the ground, sweeping your legs or twisting your arm behind you while he pulls down your leggings, baring your ass to the room. But he finds you soaking wet every time he claims his prize, guiding himself inside you, your growls quickly turning to moans for the way he fills you up and takes you down. “I fucking love it when you fight me,” he admits breathlessly, thrusting until you both cum loudly, your face pressed into the rubber floor.

It’s a game you love to lose.   

***

Winter starts to thaw, and you have cabin fever, ready to go outside. John is engrossed in a binding project: you finished your illustrations, and now he seems just as engaged in his side of the collaboration as you were yours. You find him smiling at a rendition of Dog as Cerberus with three heads when you pop into his workshop. “Want to go for a hike?”

He looks around at the mess he’s made on his worktable. “I’m not at a good stopping point,” he admits, and you understand that perfectly well. “You can go, just don’t be gone too long, alright?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, you are so surprised to receive this clearance for a solo trek. 

You kiss him on the cheek in thanks. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise, still hardly able to believe your luck. 

“Y/n?” he calls as you’re at the door. “Take Dog?”

“I’m going too far for him.” Long walks hurt his paws.

“Then take your pistol.” You nod before disappearing up the stairs. Once upon a time, the thought of going around casually armed would have seemed like pure insanity to you. Now it’s simply a fact of life. You don’t have an official license for concealed carry, but after your intensive training at the Continental you feel perfectly confident that you won’t shoot anyone–unless you mean to. You live in John’s world now: survive first, worry about getting caught later…and pay off the appropriate officials if you have to.

That’s just the thug life, you suppose. 

The air outside is crisp and fresh, leaves and pine needles perfuming the woods in a way that intoxicates you more than any man-made scent. You take off down the trail at a brisk pace, feeling like you have wings on your feet. Knowing you could walk for miles and miles in this mood, you set a timer on your phone so you don’t forget yourself. Scaring John after he’s given you this confidence will not bode well for the future. Once upon a time such a leash would have chafed, but now you understand so much better what his fears are rooted in. You’ve peered into the darkness behind the curtain; there’s no going back. 

It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week and you haven’t seen a soul, and on such a fine day as this, it is easy to forget that there’s a bustling, seething world of human strife out there. Or so you imagine, as you are sitting on the outcrop of your favorite overlook, your feet dangling out over oblivion. Yet, when you think you hear voices coming up the trail a sudden instinct kicks in to hide, to avoid being seen. Without really even thinking about it you tip yourself off the ledge, grabbing a branch of an ancient tree growing out of the rocks to break your fall, and dropping down to conceal yourself flat upon a narrow ledge.

“Dude, where’d she go?” you hear from above, your heart pounding in your chest, the blocky hardness of your little Beretta pressing into the small of your back as you lean against the stone face of the cliff a reassuring comfort. You realize then that John is not the only one with a residual paranoia from your misadventures. As you listen to the obviously harmless hikers above, you feel utterly ridiculous, and you wait for them to go so that you can make your way back in peace. 

Maybe it’s good to be alert, but at what point does one just have to get on with one’s life? If you live like a paranoid little rat scurrying around out of sight, then Dante has won in a different way. You think about this a lot, as you make your way home up the mountain. 

***

Perhaps it’s fitting, that with the renewal of spring all around you, John finishes the binding of your book. He calls you into the basement to inspect his workmanship, standing behind you as you behold the finished tome. The cover is embossed black leather with gold leaf. There is no title, just a design of an upturned skull grown through with blooming narcissus flowers. Slowly, you flip through the pages, enchanted with how he transformed your loose paintings into something so refined. 

“I love it,” you tell him, caressing a page bearing his likeness, the God of Death embracing his consort (that may bear a passing resemblance to you) in a Klimt-esque kiss. He nuzzles into your neck, kissing behind your ear. “But you didn’t sign it,” you complain, noting the lack of his usual This Book was Bound by John Wick plate. 

“I thought…we could do it together, as a wedding present?” he offers. You realize he means signing it with your joined name, and maybe it’s silly, but the thought makes your belly erupt into butterflies. You haven’t really talked about the wedding much. Though you wear the ring happily, he hasn’t really mentioned it at all, giving you space or otherwise occupied, you’re not entirely sure. 

“I would love that,” you agree, tilting your head for a kiss. His fingers dig into your hips as it deepens, a low moan called up from his throat. 

