#this isn't a blurb

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one part two

there’s an incessant & incredibly annoying sound coming from the kitchen when eddie finally drags himself out of his massive bed & down the stairs the next morning. he’d just gotten off a long phone call with chrissy that should have taken ten minutes & ended up taking a full hour, only for her to come to the conclusion that he needed to be there when both teams met this afternoon to discuss the logistics of the joint public appearance she had finally talked him in to over the course of two very late-night phone calls the night before and dozens of increasingly desperate text messages. eddie was an asshole, but he wasn't about to ruin everything that he and the band had been working toward for years. so he’s already deeply annoyed & a little pissed off as he makes his way to breakfast & it takes him a moment of standing in the hallway, face scrunched up in confusion, but it almost sounds like… jingling.

he sets his mouth in a straight line, takes a deep breath, & drags his still-tired body through the doorway into the kitchen for breakfast.

a breakfast that’s being made by assistant steve, who’s wearing… the most hideous sweater vest known to man.

“what the fuck are you wearing?” eddie blurts out before he can even think twice about it. not that he would’ve, anyway.

steve looks up from where he’s cooking at the stove to glance at eddie before looking down at his own torso. “you don’t like it?” steve frowns, as if he actually cares about eddie’s opinion. “i know it’s a few months early, but it’s one of my favorites. i found it at a goodwill a couple of years ago, can you believe it? someone just gave this away?”

“uh, yeah,” eddie rolls his eyes dramatically to make sure that steve can see. “i can definitely fucking believe it.”

because steve is wearing the most disgusting christmas sweater vest eddie has ever seen. hand-knit, if the crooked & misshapen santa head is anything to go by, & absolutely covered in… jingle bells.

“come on,” steve says, returning to his task of cooking eddie’s breakfast. “surely even you don’t hate christmas.”

“i do,” eddie lies. “and this is a strictly non-religious household. it’s against company policy to bring christmas into the building.”

“what company is that?” steve asks, not even looking at him.

eddie scowls but doesn’t respond, noticing a green gift bag on the counter. “what’s this?”

steve turns. “what’s what?”

“this,” eddie gestures toward the bag.

“oh,” steve smiles. “well, since you gave me such a great ‘welcome to the team’ gift yesterday,” steve gestures to the pink cat collar eddie hadn’t noticed that he’d looped through one of his belt loops, “i figured i should get you something too.” eddie makes no move toward the bag on the counter. “go ahead,” steve goads, still smiling. “everyone loves presents, right?”

eddie, not one to back down when challenged, pulls the bag toward himself & stares at it for a moment, as if it might bite him. steve has gone back to plating eddie’s morning omelet for him, like he doesn’t even care if eddie opens the gift or not. eddie discards the green tissue paper & pulls out… a set of black plastic tongs. the cheap kind you get at ikea for 39 cents when you finally move out of your parents house & have your first ever apartment. clearly used, if the melting on one side is anything to go by, like whoever owned them had left them resting on top of a hot toaster for too long.

“what the fuck?”

steve brings eddie’s breakfast plate over to where he’s standing at the massive kitchen island. “i thought they’d be helpful.” he’s still, infuriatingly, smiling.

“helpful for what?” eddie demands.

“to pull the stick out of your ass.”

~*~

eddie had fired vickie for less. he’s still stewing on it, the insufferable way steve had grinned at him as he’d thrown the tongs across the room & stormed from the kitchen, leaving behind the omelet he’d actually been looking forward to. he’d retreated to his basement studio without a word, pretending as if he’d try writing or even just playing mindlessly in the hopes he’d strike gold, but so far he’s just been sitting in silence with his guitar in his hands, replaying the events from the kitchen in his mind.

the thing is, eddie knows he’s an asshole. and he knows it’s gotten worse since… well, he knows he’s gotten worse in the last year. since everything happened. since wayne.

he knows it & he can’t stop it, even if he really wanted to, which he doesn’t. he likes the power rush, the adrenaline, the superiority he feels when he’s nasty to someone & they just have to take it. it feels good, after so much bad. as long as he doesn’t really consider the feelings of the person on the receiving end of his ire. as long as wayne isn’t there to give him that disappointed sigh & those sad hangdog eyes of his.

because wayne had been his moral compass. wayne had been everything. and now that he’s gone, eddie has no way to check himself. no reason to. it just doesn’t matter anymore.

so he’s mean & he knows it. likes it. won’t stop for anything.

he startles when there’s a knock on the glass that separates the booth from the control room & looks up to see steve waving at him & then point down at his watch.

eddie waits until steve retreats back upstairs before following.

