#this got longer than I intended it to lol

[demon-country]

One of the saddest parts of the stolitz miscommunication debacle to me is that for all his bluster and all his denial, Blitz never managed to fool anyone into believing that there were no feelings involved and he was doing it solely for the book, including Stolas. That is, until Ozzie's, at which point he finally fooled the one person who he didn't even think he needed to.

For all we talk about how Stolas let his fantasies of romance run wild, which caused him to accidentally run roughshod over Blitz (especially at first), he wasn't exactly wrong, in the end. Blitz did develop feelings for him, and given how excited and enthusiastic he was that last full moon, their nights together were probably the only times he felt safe actually showing that. Because he could always tell himself and everyone else that it was just an act, he was just giving Stolas what he wanted and keeping him satisfied enough that he'd let Blitz keep the book.

Stolas thought, up until Ozzie's, that Blitz enjoyed their deal just as much as he did. Because Blitz did. If Blitz was showing up basically every moon as hyped and ready to go as the time we saw him, it's not really a surprise that Stolas didn't catch on to the times when Blitz was actually unhappy and uncomfortable because he felt objectified. After all, Blitz snaps at and is abrasive to everyone, and any annoyance probably seemed pretty par for the course, especially for someone as oblivious, ignorant, and autistic-coded as Stolas. But Stolas also got special treatment on top of that, and it's easier to focus on the stuff that stands out rather than the stuff that doesn't seem too far off from Blitz's standard behavior. He got times where Blitz was genuinely happy and comfortable and excited to see him, we literally see that in the memory fragments and Blitz's behavior during the last full moon. He got times where Blitz seemed to find him so hot he'd grab him and turn things sexual on a dime (Truth Seekers and The Circus). He also got times where Blitz was caring and attentive, and where Blitz accepted care and gentleness during aftercare (because there's literally no way that didn't happen, not getting aftercare after BDSM scenes can be legitimately traumatizing for both the Dom and sub).

Like, that's not to say that Stolas shouldn't have taken the numerous hints that his condescension and baby talk were highly unappreciated, because yeah that shit was very uncool of him and ignorance doesn't excuse it. But look at how Blitz gently caresses Stolas' cheek in Truth Seekers. Look at how thrilled he was to be with Stolas again in The Full Moon. Look at the photo Stolas has of the pony drawing Blitz seems to have made while at his palace. Look at the memory fragments where Blitz is so fucking into kissing him or gleefully showing off toys or making that big shiny eyed blep I'm dying to know the context of. How else was Stolas supposed to take all that every full moon and however many nights Blitz came over outside of that, and not be convinced that his feelings were returned?

Because they were. Not immediately, of course, but the were. They were on the same page about that. There were plenty of things Blitz didn't like, related to Stolas' unconscious racism/classism. There was plenty of "things for [Blitz] to teach and [Stolas] to learn". There were plenty of things that went unsaid and unheard and misinterpreted on both sides. But the love was there, Stolas didn't make it all up. It wasn't the perfect fantasy he was initially picturing (although I'm pretty sure that illusion didn't actually last very long, not with how dejected he looks in a few of the memory fragments and at the start of Ozzie's), and Blitz had a lot more hidden under the surface than Stolas knew about (although he did know Blitz had walls he hadn't seen through yet), but the love was there. You don't have to know everything about someone to start falling in love with them. Blitz couldn't fool anyone, but he especially couldn't fool Stolas, who he showed his heart to again and again thinking he was safely hidden behind the alibi of the book deal.

Until Ozzie's. Until the disastrous "date", after which Blitz couldn't hide the hurt he felt thinking that all Stolas wanted him for was sex, when Blitz wanted more. Except Blitz didn't say that last part. So all Stolas got was Blitz ignoring him on their date, Blitz rejecting his offer to go inside, and Blitz tearing up while saying in a wounded and borderline angry voice that their deal was strictly about sex, which finally clued Stolas in that his actions hadn't been taken as cute and flirty like he had intended, they had just served to hurt Blitz and convince him that all he wanted was to use Blitz.

Blitz's pain changed everything for Stolas. He stopped flirting, he stopped calling him Blitzy save for one time, he stopped most of his interactions with Blitz, and he started trying to give Blitz outs. He looked at all the times Blitz was annoyed at him, at how umbalanced their deal was, and at how it may have been just as cruel of a chain as the one binding him to Stella, and quite correctly came to the conclusion that the deal needed to end and Blitz needed to have a way to do his job without being dependant on Stolas. But he also looked at all the memories of Blitz being happy with him, and all the times Blitz showed up excited, and came to the incorrect but reasonable conclusion that it was all probably just an act Blitz put on to keep the book. Just like Blitz had been hoping to convince everyone of.

And then Stolas ended the deal, and Blitz couldn't figure out why so he started to panic. The deal was his safety net and his shield; it was the only way he felt he could get something close to the real relationship he wanted, it was what allowed him to be open with his feelings, and what gave him the courage to let some of his walls down. It probably felt like such a betrayal that Stolas would take it away.

Even though he was the one who dodged all of Stolas' offers to talk, out of fear that things would become complicated if they talked about it, out of fear of rejection after Stolas hid during their "date", and later out of guilt and shame for how he failed to save Stolas. Even though he was the one who was hiding behind the excuse that it was all just for the book. Even though he was the only one convinced that Stolas could never care about him for anything other than sex. Even though Stolas flat out told him he cared about him and wanted him to stay, just without the deal in between them. Even with all that, Blitz still couldn't see Stolas ending their deal any way other than Stolas abandoning him and rejecting him and taking away the only way he has ever been able to openly show that side of himself.

It was more than just his self-hatred talking, it was more than just his insecurities getting the better of him. It was a perceived betrayal of trust and an inability to see how much the deal limited their ability to get what they both actually wanted. The reason it hurt him so much was because Stolas hadn't actually been wrong. Blitz did care, Blitz did enjoy their deal, Blitz did want Stolas just as much as Stolas wanted him.

The tragedy of it all was that the love was real, but the only ones who were convinced it wasn't was the two of them. So it's a good thing the story isn't over for them yet, because I couldn't take that ending for them. After all the shit they've been through in their lives, they deserve their happy ending together, they deserve to have their mutually requited love be realized.

[hardly-an-escape]

for @bucktommypositivityweek Saturday 8/17: nicknames and terms of endearment | naming conventions | 1300 words | rated T

Tommy wasn’t much of a nickname guy. He shortened names, of course – he wasn’t the kind of asshole who insisted on calling Hen Henrietta or Eddie Edmundo – but Howie was almost always Howie, not Chimney, even after they reconnected, and the handful of other firefighters they knew with goofy monikers were still almost always referred to by their given names.

Buck had asked him about it, once; he’d assumed that an Army pilot would have been all in on nicknames and callsigns. But Tommy had simply shaken his head and said something about how, in his experience, they always came from negative moments.

Haven’t you ever noticed that? He’d said. They’re almost always based on something bad. A mistake or a close call. I don’t know, I just don’t think people should be known for something they fuck up when they’re a probie, or a raw recruit. When they’re still learning.

And Tommy wasn’t wrong; most nicknames did stem from some kind of fuck up. Usually something funny or ironic, but not always. To Buck it seemed almost like a kind of hazing ritual – maybe rite of passage would be a kinder term – like, can you really join the club if you can’t handle a little joke? But Buck also saw Tommy’s point. Saw how the loss of a name could mean the loss of agency, loss of identity, loss of control over one’s own person in a context when so much control had already been willingly given up. To service, whether that meant the military or the LAFD or just being the guy always willing to step in and do something.

Buck saw that, even if he didn’t feel it himself. For him, getting a nickname had been freeing – had been an opening up, a door to an identity he’d wanted for a long time without being able to name.

Becoming Buck instead of Evan had been – it was hard to describe. He’d always secretly wanted a nickname, wanted something cool and casual and jocular, something to show that he belonged somewhere. But Evan didn’t exactly lend itself to shortening or rhyming, and nothing he’d done in his youth had ever set him apart. Not in a way that mattered; not in a way that stuck.

He’d lived more than twenty five years of his life being Evan and feeling vaguely uncomfortable about it – until the fire academy, when someone had called him Buck and he’d just run with it, made it happen, finally carved out his own little niche in this world that suddenly meant so much to him.

And that’s how it had been – he’d just been Buck – until Tommy came along.