“Have you thought about what you might like?” he asks, kissing your neck again, his hands slipping under your shirt. 

“I don’t want anything fancy,” you admit breathlessly. “All I want is you.” You find the thought of bringing your dysfunctional family together in celebration only inspires anxiety. You have no lasting affiliations with any church–you do not feel the need to seek any god’s blessing of your union. You find you are just ready for it to be so. 

You feel him pause behind you, letting out a shuddering sigh. You wonder if he’s thinking about the journey you’ve taken, to get where you are today, together. You certainly are, looking at your book, and the allegory it tells of your tumultuous courtship. It wasn’t easy, and you can’t say anything so trite as you knew it would turn out–but you realize you did have the naivety to hope. For once…maybe your forgiving nature has finally paid off for you. You feel like you’ve been living in a halcyon daze, you are so happy. You hope it never changes, even if deep down you know it will. 

Change is the only certainty we’re ever afforded.

“Surely you want something nicer than a trip to the courthouse,” he pries, certain there’s something you’re not telling him. You do still feel embarrassed sometimes, about spending his money on things, even though he gives you free reign with unparallelled generosity. 

“I really don't want a big ceremony,” you assure him. “But…would you like it, if Winston married us?”

John huffs behind you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “I'm not sure that's something he does.”

You giggle at the thought, and you can tell John at least likes the idea of his father figure–one of his few remaining friends, being there. And, you like Winston too. “I bet he’d do it for you, John.”

“Hmm. We’ll think on that.”

It’s not a no.

“You know what I do want?” you pose, turning a page of your new book.This illustration is a rather explicit one, Death kneeling at her feet with his face buried in her pussy, her back bowed in sweet agony, the dark waters of the river Styx glittering behind them. He offered her the most exquisite pleasures, but withheld release unless she agreed to be his forever. Though deep in her heart she knew she loved him immeasurably, still she refused.

Neither John nor you are immune to the effect of perusing this pornographic work together; his long fingers dip into the waistband of your jeans, his fingertips just nearly caressing your mound.   

“Anything,” he tells you, nibbling at your ear. It takes you a moment to remember what you were talking about, your clit throbbing in answer to his seeking fingers and his other hand up your shirt. As a result your answer comes in breathy bursts. 

“I want…to go on an adventure with you. A long honeymoon,” you tell him, writhing against him as his hand finds your breast, toying with the taut peak of your nipple. You know he likes to travel as much as you do. Wouldn’t it be novel to go somewhere and not even need to assassinate someone in the interim?

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. “I might have guessed. Where do you want to go?” He asks you this while his fingers tease your curls, so close to touching you where you need him most. You are past shame, when your voice cracks. 

“Where can we go?” You assume most of Europe is off the table these days. 

“Hmm. You still have a yen for South America?” 

You nod, and he laughs again, though he catches your mouth in a tooth-counting kiss before you can answer–ie defend yourself from the usual allegations. At last his middle finger dips into your wet slit, and the sound of relief that escapes you is barely human.  

“Young lady…” he growls, nipping at your ear. “This is quite a dirty little book you’ve drawn. Do you know how many times I had to come find you while I was working on this?” You moan as he swipes up your juices, finally circling your clit as his other hand dips into your bra. You feel his erection straining against the curve of your bottom; you press yourself back against him, wanting what’s yours. Your answer is part laughter, part moan–for the umpteenth time, you feel like life is perfect with this man. 

“Probably as often as I had to come find you while drawing it,” you answer cheekily, arching back to hold his neck, opening yourself completely to him. Your knees threaten to buckle as he touches you, but soon you find yourself bent over his table, his corded forearms braced like columns on either side of you as he fucks you silly amidst the smell of old books, leather, and binding glue.  

It really doesn’t get any better than this.

***

When warmer weather comes you start to take out the bikes again. After a few outings you feel sufficiently refreshed, and more than ready to take your test. You make your appointment for next week, and you feel like a teenager again, full of nervous energy for the impending exam. John finds this amusing. “You can ride, sweetheart. And if you fail, you can just take it again.” 

But the perfectionist academic in you wants to ace it on the first go. When you express the desire to go for a practice ride while John is working on a new project he nods, not even looking up from his worktable. “Be careful.” 

“Take your pistol. I know,” you tease. This has become a broken record between you two–remembering a time when he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you out of his sight, you do not mind. He narrows his eyes at you playfully, before letting you off with that slight smile that still squeezes your heart in your chest. 