~*~

the car ride to nancy’s office is silent. eddie wears his noise canceling headphones & sits in the back seat, doesn’t even acknowledge steve when he jumps out of the car at the valet stand, just shoves past the security guard at the door & makes his way toward the elevator where chrissy’s waiting for him.

“hey,” she greets him, sunny smile on her face. eddie wants to say something biting, wants to hurt her because he knows he can, but he doesn’t.

“hi,” he grumbles instead & follows her into the elevator where she hits the button for nancy’s floor. he leans against the back wall, folds his arms over his chest & stares down at his boots.

“so like we talked about, his team it here. doesn’t look like he’s with them,” she tells him. eddie looks up at that.

“then why the fuck do i have to be here?”

chrissy sighs. “he was supposed to show. that was part of the deal. that you’d both be here to work out the details of the appearance.”

“if he’s just gonna make this a joke—" eddie can feel the anger rising in him.

“i don’t think that’s what this is, eddie,” chrissy levels him with a look. “i think he’s in real trouble with his label.”

“chris, i don’t need this. i didn’t do anything wrong,” eddie tells her, anger flaring.

“you started a brawl at a club that damaged twenty thousand dollars worth of property, eddie.”

eddie rolls his eyes. “there’s no way anything in the hideout is worth twenty thousand dollars. the land it sits on isn’t even worth that much.”

chrissy sighs again. “what’s the issue? seriously. i thought you guys hadn't even seen each other in over a year. i know he was shitty back then, but i thought everything was fine. how did this even start?”

if it were anyone else, eddie would just ignore the question. but since it’s chrissy, he takes a deep breath and says, “he talked about wayne. said shit that was private, between us. stuff that was said behind closed doors. stuff that shouldn’t have been brought into a fucking club in front of a bunch of drunk strangers doing coke, for fucks sake.” he slams his fist into the elevator wall, too angry to stop himself. chrissy doesn’t even flinch, too used to his outbursts at this point.

chrissy just looks at him & he can feel himself squirm under her gaze. “okay,” she says, like that’s all there is to it. and maybe it is, because she loved wayne too & she was there for it all. wayne’s illness, the funeral, the fallout. she saw it all. “why don’t you go home? he’s not here. we can do this without you.” eddie tries to interrupt but she cuts him off. “we won’t agree to anything without talking to you first. i promise.”

the elevator dings. they’re finally at nancy’s floor.

“fine,” eddie says, leaning back against the elevator wall & crossing his arms again as chrissy moves to hit the button for the lobby before getting off.

“i’ll call you, okay? and we’ll talk about it,” she says, before walking down the hall to the conference room.

~*~

the elevator ride seems to take forever & by the time eddie makes it back down to the lobby, steve has somehow managed to park the car and find another smoothie, the same purple as yesterday’s.

“let’s go,” eddie grumbles as he passes where steve is sitting. steve looks up in surprise.

“that’s it?” steve asks, getting up from the bench he’s sitting on. “i thought you had a meeting?”

“canceled. i wanna go home,” eddie pushes through the glass doors out into the LA sunshine.

steve doesn’t say anything, just hands the valet their ticket & they wait several minutes before the car is brought back around.

eddie knows he shouldn’t. knows it’s mean. but he can’t help himself. as he brushes past steve to climb into the backseat, he knocks the smoothie straight from steve’s hand, where it falls to the sidewalk, sending splatters of purple all across steve’s clean sneakers & the bottoms of his light wash jeans.

