#this is somehow actually my first time drawing the three of them together…. fucked up

[plasma-packin-peep]

MONSTER MONSTER HIGH MONSTER HIGH MONSTER MONSTER HIGH

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 2/6/24

prompt: coming out

pairing/character(s): steddie, Dustin, Lucas, Mike

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Eddie fucked up. Big time.

See, he's truly embraced his freak status at Hawkins High. Meaning he doesn't exactly shy away from his queerness. He doesn't confirm it, not for people he's not friends with. It's just useful. Being gay is the kind of 'freak' that makes the popular kids steer clear from him, just in case they, you know, catch the queer from him.

But with his fellow freaks? They know he's gay.

In fact, they know he has a boyfriend.

He never shares who said boyfriend is, or the fact that he used to be nicknamed The Hair, because Steve doesn't want anyone to know. He's.. private about his sexuality, to say the least. And Eddie gets it. Hawkins is in the middle of nowhere, it's not exactly gay-friendly like some parts of bigger cities. So his friends don't know who his boyfriend is.

They won't until well after Steve's come out to his own friends, which he hasn't said he's ready for yet. Eddie's letting him go at his own pace, he doesn't even bring it up to him. He doesn't want Steve to feel pressured. Steve doesn't have a Wayne there to support him through everything, after all.

Anyway, despite him being anonymous, Eddie always gives everyone an update on his boyfriend before they start the session of DnD each week. It's kind of a bit for everyone involved at this point.

And in the first session that Eddie's newest fresh sheep attend, he refuses to shy away from it. Either they'll be bigots (unlikely) or they'll be fine with it! It's a risk he's willing to take for his pride.

So he gives the update.

"How's your boyfriend, Ed?" Gareth asks with a teasing grin, and Eddie's closest friends lean toward him with giggles.

"Well, my sweetheart has had a great week. Remember that job I told you he'd applied for?"

"Assistant basketball coach for a kids team?" Jeff checks, and Eddie points at him like he's just scored a point.

"That's the one! He got the job! It's a bit of a drive but it sure as shit beats the minimum wage bullshit he was doing before. I swear, his manager actually hates his guts for no reason."

The existing Hellfire members all cheer at the news, whilst one of the new recruits, Henderson, makes an inquisitive noise and chuckles.

"That's crazy, because my friend Steve called me yesterday with super similar news! Small world, huh?" He says it so casually, looking down straight after to fiddle with his dice.

But Eddie feels like the world stops, his hands freezing in the middle of unfolding his dungeon master screen. Fuck. Henderson is one of Steve's kids.

Maybe no one has actually caught on yet. A sneaky glance to his friends reveals nothing but confused frowns on their faces.

"You guys might have known Steve, actually. Steve Harrington? Used to be a mega asshole through most of high school." Wheeler says in a way that somehow sounds simultaneously fond and like he despises Steve.

"He's great now, though! Like, totally reformed. Such a mom." Sinclair adds on.

Eddie nods passively at their words, and feels Gareth, Jeff and Paul's eyes on him. Right, he's still frozen in shock. He forces himself to relax, and finally finishes setting up the DM screen.

"Haha, what a coincidence." He manages, clearing his throat in the middle to clear up an unfortunate voice crack.

That voice crack gets all three of the kids to tilt their heads at him, and then their eyes light up like they've just won the lottery.

Shit shit shit. Hopefully they haven't put two and two together.

Somehow, he manages to make it through the session without revealing anything else, but as he draws it to a close his heart starts beating faster. He doesn't know how he didn't put it together before that these kids are Steve's kids. Steve is literally going to be late to their date night because he has to pick them up from an afterschool activitiy.

What other club meets up on a Friday but Hellfire?

He shakes his head and starts speeding through packing up his stuff. He's going through in his head ways to apologise to Steve in case the kids have figured it out, heart beating out of his chest as he zips his backpack up and leaves the room. The group of newbies run out after him, though.

"Eddie, wait up!" Henderson shouts after him, and he winces but stops.

"What's up?" He says with what he hopes is a smile but is probably a grimace.

"It's so funny how you're Steve's secret boyfriend." Henderson says with a giggle after he's checked no one else has left the drama room yet.

Wait, what? Eddie frowns at him, mouth open. Before he can question anything Sinclair nods along in agreement.

"We've been guessing for weeks now. You can't tell him we found out through you, I want to win our bet."

"If we figure out who his boyfriend is by the end of the month he's taking us to that tabletop RPG store in Indy." Wheeler adds on.

Eddie gapes at them for another second.

"Wait, Steve- he came out to you? When?" He manages, and the three boys tilt their heads at him.

"Like, since a month ago?" Sinclair guesses after a moment of thought, and Eddie lets out a quiet 'huh'.

"What, do you guys not talk about that shit?" Henderson asks, and Eddie shakes his head slowly, thinking back on if he had been told and had just forgotten.

Then it clicks. Just under a month ago, Steve had started to bring up the topic of coming out, and Eddie had gently insisted he didn't mind if Steve never came out and that he loves him anyway and he doesn't want him to feel pressured. And Steve had smiled fondly and let it go.

Had Steve been trying to tell him he came out to his kids?

He lets his head drop and takes a few deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate. Thank fuck. He hasn't just accidentally outed his boyfriend.

"He's actually waiting for us in his car. I would say come with, but..."

"We're serious about this bet."

Eddie nods, and waves his hand in their general direction.

"Yeah, of course. Sure. You- you go win that bet. Jesus christ."

He hears them walk away and lets out an incredulous laugh to himself before he hears the drama room door swing open again, the chatter of Jeff, Gareth and Paul cutting off when they see the state he's in.

"You good, man?" Paul asks, and Eddie just lets out a sigh.

"Totally fine. Just thinking about wooing my sweetheart." He says, like they've walked into a joke he's set up.

They all groan, but continue walking toward the school's exit, and Eddie stays there, recovering from that shitshow.

[foodsies4me]

The trainees protecting Magnus is now immortalised as one of my fav head cannons to ever exist. Mostly cause Magnus deserves to be loved and protected and pampered. He has been doing this for others for centuries and secondly he deserves it cause he is just amazing and beautiful soul.

Secondly I actually got so emotional at all the trainees banding together to give him hugs and bring him snacks. Magnus really went from single bachelor with no soul mark trying his is unloveable to the being loved by a handsome Shadowhunter and his clan of protective lil beans. I can only imagine the scene after when Malec are alone and Magnus just breaks down cause ‘fuck, I really am adored for more than my magic’. Cue protective and soft soulmate Alec and just all the emotional reassurance cuteness ☺️

You’re honestly amazing. Like never miss a beat, always on point in ways I could never imagine ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

As a (waaaaay too late) follow up to the Magnus getting hurt prompt and getting some trainees cuddles. (I am running so far behind on my prompts which I know all meant as prompts but they spark too many bunnies and then I want to write them.😂

Anyway here is the short follow up to that first prompt.💜

Magnus watches as the trainees walk out the door in pairs of two and threes. They’re all stalling, Hideaki “accidentally” forgetting five different pencils while Max forgets his socks, shoes and needs to pee before he runs out of excuses he can use. Clara is clinging to him, pouting and arguing with Alec that Magnus needs another Sad Pancake Day despite his injuries having entirely healed. 

Seeing the displeasure on their faces – the disappointed pouts that not even Aloysius and Ariadne manage to hide has something squeezing painfully in Magnus’ chest. Something warm and tender and painful, tearing and healing old wounds as Magnus struggles to keep his voice light and teasing.

Chairman Meow is pouting as well.

It’s not as visible as the crossed arms and downturned lips the trainees have adopted, but it’s visible in the way he’s swishing his tail and twining himself around the trainees’ legs, trying to stop them from leaving in a way Magnus doesn’t dare to.

“-okay Magnus?” Alexander’s voice pulls him out of his internal stewing. He’s looking at him, waiting for an answer. He has Clara and Steph hiked up on one arm while Leo and Barika are dangling from the other and he doesn’t even seem to notice it and the sight makes Magnus’ heart tighten again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that darling.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” he repeats, rolling his eyes when the reminder Alexander will be back tonight causes another wave of protests.

“Now, now my darling beans – it’s only until Saturday. I’m sure you’ll all survive a few days without me there.”

“But we don’t want to,” Payton grouches this time around. “Can’t you just come live with us at the institute? And then Chairman Meow can come too and we don’t have to wait.”

“Alright, that’s enough out of all of you,” Alexander interrupts before anyone else manages to fit another word in. “We’re already late so say bye to Magnus so we can go home.”

The chorus of Fine’s that echo through his loft sound somehow even more unhappy and displeased than everything else the trainees have said before this point. They bid him goodbye with quick stolen hugs and promises to see him on Saturday before Magnus is alone again in his too-big and too-empty loft.

“Meow,” Chairman Meow complains when the door shuts behind Alexander, the sound high and whiny.

“I know, Chairman,” Magnus sighs, sitting down on his couch so Chairman Meow can climb onto his lap. His chest is still hurting, his heart overflowing with more emotions than he knows what to do with. “I know. I miss them too.”

If later that night he ends up with tears in his eyes when Alexander hands him the drawings and get-well cards the trainees made him, his heart too full of love and care, then that’s only between him, Alexander’s shirt and the privacy of his wards. 

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

the moon will sing a song for me

The first of two chapters of my fic for @fandomtrumpshate is up! It's a gift for Kali, a modern with magic AU featuring werewolf!Jaskier, lots of pining, questionable taste in pizza toppings, and angst with a happy ending (in more ways than one.)

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: E

Warnings: none

Summary: When Jaskier returns after a full moon trapped in his wolf form, Geralt knows something is terribly wrong with his best friend and roommate—who Geralt may or may not have been pining over for the past decade. But as the days pass and Geralt, his fellow witchers, and Yennefer fail to figure out what's wrong with Jaskier, Jaskier starts to lose himself to the wolf. Can Geralt get him back before it’s too late?

You can read the first couple of scenes below or the whole thing here on AO3!

***

"So, are you going to kill me?" the werewolf asks through a mouthful of pineapple and pepperoni pizza. There's a string of cheese hanging from his bottom lip.

"Do I need to kill you?" Geralt hopes he sounds less uncertain than he actually is.

Nothing about the call they received at headquarters an hour ago about a vicious werewolf on Hierarch Boulevard prepared him for this. Not because he found a vicious werewolf, but because he found a young man busking outside a pizza parlor, wearing a seasonally inappropriate flowered shirt and a pair of jeans with so many holes in them, they may as well have been shorts.

When the kid—he only looks a couple of years younger than Geralt’s age of twenty-three, but he has a baby face that makes Geralt think ‘kid’—realized that the man standing over him was a witcher, he seemed more resigned than terrified.