You gear up in your kevlar jeans, boots and jacket, gloves and helmet. Concealed carry is ridiculously easy, with such bulk about you. You feel a bit like a commando, every time you put on the jacket with its armored panels. You fire up the Kawasaki and potter down the driveway. You like this bike, it’s been great to learn on, but John has been teasing you about an upgrade if you’re a good girl. 

Considering you feel where he’s been inside you every time you sit down, you’re pretty sure you’re meeting the requirements. You think about this with a smile as you hit a straightaway, and let the machine open up beneath you. 

It really is the closest you can get to flying on the ground. 

Exhilarated, maybe even feeling a little cocky, you make your loop of the mountain roads and then decide to make a quick stop down in town. You’ve worn out your three favorite paint brushes, the chisel tip, the angle shader, and the tiny 3/0 you favor for small details. Mr. Morton will get you squared away. 

You park in the lot behind the art store, and carry your helmet inside. You don’t dally long, even though the smell of oil paint and linseed oil inside the little store is a marvelous thing. You chat with Mr. Morton, pet the shop cat, and tuck your score into your inside pocket before walking back out to the parking lot. 

It’s totally cliché, but the rest goes by in a blur. 

A black SUV rolls up beside you, screeching on its brakes, a man jumping out of the backseat making a B line for you. Too late, you realize your rookie mistake. Your jacket is zipped up to your chin–you can’t draw your pistol under your arm in time. But you have your helmet in your hand, and without hesitation, you introduce it to his face as hard as you can. 

“At least offer a girl some candy first, asshole!”

The driver spills out next, cursing and trying to grab you, dodging your second swing with the helmet. You side-step him, but he manages to snag your jacket. Rather than pull against his hold you let him drag you to him, meeting his groin dead-on with your knee. As he crumples you hit him in the face with your armored elbow, and run for your bike while shoving your helmet onto your head. 

Maybe you should have run back to the shop, to the thoroughfare, to the safety of witnesses. But all you can think in that moment is that John might need you. You have a terrible feeling that something bad could be happening at home, and so you start your bike and tear off faster and more recklessly than you ever have before. The handlebars wobble in your haste but you manage to get a hold of the machine, concentrating on working the clutch and the gears to pick up speed as fast as you can. If you look back, you know you’ll crash. You run a stop sign, veering around a car by the skin of your teeth, leaving the sound of screeching wheels and honking horns behind you.  

Out of town, you drop a gear and take off like a rocket up the mountain, passing cars where you definitely shouldn’t. I’m coming, John. Maybe it’s ridiculous. How much help could you possibly be to John Wick? But you won’t rest until you set eyes on him again. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, when the G Wagon roars up next to you again. In your peripheral you see the passenger in the window, his extended arm, the blocky black shape of a gun. They veer at you, trying to run you off the road. You brake the bike, letting them whip past you, nearly going off the pavement themselves in the confusion. You decide to turn off onto a sideroad, a winding death-trap of a paved goat trail that you know like the back of your hand, though you’ve never ridden it before, only drove. You hope you’ll lose them in the snarl of tight curves. It will take longer to get home, but if worse comes to worse maybe you can abandon the bike and lose them in the trees. 

Home turf advantage, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. These guys mean business–and you’re fairly sure the driver’s accent was Italian. 

You don’t really hear it past the roar of your engine and your heartbeat in your ears, when they come up behind you. You do hear the shot, and you flinch, ducking low to make yourself a smaller target. But he wasn’t aiming for you. 

He was aiming for your tire, and when it blows the bike goes wild–and you really get to experience flying.

It’s almost exhilarating, sailing through the air, until you hit the pavement hard, skidding across the unforgiving asphalt, rolling to take some of the momentum. You lay there on the tarmac, alive, but completely stunned. You tell yourself to get up–but your body doesn’t listen. You see the shadow of a man over you. It’s Helmet Man–his face is a mask of blood; it looks like you broke his nose, and he’s pissed about it.

He kicks you in the side before shoving a needle through your jeans, into the meat of your butt. On the verge of puking in your helmet, the world swims, then goes black.