“oops, sorry. no liquids in the car,” eddie says, shrugging in mock remorse as he slides into his seat.

eddie watches from inside the car as steve stands on the sidewalk motionless in surprise as the valet scrambles for tissues. and honestly, eddie feels better than he has in days. he almost smiles.

[hxney-lemcn]

@ceruleancattail posts about housewarden Cater making reader be on the stage are yummy, but imagine...

Cater's barely paying to the poor Heartslabyul student whose on trial below his podium, instead he's more focused on his phone. You're sitting beside him, twirling your hair apathetically as you're pressed into his side, watching the student shiver in fear below.

"I'd say make him scrub the toilets," You murmured, letting go of your hair and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Hmm," Cater hummed, finally glancing away from his phone, clearly not interested enough in whatever this sad sap did. "Whatever you say, babe~" The cute smile on his face contrasted the student who watched on in mild horror. After all, Cater's punishments were never always as they seemed.

And with you by his side, they were always sure to be done exactly the way Cater wanted it. After all, you had become the queen's executioner.

[getaapologist]

Servant!reader with geta where he brings her to a gladiator fight or he gets her to suck his finger or something 😶‍🌫️🤭

I liked this so much that I tried to satisfy both parts of your request.

[ find an earlier iteration of your servant!reader here ]

[ Geta Masterlist ]

(also don't mind me, this gif is magical, as is this whole scene for him. it's not my fault he keeps leaving his neck out. one day I'm gonna write about it.)

“Are the gladiators not enough entertainment for you, brother? Must you bring your plaything?” Caracalla complained, grey-blue eyes studying every inch of you.

It was unnerving.

Geta rolled his eyes, turning away from his brother’s taunt to look to you, partially to check in with you, but more so to block you from Caracalla’s view.

Your position was not lost on you. Your access to Geta was… quite unique. After a few weeks, it almost felt… normal.

As much as fucking an emperor could feel normal.

There was much to learn about Geta. That in private, he could be playful, even sweet if he wished it. He craved touch. He liked it when you used his title. You hadn’t dared to call him “Geta” yet. Not until he asked it of you. Not that he ever would.

That would imply a familiarity that would cross too many boundaries.

Too much, too close.

Foolish thoughts.

“Do you like the games?” His voice was low and quiet, just for you. A small bubble of conversation, only large enough for you two. These small moments where he genuinely wanted to hear you speak, and didn’t want to share the sound of your voice with anyone else.

That’s what it seemed like, anyway.

“I’ve never been, Emperor.”

Surprise. Satisfaction. Words just on the verge of being arrogant. 

“It’s the greatest entertainment Rome has to offer. Nowhere else can you see strength like this,” he gestured to the arena, currently empty. 

It was far too easy to delude yourself into thinking he was truly interested in you and your thoughts, your opinions. The reality was surely something in between. He might think he wants to hear them, but it didn’t mean he’d ever listen to them.

“I am sure it is wonderful, Emperor.”

Placating, always placating.

The cheering of the crowd pulled his attention away and the bubble burst, though his hand remained on your thigh, pulling your legs across his lap as he made you share the throne.

Blasphemous.

Could you be blamed for your delusions, when this is how you were treated?

“Look, there,” Geta gestured, pointing to the gate opening on the far side of the arena.

And you did look, pressed up against his side, you took in the spectacle, wonder and interest waning as soon as blood was drawn.

The sounds should not have been so clear. They were so far below, away, and yet the wounded cries echoed in the oval, reaching your ears as if the man were right at your feet.

Salt, iron, the stench of death. 

With each slash and stab, Geta’s grip grew tighter. He cheered and jeered, winced and gasped, fully engaged in the violence below.

His brother was quite similar, though he was more energetic, a mad look in his eyes at times. All bluster and leaning against the back of the throne as if in agony whenever his chosen fighter fell.

Another of their servants stepped into view, obscuring Caracalla from view. They held a small plate. It contained some bits of fruit, nuts, honey.

Geta refused to acknowledge it, his eyes focused on the bloodshed before him. With a small smile, you reached out to accept the plate, holding it before you much like they had, waiting for Geta to notice. 