He hadn’t meant to introduce himself as Evan, when they met in the hangar. In fact, he hadn’t introduced himself at all; Chimney had been the one to make introductions. “Tommy, allow me to introduce you to your flight attendants for this evening’s little jaunt: Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz. Boys, this is Tommy Kinard, formerly of the 118 and currently probably regretting picking up my calls.”

They’d all shaken hands, faces serious. The weight of the moment and what they were about to do was heavy on their shoulders, despite Howie’s wisecracking, and it hadn’t even occurred to Buck to throw out his usual line about his nickname. And later, during his tour of Tommy’s station, it hadn’t really registered for Buck until they were halfway through that the other man had exclusively referred to him as Evan. It felt too late to correct him by the time he’d noticed.

And besides, he’d realized – much later – how much he liked the sound of Evan coming out of Tommy’s mouth.

Neither of them were big on pet names. Tommy would throw out the occasional sweetheart, which always made Buck melt a little inside, but it wasn’t a regular thing. Buck sometimes went for baby in intimate moments – babe, with what Tommy called “a tone,” if he was being a bit of a brat – but it was often as much for comedic effect as anything else.

They mostly just stuck to names. For Evan, the novelty of murmuring Tommy as he kissed his boyfriend’s Adam’s apple or his stubbly cheek or down the line of his happy trail never seemed to wear off. The masculine body under his hands and lips. The masculine name on his tongue.

He asked Tommy, once, after explaining his own weirdly complicated history with his name – and his parents, and his dead brother, and his long unwitting search for an identity – why he went by Tommy, not Tom or Thomas.

“I guess it sounds a little juvenile, doesn’t it?” Tommy said. “For a guy in his forties.”

“I mean, I don’t think so,” Buck said. “I think – I don’t know, I think it fits you. Like, I’ve heard other people call you Tom, but if I called you Tom, I feel like that’s a different person, almost. Someone I don’t even know.”

“I feel the same way about Buck,” Tommy admitted. “Hen says it, I don’t even blink. I know it’s you. But if I say it? It’s like, who is that.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy shifted a little on the couch. Plucked at his jeans, wrapped an arm around Buck’s shoulders and then immediately shifted again so he could run his fingers through Buck’s hair.

“I’ve told you a little about my dad,” he said eventually. “About how we don’t… get along. Never did, really, even when I was just a kid.” He paused, for long enough that Buck looked up enquiringly, only to see Tommy staring off into the middle distance.

“But I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that I was named after him,” Tommy continued eventually.

“Wait, really?”

“Really. I am technically a junior. Thomas Edward Kinard, Jr. He actually wanted my birth certificate to say “the second,” but my mom put her foot down.”

“Wow. I had… no idea.”

“I stopped using the junior a year or two into my stint in the service. Dropped it completely when I came out to Los Angeles. Changed my driver’s license and just… didn’t put it on the paperwork. I’m sure that won’t come back to bite me in the ass someday.”

Tommy laughed, short and sarcastic, and Buck frowned. He’d only heard that laugh a couple of times, but he didn’t like it. He wormed his way out from beneath Tommy’s arm so he could take one of his broad hands between his own, petting over hairy knuckles and a calloused palm.

“Have you ever thought about changing it? Choosing something new?” he asked hesitantly.

“No. Never. He took enough from me, over the years,” Tommy said harshly. “He doesn’t get to take my name, too, even if it did come from him. Besides, it pisses him off enough that I went by Tommy past the age of sixteen. Changing my name would feel like… would feel like giving in.”

“I get that,” Buck said thoughtfully.

He squeezed Tommy’s hand one more time, then put it aside and climbed carefully into his boyfriend’s lap. Tommy let out a soft grunt of surprise as Buck wound his arms around his neck and tipped his face up for a kiss.

Buck obliged him. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said softly, lips brushing against Tommy’s, “I love your name. I love how it sounds when I say it. Tommy,” he murmured, and Tommy swallowed hard. “It fits you. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s you. And I – I love you. So I love your name.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words, but it was still new enough that they tasted fresh and exciting.

“I love you, too,” Tommy said quietly. “Evan,” he said, and kissed him again.

this was supposed to be something fun and silly based on this post but then it developed emotions and that's why it's a day late.

[nickfowlerrr]

all i want

pairing: andy barber x curvy!reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only. cockwarming. little tiny bit of teasing. liiiittle bit of a daddy kink.

notes: shockingly enough, this was meant to be a drabble. it very much is not. enjoy!

inspired by this txt post, this is one of seven characters i’m writing this prompt of sorts for. thank you in advance for reading and as always, reblogs and comments and welcome and so appreciated.

It’s all perfectly innocent to start the night, really it is. Your yearly tradition of watching Miracle on 34th Street after trimming the tree is one that neither of you would want to skip out on. And so far this season, between the trial that has had Andy so stressed and your long shifts at the hospital, there has been quite a bit you’ve ended up skipping.

You paid to have the Christmas lights strung up instead of decorating yourselves, the Christmas tree this year came from the grocery store parking lot Andy passed on his way home yesterday instead of the tree farm you always went to to chop down your own, and your annual Christmas Eve party is a no go this year, too. You’re both too busy, too stressed, too tired.

Andy sits on the couch, getting the movie ready to play, while you’re in the kitchen. You slide the bowl of cookie dough you whipped up into the fridge to chill for an hour or two before baking right as the kettle begins to whistle.

You walk back over to the stove, moving it off the burner before carefully pouring the boiling water into the waiting mugs of coco powder.

“Andy, do you want marshmallows?” you call, knowing your voice will carry into the next room. You stir the powder as you wait for his response, plopping a few mini marshmallows into your mug before your face scrunches up a bit. You turn, ready to peek into the living room to repeat yourself, and jump a bit as you’re met with Andy leaning in the doorway.

His arms are crossed over his chest and you are momentarily distracted by how big his arms look in his sweater. You know it’s soft and you can’t wait to cuddle into him and finally have a chance to relax while you watch the movie.

Your eyes flit to his and then you finally see the look of incredulity on his handsome, bearded face. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he speaks before you can.

“Did you just call me Andy?” he asked, sounding disgusted and a little distraught.

You gape a moment, thinking back to what it was you said, and almost immediately realize that you indeed did. You flounder for only a second before shaking your head, “No,” you lie, “I dont think so.”

“Yes,” he states, pushing off the doorframe and starting toward you, “you did.”

You back up, bumping into the counter behind you as he stalks closer. You fight your smile as a thrill runs through you when he cages you in, his arms either side of you as he stands right before you. He leaves almost no space between you and you can see in his eyes what you’re sure he can see in yours.

Longing, desire, and maybe just a hint of desperation…

It’s been two weeks since you have had anything close to alone time together. Your shifts have been all over the place and you’re either heading to work as Andy is coming home, or leaving just as he gets up to start getting ready for his day. Even your weekends have been taken over. Andy has been working nonstop, but you both promised each other that this weekend would be just for you two. No work, no parties, no distractions. The closest thing to intimate you’ve gotten in two weeks has been your parting kisses. You’ve only shared the bed a few days this past week and you’ve both been so exhausted that the furthest you’ve gotten has been cuddling.

So right here and now, that look in his eyes, you know you’re both thinking about the same thing.

“I’m sorry,” you offer in your attempt to appease him.

“You’re sorry …,” he prompts, waiting for you to address him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you press against him, a smile playing on your lips. “Babe…honey…love,” you continue with the pet names, your fingers dancing across his sweater clad chest before you lean in real close, your lips against his ear before you whisper breathily, “Daddy.”

The sharp breath he takes at the title has you biting your lip to stop the smirk threatening to break out.

You let a hand come up, squeezing the back of his neck gently before your fingers find his hair, almost playing with it as you massage his neck a bit. Andy drops his head as his eyes close under your touch, pressing you back against the counter as he leans into you. He lets out a heavy sigh as your other hand comes up to cup his cheek.

“You’re so tense,” you say, leaning in to kiss him softly. He returns the kiss, his arms coming closer and wrapping around you, pulling you flush to him.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, your noses brushing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you kiss him gently once more before letting him go, turning back around to the mugs of coco waiting for you.

Andy doesn’t let you go, just watches as you finish making the cups.

You lean your head back, “marshmallows?” you ask again, earning a smile and a nod from him.

-

The still warm mugs of hot chocolate are on the coffee table before you as you snuggle into Andy.