“If we’re going to do this, you’re going to buy me a slice of pizza first,” he said and bewildered, Geralt agreed. And somehow ended up buying him an entire pie.

Now, the werewolf shrugs. He's doing everything he can to look casual, though Geralt can smell his anxiety. "I sure hope not."

"We got a call that you were menacing people on Hierarch Boulevard."

The werewolf's eyebrows draw together. "Look, I know my cover of 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' wasn't my best work, but calling it menacing seems like an overreaction."

“Hm.”

“First of all.” The kid raises his piece of pizza as if making a point. “You’ll notice that I was playing my guitar. That’s impossible to do in my wolf form. I’ve tried. Second of all, we’re two weeks from a full moon. Even a baby werewolf probably won’t lose control this time of month. I’m twenty. I’ve been able to control my shift since I was like fourteen. Third, if I was going to go berserk, I wouldn’t do it in my favorite busking spot. I have a rapport with all the local business owners and mauling people is bad for business.”

“Then why would someone call and report you?”

The werewolf lets out a laugh entirely devoid of humor. “My guess is that it was that fuck Earl de Stael. He’s my girlfriend’s other boyfriend. We’ve never gotten along and lately he seems to have a bug up his butt, thinking Victoria likes me more than him. Which she probably does, but he has a trust fund, which more than makes up for the lack of personality and the terrible taste in clothes."

“Hm,” Geralt says again, because he really doesn’t know what to say.

“So.” The werewolf grabs a fifth slice of pizza. “What’s it like, being a witcher?”

“Not sure yet,” Geralt says mildly. “Only got my certification six months ago.”

“Is it true that you’re like a super soldier?”

“I don’t know about that.” Geralt shrugs.

“I mean, they did something to you.” The werewolf gestures at his face with a pizza crust. “Unless you were born with golden, slit-pupiled eyes?”

“I wasn’t. My eyes were green.” Geralt isn’t sure why he says that, but the words just come out.

“Fascinating.” The werewolf wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “So, am I your first werewolf?”

“No.”

“Did you buy the last one pizza?”

“No, I killed her.”

The werewolf’s heartbeat picks up and his eyes flick towards the door. “Ah.”

Geralt grimaces. “She had killed one person and was an active danger to three others. I had no choice.”

And he still threw up afterwards.

The werewolf smells afraid and Geralt hates that. The hardest thing about waking up after the Trials was suddenly being able to smell how scared everyone was of him. He tries to sound gentle, or as gentle as he can sound with his fucked up, gravelly voice, as he says, “Look, I’m not going to kill you. From what I can tell, the most monstrous thing about you is your taste in pizza toppings.”

The werewolf’s relief morphs into outrage, his mouth dropping open to reveal a ball of chewed up cheese, bread, and meat. “What in Melitele’s name is wrong with my taste in pizza toppings?”

“Pineapple and pepperoni?”

“The sweetness of the pineapple and the spiciness of the pepperoni—”

“No.”

“Just try it.” The werewolf shoves the tray of pizza at him. “It will change your life.”

“Hm.”

“Come on.” Blue eyes twinkle at him with mirth. They’re pretty blue eyes, Geralt can’t help but notice. “Do you trust me?”

“I’ve known you for fifteen minutes.” But Geralt takes a slice of pizza. Because he’s hungry and a little curious. Not because of the blue eyes.

“What do you think?” The werewolf sits forward.

“It tastes like shitty pizza with pineapple and pepperoni on top.” Geralt drops the rest of his slice back on the tray.

“So amazing?”

Geralt only grunts in answer.

The werewolf puts a hand over his heart. “How disappointing to learn that my new best friend has shit taste in pizza.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You saved my life. Well, spared it. I think that makes us friends.”

Geralt wants to say that the werewolf’s life was never in any danger, that no witcher he knows would have walked up to an innocent person who wasn’t even in wolf form and killed them. But then he thinks of some of the older witchers he’s met—like fucking Varin—and rethinks that. “I don’t even know your name. We can’t be friends if I don’t know your name.”

“Well, that’s easy enough to fix,” the werewolf says. “I’m Jaskier.”

***

Ten Years Later

The house is always too quiet on full moons.

When Geralt and Jaskier first moved in together eight years ago, it took Geralt months to adjust to all the noises his new roommate made. He and Jaskier had been friends for just over two years at that point, but Geralt had still been taken off guard by the sheer volume of noise that Jaskier could make. He even brushed his teeth loudly and his snores kept Geralt awake every night until he invested in a white noise machine and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

But over the years, Geralt has grown so accustomed to the noise that the silence that greets him when he steps through the front door may as well be a roar. He’s used to coming home from his hunts to the sounds of Jaskier puttering around the kitchen on a mission to make late night pancakes, strumming on his guitar, or snoring in front of the TV. He always waits up for Geralt to come home from his hunts—or tries to, at least—even after all these years.

“If I go to bed before you get home, how will I know if you’ve had your insides torn out by a wyvern and are lying in a ditch somewhere?” Jaskier demanded the last time Geralt told him that the waiting up was unnecessary.

“That was one time.”

“Oh, you’ve only been disemboweled one time. How silly of me, I won’t worry anymore.”

The silence of the house is broken by a meow as Roach comes to greet Geralt, tail twitching in irritation at the indignity of being left alone for hours.

“Hey, girl.” Geralt scoops her up, scratching under her chin. “How’s it been?”

Roach meows at him again. She never likes full moons either. 

“I know,” Geralt says. “He’ll be back in the morning.”

That earns him an unimpressed look. Geralt almost reminds her that he’s the one who found her in the basement of a wraith-haunted abandoned house when she was just a tiny ball of fluff and brought her home to nurse her back to health, and then remembers that arguing with his cat that she should love him more than she loves his roommate probably isn’t a good sign. Anyway, he can’t begrudge Jaskier Roach’s love; his friend is far too lovable for anyone’s good, including Geralt’s.

Geralt carefully puts that thought out of his mind as he makes his way into the kitchen, Roach tucked under one arm. If Jaskier were here, he would be peppering Geralt with questions about tonight’s alghoul hunt, fussing over Geralt’s nonexistent wounds, and complaining loudly about the stench of necrophage that lingers on his armor. Geralt tries not to pay attention to the pang of regret in his belly as he heeds Roach’s pitiful meows and adds some fresh wet food to her half-full food bowl.

He checks the fridge to make sure they have enough eggs, then takes a rib-eye steak out of the freezer to defrost. When Jaskier comes home around dawn, exhausted and smelling like rabbit blood, Geralt will have breakfast waiting for him so Jaskier can wolf down an entire steak, a dozen eggs, and a pile of toast before going to bed to sleep off his full moon hangover. Geralt will spend the day curled up in bed with him, keeping him warm and comfortable.

If Jaskier were part of a pack, he would spend his full moon gamboling around the woods with his fellow werewolves and spend the day after collapsed in a puppy pile with his packmates. But Jaskier doesn’t have that. He spends his full moons alone and the day after, all he has is Geralt. While Jaskier usually is usually sanguine about his estrangement from the Novigrad and Lettenhove packs, it always seems to weigh on him in the days after the full moon. It’s the least Geralt can do to try and ease his loneliness.

Roach meows at him again and Geralt realizes he’s been staring out the sliding glass door at the woods behind their house, watching for a glint of blue eyes in the dark. He looks down to find his cat staring up at him in clear judgment. “Fuck off,” he tells her. “You miss him too.”

With an irritable twitch of her tail, she returns to her food and Geralt heads down the hall to wash the alghoul blood out of his hair before he goes to sleep.  Dawn—and Jaskier—will be here before he knows it.

***

Geralt wakes to sunlight streaming through the window and Roach stepping on his face. He groans as he relocates her to the pillow, glancing at the clock to see that it's well past 8 AM. It takes him a moment to realize what’s wrong with this picture: the sound of the sliding glass door in the kitchen should have woken him hours ago when Jaskier returned home. Jaskier is never sneaky, especially when he’s clumsy with exhaustion the morning after a full moon.

“Fuck.” Geralt stumbles out of bed and across the hall to Jaskier’s room. He’s unsurprised to find the door ajar and Jaskier’s bed still empty, the blue and yellow comforter crumpled on the floor, just like it was the night before. Jaskier’s scent of eucalyptus and mint is present, but faint. He didn’t sleep here last night.

There are plenty of good reasons that Jaskier may not have returned home last night, Geralt tells himself, even as his sense of unease grows. Maybe he met another lone wolf last night and they’re off somewhere, cuddled together as they sleep off the moon’s effects. It wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier has forgotten to tell Geralt when he was going off with some new paramour.

But lone wolves like Jaskier are vulnerable, both to trophy hunters and to other werewolves. Jaskier has no pack to protect him if he gets into trouble. Hell, Earl de Stael alone has tried to kill him at least a half a dozen times in the past decade. The thought of Jaskier in a hunter’s snare or falling under another werewolf’s claws sends a nauseous feeling crawling up Geralt’s throat. Not panic. Witchers don’t get the luxury of panic.

A scratching noise from the kitchen distracts him from his not-panic. Heart pounding a bit too hard than a witcher’s should, Geralt hurries down the hall to the kitchen and finds Roach standing at the sliding glass door, meowing insistently. There’s a bear-sized wolf with brown fur and bright blue eyes standing on the back porch, panting in clear agitation. Geralt only occasionally sees Jaskier in his wolf form, because Jaskier rarely shifts outside of full moons, but he would know those blue eyes anywhere. He can see the fear in them.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” Geralt slides the door open and immediately winds up with a face full of fur as Jaskier jumps up, nosing at his face insistently. Geralt stumbles back under the unexpected weight and Jaskier backs off, whining apologetically. His ears are pinned back and his tail is tucked between his legs. Even trying to make himself look as small as possible, he takes up most of their tiny kitchen.

“What happened?” Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s fur, searching for signs of injury. There’s a bit of dried blood crusted around his mouth, but that more than likely belongs to whatever forest critter was Jaskier’s dinner last night.

Jaskier only whines in response.

“Why are you still a wolf?” Geralt asks.

Big blue eyes stare up at him mournfully.

A horrible thought occurs to Geralt. “Can you not shift back?”

Jaskier shakes his massive head from side to side.

Geralt knows that young werewolves often have this problem. Jaskier likes to laughingly tell the story of shifting into wolf form in his middle school bathroom after a pretty girl asked for his number and not being able to shift back for the rest of the day. But Jaskier isn’t a pimply preteen, but a thirty year old man. Outside of a full moon, he should be in perfect control of his shift. Most of the time, the only signs that he’s not perfectly human are his penchant for extra-rare meat and his superhuman stamina (which Geralt has only heard about secondhand.)