“Hungry, little lamb?” Geta finally questioned, noticing the plate for the first time.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t listening, he wasn’t even looking, eyes falling to the plate’s contents, ringed fingers hovering over them as he decided what to choose.

A juicy slice of plum, flesh glistening, drizzled in golden honey. 

His eyes met yours, danger in them.

“Open.”

The command shot down your spine, your face warming. Squeezing your thighs shut, you opened your mouth, eyes on his as his own fell to your parted lips. He was entranced as he slipped the sliver of fruit between them, the pads of his fingers brushing over your lips.

He watched you intently as the sweet and tart flavor burst across your tongue, forcing you to give him a small sound of satisfaction at the taste. His lips slid into a wolfish grin.

“That’s a good little lamb,” he spoke, his voice oozing with glee.

He picked up a smaller piece and dropped it into his own mouth, still keeping his eyes on you.

“Another?” he asked, the piece of fruit already between his fingers.

You couldn’t refuse, because he wasn’t truly asking. You nodded.

He was clumsier, as if on purpose. The pads of his fingers touched your tongue as he slowly released the fruit, his eyes falling to a bit of honey running down your chin. He dragged his finger up, collecting the sweet nectar. He held his finger in front of your lips as you chewed, waiting for you to swallow.

His eyes moved down to your throat as you did, before they rose to meet yours.

“Clean,” he stressed, his big eyes bright with amusement. 

Another order. You couldn’t refuse.

His lips parted as yours did, as if he were in a trance, your perfect mirror. His tongue pushed at the inside of his mouth as you accepted his finger into yours.

The honey was cool, a bit thicker than usual. Your tongue worked that much harder at it, applying pressure to get the sticky sweetness out of the whirl of his fingertip. Once loosened, you sucked, swallowing the sweetness.

A delighted chuckle burst out of his chest as he bit his lip, attention fully on you, the bloodshed occurring below completely out of mind. His grin was otherworldly as you released his finger from your lips.

“Little lamb,” he muttered, “you are…” 

He didn’t finish his thought, just stared at you, as if coming to some realization. What it meant for you, you couldn’t know.

[ more servant!reader can be found here ]

[etherealily]

𝕊𝕀ℕ // ​🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​ ​🇯​​🇦​​🇨​​🇴​​🇧​​🇸​

My other Nate fics, if you have the time.

No one seemed to like the cliffhanger, so here's a draft that I converted into a bonus chapter.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. NSFW. Drugs. Contains brief explicit content. MDNI for this part alone. Literally the only smut I have ever and will ever write.

Part 1 : Whiplash Part 2 : 9 Lives Part 3 : Blessed Part 4 : Shards Part 5 : Eighteen

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

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Nate had never been more pissed in his life. Ever. You'd blatantly disobeyed him. Well, not technically. No technically, you hadn't been told anything, but he'd have figured you weren't so dense as to go and visit Shane motherfucking Crestin in the motherfucking ER !

Honestly. It's like you had one braincell and all it told you was to piss him off.

And fuck him. He definitely saw that in your eyes the last time.

Or was that the molly?

Probably the molly.

But whatever. The fact was, you wanted to fuck him, and he wanted to fuck you, and he had no idea why you wanted him out of your life if that was the case. Wasn't that fate? Two people want something so bad, they should end up doing it, no? Not going and visiting the reason they couldn't do it in the ER.

Yeah, he decided.

Yes. They. Should.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

He'd figured you would avoid him like the plague, anyway. So he didn't care if it reached you or not that he was helping McKay host a party. So imagine his surprise when, after about two months of no contact, you showed up at his party.

"Whoa."

You frowned. "Excuse me?'

"What happened to 'get the fuck out of my life, Nate?' What, were you just full of it?"

"Dude. If me being here bothers you that much, I'll just fucking leav-"

"Jeez, don't be a baby, short stuff.", he cooed, patting your head before slinging an arm around you. "C'mon, let's do shots."

"Hey, whoa, whoa, none of this friendliness."

He rolled his eyes, removing his hand from you. "Fine. C'mon. I missed you."