That tingle you got earlier in the kitchen still hasn’t gone away as you hug Andy, his arm holding you to him in turn.

You don’t want to force anything. You’re both tired, that’s obvious, but god, you miss him. All of him.

You don’t even really want to have sex right now, you just want to be closer. You need him closer.

His eyes are open but you can see the exhaustion in the slightest squint of his eyes as he watches the screen. You lean up, pressing your lips delicately against his exposed throat, once, twice, three times as you work your way up.

“Mmm,” he breathes deeply, holding back a moan under your attention. “Baby,” he warns.

“I know,” you say, a hand rising to stroke his hair as you sit up and move into his lap. “I know, I’m tired, too. We don’t have to do anything,” you let your head rest against his, your noses brushing once more, “I just… I just want to feel you,” you speak so quietly but he can hear the plea in your voice and it squeezes his chest. And he can’t lie and say that the desperation he hears isn’t turning him on a bit, either.

If you want to feel him, he’ll make sure you feel him.

Your hands are lightly in his hair, holding his head as you lean in to kiss him. One kiss, you breathe into him as you pause against each others lips, then another, and another, before your tongue licks into his mouth. He sucks on you lightly before his tongue takes over, his effortless dominance always winning out.

You can feel him growing beneath you and you feel yourself growing slicker in turn.

You pull away from his kiss reluctantly to stand and rid yourself of your pajama pants, while he drags his sweats down. His cock is hard and you inhale sharply at the sight. It’s only been two weeks but you’d almost forgotten just how big he really is.

You hold his shoulder, his hands coming to your chubby waist as you come back to your spot on his lap. You’re on your knees, straddling him as you position yourself above him. One of his hands comes to his cock, the other sliding down your curves as he grips your hip.

He moves his dick up and down your pussy, playing with your wetness as your eyes shut in delight at the feeling, your hands squeezing his shoulders.

He gets himself wet with your slick before he lines the head of his cock up to your entrance. His hand on your hip urges you down, and you slowly sink onto his thick length. You moan in unison as you take him in, a “fuck” leaving Andy’s lips when the first inch of him was finally inside of you.

His hand is holding you, his thumb rubbing the soft, blemished skin of your hip as he urges you to take more of him with his sweet praises.

“You take me so well, baby. Just a little bit more, I know you can do it. Doing so good, sweetheart. Always so fucking good,” he full on moans the last few words as you sit fully on his strong lap with a whimper. He’s seated completely inside of you as you bury your head in his neck.

You feel his lips as he kisses your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other lightly kneads your thick thigh.

You sigh heavily, relaxing into him as you rest your head against his chest, your velvety walls squeezing his cock of their own volition every so often, earning moans from both of you as he keeps you full of him, the movie still playing as you try to focus on that instead.

But you’re so tired, and so content in Andy’s hold, the pleasure and closeness enough to lull you asleep, you do just that. The cookies can wait until tomorrow.

Andy is smiling to himself as he holds you, he hasn’t been this relaxed since before the start of his current trial. Because with you this close, he’s calm and more than content. This is what he’s been needing. You.

He tenses just a little when your walls squeeze him again, a soft moan slipping past your lips. He moans quietly in turn, still holding you tight.

A moment passes and he has to laugh at the soft snore that leaves you next. He doesn’t want to leave your warmth just yet, he wants to feel you - it’s been too long. So he’ll finish the movie and then he’ll bring you to bed. You’ll cuddle and sleep in each other’s embrace, and all the while he’ll be sure to keep you full of him.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with his cock still inside of you, your wetness leaking out from around his thick length, he won’t mind one bit about getting woken up by you fucking yourself stupid on his cock. He’s all yours, whenever you want him. And he still owes you for your teasing in the kitchen. He’ll make sure to show you exactly just how much Daddy has missed you.

[megantronusprime]

y'all ever think about the 10 years engie spent as a roughneck in the oilpatch? because I do.

Like, do you think he was trying to break away from the family legacy of becoming a mercenary? that maybe that boy in the picture, trying his father's goggles wanted nothing more than to be an engineer just like his daddy - even had a natural knack for it too, said his dad, just like him and his father before him - and was too young to see clearly the toll it took on him and his family? do you think that, as he got older, he would begin to recognize the extremes his father and grandfather went to for their work, obsessing over it, even experimenting on their own bodies. do you think he came across his mother crying at the kitchen table late one night, unable to recognize the loving man she married who now never came home and obsessed over his work, and decided right then and there that he wasn't going to be that man to his family? that he was going to forge his own path - be his own man, and break free from the Conagher family curse?

so, maybe, at the age of 18, he began working as a roughneck in the oilfields of west Texas. It was hard manual labour, long days spent on drilling rigs with the Texas sun beating down on him, but it was good money, and though some of his coworkers were rough most of them were good enough guys and he along with most of 'em. and hey, sometimes maybe there were even on-the-spot practical problems to be solved - issues with the drill that in a fast-paced environment like that couldn't wait for a proper tech to come around and solve? and in those moments, engie would step in and fix the issue quickly, working without hesitation, like it was second nature to him. And maybe his coworkers would always remark upon his natural aptitude? ("you're in the wrong line of work, Dell.") Maybe he would shrug it off, say it weren't nothin' - just hung around his father a lot growin' up and learned a thing or two - but deep inside, he hoped for more of those opportunities to fix things, and maybe those little moments of on-the-spot fixes were the very things he looked forward to most. And maybe, even as he gained a reputation for being a mr. fix-it amongst his coworkers, given odd things outside of work to tinker on, it wasn't enough. maybe slowly, over the years, with each thing he worked on, the flames of his intellectual curiosity were stoked more and more, until eventually, he went back home and visited his mom, during his week off. And, late one night, against his better judgement, he went into his father's workshop - untouched, everything covered in a layer of dust (he hadn't been home in years). he knew he shouldn't. He could feel the gnawing at him, the voice demanding him to give in to his intellectual curiosity and follow in his father's footsteps getting louder. He had been trying to fight it, but he finally reached his breaking point and went into his father's blueprints. that was what tipped him over the edge. He spent the whole night, locked away in his father's workshop, poring over each design, his mind racing with ideas of how he could make it better. He couldn't stand it anymore, he needed more. When the sun came back up again, Dell informed his mother that after 10 years, he was quitting his job and enrolling for university. and although he was certain that he would not become the same man his father and grandfather was, as sure as he would be an engineer, but do it differently and not succumb to the family curse. And although his mother smiled, ever gentle and encouraging of her son, coffee mug in hand, there was a sadness in her eyes. Because she knew that Dell always had the same tenacity and obsessive intellectual curiosity his father has. And if Dell was going to do this, there was no moderation. He was going to fling himself into it completely, lose sleep, lose focus of everything else. And she was right.

...

OR maybe he always knew he was going to be an engineer and was like, "well, I'm going to do a whole lot of schooling, so what's the best way to save up for tuition? oh yeah! work in the oilfield for a few years :)" lol

[flamemittens]

maybe for morgayne and gortash?

Flower Language prompts from here!

Gortash x F!Durge. 1.3k words. *Act 3 spoilers*.

*Now extended and on AO3*

Black-eyed Susan - "Revenge tastes sweet, and so are you."

The first time she meets with him is shortly after the coronation ceremony.

Her companions do not want her to go alone, but Morgayne insists. It is better this way. There is an inexorable pull towards the man that she finds she cannot ignore, and he seems to have at least some of the answers she seeks—if he is telling the truth. They have heard the rumours—from whispers that coil in dark corners, to braver shouts that ring off the buildings and cobblestoned streets—all over parts of the city and its outskirts; in his rise from upstart lordling to city ruler and protector, he has used everything and everyone—whether at his disposal or not—to ascend.

She finds him upstairs in his office, as promised.

He assures her that their plans can still be brought to fruition. He confidently directs, explains to her what they should do, and Gods, that evasive something in her wants to listen. It is all so frustratingly, distantly recognizable. Hypnotic, in a way.

There must be more to it, she thinks. To them. She recalls the torn page she found in the Moonrise mindflayer colony, and its frenetic, tormented penmanship.

“Lord Gortash. Who were we to each other? Really?”

He seems to wince, for some reason, at her use of his title. After a brief silence, he finally offers his answer.

“I meant what I said in the audience hall. You can use that as a reference if you wish.”

Morgayne frowns. “As strange as it may seem, that does not make things much clearer. I only have more questions.”