------------

*author's note: Full credit to @discoscoob for suggesting that Winston should officiate, I love it, you're brilliant! 😘 And the yoga scene is totally @treedaddymcpuffpuff 's fault. I love our unhinged conversations boo 🤣 The Brain Rot would not be so strong or so FUN without you!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ :)))))))))))))))))

**maybe i should also add that certain eXplicit panels in the BRZRKR Bloodlines comic inspired a great deal of this dumpster fire 🥵🤣🤣, y'all should definitely check it out, the artwork is great!

--------------- 

all chapters

[sunnysidesevenup]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS MENACE TO SOCIETYYYYY. TILLY I LOVE YOU

he’s 25 but here’s a foxglove fic about his 23rd birthday where I drop some random lore lmao

tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added!!): @kirexa @gimmeurmoneyagh @lallopsyou

fic under the cut! :D

“When’s your birthday, anyway?” Fellow asks. He’s not particularly interested, but he’s known Tilly for long enough that it likely should have come up by this point.

The two of them are sitting on the floor of Fellow and Gidel’s small apartment (honestly better suiting the term single room than apartment, the damn landlord a full on scammer if Fellow does say so himself). They’ve each got a coat in their hands, sewing supplies spread across the floor as they carefully repair holes in the fabric. It had finally gotten cold enough that they could no longer simply layer clothing, and thus the yearly time to sew up clothes is upon them. Tilly, since he’s there often enough, is obviously required to help—while Gidel gets to happily draw in the corner.

Said man hums to himself, swaying back and forth a bit while he sews, tongue stuck out in concentration. “Dunno.” Tilly finally says.

“How do you not know?” Fellow scoffs.

“Well, I don’t have parents or anything like that! So how would I know?” Tilly glances up from his work, shaking his head at Fellow as if he’s disappointed. “Silly.” He scolds.

The beastman glares at him, “You told me you were 22!” He argues, affronted.

Tilly grins at him, “Hmm, yeah. It just felt right. Maybe I’m older than you, though?” His grin turns a little devious, and he tilts his head. “You’d show me more respect if I was older, right~?”

Fellow tosses one of the coats at him, hitting him in the face with it.

In typical Tilly fashion, he instantly collapses backwards, whining about being injured. Gidel, the traitor, giggles at him, while Fellow only snatches up the coat the other was repairing.

He observes the stitching, and scoffs immediately. “This is terrible.” He says, already removing the clumsy attempts.

Tilly finally pauses his dramatic whining, pulling the coat off his face but remaining laid on the ground—although he rolls sideways to better look at the man. “I’ve never sewn anything before, I was simply guessing.”

Fellow rolls his eyes, “You’re really useless on your own, you know that? How have ya’ even survived this long?”

“I’m very lucky.” Tilly says seriously.

“No, you’re not.” He shoots back. “Get up, I’m going to teach you how to do this. You’ve got to know some life skills! Ya’ can’t just live in your little fantasy world where everything goes right for you forever, you know.”

The purple haired man sits up, toxic green eyes staring widely at him. “But my fantasy world is so nice!” He coos, leaning closer to observe what Fellow is doing. Then, in a considering voice, he adds: “Although if it was a real dream world, you’d probably be wearing a maid dre—“

Fellow smacks him in the face with the coat again.

While Tilly whines from where he’s laid out on the floor once more, the beastman stares down at him with absolutely zero sympathy. “There’s no way you’re older than me when you act like that.” He states, voice dripping with condescension and annoyance.

“You’re so rude to me.”

“You deserve it, you absolute buffoon.”

Tilly sits up again, shaking his head. “How people act has nothing to do with their age, ya’ know! I could very easily be 4 years older than you and you’d never know.” He taps his chin in contemplation, a smirk crossing his face. “In fact, I think that’s what I’ll go with from now on! Please show me the respect a senior deserves.” He puts his hands on his hips, a proud look on his face as if Fellow would respond in any other way than bafflement.

“You can’t just change your age!”

“Why not? It’s not like I know when I was born in the first place.”

Fellow sputters, “Wh— No! No, I am NOT having you claim to be OLDER than me!”

“Aww,” Tilly puts a hand over his heart, his eyes widening in false sympathy. “The lovely younger man under my care seems to be struggling, how shall I help him?”

This time, Fellow forgoes the coat in favor of simply tackling Tilly to the floor. Gidel, of course, ignores them rolling around and wrestling, far too used to this behavior from the two of them.

Finally, he manages to pin Tilly down, and he contemplates using the coats to just suffocate him and end his misery already. The other man, meanwhile, just pouts at him. “This isn’t fair at all, you’re much taller than me.” He says.