And the problem was, he did. He actually fucking missed you. Which was the weirdest thing to happen to him since... well, birth. It wasn't anything in particular, it wasn't even the fact that you were easy on the eyes.

He, like a fucking simp, just liked you being around him.

With as much trepidation as a sycophant scorned by his master, he gently, reverently, offered you a shot. "For old times' sake?"

You rolled your eyes, taking it from him. "For old times' sake? Like, the time you got me drunk at school?'

He smiled, his hand slowly back around your shoulder as he tugged you closer, kissing your temple. "We could always go back, y'know?", he murmured next to your ear. "Get high on the bleachers again."

"No."

"C'mon, we haven't hung out in two months. Ditch these fakes. I'm the fun one, anyway."

Jesus.

He took a long drag of his vape, the smoke bombarding your face. He proferred it to you and frowned when you declined. "Why not?"

"I don't vape."

"Are you one of those bitches that says 'smoke a real cigarette'?"

"No, I don't smoke at all."

He rolled his eyes. "We're going to the bleachers."

It was weird, to say the least, the air between you two back at the bleachers. You sat, looking up at the sky, the grass, anywhere but his eyes, and he sat with his head on your lap.

Silence covered the two of you until he sighed. "Can we just pick up where we left off?"

"And where was that?"

"With me almost eating you out."

You scoffed. You wouldn't have done that if you thought he was being serious. You wouldn't have done that if you were entirely sober. But you didn't and you weren't, so you scoffed. "Right. Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not joking. You're making this harder than it needs to be. There isn't any ulterior motive, this is just... boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy-"

"Debatable.", you muttered, but he ignored it.

"-Boy wants to fuck girl, girl wants to fuck boy, boy fucks girl. Why are you adding shit? Do you want drama? Is that what this is? Because we could do drama. I could do drama like you've never fucking seen before!"

In Nate speak, that meant he had a big dick and he wanted you to know.

"Look. It's just too complicated. You've- there's too much-"

"Forget it all. 'Kay? Just you and me.", he replied immediately, sitting up.

"Because you quote-unquote 'love' me."

"Exactly that." His lips found yours, and surprisingly, this time, you actually had a spine and pulled away.

"What the FUCK?"

Huffing, he rolled his eyes and stroked your cheek as he shifted and knelt down. "Can we skip the part where you scream 'what the fuck, what the fuck' and push me away and get to the part where you admit you want me? I've had a long day."

Seeing him down there did nothing to make you feel safer.

"Nate-"

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, please, just, for the love of god-", he muttered, as if you were being an inconvenience at the moment and not him, the asshat on his knees. "Would you just relax?"

"Look, Y/N. I love you.", he said, and his hands slowly slid up to the hem of your shirt, his thumb rubbing the skin right under it. "Let me show you."

"You don't love me. Stop saying that."

"Fine, then. I want you. And stop telling me you don't want me, like it's a mortal sin or something.", he warned, gripping the backs of your thighs.

Sadly, you couldn't entirely blame this on the molly this time.

It definitely contributed to the decision, but mostly to the fact that it made every single touch of his explode with a robust... flavour that you couldn't replicate even if you tried.

He smiled up at you so softly you'd think he was on his knees to propose. But no. Instead of opening up a little box, he opened the fly to your pants.

"Can you look at me, please?"

You sighed, looking down. "What?"

"You really don't look like you're against this. I'd even go so far as to say you want me, but you're too much of a pussy to admit it."

You did want him. BUT. You were against this. Because it was wrong. But you were letting him kiss up your thighs, bite at your lower abdomen.

Meaning it was the world according to Nate and it both infuriated you and turned you on.

FUCK.

Hums came from both your mouth and his, and before you knew it, your fingers felt nothing but the locks of his hair, pulling so hard there was no way he wasn't in pain. And he must have been, because gently, so seamlessly, he trailed his hand up to yours, removing it from his hair and interlocking it with his own.

But he didn't pause. His tongue continued doing... well, whatever the hell it was doing that made you want to stab the Earth for being able to produce Nate Jacobs as well as praise it for... well, being able to produce Nate Jacobs.