“Well then. Allow me to fill in some more of the specifics for you, in a way that leaves no room for interpretation.”

“Please do.”

“Have a seat, then.” He sees her hesitate, and adds, in a strangely gentler tone, “I insist.”

They talk for an hour before she takes her leave.

--

She returns to him again a day or two later. She doesn’t really know what draws her there; perhaps it is this nostalgic, tenuous thread of intimacy and trust that she cannot yet determine the root of.

They talk further.

“How are your memories?” he asks, after a while.

Morgayne sighs. “It’s like trying to complete a puzzle but all the pieces are broken, scattered, and some will forever be missing. However, some things are coming back to me, I think. Slowly.”

Something like delight flares in his dark eyes. Something like hope.

She stays for longer this time.

“How was your Archduke, darling?” Astarion asks later as he sidles up to her on her return to the Elfsong, amusement plain on his beautiful features.

“He is not my Archduke” she counters flatly, feeling none of the conviction she tries so hard to imbue the words with.

--

“I heard you went to the Hells today” Gortash begins the next time she visits him. “You’ve been busy, my dear.”

“Yes” she confirms.

She tells him about it all, of Helsik, of Hope, of Nubaldin. Of what the self-important rock gnome revealed before she was compelled to sear the flesh from his bones, to burn away his smug grin—but not how she later felt she had been told part of the story before. That she keeps to herself for now. She speaks of the Master of the House, and how she robbed him blind.

Any other eyes on the scene would think he is not reacting, but she sees something subtle in the set of his jaw, the rise of his shoulders, the pitch of his eyes. How one clawed gauntlet grips the edge of the table, pressing marks into the oak, how the knuckles on his other tightly fisted hand are turning white. How he won’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on the floor as she talks.

“Raphael is dead” she finishes.

His eyes flick to hers eventually, the tension bleeding out of him faster than it bloomed.

“It’s…curious, isn’t it” he muses.

She doesn’t need to ask what he means.

--

As per their agreement, she goes to him after her duel with Orin.

She tells him what happened, down there in the dark. How she defied her father. How she lay there, drained and dead on the cold, bloodstained stone. How she came to be here now, telling him about it all.

“You have our—your revenge, then. And your freedom.”

She takes a mouthful of the Marsember Blush, lets it linger on her tongue before swallowing. It’s a balmy evening, and the wine is as refreshing as it is spicy.

“Yes. It would seem I do.”

He studies her with an almost unnerving intensity over the rim of his glass.

“I always knew, Mori.” is all he says.

That’s the name engraved on the inside of the ring she wears on her right hand, she thinks.

Her Archduke looks tired tonight.

--

The letter arrives the next afternoon, precisely crafted if a little concise, and mildly fragranced like his coronation invitation. She takes it to a quiet corner to read, drinking in its scent. His scent. It is one line, with an Upper City address at the bottom.

M Come to this address tonight. I can promise you it will be worth your while.” E

Later, she slips away from the others, but is intercepted by Jaheira on the landing outside their rooms. The older half-elf appears concerned. She can’t say it isn’t justified.

“I feel we are losing you.”

“Interesting that you should say that. I feel I am finding myself.” She packs as much of an apology as she can into her smile.

Jaheira looks as if she understands somehow. “Be careful, cub” she says, after a beat.

A short time later, Morgayne reaches the building in question. It’s a sprawling, well-appointed manor like many of those in the Upper City. She glances down one side of the building, spotting a tall trellis thick with ivy that scales up to a balcony. A fragment comes back to her then—heavy rain, gloved fingers slipping on the wood before finally reaching stone.

On entering, she is welcomed and led upstairs; she notices the guards, yes, but also the minimal staff, the thin coat of dust over almost everything—he does not come here much anymore, she recognises.

She is ushered into what she is informed are his personal chambers.

Gortash—Enver—sits at a desk, nearby a large chaise that faces an unlit fireplace. Multiple pages of what looks to be Steel Watcher schematics are spread over its surface. A decanter and tumbler, both half-filled with amber liquid, sit at his elbow. He is casually dressed, save for his golden gauntlets.

“Ah, there you are. You found your way here, at last.”

He rises as she approaches, walking around to stand in front of her.

She sees it all then, plain on his face. Relief. Pride. Desire.

He leans in with a confidence, a lover’s closeness that she supposes he has already earned, long ago. Something clicks into place as she smells the whisky on him—it’s less a moment of realization and more of a punch to the chest that steals her breath away—it speaks of the past, of hushed conversations and affection and trust.

The air seems to become warmer, thicker with every passing moment. He’s orchestrated all of this, she knows now. A tableau of echoes just for her.

She believes it all, feels the truth in it.

He kisses her then, and she kisses him back. It’s clumsy at first, like a musician trying to recall a once beloved tune, but she falls into the familiar rhythm soon enough. He trails his mouth along her jawline and pulls her flush against him, as one hand slides round the back of her neck and up into the base of her braid—the cool metal against her warm skin is…grounding.

“Stay here” he murmurs into her ear. “Where you belong. Don’t go back to them.”

And Gods help her, she stays.

[lavellenchanted]

Friedrich and Edwina headcanons?

OKAY SO

neither of them are looking for love when they meet

after the disaster of her debut season, edwina doesn't really trust anyone anymore, including herself, and has decided it's better to find a decently kind husband who respects her rather than one who makes pretty declarations of love she'll never really believe

friedrich's not actually in london for the season, he's here in a diplomatic capacity to discuss the problem of napoleon escaping from elba and retaking france but his aunt charlotte asks him to stay for a while and he's always had a soft spot for her so he can't say no

she takes him to the next ball and friedrich is immediately mobbed by mothers wanting to introduce him to their eligible daughters - he's polite, courteous, but his cheeks are aching from the false smiling and his feet are tired from the dancing when he notices there's one girl in the room that he hasn't been introduced to (who's also the prettiest girl in the room, in his opinion), who he thinks he has only seen dancing once or twice and spent most of the evening sat by herself in the corner

he asks one of his cousins about her and he just shrugs and says, "well, no one wants to court a woman who runs away at the altar" but doesn't explain more than that and friedrich leaves it because he has no wish to dance any more tonight but he does think it's a crime for a woman that lovely to be left by herself

edwina noticed the handome, golden-haired prince, of course, and thought about how last year she might have been one of those girls eagerly anticipating a dance with him, but she no longer believes in fairytales and she certainly doesn't believe in prince charming, and he will certainly want nothing to do with her, so there's no point in seeking an introduction

she doesn't think of him again until a few nights later when they attend the opera - she is (regrettably) in the bridgerton box which is near enough to the royal box that she can see the prince and see the lady sat by him (one of the queen's favourites, she thinks) and she hear the woman trying to flirt with him through the entire performance by asking him to translate what they're singing; the prince answers politely enough the first few times but is clearly getting exasperated and when he outright lies and starts making up an entirely different plotline edwina, who can understand it all perfectly, can't help laughing

and apparently she's near enough that the prince can her as well, because he turns and his eyes meet her briefly when she laughs and she can't be entirely sure in the dark but when he turns back again she thinks he's smiling as well

two days later edwina has been persuaded to join the bridgertons in hyde park when the prince, out for a stroll with his friend the earl of kilmartin, stops to greet daphne and she introduces them

friedrich bows over her hand and cannot resist greeting her - this dark-eyed girl who he has been wondering about since the opera - in german, just to be sure she really was laughing for the reason he thought. sure enough she replies in kind, and he feels rather triumphant because the first time he saw her she looked so solemn and sad and it feels like an accomplishment to have made her laugh.