“And older.” Fellow declares firmly, glaring at him. “Say it, I’m the older one.”

“Only children fight over who’s the oldest.” Tilly says, like he wasn’t just participating in exactly that.

Fellow just squeezes his pinned wrists in response, and finally the man sighs, giving in. “Alright, I’m 22.”

The beastman grins victoriously. “Good.” He says, finally moving to get off him. He suddenly stops, however, as a thought occurs to him. “Huh, wait. How do ya’ decide when you age if you don’t know your birthday?”

Tilly laughs. “Well, whenever it feels right, of course!”

“That’s a terrible way to do things.” He shoots back immediately.

“You wound me deeply, ya’ know?” The human sighs. “And from such an Honest Fellow, too! Surely you must be correct, of course.”

Once again, Fellow is reminded that he HATES Tilly saying his name. There’s just something so infuriating about it.

“Just pick a date for your birthday, and be done with it.” He growls instead, choosing not to acknowledge the goading. Nothing good ever comes from acknowledging Tilly’s taunts, he’d learned long ago.

“Hmm, maybe.” He says, but Fellow can tell from his uninterested tone that Tilly likely won’t follow his suggestion at all. It’s typical of him to ignore perfectly reasonable advice, no matter how annoying and illogical this course of action may be.

A fantasy world he lives in, truly.

Tilly’s words a few minutes ago pop into his head again, and Fellow hurriedly gets back to his sewing. Why he insists on taunting him like that specifically, he doesn’t get. Not that he gets much about the guy in the first place.

Tilly sighs, also going back to the sewing. However, he simply stares at his work for a bit, and then glances back over to Fellow. “You’re right, I’m bad at this.” He admits dejectedly, but then nigh instantly perks up. “I’ll just get you a new coat, problem solved!”

Fellow points his needle at him. “Life skills, remember? Try living in the real world, ya’ sound like some pampered rich kid.”

The man gasps, “Take that back.”

“Get to sewing, then.” He smirks at him, pointing to the stitching. “C’mon, it’s not that difficult. Even Gidel can do this.”

“Well, Gidel is much better than me at a lot of things.” Tilly states, looking over to the corner where said boy has been ignoring them. “Aren’t you?”

Gidel nods.

“At least we agree on one thing, then. Gidel is much better than you in every way.”

“Aww, you say that like you love him more than me…”

Fellow gives him a disgusted look. “I don’t love you at all, in fact.”

Tilly doesn’t seem particularly troubled by his words, not that he expected him to be.

Still, his eyes feel a bit piercing as they observe Fellow. The toxic green color had always made his gaze just a little too intense, after all. It’s almost like he’s calling him out for something, although Fellow has no idea what it could possibly be. It’s not like he was lying.

Tilly finally looks away, wandering instead over to Gidel to see what he’s drawing. Fellow debates scolding him, since he was JUST telling him to learn how to sew, but he lets it happen. They’ve got plenty of time, and he’ll just make the man be the one to go without a coat for a while as punishment.

(Whether or not this ends with Tilly roping him into sharing his own is inconsequential. He’ll make sure not to give in this time, no matter how annoying he gets or how much he begs.)

The bigger question, however, is Tilly’s birthday. Just randomly deciding when to start saying you’re a year older does sound like something the strange man would do, but just as Fellow had said, that was a truly awful system. He would never go about things like that, which is why he’s the rational one who is doing much better for himself, obviously.

So, if Tilly wouldn’t decide on a date, Fellow would. A very simple solution! He’d even get him a gift so he couldn’t protest. A full proof plan, surely—and then Tilly would be required to get Fellow something for his own birthday in compensation. A win-win, as one would say. Quite smart.

(He ignores the little voice in his head that asks why he’d even care about this in the first place. No need to think about it too hard.)

-

“There you are.”

Tilly glances over his shoulder as Fellow approaches, perched on a crate in a random alleyway. He’s got a deck of cards in his hands, and what he could possibly be doing Fellow doesn’t know. He doesn’t move from his position, simply shuffling the cards, and flashes the beastman a grin. “Pick a card!” He says, holding a splayed hand out to him.

Fellow frowns at him. “Not right now, I’ve got something for you.”