“Did someone do something to you?” Geralt demands.

Jaskier whines and shakes his head again.

Geralt has a thousand other questions, but Jaskier can’t answer any of them right now and seems to be growing more agitated by the minute. Running what he hopes is a soothing hand down Jaskier’s back, Geralt says, “It’s going to be okay, Jask. I’ll call Yenn. Whatever happened, she can help us sort it out.”

***

“What the fuck have you gotten into now, Jaskier?” Yennefer demands, arms folded over her chest in clear disapproval.

From the wreckage of what was once their couch—it turns out that the couch they picked up at a yard sale six years ago wasn’t structurally sound enough to support the weight of a full-grown werewolf leaping onto it—Jaskier grumbles.

“Don’t start,” Yennefer snaps. “I just had to get up early the morning after a full moon for this.”

Normally, Geralt is amused by Jaskier and Yennefer’s bickering. When he first met Yennefer, she and Jaskier couldn’t stand each other. By the time he and Yennefer broke up, she and Jaskier were such good friends that Geralt was a little worried that Jaskier would choose her friendship over his. But he and Yennefer managed to make it through their breakup and become better friends than they ever were lovers, and now she and Jaskier meet up for brunch every other weekend. They bicker constantly, complain about each other endlessly, and would both happily kill anyone who so much as looked at the other one wrong—including Geralt, he often suspects.

But Geralt can’t find any amusement right now, not when Jaskier still looks so frightened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I don’t think he can shift back.”

Yennefer frowns down at Jaskier.

“Can you fix this?” Geralt hears the thread of desperation in her own voice.

“You’re assuming there’s something to fix.” Yennefer walks over to the werewolf, putting a hand on his snout. Jaskier closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Her expression softens. “I’m going to have to look into your mind, Jaskier. I’m not going to see something that will scar me for life, will I?”

Jaskier huffs.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” But Yennefer still slides her hand up to rest on top of Jaksier’s head and closes her eyes. Geralt’s medallion starts to hum around his neck while she works her mind-reading magic. He tries not to look visibly impatient as he watches the two of them for what feels like an eternity.

Finally, Yennefer steps back and Geralt asks, “What did you see?”

“Nothing.” She frowns down at Jaskier. “He doesn’t know why this has happened and neither do I. If there’s a curse on him, it’s subtle enough that I can’t detect it. He has no memory of being attacked. He’s not injured. There’s no explanation that I can figure out.”

“Then how do we fix it?” Geralt’s voice comes out rougher than he intends.

Jaskier whines, ducking his head.

Yennefer shoots Geralt a sharp look. “Of course I’m not going to let you stay a wolf, Jaskier. You’re coming with me to the Conclave at Thanedd next month, remember? I can’t tolerate that many sorcerers without you there to scandalize them.”

Jaskier makes an annoyed grumbling noise.

“What’s he saying?” Geralt asks.

“He says he’s more worried that he’s going to miss his gig with Priscilla on Friday night,” Yennefer says. “Maybe he was cursed by someone who wants to have a nice night out without listening to his warbling.”

Jaskier barks and Yennefer reaches over to scratch his nose, which causes him to huff, even as he leans into it.

“So what do we do?” Geralt asks. “If it’s most likely not a curse, how do we turn him human again?”

Jaskier whines softly into Yennefer’s hand and she frowns, all the humor leaving her face.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt demands.

Yennefer hesitates, then shakes her head. “Nothing. He’s just being his dramatic self.” Pulling away from Jaskier, she turns to Geralt. “I’ll see if I can find a spell to safely force a shift. In the meantime, I’m sure there’s someone in the Novigrad Pack who will know something.”

“You’re assuming we can find someone in the Novigrad Pack that will help us,” Geralt says and Jaskier barks an agreement.

“Wave your swords around if you have to. Most people find that sufficiently motivating.”

Geralt is about to argue, then notices Jaskier looking at him with big, worried eyes. He knows he’ll wave his swords at whoever he needs to if it means hearing Jaskier’s voice again and seeing his eyes spark with laughter instead of worry. With a sigh, he crosses the room to kneel down in front of his friend, leaning his forehead against Jaskier’s. He doesn’t even complain when Jaskier licks him on the chin, even though his breath smells like dead rabbits and worse things.

“We’ll figure this out, Jask,” he murmurs, burying his fingers into soft brown fur. “We’ll fix this, I promise.”

***

Read the rest on AO3!

[penpenpencil]

your favorite twilight head cannon and draw it? :)

I have a few related to his design so I'll explain the way I draw him and add some extra headcannons in as a bonus :) [Also read as: I can't pick a favorite HFHFHDKSKI]

The drawing I made for this but forgot about KJHHGDJHVJHG

Design HC:

His hair is a slightly darker and more red version of Time's hair :D

His eyes also glow sometimes. He thinks it's a Twili thing he got somehow.

He has a tattoo on his right arm(Left arm from our pov) that resembles the Twili markings. It took ages to get it done but he's very happy with it :]

On his left arm(right arm to us) he has a few things that not everyone might notice. On his upper arm/shoulder is a scar from where his arm was cut off [inspired by the manga] and on his wrist is a semi-bloody bandage. The bandage is from the metal cuff on Wolfie. The cuff is a little too tight on him and anytime he's tried to take it of has failed. So even while Hylian, the injury acts up and he has to wrap it to prevent infections on the regular. (This will come up later)

He actually only wears one earing(on his right ear, our left) he put the other one on his wolf pelt because he's a nerd and it makes him laugh.

His wolf pelt is made from his own fur actually! He had a few people help him actually get the fur and put it together but now he has a fluffy hoddie with ears!! It also has a tail and he loves it.

He does have the heroes tunic in his pack but he rarely wears it because he thinks he can only wear it when doing proper Hero stuff. When he met the Chain he was still wearing his usual farm outfit and it just stuck. The tunic is still there but he hasn't brought himself to wear it just yet. (He doesn't really want this journey to end and he thinks that wearing the Hero’s getup will make the journey thing official. And Hero’s Journeys always end)

Yes his gloves are two different sizes. He needs the smaller one so he can see how the bandages are easily. The dark blue fabric wasn't doing him any favors at indicating when he should change them.

Extra HC:

Twi tends to use his crossbow a lot more than he uses his sword. He still uses both a lot but he favors the crossbow anyway.

He's ambidextrous! He started learning how to use his sword with his left hand but learned with the right hand so he'd get better with his balance. After his arm was fucked up (and healed) his left arm was much weaker than before so he tended to switch what arm he was using. Left arm for easier, more predictable fights. Right arm for the more difficult, and large fights(bosses). He finished off Ganondorf with both.

He is the embodiment of a puppy. Not entirely, he is still one of the most responsible and adult of the adult Links. He's just- big on the retriever energy and tends to mimic dog/wolf noises/body language on accident.

His full name is Link Falon. A mix of my person hc for Time, who is Link Goldenfall and Molon Lon. He actually doesn’t know, actively, that Falon is his last name. He knows it subconsciously, (forest spirits are talkative like that) but he hasnt heard it since he showed up in Ordon so it hasn’t stuck with him in a while.

He actually found the Shadow Crystal after Midna shattered the mirror. It was found in the castle throne room, where she fought Ganondorf and was given to him by Zelda/Dusk since he knew how to use it safely. The first time he used it again though, he was stuck as a wolf for three days and kept the strange facial markings on his Hylian form after.

Ever since Wild showed up, he’s felt a weird connection to him. He gets a very strange set of deja vu around him and has these random memories of Wild that he knows he shouldn't remember. Wild’s strange reaction to Wolfie set it off originally; so who knows what will happen if Wild lets him reveal the truth of the matter? He isn’t sure if he wants the answer.

I love the Hylian Ambassador Twilight headcannon too so that's also a thing.

He can also kinda understand animals while Hylian. Not as clearly as while a wolf, but still noticeable. He's befriended every animal in Ordon and Castletown and can understand the cats and dogs the easiest.(mainly because goats are little shits and don't like talking to him at all)

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Oddtober the Thirteenth" Episode Followup, Part 2

It Takes Oddtober to Make the Thirteenth Go Right...or something. Mashing up titles is hard.

Let's continue below the break!

Oh God, these three villains' streaming recommendations must be off the fucking charts.

"She needs a hobby," says the man who wants to go sightseeing across the country in the span of a day and is probably so anti-streaming it hurts.

*claps four times* THASS' IT. THASS' TH' BITCH. THERE IT IS. WE GET A WHOLE GROUP OF SLEEP RIGHT HERE. THE WHOLE 'FECTA. THE WHOLE FIVE-FECTA.

Ahhhh Omar...keep playin' your classic one-hit wonder. At this rate if there's a Season 2/Season 5 and they bring him back we'll get a UK version of "In Your Dreams" and oh God I just made myself sick even thinking about that.

Cinema etiquette, this girl does not have.

I can't exactly say that this is a movie that was cobbled together in the span of a few minutes, because that's horseshit...but this is a movie not even Netflix would have in its own bargain bin.

*low groan through gritted teeth*

I kinda knew this was coming, but they had a chance to do a lobotomy on Opie while she was snoring away just before.

Ha...aha...heh...THAT'S WHERE THIS CLIP COMES FROM?????

God, my guess was way the fuck off.

Captain O has a chance to do the funniest thing, but she won't, because this episode won't go that far and she's not as fueled by anger as Oprah was.

This stupidity is crazy irritating, and I hate it, and it kills any momentum I would have had for this rip of an episode.

"Should we be in here?"

"Yes! No. No wait, yes! We're main characters, remember?"

"Oh...right."

draws the line at safety clothing

but...not at framed chessboards

You fucking hypocrite.

No, seriously, what stick up her ass does Orli have in this episode that she's going after every villain's jugulars for their likes? Not even Olympia, Otis and Oprah did that! I mean...they thought the ambassadors' likes were weird, but...they didn't outright insult them.

Omar, stop writing self-aware shit and just stick to your cry-for-help sleeping schtick. There are better ways to write Orli as being self-aware.

*long long sigh*

No, Omar, giving Opie karma by way of taking away her picnic blanket and using it as a gift is not viable either. She needs much bigger karma than that.

I see Orli's been hanging around Onom long enough to know The Art of the Lung-Bursting Gasp.

*deep inhale*

I just...fuck's sake, Opie, just say yes. Better yet, Ozzie, snatch it from her damn hands and book it.

Once again, lemme reiterate: they could just as easily lie and say they hate it.

But of course now is the end of the episode, so that's...not really possible. Gotta wrap shit up somehow.

Okay, this bit isn't funny. It was never funny. Repeating it over and over doesn't make it funny.

Yeeeeeah, happy Oddtober the Thirteenth!