they fall into easy conversation and he mentions a ball he's been invited to, and asks if she will be there and if he might claim a dance - but her face falls a little and she replies softly that no, she's not been invited

he asks his aunt about her that evening and she pulls a face and tells him the whole story, though with an emphasis on how embarrassing it was for her to have her diamond run out on her wedding

he feels angry on edwina's behalf just hearing it, but even more so when he attends the ball and sees all the bridgertons have been invited and it is only edwina that has been excluded

she is, however, invited to the queen's ball the next week, which is a masquerade - and her favourite ball of the season so far as fewer people seem to recognise her beneath the mask and she does not hear as many whispers following her about

friedrich recognises her immediately, though, and asks her for a dance. she hesitates but they are masked after all so she lets him whirl her into a waltz and when the music ends and he looks into her eyes she can hardly breathe and it's the most terrifying thing she's ever felt

so when he calls on her the next day she tries to put him off, saying her reputation will only harm him, but he only smiles and reminds her that he's a prince of prussia and a little english gossip won't harm him and, besides, he only wishes to be her friend

that makes her relax a little, because she can do friends

and they quickly become good friends, she finds, he enjoys listening to her talk about philosophy and poetry and starts teaching him tamil and in return he tells her of his interest in history and astronomy (picked up from his uncle george, before his illness got very bad) and teaches her to play chess

and if sometimes she finds him watching her with a tender expression on his face that makes her heart thump wildly in her chest, and if sometimes she wonders what it would feel like to kiss him or remembers his what his arms felt like around her while they were waltzing she determinedly ignores it

because she has learned not to trust to fairytales and even as she grows fonder of him she wonders if she's mistaken about him, if he's hiding part of himself from her, if she'll learn something that changes everything, or turn around one day to see him giving that look to someone else

then there comes a night when someone drops a glass and it shatters and friedrich pales and starts shaking, his eyes far away, and edwina takes him outside and holds his hand until he's come back to himself, and he tells her a little of his experiences in the war and how they haunt him still

she tells him of her heartbreak, of the anger that she has tried to push a way but still sears its way through her at times, of the doubt she can never quite get rid of

his thumb gently strokes her fingers as he asks her if she thinks that two somewhat broken people might be able to help piece each other back together

"I don't know," she says, quietly, "but I'd like to think so."

she can't quite admit that she loves him yet, not even to herself - it's not until he has to leave to fight napoleon once more, when he's gone and she reads the papers anxiously every day for reports, and realises that she's more frightened that she'll never get the chance to tell him than she is of being hurt again that she understands how she feels

when he does return (with a few new scars but no permanent injuries) she throws herself into his arms, and he holds her tight against him, and for the first time there's no doubt in her mind at all

they marry in as small a ceremony as is possible for royalty, and although they'll spend much of their time in prussia, queen charlotte gifts them an estate in england for their wedding gift so they always have a home there as well

many years later, when edwina has given birth to their fifth child and friedrich is leading their others in to greet their new sister, she thinks to herself that perhaps fairytales aren't real, but that doesn't mean happily ever afters don't exist

[godlizzza]

Holiday prompt: teenage danbert where herbert gets to spend christmas eve/morning with dan's family?

Herbert woke on Christmas morning with Dan's hair in his mouth. Wrinkling his nose, he eased back and spat the brown strands out, squinting at the pale light filtering in between the crack in the curtains and slicing across his face. He tried to sit up back Dan squeezed him tighter, arms locked around Herbert's waist and keeping him firmly pressed against the mattress. Herbert glanced down at him and saw Dan's mouth quirk up at the corners.

He finally opened his brown eyes to look up at Herbert and say, "Merry Christmas."

It was the same thing he'd said last night at the stroke of twelve. He'd pestered him into staying up until midnight purely to wish him a happy Christmas the second he could. Herbert had found him as trying then as he did now, but he couldn't fight the swell of fondness that rose in his chest. It was all such a Dan thing to do.

"Merry Christmas to you too," he mumbled back, poking Dan's nose and smirking at his subsequent scowl. "Sleep well? Or were you too excited thinking of Santa to get any shut eye?"

"I slept amazing," Dan replied haughtily. "But only because I had my human body pillow to keep me company."

He ducked his head down and burrowed into Herbert's chest, nuzzling his sternum hard. Herbert squirmed and shoved at his head, but Dan held firm, hands raking down Herbert's back and slipping dangerously close to his sides. Herbert instantly went stiff and grabbed Dan's wrists, halting his hands before his treacherous fingers could slip beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't you tickle me," he gasped desperately. "If you do, I can't be held responsible for my reflexes."

Dan rolled his eyes but his smile was still soft and syrupy, sweetened with remnants of sleep still sticking to him. "You and your sensitive nerves..."

He gently leaned in and pressed his lips to Herbert's collarbone, where the neck of his shirt dipped low enough to expose the skin of his chest. Herbert shivered at the contact and felt Dan smile against his skin.

"Sooo sensitive," Dan went on in a whisper, trailing his lips higher and kissing Herbert's neck.

Herbert hummed somewhere in the back of his throat, his hands coming to rest on Dan's shoulders. The trouble with sharing a bed with Dan was that they always inevitably wound up here: with Dan's hands and lips and on him, pressing him into the mattress. Herbert didn't dislike it, but he did think Dan could perhaps work on not being so predictable. He was warm though. Positively toasty, in fact. The heat of his body wafted up between them, caged in by the plush comforter and forming a cocoon around them. Herbert's eyes slipped shut as Dan pressed a kiss beneath his jaw and he basked in that warmth.

They didn't have long to indulge, however, before a light rapping came at the door. Herbert opened his eyes to watch Dan blink over his shoulder towards the knocking.

"Danny, Herbert," came the chipper voice of Dan's mother, Leanne, "Are you two up yet?"

"Yeah, Mom," Dan grumbled, releasing his octopus-like grip on Herbert and sitting up. He yawned and stretched, his joints popping with the motion. He sleepily scratched at the light trail of hair dusting his stomach and smacked his lips a couple of times. "We're up."

"Oh, good!" she chirped. "I'm making eggs. Herbert, dear? How would you like yours?"

"Scrambled, please," Herbert replied, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table."

"You got it. See you two in a minute."

Leanne's voice disappeared as her footsteps grew distant, heading towards the stairs. There had been a time when she may have swung the door open with less prompting. After one particularly close call when she had nearly walked in on the two of them making out on top of the sheets, Dan had apparently concocted some story that Herbert was exceedingly private and paranoid about people walking into his room unannounced. Ever since, Leanne had gone out her way to deliberately knock and not enter until Dan gave her the go-ahead. Herbert liked her that much more for it. He couldn't imagine his own mother ever being so considerate.

He followed Dan out of the cosy bed with some regret. He'd never been much of one for Christmas, so a day spent laying beneath a pile of warm blankets sounded just as good a way to spend Christmas day than anything else he could think of. But the Christmas aspect had been what Dan was so excited to have Herbert over for, so he supposed their itinerary was to be more than simply lazing about.

"You're sure this is okay?" Herbert asked, tugging at his pajama shirt as he and Dan padded down the stairs.

Dan glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking down to catch Herbert fiddling with his buttons, and a grin spread across his face. "Of course, it's okay. You don't need formal dress for this. It's Christmas morning, not dinner at the royal palace."

Herbert frowned but didn't fight him on it. If walking around in his plaid pajamas and socks was okay by the Cain household, he supposed that was fine. It still felt unnatural and odd though. Discomfort prickled up his spine, the irrational fear that his grandfather would spring out from behind a potted plant and accuse him of being a slob itched at the base of his skull. He ignored it though as he and Dan descended the stairs and were welcomed by the smell of frying eggs.

Leanne turned from the stove and gave them a warm smile as they entered the living room. She wore a pink Santa hat and an apron embroidered with a smiling snowman over her nightdress. She waved her spatula at them as Dan tugged Herbert over towards the glimmering Christmas tree.

His father, Scott, was down on his knees, lighting the fireplace. The chopped logs and kindling lit, the fire crackling to life in the hearth. He sat back and clapped his hands together, sending a shower of soot raining down from his palms, onto the carpet. He was also wearing his pajama bottoms, but had on a truly gaudy Christmas sweater, decorated little flashing bulbs. He smiled as Dan excitedly sat down by the stack of presents beneath the pine's green branches.

"Morning, boys," Scott greeted in his usual booming voice. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank you," Herbert replied, slowly sinking down to sit beside Dan on the plush rug. "Merry Christmas to you as well."

Dan paused in his ogling of the wrapped presents to shoot a little smile at Herbert. Herbert just glared right back, daring him to say something. He always gave him grief for being what he called 'overly polite' to his parents, but Herbert had no idea how he was supposed to talk to them otherwise. He certainly couldn't pal around with them in the casual way Dan did. That would be...obscene.

"Ready for breakfast?" Scott asked.

"Dad," Dan whined. "Can't we do the presents first?"

"Daniel Jonathan Cain," Leanne chided as she shuffled into the living room, patting down her apron. "You haven't changed since you were a baby." She shot a sparkling smile at Herbert and said, "I used to have to hide his presents in the attic. If I left them under the tree, he'd sneak them away to his room and open them early."