Tilly frowns right back at him, raising an eyebrow. He then reaches out a hand, his fingers sliding into Fellow’s hair. Right before the man can swat him away, he’s already pulled back, a new card in his hand. He twirls it around, and then adds it to his deck. “You’re so boring.” He says.

The beastman stares at him, wide eyed. “Don’t do that.” He tells him.

Tilly tilts his head, a sly grin on his face. “Do what?”

“You—ugh, you’re distracting me.”

“I’m distracting?” The man bats his eyelashes, and Fellow rolls his eyes.

“Here.” He says instead of acknowledging his words, and pushes a box into Tilly’s chest.

He raises an eyebrow, a confused look on his face. “What’s this? Are you proposing? Well, I suppose I can accep—

“It’s a birthday gift, you fool.” Fellow cuts him off, crossing his arms.

“….It’s my birthday?” Tilly asks.

He nods back at him, confirming. “Today’s your birthday.”

“Oh!” Tilly’s eyes light up, and he stares down at the box. “I’ve never had a proper birthday! Is it normal to propose on them?”

“It’s OBVIOUSLY not a proposal!”

The man’s lips quirk up into another smirk, an obvious indication that he’s taunting. But his attention quickly goes back to the box, a simple little thing that doesn’t even have wrapping paper or any type of decoration. He stares at it like it’s gold, and after a bit of this, Fellow begins to become uncomfortable. It’s just a cheap gift, after all.

“Go on then, open it. I don’t have all day.”

Tilly hums, acknowledging him, and sets his deck of cards aside to better look at the box. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.” He says, and it’s a strange thing to hear from a man who’s been known to beg strangers for a multitude of items.

“I’m not heartless. You looked so pathetic when we talked about your birthday, I just had to get you something.” Fellow says, waving away whatever weird idea Tilly might have in his head. His words don’t seem to convince him of anything though, as the way he opens the gift is almost reverent.

“Oh.” He says upon seeing the gift.

It’s a cheap pair of gloves, probably not the quality of the one’s the man wears even now—but Fellow has never seen him take off the pair in the first place. How a man who wears so many different styles of clothing could wear one pair of gloves with every single one of them alludes him, but it did give him the idea to buy him some more.

Much to his surprise, Tilly instantly pulls them out and then proceeds to take his current pair off.

He’s never seen him without them, and the sight is shocking for a variety of reasons. From the nonchalant way he performs the action, to the scars that are revealed as he slides the fabric off—crisscrossing along both his palms like someone ran a knife over them multiple times, forming a strange, morbid star.

He pulls the new pair on, face unreadable as he flexes his hands, and Fellow chooses not to comment on it. “So? How are they?” He asks instead.

“Hmm. Scratchier than my other pair.” Tilly says, and Fellow is instantly annoyed again, suddenly free from the spell of the strange moment.

“Tch, give them back if you don’t like them, then!” He scowls, grabbing Tilly’s hand to pull the gloves off himself. Annoying, ungrateful brat! He could at least pretend Fellow’s gift was good, he’d bought it with honestly earned money!

“Wow, hey!” The man grabs his hands right back, lacing their fingers together as a way to stop him. There’s better ways, definitely, but when has he ever done anything normally?

“Don’t do that.” Tilly says, glaring at him. “These are mine.”

“Wh—I bought them for you.” He protests, caught off guard by the odd handholding they���re now engaging in.

“Yeah, and now they’re mine.” Tilly’s green eyes soften, then, and he smiles. “Thanks.”

Fellow has seen many of Tilly’s smiles. He seems to never run out of them—a plethora of different moods and falsehoods. Mischievous grins, false masks of innocence, the flirty smile he gives men and women when he wants something from them. Somehow, he’s never seen this one from him. It feels more honest—a genuine emotion he’s never quite seen. It feels forbidden, and weirdly precious all at once.

The beastman rips his hands away, spinning on his heels so his back is to Tilly. “You better get me something good for my birthday, now.” He says seriously, and then immediately stalks away. There’s no movement behind him, so the chances of being followed are low. Good. He can only tolerate Tilly’s presence for so long, after all!

The minute he’s sure he’s out of the other’s eyesight, he releases a breath and tugs a hand roughly through his hair.

What was THAT? He thinks. Why do I feel embarrassed?

“It better be worth it when my birthday comes around.” Fellow mutters to himself, leaned against the wall of an alleyway.

He ignores the part of him that claims it was already worth it. That’s foolish—what did he get, a smile? That wasn’t useful at all.