Now go watch the original Oddtober episodes from 2015 and actually enjoy yourselves with much better content.

And your credits for this episode. I actually got Fluorescent Florie's name right, which I definitely wasn't expecting.

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

Overall...yeah...you can kinda see where this is going, huh? Blah blah "It Takes Goo" rip, blah blah it did this far better. To be fair, though, that episode did it first and did it far better. No stupidity that sends me into a blinding-white-hot rage, we actually get a little bit of lore, and we get an Oprah laugh that is so pure and innocent I can't help but smile. Oh yeah, and the whole...goo thing at the end...the innuendo...yeah. There's no innuendos found here, just the tainting of a punny name that was already used for something better 9 years ago and a complete and utter rip of a better episode that's one of the most blatant rips of the entire season. Like, "The B Team" levels of rip. And I hated my father "The B Team".

Load it into the cannon, fire it into the sun, and I'll see y'all for "Agent Overhill's Last Day" in (hopefully) a few days. Villain X be damned, I don't think I'll enjoy that one either.

Seren out!

[horsegirlalexkralie]

Okay, okay, but what about Tim losing the coin toss when he becomes a regular in on Jay and Alex's fun. He feels a pit in his stomach like dread, but really, it's lust and anticipation.

He's practically shaking when it rolls around, trying his best to be quiet and keep low, but he underestimates how clever Alex and Jay are when they work together, circling him like animals hunting their prey.

They pounce on him, and he's slammed into a tree. The bark scratches his skin, but he loves it. The pain is somehow incredible, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

Jay presses his knife to Tim's chest and leaves just the thinnest cut that has the man gasping into the air when Alex cuts it off with a hand at his throat, warning him that this is just the beginning.

holding this ask in my grimy little hands . petting it . probably groping it inappropriately but only out of love

didnt mean to take so long to get to this but what can u do. cut to keep everybodys dash pretty and somewhat sfw

tim's been pretty lucky the first few times they've done this.

they added in a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors when he admitted he'd be alright with ending up on the bottom, so there's something to eliminate one of them off the bat- best two out of three, where the winner is safe and the other two flip a coin. tim doesn't even have to pick a side for the coin toss for a while, and even then he's almost convinced himself in the back of his brain somewhere that maybe it's never coming, because he picks right every time, regardless of which of them he's up against. (in the front of his brain, much louder, some other part of him- the part that paid attention in prob and stat, evidently- is reminding him that, according to the math, every upcoming boys' trip is extremely fucking likely to be the one where he finally plays victim.) they keep accusing him of rigging it- he keeps insisting (truthfully) he would have to be a mindreader or fucking magneto to cheat at these, and maybe alex should stop throwing paper so much if he actually wants to win.

he's pretty sure they're conspiring against him, when he finally does lose, but that's probably pride talking. it's down to him or alex, and tim lets him call it, because he's a gentleman, because it doesn't matter to him, he's never been nervous before, why would he be? go ahead, jay, flip the thing. he couldn't care less. (tim's shaking, sweating, his heart wild and fluttery. he doesn't even want to look. alex calls as it's in the air- heads- and when it clatters to the floor he can tell from jay's shit-eating grin before he even sees the quarter that tonight's the night.)

jay draws up a little chart for him on a sheet of notebook paper, a vertical list (tim skims it- bondage, photo/video, edging- somehow he both was and wasn't expecting this. the words look perversely innocuous in jay's tidy handwriting) with boxes to check off beside each topic labelled yes / no / maybe; jay tells him to finish filling it out within the hour, ask any questions he has between now and then. tim's holding in the urge to start ripping bits off to calm his nerves. settles for twirling the pen around in his hand when he's thinking about his answers. alex wandered off somewhere after jay set him up with his new homework- tim's only asked after him once, because jay told him not to worry about things that don't concern him in a tone that left no room for argument and made tim blush a little just for how simply he'd been dismissed. made him duck his head and start filling out jay's paper with a new focus, going down the line and squirming with each checkmark he writes. it's an embarrassing amount of yeses. cutting got a maybe, as did impact play after he'd asked jay what it meant, but if tim's honest with himself, he's really only scared of how he'll react, nervous he'll look stupid in front of these two beautiful creatures who seem to have an affinity and understanding for pain he can only admire from the outside. still, he draws those checks closer to the 'yes' column than he needs to, can't tell if he's hoping or dreading they'll notice.

jay tells him to go home when he's done, put on something he doesn't mind getting dirty. park outside the woods, leave his important shit in his car, hide the keys somewhere jay and alex would think to look but not somewhere obvious. (jay insists on it. apparently they've both lost their keys in the woods doing this. tim figures it's probably best to have the least amount of jingly shit on him anyway.) he's supposed to call one of them after he gets there, but jay says they'll give him a head start. noticably does not specify how long that'll be, so when tim hangs up and shuts his phone in the car (pre-locked, keys buried in a shallow hole marked with rocks, he's not dicking around) all of the day's anticipation swells at once into one wave of panic as it sets in that he is entirely out of the loop for what's currently on its way. hell, he's watched alex check his watch two minutes after hanging up with jay, telling him he's got plenty of time to get his shit in order and find a place to hide bc alex is in the middle of something or other, and smack his pocket for his car keys, ask tim if he's ready to get going. the head start could've absolutely been bullshit. would make more sense if it was.

needless to say he's a nervous wreck by the time he starts hearing jay's voice at the edge of the treeline calling his name, giddy and sing-song like they're playing hide and seek or something, tii-im! ohh, timothyyy! there's no point hiding, you should know that! and he does, he should really know better by now, and still he tries. tucks himself into the space where two trees are growing together, presses his hand over his mouth, tries not to let anything rustle. he can hear jay, breaking twigs and calling for him every so often, and it's not long before he's close enough tim can see him, just-barely. his flashlight's off, so it's only the moon reflecting on his skin, standing predator-still and staring out into the trees somewhere to tim's right. he doesn't say anything. tim doesn't know how long they're like that, only that he's breathing through his nose as shallowly as he can manage, only that he hasn't moved except to shake everywhere like a frightened deer. he's light-headed when jay finally shakes his head as if to clear it and turns to leave, his heart thudding in his ears, and maybe that's why he doesn't consider the possibility jay was bluffing with that little performance until he's taken a step and it's already too late.

and tim's played this game before, he knows he's lost as soon as it becomes a matter of running, two-on-one, knows he's fucked when jay stops and turns his head like a dog scenting something, his eyes lost to shadow but most certainly fixed on tim.

he manages to dodge them, somehow, puts up a good fight for a while, but he's losing speed the longer they're out here and the two of them seem like they're always in sync, always one on his heels if not the other- he crashes through the underbrush, jay hot on his trail, into what he thinks is a decent spot to catch his breath and is actually the place where alex was waiting for him to run past. "made it easier for me, actually," alex pants, as they're grappling in the dirt, "thanks for that," and he's strong, stronger than he looks, and tim's out of breath already, starting to get tired, and even when he does wriggle out of alex's grasp and get loose he only makes it a few dozen feet, maybe, before he's getting shoved against a tree so hard it knocks the wind out of him, jay's arm across his chest, his body hot and trembling with exertion where it presses into tim's. he's grinning, panting, wheezes when he starts to snicker and tells tim he's impressed, actually, he hadn't thought it would take this long.

tim's first mistake is hesitating, getting overcome with the sudden helplessness of being caught, jay's flustering proximity- it means alex has time to catch up to them, pull tim's wrists behind his back and give him his first taste of true restraint, a length of rope and a knot that's done before tim has finished realizing what's happening. it's not until jay's kissing him, slick and filthy and forceful, and alex is tugging at his hair, dragging his nails down his neck, popping the buttons off his shirt, that tim begins to get it. there's nothing he can do anymore.

still, he's proud of how calm he is at first. how coherent he stays when they're both on him, keeping up the smartassery as they're opening his shirt to play with his tits, kissing his neck and sucking hard enough to bruise- "you're such a mouthy little bitch," jay says, pinches harder at his nipple, and maybe tim's second mistake is grinning against the pain and doubling down, panting, "yeah, do something about it," because the look that goes between them sends a chill through his veins.

it's silent for a moment, and then jay laughs, throws his head back and everything, the wild hyena-cackle tim's only ever heard in these woods, makes a show of leaning on alex's shoulder and wiping his eyes and wheezing. tim wants to tell him to slap his fuckin' knee while he's at it, that he hopes jay chokes. wants to say anything that would make him feel like a respectable prey-animal, at least, a victim with some dignity. doesn't get the chance before alex is whispering something in jay's ear, leaned into his orbit like they're the only people in the world. (they're still both fucking looking at him. maybe the touching was easier. jay nods at something alex says, looks to him and then back- the touching was easier. tim wants to scream.)

"we wanted to ask you about something," jay says, "or i guess i did," and he reaches in his pocket and flicks out his little silver switchblade and the ice in tim's blood is back, tenfold, as the two of them close in on him. "so when you said 'maybe'..."

[crystalkitty1220]

Monthly-ish check-in

Aka more of a diary entry than a blog post

Gonna disappear again for a bit after posting this

Decided to major in animation because ever since losing all of my confidence when it comes to writing creatively in Creative Writing class, my focus has been moved entirely to storyboards and scripts. Storytelling is still my passion but clearly I'm not very good with words, and tbh the only reason I had ever really been confident in my writing is because I'm good with grammar. I feel like my storyboards/scripts are pretty good and capture the exact energy I've never really been able to get across in my writing, but actual animation capabilities are still yet to be seen because I can barely fucking draw in the first place. Gonna also experiment with 3D modeling in college, because who knows, maybe I'm better if I can see my work from multiple angles at a time.

Maybe I'll host a MAP at some point when I fully come back to tumblr. If I do, it'll probably be centered around Traffic Life. Or maybe IBVS if there's enough people.

Fandom-wise, I somehow managed to get Echos obsessed with Traffic Life by showing them some episodes of Secret Life (specfically Tango's Torchy one). Then we watched Empires together, and now Echos is watching season 10 of Hermitcraft with me (Grian, Scar, and Joel's povs, though without them I've also been watching Mumbo, Bdubs, occasionally Zed, and now Doc. Before season 10 I only watched Grian, Scar, and Bdubs). I've even started working on a little something centered around Jimmy and the Canary Curse. Also add Xornoth to the list of even remotely evil-aligned characters that I thought were dudes at first and find out they're nonbinary/genderfluid/genderqueer after I start crushing on them. This is the, what, fifth time? At this point if I get a crush on a character I should just immediately start calling them by they/them. Specifically the Empires the Musical one btw, not the one that's just Smajor with a voice filter.