Dan pouted, a blush colouring his cheeks. "I did that one time."

"One time too many," Leanne corrected, then settled down on the arm of the sofa. "But I think we can put Dan out of his misery and do the presents first."

Dan pumped his fist and scrambled to grab the nearest parcel; a small box wrapped in green paper, tied off with a silver ribbon. He shredded the paper apart, flinging the scraps over his shoulders and tearing the box open to reveal a baseball. Herbert frowned slightly at this. Sure, Dan liked baseball, but didn't he have balls already? What did he need with one more? His thoughts were interrupted by Dan's loud gasp. He clutched the box tightly in his hands and brought it an inch from his nose, his eyes wide as he examined it.

"Is that-?" Dan stammered. "Dennis Eckersley?" He lowered the box and stared in wonderment at his dad, who just smiled knowingly back. "You got me a ball signed by Dennis Eckersley? How?"

"Got your Uncle Marv to go to charity auction event for me. Told him to get whatever was best. Soon as he told me he got that ball, I knew you'd love it," Scott replied with a chuckle.

"I do love it," Dan said, hugging the ball tight to his chest. "Thanks, Dad."

Scott clapped Dan on the shoulder and squeezed. Herbert watched the interaction, his eyes glued to where Scott's fingers dug into the fabric of Dan's sweatshirt. When was the last time his father had touched him? Shown him affection? Spoken to him at all? He couldn't remember. Probably not for a long time. After all, conversing with his son would hardly fit in with the busy schedule Grandfather had made for him.

Herbert watched the Cains open several more presents after that: Leanne got Scott a new lawnmower, Dan gave his parents a framed photo of the three of them on some vacation they'd all taken together, Scott got Leanne concert tickets to a band Herbert had never heard of before, and Dan opened several more presents from his parents and extended family. Herbert observed it all from his comfy spot on the floor. It seemed like a scene out of a holiday movie, full of smiles, looks of fondness, and family cheer. With the warmth of the fireplace and the scraps of torn wrapping paper at his feet, Herbert felt cosy in a way he never had on Christmas before. His Christmases were usually spent doing his summer homework from his room, watching the snow fall outside and wondering if his mother would force him to accompany her to a charity dinner.

"This one's for you, Herbert dear."

Herbert's reverie popped like a soap bubble as he came back to himself and blinked at the silver polka-dotted parcel Leanne was holding out to him. He took it without thinking, then frowned down at it in confusion.

"For me?"

"Yes, of course!" Leanne said, her hands knitted together on her lap. "I knew I had to get you something as soon as I knew you'd be spending Christmas with us. It's such a shame you can't be with your own family this year, but I hope you feel at home with us, all the same."

His parents were actually spending Christmas together for once, though it was in France, without Herbert. His father was there for business reasons, and his mother had insisted she come along, though that invitation had not been extended to their son. It suited Herbert just fine- no stuffy dinners to attend with his mother, spent being paraded and ordered to play little ditties on the piano- but Dan had been appalled when he'd told him.

"You can't spend Christmas alone," Dan had insisted.

"I won't be alone," Herbert had replied. "Colette will be there."

Dan had rolled his eyes at this. "Your maid doesn't count. No. No way. You're coming over to my house, no questions asked."

In the present, Herbert blinked at the three faces pointed his way. That uncomfortable itch was back, scraping at the nape of his neck. He had to look away, tugging at a thread on his elbow.

"Thank you, but, um. I didn't get you anything," he admitted, to which Leanne waved him off.

"Don't you worry about that. I just saw this and knew you had to have it."

"Yeah," Scott agreed, one arm around his wife's shoulders. "Go ahead, Champ. Open it up."

Herbert's eyes sought Dan, who gave him an encouraging nod. Herbert swallowed down against the dryness in his throat and did just that, peeling back the paper until a bright sweater revealed itself. He picked it up and held it out before him, the knitted wool rolling down to reveal the image woven into the fabric.

"Oh, Mom, that's great," Dan said.

"I know!" Leanne squealed, slapping Scott's leg. "Isn't it just perfect for him?"

In the middle of the green sweater was a picture of Albert Einstein wearing a Santa hat. A chain of what looked like gingerbread men holding hands was knitted into the hem of the sweater, making a ring around the waist. The cuffs were white with little atom symbols embroidered around the circumference.

"It might be a little big on you, Hon, but that's okay," Leanne said.

Dan knocked his knee against Herbert's and nodded at the garment. "Put it on," he urged.

Herbert, not knowing what else to do, wordlessly obeyed. He pulled the sweater over his head, taking care to not let the woolen strands get caught on his glasses. He threaded his arms through the sleeves then stared down at Einstein peering out from his chest. Leanne beamed, watching for his reaction.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

Herbert nodded, trailing his fingers along the soft wool. "Yes, thank you."

Leanne clapped her hands together excitedly. In that moment, she greatly resembled Dan getting ready to tear into some presents.

"I'm so glad," she sighed, pressing a hand over her breast. Then, with a click of her tongue, she rose to her feet, Scott's arm slipping from her shoulders. "Now, come along, you boys. Your eggs are getting cold."

"Yes, Maam," Scott grunted as he pushed himself from the sofa and followed after her.

He ruffled Dan's hair, earning him a cry of protest from his son, and patted Herbert's shoulder. Herbert stared at that hand on his shoulder, Scott's hand big and rough from a career spent toiling in gardens. His touch was there only for a moment, gone in a second, as though he hadn't even thought about the action at all. He paced after his wife, leaving Herbert and Dan alone by the tree.

Dan waited until his parents' voices grew faint as they entered the kitchen before turning to Herbert and speaking softly. "Well? How're you liking your first real Christmas morning?"

"Good," Herbert replied, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. "There are slightly less singing snowmen and elves than I'd anticipated, but this is still very nice."

Dan's eyebrows bumped up towards his hairline. "What kind of movies have you been watching? Without me?" When Herbert made a big show of shrugging innocently, Dan's expression broke into a grin and he ducked his chin down. Leaning forward, he murmured into Herbert's ear, "For what it's worth, I'm really happy your here. Everything's way better when you're around."

Herbert had to press his lips into a straight, hard line to keep them from doing something stupid, like tilting into a lopsided, lovesick smile. That's what being in love with Dan was like though: sickening.

"I'm glad too," was all he replied with, but Dan's smile didn't dim.

"After breakfast, we can go sledding," he said, then nodded at the window. "Look. It's snowing."

Herbert turned and saw that Dan was right. Some time since they'd woken up, snow had begun to gently fall from the sky, adding to the piles of chilly white clumps blanketing the ground. The outside world looked like a giant hand had coated everything with glittering frosting. Children were already racing out of their homes, padded in layers of coats and scarves, to build snowmen and throw snowballs at each other. Just watching them made draw his knees up to his chest and bask in the bubble of warmth that was the Cain living room.

Dan pressed a hand to Herbert's back as they both watched the neighbourhood children play. He could feel that Dan wanted to do more- hug or embrace him- but with his parents only in the next room, it was impossible. Herbert cherished that hand though, leaned back against Dan's touch, simply luxuriating in him being so near.

"That sounds like fun," Herbert said, and Dan laughed.

Maybe he could learn to love Christmas if he could spend them all like this.

[sysig]

Sorry, I can’t, I’m just too cute today 💕 (Patreon)

[floralegia]

(you can say no to any of my requests btw LOL) #21, poly fob with pete in the middle 😈

"Patrick," Joe groans, "do something about him."

Patrick snorts from across the little living area as their bus rattles down the highway. "Why me?"

"He listens to you!"

"Sometimes. He listens to me sometimes. Don't you think if he was listening to me right now, I would have done something already?"

Pete scowls at the both of them, arms crossed, slouching down into the couch. They're a couple of assholes, is what they are. He's bored, okay? It's not his fault there's nothing to fucking do right now. He doesn't have cell signal out here in buttfuck nowhere, he's already read every book he brought on tour and watched every DVD on this bus at least twice, and trying to write earlier was an exercise in futility.

He turns a pleading look at Andy, the last bastion of hope that maybe one of these dudes who like to claim they love him will show him a little bit of sympathy, but alas, Andy just quirks an eyebrow at him, not giving an inch. "You're kind of being a little shit," he says, not budging even when Pete pouts, just flipping through his issue of Modern Drummer.

"I am not!"

"Pete, you literally haven't shut up since the last time we stopped for fuel. Which was three hours ago." Joe does not sound especially impressed as he says this. If nothing else, Pete would have hoped he'd respect the dedication, but apparently no dice.

Pete groans, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "You guys aren't normally this boring."

"Well," Andy says mildly, not even looking up from his magazine, "if you keep this up for much longer, we're gonna have to find a way to put your mouth to better use."

Everything freezes for a split second; even the road noise and the constant rush of air outside the bus windows seems to fall away. As the quiet drags on, Pete feels a slow smile creep across his face, widening into a shit eating grin. He'd known Andy would be at least a little sympathetic to his case. His guys always do pull through for him in the end.

"Works for me," he chirps happily, and without further ado, he scampers across the living area to throw himself to his knees at Andy's feet. Somewhere behind him, Joe's spluttering and Patrick's scoffing at the sudden change in atmosphere, something about how Andy shouldn't give in or negotiate with terrorists or whatever, but Pete literally couldn't care less anymore. Andy's rolling his eyes a little, but smiling down at him, and he even sets his magazine aside as he starts to wriggle out of his basketball shorts, so as far as Pete's concerned, things are really looking up.

For all their bitching, Pete's barely had Andy in his mouth for a minute--still soft, though hardening with every heartbeat--when he feels hands in his hair and looks up to see Joe and Patrick settling in above him on the couch, one on either side. He winks at them and gets an eyeroll back in stereo, but the fingers combing through his hair and petting at his face don't go anywhere, and he lets his eyes fall blissfully shut. He's practically purring, especially when Patrick's grip in his hair tightens to tug him further onto Andy's dick, or when Joe leans down to tweak his nipple, or when Andy says, "Good boy, Pete, doing so good."

And Pete just smiles (as best he can with a mouth full of dick, anyway) and leans into it, feeling his brain settle like he's been desperately hoping for all afternoon. This, this is perfect--not necessarily what he was angling for, per se, but honestly better than any boredom-buster he could have dreamed up. Trust his guys to come up with a perfect solution for him. Well, okay, mostly Andy, but he'll give Joe and Patrick participation points, at least. He's feeling awfully giving all of a sudden.

Giving, and so not bored anymore. Never let it be said that being a bit of a little shit sometimes doesn't work out for him, in the end.

[sillyabtmusic]

YOUR TAGS 😭😭😭😭😭 omg friend i am losing my mind 😭🫶 it's so special to be a part of a joke between you and your mom and also your own brain chemistry (???? 😭) truly appalling and awesome and i am honored

ALKDFJALDKJF very glad to hear you find it special because when i was tracking it down to reblog i for sure thought it'd be a bigger post then it was like 9 notes and i felt so silly reblogging it 😭 but yeah pretty much your ramblings about jongho and hongjoong are permanently embedded in my psyche now 🫶

[itoshi-s]

the blurb u posted about the rin & sae-nii 3sum reminded me of your itoshi divide poll lol- that being said, sae 100% degrades in this scenario and rin praises, but do u think they’d switch up at any point? 👀 cuz I personally think sae degrades like 90% of the time but still praises if ur really really good for him & then rin def gives more praise, still will degrade once in a while tho <33

(also I send u asks often so might as well claim an emoji :3 -🪷)

blurb in question!

UH OH i think they def switch up sometimes!

sae is the embodiment of tough love, will lure you in until you can't help but give in to him. but barely a second later he's in your ear, telling you how fucked up it is of you to be enjoying this :( (as if he's not like 3 thrusts away from spilling himself lol make up ur mind boy!!!!) i like to think of him as a bit of brat tamer if you will?? you really wish you could be on ur best behavior for him, but he's so rough and mean with his actions alone - and all your whining grants you all the more demeaning words instead. sae rly does know how to put that sharp mouth of his to good use :,3 makes you believe that all this whining and whimpering isn't going to get you anywhere - but truly, there's nothing else that gets him harder !! that being said, he'd definitely switch up as soon as you're reaching your limit i think - and it usually comes right around when he's just about to finish, too, so he naturally gets a little vulnerable as well. he'll squeeze your face in his hand and give you all the sweetest kisses, mumbling out praises and calling you his best girl :( he presses his lips to your reddened cheeks, where his fingers dug just moments ago, and wipes every tear away. he really does love his imouto so, so much, even if the way he treats you might be telling a whole different story!! :,)

rin on the other hand naturally gravitates to giving praise simply because he truly wants to reward you for being so good, yk?? i think sae's def more dismissive about the whole.. thing going on between you two - he knows it's not right by any book, but doesn't pay it much mind - and rin is the opposite. he doesn't feel bad per se, either, don't get me wrong!!, but it's also exactly what gets him off so much at the very same time. the way you give yourself to him, despite all moralities and common sense.. :( maybe he's lying to himself, and you, too, when he tells you how good you are, so eager to please and solely focused on him and making him feel better than anyone else in the world ever could. either way, he doesn't rly care. he means all of that, he really does, so he speaks the honeyed words without any filter at all. he can be so rough with you, hands tight around your neck until you're wheezing, hips bruising yours for what seems like hours now, but he's still holding you so close, eyes full of stars and mouth spilling the heavenliest of praises :( rin can be a lot, really, so he has to make sure you know he's so, so proud of you for taking it so well :( one of the situations where i can see him switching completely is when you start to act up a little too much - shying away from his touches, snapping at him (as if it's not natural for siblings to do that ??), giving him attitude in general. even worse if it's around sae!!!!! WHEW. he CAN be mean, and you know it, yet it always takes you aback anyways. rin's very passionate in his touches alone, always rough and greedy with his actions and it's hard to take him like this already - so imagine how insufferable he is when upset or annoyed </3 honestly i can see him with an even fouler mouth than sae's if you push the wrong buttons. he can and will make you cry lol AND sneer at you when he sees the tears :( BONUS: that's when sae will also soften up for sure !!!! switch up his role and be the knight in shining armor instead. probably tells rin to slow down and go easier on you, cause c'mon, why are you so mean all of a sudden, rin? and it only makes things worse :,) now he's pissed off because of both of u. good luck taking it lol

[random-kido]

Outlier ability that your body can’t fully support is kinda fucking stupid but also I feel like an earthquake ability that reaches 7 on the Richter scale and that allows you to kick people into orbit (this is canonical) is kinda too good for him so I’m nerfing his ass a little

[fortune-maiden]

ace attorney au- for tgcf? or au where Meng Yao shows up at Lanling not on Jin Zixuan's birthday but (somehow) in the period where JZX is off at the Wen indoctrination camp?

I love both of these :D

And funny that you mention a tgcf ace attorney au because @vicucha and I recently came up with a three tumors lawyer au (sorta) so I am obviously keeping that!

Pei Ming is a Defense Attorney. Ling Wen handles all the paperwork/investigation for the firm. Shi Wudu keeps the firm afloat because of course he does. (he hasn't been arrested for murder yet, so it's fine!)

Okay but that part aside, TGCF already kind of plays out a bit like an ace attorney game with Xie Lian solving various cases that slowly come together to create a bigger case.

Pei Ming and the Three Tumors are the rival defense attorneys in this AU because I feel like we haven't really had that yet in AA

Jun Wu is the judge naturally

Mu Qing & Feng Xin are the prosecutor and the detective. MQ is channeling his best Miles Edgeworth energy - he is excited to be able to fight against Xie Lian in court, and definitely not friends with him or anything. Feng Xin exists to make Xie Lian's investigations easier and Mu Qing's harder :)

I just finished reading Ling Wen's revised backstory last night so I have the Hua Cheng's Butterfly Dream spell on the mind as this AU's supernatural gimmick. Hua Cheng is Gege's mysterious assistant who allows him to enter the suspects/witnesses' Mental Scapes and gather various clues

SQX is going to get accused of murder at one point, and this is a trap for Shi Wudu who will never allow his sibling to go to jail (it does not actually matter to him if SQX is guilty). This results in a rivals team up/compete situation as well though because Pei Ming is also not letting his friend's sibling go to jail (plus he refuses to believe SQX is a murderer. He's met SQX), but SQX wants Xie Lian to defend them. This whole case turns into a mess because SWD *will* admit to a murder he didn't commit if it gets SQX off the hook, and will also make the investigation painful for everyone and drive friend and foe alike insane (PM isn't even competing with XL after a point. He's commiserating.) (And naturally the real murderer is He Xuan who wanted SWD to take the fall for it. He's unsuccessful but SWD's not off the hook after this trial because there's obviously a reason HX targeted him. All the crimes come out!)