Still been having major nostalgia for Feral ever since downloading Emuferal. Got Krita to paint something based on it but I don't know when I'll post that. Wrote around three complete animatic scripts featuring the Blood Tundra kobolds. Three is actually a very small number compared to the amount I normally write per fandom. (Then again, I've only got around 2-ish for IBVS. That's probably because I like to focus on symbolism for my animation scripts, and the only consistent symbolism I can think of for IBVS is with Isaac and birds. He's been drawn in a bird cage, which is very much known to symbolize being trapped or lacking some kind of freedom. In another bit of art he's been drawn with wings, showing the achievement of freedom. Freedom from what? Hell if I know. Possibly unrelated to the bird stuff, in another bit of art, Isaac is seen holding Drew's hand. Drew has a confused, upset expression, and Isaac's expression is unreadable as always but I interpret it as being rather solemn. Isaac's feet are, notably, not on the fucking ground. He's drifting away, and Drew's trying to hold onto him. This could symbolize Isaac shutting down emotionally/socially and Drew trying to help. Or, if this connects to the freedom symbolism, Isaac might fucking die by the end of IBVS. It's probably the first one. I am eating this shit up I fucking adore symbolism.)

Speaking of IBVS, I've been reworking Curse!IBVS. The version I posted about in the past was basically the second version of Curse (I never posted anything about the first) so this one would be version three. Isaac's going back to being much more like version 1 because I decided I'm not a huge fan of the second one for multiple reasons. Due to Drew having healing powers, he and Nevin are also getting reworked - I even wrote a little snippet surrounding them just to get the vibes right, but I don't think I'll ever post it. Edward's curse is basically staying the same, but the way he handles it is being changed so he can work as a sort of foil to Nevin. I'm still trying to figure out how to turn Dez's power into a curse without making it too similar to Nevin's or Edward's. And I'm thinking Chris and Charlie can be more similar to normal IBVS, and then I can use Chris as a sort of anchor to introduce everything else. Also my brain keeps showing my this huge dramatic climax scene but unfortunately I think it's a little too out-of-character and I have no clue how it'd even get to that point.

Got the fourth Animorphs graphic novel. The whale thing is still super weird. Ax looks nothing like I imagine him. Not much more to say on that.

Started playing Royale High more regularly but it's a bit depressing because I've been playing since it was Winx Fairies and Mermaids Roleplay and now it's just Work a Job to Buy Useless Items and Invest in the Stock Market Simulator. Idk the musical chairs minigame is pretty fun.

Warrior Cats animations continue to be my main inspiration for basically everything I've ever drawn. I could write about them for hours but it's already 1am so I probably shouldn't. Oh and the new arc is pretty good if you cut out everything that isn't Frostpaw. Might be my new favorite pov character.

Really disappointed Camp Camp ended on ep 4 of the new season because literally episode 5 is always either a Jasper episode or my favorite episode Quartermoon Convergence. I can't believe my favorite character is now bald forever and my second favorite character hasn't been mentioned since season 3. On the plus side I have a whole separate document from my main script one just for Camp Camp animatic scripts because I've written so many of them. I don't know what I have more of, UTMV scripts or Camp Camp ones.

For years, crossovers have for some reason been my brain's main focus. Probably because the first ever fanfic I read was Morphing is Magic, and that shit was fire. So here's a few of the odd ones that have found their way into my thoughts:

•Yet another variation of an Animorphs and IBVS crossover.

•"The Othermind from WoF can affect people who ingest the Breath of Evil, and Nightmare's goo can break down and absorb anything, so could he be affected by the Othermind if he was stabbed one of the vines? Would it not count because he doesn't have a bloodstream?"

•IBVS constantly haunts my brain so that last one turned into the IBVS characters being dropped into the WoF world (as humans, mind you) but Drew and Nevin are in Pantala while the rest end up in Pyhrria.

•Similarly (while I was reading the new Warriors arc), the IBVS being dropped into the lake territory (this time catified) and all into different clans.

•Speaking of catification, I found this shit (below) in my ibis paint drafts, and immediately screenshotted it to send to Echos.

I don't remember how or why I drew Drew's hair like that. I don't know why Dez would be trying to catboyify Drew, or why using the wrong materials would get him possessed by Ende from Feral. But by god, the thing that caught me off-guard most is the words "Is this what I get for saving your life? Catboyfication?" and I don't think I could write something funnier if I tried. Of course my brain immediately began to run with this, resulting in this blurb of text later being sent to Echos:

Me: it's four in the fucking morning, *stop* thinking of dumbass crossovers, they don't even make any fucking sense / My brain: monika said she had some of rachel's memories when possessing her. What if, when ende possesses drew, she's led back to his home and immediately feels like this place is a sanctuary - a safe place after being in danger for so long - something that drew has managed to find but ende still longs for. When she walks inside and sees nevin, she gets really emotional and can't stop herself from hugging him, then has to come up with the excuse that she (still pretending to be drew) didn't realized how much she missed him, then makes a fake promise to explain what happened in the morning. When she's by herself in drew's room she silently swears to drew - despite the fact she can feel he's falling into some kind of 'sleep', one that she can only recognize because she herself has been in an absent 'sleep' like that for so long - that she'll do everything she can to make sure they can both be free in this place. And when she goes to bed, she experiences drew's memory dream, and ende can relate to the feeling of having an important memory be kept from her. / And then the arms around her feel like they're turning into wings, and when she opens her eyes (though still dreaming) she sees luka. And ende demands to know why, if she's supposed to forget everything, can't they let her move on? A blizzard rages on in the background. She tries to pull away from luka's arms, but they still feel like wings encasing her - trying to keep a member of the flock safe, but only trapping her there - or like those of the watcher's. Again, she demands why they can't just let her go. Luka keeps their signature empty smile, but their eyes are not their own, boring down into ende like those of an all-too familiar statue. And then she wakes up, and she makes a second promise to the boy who can't even hear her: she's going to help him remember. / Me: stfu its sleep time. honk shoo. honk mimimimi. go to fucking bed.

Echos' reply was: "Ooo".

•Hermes from Empires SMP using the Staff of Sanctuary for Multiverse Shenanigans™

•Multiple concepts of villains from different media being thrown into Gotham City, and how they'd fare against Batman. I blame Echos and the other one for being obsessed with the Batfam and talking about DC constantly.

•Doodles of Empires!Smajor, Celestia from MLP, Dream from Dreamtale, and Sun from FNaF interacting in "my sibling got corrupted by an outside force and turned evil" club™. At some point I threw DogDay in there just for the hell of it even though he doesn't fit the criteria whatsoever. One of the doodles is just Scott, confused, with a thought bubble containing a cartoony sun symbol. (Wait, does Jake from Animorphs count? Can't believe I missed that.)

•Some other IBVS ones idk it's just constantly in my head

Also been reconnecting with some irl friends I hadn't spoken to since the Women List Dude incident. First time hanging out at a friend's house for as long as I can remember, and you best believe one of my rambles led from Spiderverse to Undertale AUs to Kirby Takes Manhattan to the origins of the ship Fingers In His Ass Sunday. Also got to learn a bit more about Women List Dude, whom none of them even knew I had experience with, and vice versa. To quote one of my friends, "Every time I talk to someone new about him, the story grows." Apparently he was fucking infamous in our school, and not even just in our grade. Istg he's practically an urban legend. "Oh, [Woman List Dude]? Yeah, I've got some stories about him..." *crackling of a campfire, the smell of smores.* Except there's concrete evidence and multiple witnesses to every account. It's honestly hilarious.

Uhh I think that's basically about it for this update. It's now 4am and I just finished rereading everything, so I'm gonna hit post and then not check tumblr again for like another month.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

part three of the Vast!Jon AU that is taking over my life

Have some Martin.

Danny Stoker is part of this, now?

Yes, EVERYBODY HAS TO CRY. Shut up.

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

Martin’s frilly, pink apron is almost too saturated on camera, but he knows that’s how the viewers love it. He’s even added a pop of lip gloss today, a shade between the apron and the hearts it bears.

“Now, you’ll know it’s done in two ways,” he says, donning his thick oven mitts - wildly orange, but the hearts on them match his apron exactly. “First, the smell. You’ll recognize it after you’ve baked this recipe about six times. There’s nothing quite as good as these orange-cranberry muffins when they reach this stage, and if you’re in a place where you can smell it, it’s incredible. Fortunately, there’s a more reliable, less woo-woo way, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and gives a brilliant smile.

It’s his on-camera smile.

And his applying-for-jobs smile.

And his meeting-new-people smile.

It is sweet, and hopeful, and his eyes aren’t quite closed, and his chin is raised, and it comes across as open and kind and not quite vulnerable enough to invite hurt.

Sure, some people try, but they're trolls, and he just blocks them.

“Behold: your secret weapon!” And he brandishes a toothpick.

Tim laughs off-camera.

Danny mutters something like, “Yeah, they’ve never seen that before.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they haven’t,” says Martin, turning to them for the briefest moment before smiling back at his livestream. “The toothpick is your greatest weapon - well. After learning how to fold instead of stir, anyway. Look, this little guy can tell you if it’s ready, better than a thermometer, or knocking on it, or whatever else you've been told. Let me show you. Now, I know from the smell that the muffins aren’t ready, so I get to show you what it looks like when they’re not.”

He does.

The muffins need a few more minutes, and that is perfect, because he shows the camera how batter clings to the toothpick.

“Time for an awkward cut,” he says, and then there is an awkward cut.

Because there’s nothing to do until the damn muffins are done.

Fortunately, everybody loves the wait for it animation: a tiny version of him with anime eyes, huge, red curly hair, a chef’s hat, and his ubiquitous apron, prancing back and forth from the counter to the stove in an unending loop.

“You’re nearly there,” says Tim, who gets it, who understands why Martin is fucking distracted today.

No one who didn’t personally know Martin would know.

Anyone who does know him could clearly see he is a mess.

“I,” says Martin, and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Jon’s plane went down. That is all anyone knows. That is all anybody can tell him.

Neither tears nor manipulation will bring more info, and so Martin must wait.

He is not okay.

“Ready?” says Danny, keeping them - as always - on schedule. “Three, two….”

“Look at this!” says Martin a moment later, drawing a clean toothpick from the middle muffin. “Now, we’re talking. Oh… everyone, I wish you could smell this.” 

And he does one of his little moans.

Those moans are what made his channel.

Someone tried to make #BlackwoodMoan work for a while (like that movie with Samuel L. Jackson), but the fan base rose up and declared Martin too good, too pure to be associated in such a way.

#MartinMoan is the hashtag.

There are gifs.

It’s a high sound, sweet, freakily innocent, and it somehow brushes against every illicit desire any human has ever had for anything. He’s seen compilations of it, clipped together in a tapestry of embarrassment.