Incidentally, SQX is being accused of murdering Ming Yi. Who is their best friend. Except something something identity hijinks and plastic surgery. So that's fun :)

[dracoserpentis]

@honorhearted

a light drizzle meets thorndil, skies above the city awash with streaks of green and blue. the day has been quieter than most as of late, the excitment of conflict to the east of which her parents had saved the lady myra from imprisonment having finally passed. though worrying talk had still plagued her mind. images of dark armies morphing into a kind of dark plague washing over the land in her dreams. myra's talk of things she had seen had had brought forth hushed tones among court of a time foretold even if many did not give such credence. they had always believed such a threat would come from the unknown reaches to the north not the east. lyliana wished her brother was there, for at least she'd have him to speak with for as rash as he could be at times he always seemed able to quell her fears and chase her nightmares away if only just by providing a comforting embrace. of course she could have spoken to sir ben but.. despite how silly such a thought was she didn't want him to think her weak for having such fears. he'd always been her most loyal friend and it had usually been her thrusting them into danger-- even if said danger was merely mingling secretly with the peoples of the city or venturing into the darhk forest when young. she'd always appeared the princess she was supposed to be, strong and brave. not a silly girl with nightmares of a time that perhaps would never come to pass in the first place.

darkness begins to meet the sky awhile later, the sun lowering as the twin moons appear just past the rings and she wonders what the sky might look like far way as she stands near the window of her chambers. she's heard tales the planets rings look different elsewhere, altering the whole look of the sky. <we could go there one day, i've seen it, i can show you.> the thought is projected into her mind from apo, blue hues washing over the city as she sees the dragon, his morph first dark and then turning golden as he soared above buildings and toward the dragon pits to rest. <maybe one day but not today. i think sir poe is still recovering from my last unexpected excursion. maybe sir ben is too.> she projects back, smiling. the tension in her shoulders eases and she decides to go in search of her youngest brother. one of her guard outside her door acknowledges her and she frowns slightly at the unexpectedness of who it is. wasn't sir ramsey supposed to be her guard for the evening? she had made a point to know of such things, determined that she was kind and friendly to all her guards and not just the one she'd grown up with. lyliana questions such being informed sir ramsey had been ill and required a healer, perhaps having eaten something which had not agreed with him. she has no reason to question it, further stating that she should visit him in the infirmary following finding prince cormac.

her door remains open still when strange sounds begin to emit through the palace. there's a scream that causes her pause, then metal clanking far down the corridor. alarm creases her features as sir edris moves closer to her, seemingly to usher her back inside her room, however he grabs her arm instead all pretense lost and a strange darkness covering his eyes like black glass. she questions what he's doing, shoving at him as he begins to unsheathe his sword. there's a loud crashing sound somewhere outside the palace, shaking the floor for a moment as if something large has attempted to break into the space. it gives her an opening to yank herself away from sir edris, the large vines outside her window directed toward him as she falls to the floor and he after her. he swings his sword at the vines before attempting to stab at her. he nearly succeeds, a large cut to her arm spilling blood on the floor of her chambers before she rolls away. her vines falter for a moment before she redirects them back toward him and when he attempts to stab her again she sends them through his neck though she's not entirely sure such was what she intended. lyliana doesn't have time to allow herself to comprehend what's just happened or what she's just done, her grabbing at his sword before moving out of her chambers. she's in kind of daze, apo sending her flashes gates opening and a dark army moving into the city though she can not quite muster actual words to send to him or understand fully what he's trying to communicate to her other than there was no means for a dragon to enter the castle so a dragon wasn't going to save her from whatever was happening.

another person, a knight for twins sake charges at her, the same look in his features, and she raises the sword against him. she may not be as skilled as jayson or ben when it comes to swordplay but she knows enough. she needs to get to her brother. to her mother and her father. but first her brother. he'd be the least able to defend himself. she manages to shove the knight down the stairs before she's moving again. but what she finds when she gets to cormac's chambers sends a chill through her body. his guards are dead outside the ajar door and she nearly drops the sword then and there despite the sounds of conflict coming from all directions now. her footfalls are slow, too slow, as she pushes the door open and it's then the worst and most blood-curling shrill scream escapes her. she moves into the space, nearly falling onto the queen and prince's bodies on the floor, her mother's lifeless body protectively over her brothers. blood, too much blood littering them. the sword falls as she shakes her mother first and then her brother but.. there was no life left in them. she can't breathe. she can't think. they have to come back. they have to. this wasn't real. it couldn't be.

her scream, or was it screams? not even she knows have attracted attention, two men who she recognizes as having seemingly been imprisoned with myra before her parents saved her appearing in the doorway. they don't have the same darkness washing over their eyes but they do have hate and malice in them. they move into her brother's chambers and she scrambles for the sword trying to protect her mother and brother unable to accept them truly fallen. but they are larger than her, quicker, and their sight is not clouded by tears. she tries to strike out at them but the sword is knocked from her, one of them, the one without a sword so that his hands were free grabs her as the other with his back toward the door seeks to stab her too. in the distance her dragon screeches violently over the city, sound booming given his size and age as he like the now fallen dragon of her brother's tries to break through a palace wall with fire and sheer force of his body.

"why? why are you doing this? we helped you!" she's struggling violently, seeking answers if it is to be the last moments she has and praying others.. ben, her father, and so many others still lived. but then she realizes with the sick and twisted expression of the man with the sword staring at her as he points it toward her the true depth of betrayal. "it was all a trick. myra never was a prisoner was she? this is what you wanted, wasn't it?!" she doesn't get a response and anger rises within her as she stares back at the man, unwilling to grant him fear in her death. there is no peace as she realizes she's about to die, no, anger is all she has. "the twins will see you pay for this! my brother will hunt you down and you will burn for this!"

[gemini-sensei]

WHAT DOES MIGUEL CALL HIS GF WHILE BREEDING HER IVE GOTTA KNOW UR THOUGHTS

There so many options but ultimately I think he calls her mama/pretty mama. I can just hear it in his voice 😩 his lips peppering kisses along her shoulder and up her neck until he's right there at her ear, grunting as he tells her, " 'm gonna fill you up, mama. And I'm not gonna stop til your nice and full of my babies."

😩😩😩😩

The man is insatiable, too, and I know this because he takes it out of the bedroom. His girlfriend will be cooking and he'll smack her ass, then ask "what's for dinner, mama?"

She'll be reading, snuggled up on the couch, and he'll come lay with his head in her lap. "How's my pretty mama doing today?"

He doesn't let up because he wants her to know how highly he thinks of her - like it's so special to him that at some point she'll be the mama to his babies. Bit also he's honored she lets him breed her.

[writing-good-vibes]

🌝 very curious

ahh bestie !! 🥰💗 thank you for asking the most difficult question, because it turns out i really did not have an answer for this one, and i will be revealing the my ineffable "gaining a new interest" -> "actually writing fanfiction" pipeline lol

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

the thing about my writing is that there are many, many, many characters that i love but could never write for, either because i just don't have the skill to contribute something i'd be happy to share, or because the source material doesn't lend itself well to the vehicle of fanfiction and the standard transformative avenues that come with it. it definitely comes down to my own personal line of what i consider writable.

it's not that i think the characters i do write about are lesser characters, in many ways they mean way more to me because i can write about them, but they are from media which readily fosters fandom/fanfiction. characters which i can love and project onto while also maintaining and building upon their canonical characteristics are the fanfiction sweet spot for me.

halloween ends has been my main interest for over a year now (which is very scary to think about lol), so it's hard to even imagine writing for other characters even with the fandom decline because i have such a tight grasp on my paper-doll corey that i carry around everywhere. what my brain latches onto is really driven by the will of the universe, and i have very little say in the matter lol.

however !! a few characters i can see myself dabbling with, should the interest strike, are: lisa and the creature from lisa frankenstein (2024); severen from near dark (1987); frank from the hardy boys (2020); ethan, sam, tara, richie and amber from scream/scream vi (2021-2022); and sam from gen v (2023).

then a few more characters who i would love to write about but don't really have the skill set for: the narrator, tyler and marla from fight club (1999); felix and oliver from saltburn (2023); pearl from pearl (2022) or maxine from x (2022); and maybe some the characters from the secret history (1992), particularly henry.