He doesn’t mind, exactly? 

He did make the sound on purpose. He knew it was effective because it actually got Jon flushed and stammering, and damn near nothing else did.

Martin had merely underestimated just how effective it would be out in the great, wide world.

“They’re perfect,” he says, and takes the time to show the camera the light golden muffins, speckled with red - a perfect batch of orange cranberry baked good from scratch. 

The stream ends with him opening one up, peeling the cap off with indescribable satisfaction, adding a tiny pat of butter, and indulging.

The eye-roll is a thing too, like a hungry shark, but that one doesn’t have a hashtag.

“Recipe in the description,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s been fucked within an inch of his life. “My team will answer any questions. You have got to make this. We’ve also included dairy and gluten free options. Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life.”

Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life. He’s ended every single video with that since day one.

Since before Tim and Danny joined him.

Since before he had the courage to tell anyone he was doing this, even Jon.

As always, he means every word.

This time, however, when the camera light blinks off, he bursts into tears.

#

“He’s got to be okay,” says Tim, who knows Jon, thinks he’s funny, and appreciates how much Martin loves him. “We haven’t gotten a list of deaths, or anything, and they have to release that, as far as I know.”

“They do have to,” says Danny, who barely knows Jon, and doesn’t really like him, but certainly wants Martin to be happy.

“Only to next of kin,” Martin points out, and sniffles.

Tim and Danny both pause.

“He doesn’t have you listed?” says Tim.

“I’m his friend. We’re not anything. Of course he doesn’t,” Martin snaps, and feels bad for it immediately after.

Tim and Danny give one another that look.

“Right,” says Tim. “Not anything.”

Martin rubs his face.

Danny gives Martin a side-hug - too strong, like a mountain man, but well meant. “He’s going to be okay. Have faith.”

“The plane went down.” Martin’s voice is… cold. Almost mechanical. A tone he’d never use with anyone who didn’t know him well. “It hit a gods-damned mountain. What am I supposed to have faith in?”

“Love?” says Tim.

“Actually, yeah. Love,” says Danny.

Martin gives them a look.

They look back. Two brothers, good friends, who’ve been part of his show and part of his life and helped him navigate the mess with his mother and helped him work out his feelings for his childhood friend and now want to help him work through potential grief.

Or his potential… faith, maybe?

Martin can’t seem to fall either way - acceptance of Jon’s death, or hope for his survival. He’s left at a lurching, ugly crossroad with no name, the sign worn beyond legibility.

He sniffles.

“Gonna be late,” says Tim.

“Yeah,” Martin sighs, because somehow after everything, he still has to go to work.

Patreon helps. The baking show definitely makes things easier. But it’s not enough to support his mother. Full-time care facilities aren’t cheap.

Martin tries to smile. “Good thing I’m in the kitchen, right? Don’t think I’d do so well facing customers today.”

“You would, though,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder. “Never seen anybody fake it as well as you.”

“Gee, thanks?” Martin says, dry.

Tim ruffles his hair. “Come on. Let’s get the lead out, or… I dunno, something punny.”

Danny never tries to pun. He also has no sense of timing. “I’ve been thinking of taking another job,” he says out of nowhere.

“What, now?” says Tim with fond exasperation.

Martin latches onto the subject change like a leech as he hangs up his apron. “What? I thought you were getting promoted.”

“Yeah, but kayaks just aren’t doing it for me anymore,” Danny says, and ignores when Martin rolls his eyes, reaches into his wallet, and hands Tim a fiver. “I’ve been thinking a lot about supernatural stuff lately, you know? All the things we can’t explain, but every culture and every society has them, all the way through history. And you know, the chances of that are pretty slim, because it’s not like there were fax machines in the stone age, and - ”

“So what’s her name?” says Tim.

Danny looks constipated. “What do you mean, what’s her name?”

“It’s always some date who gets you into a new interest. Come on, Danny, it’s been like that since secondary.”

Danny shrugs. “Caught me. How about I let her explain? We can do dinner tonight.”

“I don’t…” Martin starts.

They both look at him.

“You are not backing out,” says Tim.

“I’m supposed to see my mum,” Martin mutters.

“And it’ll be done in about fifteen minutes when she can’t stand you anymore and throws you out,” says Danny, who really has never had Tim’s charm.

Tim smacks him.

“Hey!”

“No, he’s right,” says Martin. “I’ll come.”

“Good. You’d better, or I’m taking some of this one’s leftover mountaineering gear and hogtying you to the back of my bike,” says Tim.

That image actually gets Martin laughing, which he didn’t think he could do today.

The brothers leave first.

Martin’s flat is tiny. Uncomfortable. Distinctly not sound-proofed. He has one window, room for his lovely kitchen setup, and three folding chairs or a Murphy bed, but not at the same time.

Somehow, when the Stokers are there, it never feels crowded.

It doesn’t with Jon, either, but that’s different.

All kinds of different.

Martin locks up, sighs heavily. Somehow, he has to get his brain in gear to handle four-star sous-chef work tonight, and he’s really not sure he can do it. Antoine can be such an ass, even on the best of days, and he always seems to know -

“Excuse me,” comes a voice.

Martin yips and drips his satchel.

“Sorry about that,” says the man, sounding not remotely sorry. Sounding, in fact, deeply amused. “You are Martin Blackwood, aren’t you? Little different without all the getup,” he says, absolutely cheerfully.

He’s some sort of sea captain?

Outside his flat, which is scary as fuck. “Hi?” says Martin, attempting to pick up his bag without taking his eyes off the guy. “Um. Can I help you?”

“Actually, I can help you,” says the man.

Maybe a fan?

Maybe a sicko.

Martin is very still. “Right,” he says, noncommittal.

The man laughs.

It’s… it’s a really good laugh. The voice is good all around, honestly; so is the expression, and body language. This man isn’t aggressive; taller than Martin (which is unusual), he keeps his hands in his pockets, leaning slightly away, as though determined not to violate his space. “I can tell I’ve spooked you, which isn’t what I was trying to do.” 

Martin can see no reason to be unnerved by this man.

Martin cannot escape the feeling that he should be, though. “Then why’d you track down where I live?” he says.

“I didn’t. I saw you by accident.” The man points. “Heading over there, to the Tube. But it works out, because I actually do want to talk to you.”

“Right,” says Martin.

The sea captain smiles. “Nice and cautious. Good! Let’s not drag this out, eh? You won’t have heard of me because I like it that way, but what I do is help out independent talent. People like you, in other words. Here.” He holds out a business card.

There’s a QR code on it.

Martin takes it, carefully avoiding contact. “Right,” he says.

“That’ll tell you all about it,” says the man. “I won’t scare you any longer - really am sorry about that.” He’s absolutely not sorry, and it shows.

Martin is damned good at reading people. It’s how he’s survived. The fact that he can’t get a bead on this guy is scaring him even more than the sudden appearance. “Sure.”

“Have a good day, Martin,” says the man. “I look forward to your email.” And off he walks.

Martin looks at the card. It says, Lukas Entertainment. That’s all.

It’s thick cardstock. Raised lettering. Definitely expensive. 

Martin looks back up, but the man is gone.

Martin’s gut says there is no way he made it to the Tube that quickly.

Martin’s head says he’s being absurd, and just misjudged how long he stared at the card.So that was freaky, he thinks to himself, and is already texting Tim about it before he gets to work.

[midnight-fellings]

bitter/sweet— James Potter x fem!reader

angst (I guess?).

A/n: my first thing ever and it's shitty but I hope someone reads it and probably likes it. xoxo

if you said you're not jealous you would be lying and if there's something you're not is a liar. But it is hard admitting that your blood is now boiling in pure anger.

what is James doing talking like that to another girl- not just another girl; Lily fucking Evans. why is she laughing like that? and why is he so enchanted with her stupid smile?

you thought you had no right on being jealous for him, he is clearly not yours. you have made that really clear to him a million times. every time he kissed you with a little too much love, or when he acted like your boyfriend, you basically always told him to fuck off. oh but now you felt the need to punch yourself for every time you said something like that.

you and James were in some kind of situationship. you went to each other every time one of you needed to get distracted, for you the only rule was to not get attached romantically but he didn't cared about that, so it didn't took long for him to be starved for you. And sadly to you, he eventually wanted more of you, things you never actually felt ready for.

now it's been three weeks since you called it off and he seemed to be so over you it physically wounded you. laughing at the redhead comments, smiling charmingly at her while you watched from the other side of the room. your friends talking to you about something trivial that you couldn't pay attention to, you were busy watching the pair.

after a while she went away, she said she was going for a drink for them and offered everyone else something. it was hard to hate Lily, she was so sweet and caring, but the fact that James looked at her so lovingly made you sick.

when James catched your gaze, you send him that look he knew so well, the one he couldn't help but love. he followed you instantly when you got out of the Gryffindor common room finding you standing a little far from the door, already waiting for him.

"y/n..." he started but you interrupted him immediately.

"you like Evans now, huh?"

"what?"

you looked hurt, it surprised him a lot actually, the look on your eyes made him shiver. he wanted nothing but to hold you and love you, sadly you were much more complicated than that and he knew you wouldn't want his love. he tried a million times already.

"you seem really lovely together, it's just- I thought I would be a little harder to forget" you said, suddenly feeling brave enough to say shit that even you know is an unfair statement "you said you loved me"

He looked at your for a little while, his face portraying a million feelings: first you saw confusion draw on his face, it drastically changed to a sad look, then shame but finally it was filled with rage.

"well, fuck you!" his voice raised and he stepped back as if saying that to you hurt him more. he shook his head while taking little steps towards you, his mood moving to the next emotion.

"you never wanted me, y/n" said James slowly, now your head was slightly looking up so you could be face to face and not face to chest "and you know that I fucking tried".

his hand moved to your arm, even though his words were harsh his touch was gentle, almost as gente as the air of spring causing you to melt into his sad eyes.

"I know" he could barely hear you speaking, your voice was as low as a whisper.

he bend over you, your faces centimeters apart from each other.

"and I have been understanding, you don't like that stuff but I do" his voice now imitating yours, as sad and calm "so I let you go..."

"and now is my turn?" you asked laughing dryly, but he just nodded "oh"

"I'll always love you y/n, so much my heart hurts when I see her and not you. But you've made things clear" his hand stroke your face gently, you closed your eyes understanding that this was, somehow, your fault.

shortly after his hand reached your face, his lips reached yours. he kissed you softly, your heart stopped at the contact of not just your lips but your hearts and before you could kiss him back he moved, he wasn't in front of you anymore.

he gave you a last look and then he entered the common room, you saw through the door and you could see lily waiting for him with a white smile and her soft but intense hair. she looked warm and loving, he deserved that. you were the opposite.

you went to bed crying that day, thinking about how you could have done things differently if you wanted to.

you were bitter, so now you just hoped she was sweet.

[lvcifvr]

Like, I'm technically bisexual

but

I'm so fucking gay.

Boys <3 (Feel free to read below, I just didn't want to clog up dashboards with a long ass post with my bullshit rambling lmao)

This is why I don't refer to myself as pan bc, yeah, I can be attracted to anyone, regardless of gender or presentation or anything,

but I've always been more attracted to guys.

Before I figured out I was trans, I knew I was queer somehow but the way I felt about guys didn't feel "straight".

I didn't feel like a girl who liked guys.

And that was hella confusing for a long time until I came across trans stuff online and started reading up and whatnot.

And then, I came out as a gay trans guy, which was perfect for a long while honestly,

but then I realized that I can be attracted to / have feelings for more than just guys so I thought maybe I was pansexual.

Ngl, I wanted to be pansexual because I felt that being bisexual was... looked down on? I guess.

For being "non-inclusive".

When pansexual first started becoming big, it was posed as being attracted to others regardless of gender and bisexual was attraction to guys and to girls. So I called myself pansexual for a while before I realized it wasn't right for me at all because I was so rarely attracted to people who weren't guys. So I went back to gay for a long long time until I forced myself to recognize my rare attraction to women and my attraction to butch / masc identified people who weren't guys.

I started confidently identifying as bisexual when I was around 27 years old, which was three years ago. And now I can very very confidently say that, although I AM bisexual, my attraction leans extremely heavily toward guys and that it is incredibly rare for me to be actually interested in anyone else. I can think a woman is hot but I'm not interested in dating a woman. At least, not right now. If I meet a woman who does click with me and draws me in, I'd for sure be open to being together, of course. I also find myself not really interested in sex? I've been thinking I'm on the asexual spectrum for a long time, honestly. My love languages are physical affection and spending time together and, though I do enjoy reading queer romance that involves sexual themes and sex (very much honestly!), if I think about myself being in those situations, it doesn't really do anything for me? It might be because I'm a virgin at the age of 30 or it might just be because I haven't met the right person OR I AM on the ace spectrum. I do find myself very sensual though. I ache to be held and to hold someone, to kiss them and cup their face in my hands, to lay on each other and to hear each other's breathing and heartbeats. Long, languid make outs and hand holding, being intimate. I adore all of it and I ache so so much for it that I cry sometimes lmao. But, sex? I don't know. It might also have to do with my dysphoria and body dysmorphic disorder, seeing as how I see myself as disgusting and I wouldn't want a partner to interact with my chest or anything lmao. So, maybe some day. I want top surgery for sure, but I'm still on the line between wanting to start T and not wanting to due to how the cis men in my family look. I'm already pretty androgynous and my body is husky. I don't want to lose my hair like the other men in my family and I don't want to get even more "masc" looking. I want to be a pretty, slightly masculine looking guy. And I also do not like being called a "man" because that's not me. I also have trauma related to men so there's that as well. I honestly don't know why I'm typing this all out, but it feels... Nice, to do so, I guess. I think I'm just lonely. 30 years old, no non-long distance relationships because I live in a still very-Conservative state. I'm a disabled bisexual trans guy who prefers guys. I don't have the energy to really go out and meet other queers because of my disability and my job sucking up all of my energy. I definitely don't hide the fact that I'm queer, it's pretty obvious lmao. I wear a pin at work with one half being the bi flag and the other being the demiguy flag with my name and "he/him" pronouns on it. I talk openly about being queer. I don't hide it, I just don't really make it a "thing", if that makes sense? But I'm just so achingly lonely. And I'm afraid that I'm going to die alone. I just... I have so, so much love to give. And I think I deserve to get some myself, y'know?

[error404vnotfound]

rant incoming because i am. so tired.

so. my best friend has had this crush on another girl from our high school friend group since forever. she told her about it like 2 years ago, not for them to start dating, just so she knew. no expectations no nothing. a few weeks ago they talked about it all again because the other girl had been saying some things and acting in a way that were upsetting to my friend. to no one's surprise, she likes my friend back. they agreed to stay friends tho

thing is, every time we met up before, be it us three or all five of us, it was pretty plain there was something going on in there. me and the other two guys had very third wheeling vibes on us.

after they talked this last time, it's gotten downright unbearable. if we hang all together it's just them two in their little bubble and count yourself lucky if they remember there's more people around.

I'm not very close to the two guys, and I don't particularly like the other girl either. so I've been declining to hang up with them all as a group more and more. I don't particularly like hanging out with more than one person at a time anyways, and I'm not gonna make the effort to be uncomfortable and sad because I can't even have one conversation with my friend

now, onto why I am. so tired.

the other girl wanted to go to a museum/exhibition/zoo in the city. they decided to go. I wasn't, at first, because I knew what it would be like. but then the other girl was like "no, you passed on coming last time we hung up, it's been so long since I've seen you!" and my friend told me that she wanted me to come because "we would have fun" and "it wouldn't be the same without me"

so I said I'd go. and if what I thought was going to happen, were to happen I could just be my little autistic self and wander around drawing animal skulls and turtles fighting

and yeah. it was as bad as I thought it'd be. on the bus they talked just them two, as we walked there, more of the same. as soon as we got in they both went off and left us three behind. if my friend by some miracle found me, the other girl would drag her away to look at something she wanted to look at, and even if my friend complained about it, she didn't struggle against being walked away

okay. well. can't say I'm surprised. I filled 4 pages of my sketchbook and talked to a polish family for a while (one of their kids saw me drawing and i showed him what I'd done. he then asked his mom for a notebook and pen and started drawing the fish and turtles I was also drawing. that little kid made the day worth it, ngl).

then we had lunch on a park. and yeah, more of the same. we almost missed the bus back because of them too. (and of course on the actual bus it was much the same as the whole day had been. worse even. I tried to drown the sound of their talking with my headphones and was half successful)

and it's like. look. date or don't, I couldn't care less, but if we hang up as a friend group, we hang as a friend group. it was just so uncomfortable when we were all together because it would be them two aggressively cuddling or hugging or holding hands and saying veiled comments to each other and just. deeply uncomfortable. third wheeling to the fucking top

and somehow. somehow. this wasn't the worst. I said at the beginning that I don't particularly like the other girl. I have some reasons which are a me problem, her personality just doesn't agree much with mine. fine, I'll live

but then I have other reasons, mainly that since forever she has been playing cat and mouse with one of the other guys (who very obviously likes her). she'll flirt and say things to him. and the poor guy tries and tries but it's a lost cause and we all seem to know it except him. but then, for the past two years, she has been doing the same to my friend. she'd flirt, or say things, or do things, that were obviously done in not a platonic way. (which upset my friend because she'd told her how she felt about her, and the other girl kept on playing with both my friend's feelings and the guy's). has she stopped? not at fucking all, with either of them

my friend and the guy can barely hold a conversation now without one of them provoking the other with annoying or veiled comments. for the guy it's embarrassing, and my friend is honestly behaving like a little shit (derrogatory)

there's no actual conclusion to this thing. im just tired of it all. as if friendships weren't complicated enough already now we gotta deal with this mess too. needless to say, I won't be saying yes to hang out as a group for a while, and certainly not for a whole fucking day

worst thing is, I think, that they both don't even realize what they are doing (to the guy, yes, I mean to me and the other guy). because the other girl hugged me goodbye and told me to hang up with them again (bestie you barely exchanged two words with me today), and my friend did say "it wouldn't be the same without me" but girl you didn't even bother to talk to me

they two probably had a great time, and like, good for them. just next time maybe don't drag the rest of us on your date

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.” You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

[knowlesian]

this post made me want to swerve for a second from my current project to talk about two things that ofmd does that drive me wild: first, that they blow past using characters as 1:1 parallels and instead have a stringboard/giant wheel of fortune spinner they use to weave parallels between a bunch of characters over the course of the show. and second: the way the bar scene with stede and izzy telling ed he’s piiiiiiiiiining over his boyfriend draw the three of them into this wild narrative loop that fucking kills me.

when i was writing my bar meta, i kept thinking to myself: it’s fucking wild how i could be writing about izzy, if i strip the details and keep the emotions and motivations. then i kept thinking: well, fuck. it kinda fits for ed, too!

call it the idiot ball of PAIN.

so: when we start out the scene with stede and the guys, izzy and stede sit in firm parallel. stede wants to win the social game; izzy wants ed to stay in the sad world they built together and hurt each other until they die, because he’s been told the only version of love men like him are allowed to have is dealt out first and foremost through pain.

(and so has stede, and so has ed, in their very different ways: just... what do we mean when we say violence, you know?)

and then when the men in the bar first turn on stede, they trade the parallel hats around. like ed with izzy, he realizes: play the game, or they won’t love you. 

izzy then takes on the quiet part loud for the men in the bar: stede fuckin bonnet, if you won’t feed us the man you love to gain our approval for one useless second, we don’t even want you to exist.

(and he shares their quiet part kept quiet: if you tell me i’m wrong and you refuse to back down, i might have to consider everything i built my life and self-concept on was harmful to myself and others. i have made many, many mistakes, and i have a lot to make up for. 

so shut the fuck up or we will SHUT YOU UP. you are RUINING THIS FOR US. 

and then, even quieter: stay here. let’s hurt each other in different ways, in our silence and our violence, all the time forever. this is what it means to love; one above, and one below. the ones god loves most are no longer loved most if there is no one around god loves less than them.

we demand you define yourselves against us and we have the levers of power, this beat in the narrative says. it confesses for these men, for izzy and for everyone out there hurting and upholding the system: the ugly thing we can’t admit is that we only do that because we have no fucking idea who we are, if we aren’t defining ourselves against you.

that’s the part so quiet it’s an earthquake when you realize it, and then say it out loud: motherfucker, i don’t need you to know who i am. but you certainly seem to need me.)

then stede swaps back to joining up with izzy, for his split second of not remembering why none of this matters. izzy holds a picture of a bloodthirsty killer, born of the devil in ed’s face and says this is who you are; stede verbalizes it.

then they split up again, as stede wins and realizes: i fucking hate these people, this doesn’t feel like winning and i am somehow in more pain than i was when i lost.

and that aligns him with ed again, only when he goes home to mary she tries to murder him and sets him on the path to enlightenment, while ed... shoves lucius over the side in his moment to find similar catharsis, oops.

(because let’s be real: lucius would have said something like ‘that sad little man? you’re going to make a lot of major and, sorry to say, DEEPLY stupid life choices because a man who sold you out told you he thinks you’re already making bad choices and he had a hissy fit about it? we don’t take life advice from men who can’t even look at a dick pic without having three major identity crises and coronaries at the same TIME, this one is not something i should explain’ and allowed ed space to process if izzy is actually right about this or not.

and that’s probably part of why ed was like, yeah. can’t be having that! it’s spiral time, baby. where’s my fuckin mascara and kitchen scissors for my bangs.)

then we hop over to the toe scene, where the narrative hat goes flying around at lightning speed once again, only stede is the one just sort of... lingering there, in the subtext, forever.

ed is stede, when they start: he’s been reminded these are the rules of his actual life, according to the world, and he better start trying to win again. but he’s also playing the role of those men in the bar for izzy! because izzy doesn’t want to find out about life outside the cave, he’s comfortable and all his fuckin stuff is here so he’s trying to force ed to keep playing this role for him. 

similarly, izzy is stede in his own head but standing in for the bar assholes from ed’s angle of the storyline; then, once the toe eating hits, things go extra wild.

basically at that point, everybody is wearing the same fucking hat at once, a little bit.

ed is feeding izzy his own violent notions of love, but that means he’s echoing the terms he’s set; that’s what stede does in the bar, when they hand him ‘ed’s bloodthirsty’ and he repeats it back.

there’s this cool handoff here on the violence hat, too; stede and the assholes stay in the realm of verbal and subtext violence, while ed and izzy add physical violence to the mix while maintaining the kinds of violence that runs through the scene at the bar, as well.

and then izzy wins by losing/being penetrated via The Weird Vore which calls back to the duel and keeps up the thread of izzy being the personification of Area Man Fucks Around, Finds Out; if he’d listened to ed and backed off, no duel. if he’d listened to ed and backed off instead of pushing everything to the limit, no toe eating!

there’s SO MUCH MORE HERE but i should like. save it for later.

godDAMN this show.

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[missluckycharms]

Could you do a smut at anne's house(harry's mum's house)????

Three Taps.

Summary: in which Y/N has to sneak into Harrys house at night to be alone with him and Harry loves hot chocolate with pink marshmallows.

A/N: this is a high school Harry x Y/N fic, both are eighteen in this, just keep that in mind as they are in high school but they’re of age.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Dom!Harry, oral sex, praise kink, size kink, gagging, dirty talk, Harry tends to be a sarcastic asshole even when they’re doing the devils tango.

Word count: 3.4K

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Three taps.

Thats what Harry told Y/N to do, tap three times on his bedroom window and he’d let her in. It’s been their code every few nights when she would sneak over to his house, or he would sneak into hers. Sure, they’re both eighteen, but as all parents say “my house, my rules” so they have to abide by that, kind of.

The pair have only been dating for a little over six months now, both of them graduating soon and moving away for college, but they’ll work around that when the time comes, for now, they have have to work around how Harry can fuck his girlfriend just the way they like, without his Mum waking up and finding them both in bed together, that wouldn’t be a pretty picture Harry thinks.

He’s on red alert, Y/N texting him nearly ten minutes ago saying she successfully snuck out and is now on her way over, the walk to his house is usually fifteen minutes, but she doesn’t mind, she’ll do anything to spend time with Harry — the same Harry who would fold someone up like a pretzel and shove them in a locker if they called him a name, but if Y/N did it, she would get a small smirk and a wink, knowing exactly what hers and only hers punishment was for that.

Harry is a complicated person, to his friends he’s nice - ish, to strangers he looks cold and like he would use you as his skateboard face down on the tarmac if you looked at him wrong, sure he would do that — but he’s not like that under all his rough exterior, he has a warm heart and loves squishy cuddles, and he also loves marshmallows in his hot chocolate, but only Y/N sees that side of him — he only allows her and his Mum to see that side of him. It took him a long time to actually soften up to her, the girl being persistent that she knew what he was really like, he’d shrug and laugh it off saying she was crazy, but when him and his Mum got into an argument and he showed up to Y/N’s house at nearly two in the morning, soaking from the rain and his cheeks tear stained — she knew he finally let down all his walls, he needed her and she gave him what he needed in that time, a hug and a mug of hot chocolate with pink only pink! Marshmallows.

Ever since he opened up to her that night, sipped on her heavenly made hot chocolate, he knew that he could always be safe with her, he would always know that she’s there when he needs her most and visa versa. They’re deemed the “odd couple” in school due to Harry being so cold and Y/N being the slightly quiet and lovable girl who would rather hug someone to death than shove them in a locker and leave them there, but somehow their differences only draw them together and make them one of the best couples there is, they balance one another out — Harry brings out Y/N’s crazy and adventurous side while Y/N brings out Harrys soft and calm side, opposites attract, and they’re living proof of it happening.

He jumps when the small three taps are heard at his window, his body immediately kneeling up and pulling across his curtains, looking down at her stood in his front garden with a hand full of small pebbles from his Mums flower garden (she always returns them) she’s smiling up at him, his own body on his bed right next to his window as he peers down at her, clad in his red baggy hoodie and her black leggings, her hair poking out from the hood of the hoodie as she waits for him to open the window.

“Ladder is by the gate baby” he whispers loudly down to her, she barely hears as she nods, making her way towards the back gate leading to their garden. She grabs it, making sure to not fall or it will wake his Mum up. Harry is practically hanging out the window when she rests the ladder against the wall, looking up at him as she wipes her forehead ridding the sweat.

“Sometimes, I think you only do this so I’ll get off my ass and actually work out” she grumbles falling in through his window and onto his bed, his laugh low as he pulls her jelly like body in, her laughs coming out as pants as he rests her down onto his pillow before shutting his window quietly, his ears on high alert for any movements from his Mums room across the hall.

“You’re just a lazy bum, sometimes I think you may pass out if you walk too much” he jokes looking down at her as she rolls her eyes, pulling down the hood and freeing her hair.

“I hate you. Fuck me, is your heating on?!” She says pulling his hoodie from her body, throwing it onto the floor and leaving her in only a sports bra and leggings, Harrys eyes widening at how easily she slipped it off and laid back down with no care in the world.

“Mum likes to keep it on, apparently her toes get cold in the night no matter what time of year it is” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to hover over her, forearms on either side of her head as she bites her lip smiling up at him giddily.

“No wonder you sleep naked, feels like a furnace” she jokes as Harry hums kissing her neck, her eyes rolling back at the feeling as she wraps her legs around his waist, their crotches grinding down on one another’s as they breath heavily trying to avoid moaning loudly — they both found out they love being vocal in bed, one day Harry was home alone and him and Y/N practically screamed down the house, he’s surprised Mrs Walker next door didn’t ring the police.

“Need to be quiet for me baby, okay?” He says whispering in her ear, her breathy moans being masked by his neck, her lips all over him as he rolls his head back, allowing her more access as she bites and nips at his skin, leaving behind marks that he’ll have to steal some of his Mums makeup to mask over when he’s walking around.

“Should be saying that to you, mister loud mouth” she jokes in a whisper by his ear, her lips sucking on his lobe is what causes him to bury his head in her neck to groan lowly from his chest, his hips rutting down into hers as they both roam one another’s bodies with their lips and hands.

“Very smart mouth for a girl who prefers it to be stuffed full of m’cock” he moans back, her lips now sucking and licking over his sweet spot just under his ear lobe, her own moan muffled by his skin as he shuts his eyes and looks up to the ceiling allowing her to kiss him further, her lips leaving a burning trail down his neck and over his collar bones — his favourite place to give and receive hickies on.

“Harry, shut up and just do something” she says annoyed, frustrated at her boyfriend who always choose to tease her with sarcastic remarks, he knows it riles her up and he loves that, he loves how needy and angry she gets when he grinds his clothed cock down onto her making sarcastic remarks and softly degrading her slowly as she grows wetter and wetter at his movements and words.

“Don’t have to ask me twice baby” he laughs kissing down her torso, his hands immediately shrugging off her bra with her help, and then he slowly pulls down her leggings along with her panties, leaving kisses on the spaces he makes bare and small hushed complements against her skin as he takes her all in under the light of his ten year old soccer ball shaped light hanging from the ceiling above them.

She’s a squirming mess under him, his lips instantly attaching to her clit as she bends her legs, resting her legs over his shoulders as he holds onto her outer thighs, the grip probably marking her skin as he devours her on his bed, his eyes looking up at her biting down on her lip, her hands grabbing a pillow and shoving it over her face to muffle her moans, Harry can hear them slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head as she shakes and squeezes her legs around his head.

“Come on baby, need to see you” he says slipping two fingers into her but not moving, the pillow coming away from her face as she looks at him in her usual fucked out state, glassy eyes and messed up hair.

“H, I can’t, I need to have it over me” she says referring to the pillow, her body shaking as Harry begins to slowly move his fingers in and out of her, stretching her as she drips down his fingers, the sound of his movements in her cunt causing him to press down his hips onto his bed to relieve himself a little.

“Put y’pretty panties in y’mouth baby” he says slurred from pleasure, his own hair a curly mess as his lips become more swollen and spit covered from how harsh he’s eating her out. He takes her panties in one hand, reaching up and rolling them into her mouth, instructing her to bite down on the white lace fabric before he’s back between her legs eating her out.

She’s moaning around the fabric of her panties, her drool wetting the lace as she tugs on Harry’s curls, his moans deep and raspy in her cunt as he keeps his eyes on hers that are threatening to close every second, the slaps he sends to her thighs cause her to open them back up and keep contact with him, his smile devious as he purposely sucks on her clit when she’s close, knowing it ruins her when he does that — he loves to watch her struggle to bite back her moans, the pair of them feeling the rush of nearly being caught everytime one of them make a loud moan or move too quickly which causes his headboard to slap a little off the wall behind it. He’s lapping up all her juices and her moans she’s muffling, her body shaking as he finally brings her to her first high of the night, his fingers not stopping as he rides her through it, kisses being placed to her thighs as she finally calms down, tears brimming her eyes and a lazy smile around her panties that are clutched between her teeth.

“Doing okay baby? Need me to take these out?” He asks crawling back up her body her hands immediately tangling back in his hair as she nods, letting him pull the soaked panties from her mouth, his mouth drooling at the sight of them in his hands.

“Gonna be able to take my cock without being gagged? Or will ya need to have your pretty lace panties back between your teeth?” He teases her, her eyes hooded with pleasure as she scratches her nails down his chest and stomach making the muscles under his skin flex with the slight burn of the marks she’s leaving behind.

“Want you to ruin me, may need them back in between my teeth” she says breathlessly, a slight smirk on her lips as he groans at her words, grabbing the panties and placing them in his own mouth, bending down and feeding them into her mouth, her own teeth clasping them as they leave his mouth, his tongue licking over her lips as she looks up at him with her glassy doe eyes.