"You're a virgin?", he asked, breathless, raising a brow in incredulity.

You'd be lying if you said your brain even registered his question - registered anything but his tongue and lips.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Why? Don't tell me this is still a test to see if I'm easy or not-"

"It's not.", he assured, reaching up slowly, and then kissing your cheek of all fucking places. One of his hands trailed back down and into you while the other one immediately closed your mouth, though you had no idea why. It was a fucking desolate high school football field. No one was going to hear anyway.

He grinned, pressing his forehead against yours as he added another finger, curling them as he worked into you. "Shh, shh, shh.", he murmured, after probably feeling the results of you trying not to lose your shit beneath his palm.

"See? We go great together."

You screamed. But it didn't quite carry.

He frowned in confusion for a moment when you made a muffled noise and then muttered an 'ah' as he gently removed his palm from your mouth.

"That's not..."

"Hm? That's not what?"

You could have killed yourself right there, because he smirked is what he did. He smirked when you couldn't finish (and barely even start) your sentences.

"That's not even remotely..."

You were stalling. That was clear. Why? You didn't know. There was no logical reason. He was already fucking inside you, there was no point in backing out of this now.

But there was reason to hesitate.

He sighed, licking his lips and shaking his head in disappointment, brushing hair from your face. "Hey."

"What?"

"If you don't fuck me right now, I will lose my shit. I will cut myself. I will play Russian Roulette again. That work for you?"

Oh, this sick, sick, sick, SICK motherfucker.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

Why you did it? Question for the ages.

You should've said no. You should've gone home. You didn't go home, though, not even after the fact. You probably should have.

Instead, you found yourself back at Fezco's store. Not voluntarily, either, it just seemed your car was as drained as you were, and you forgot to fill it back up.

"Rue?", you called out into what you imagined to be an abyss. Her voice appeared like light at the end of a tunnel. "Hey."

"You high?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I need someone to pick me up."

"Maddy's not free?"

"I didn't check."

"Well.", she groaned, shifting around, clearly in some sort of drug-induced discomfort, "You should. I don't wanna kill you, y'know, you mean so fucking much to me."

The sarcasm in her voice was mildly hurtful, but hey. At least she cared enough not to kill you.

More than Nate had ever cared.

"Okay."

So, of course, you called Cassie. Because no fucking way were you calling Maddy to come pick you up from the store owned by the local dealer, which was suspiciously close to the party thrown by her ex.

The car ride with her was smooth and lovely and peaceful. Because she was smooth and lovely and peaceful.

"You think your car will be safe, out there, all night?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I told Fez. He knows what to do."

"Y/N, I... I've noticed you've been off, like, the last term or so."

You did not need her therapy session right now.

"Nah, I'm fine."

"You're not.", she chuckled, nervously, shaking her head as she slowed down at the red light. "You seem on edge. I think it's cause of him."

"Him?" WHAT? How the fuck did this ditz know?

"Yeah. Like, I don't know, maybe you're in love with him, and you think it's, like... forbidden, because he's a bad influence or something, but you just kinda look... strung out. Like there's a huge secret you're keeping."

She was supposed to be clueless about what was going on around her. Isn't that the thing they say about hot blondes?

"Love? In love? With who?"

"Fezco, of course. I get it, he's a dealer, but he's also hot, and I guess, let's face it, he's quite nice for a criminal."

Oh, thank god. The dumb blonde theory stands.

"I'm not in love with Fez."

"Then why are you so... off?"

"I...", you sighed, deciding to stick to the truth as much as safely possible. "I got in with some bad people during spring break."

The look of concern on her face made you want to apologize and buy her whatever she wanted, or maybe even confess to every fucking sinful thought you'd ever had.

"What? Oh, my god, what? Like, hard drugs and shit?"

"More like guns and shit."

"Y/N, WHAT?!"

"Yeah, it was fucked up, but I'm out of it now, though, so you don't have to worry, okay, Cass? I'm peachy. I'm great, honest! Hey, it's turning amber."

She frowned, turning back to the road in front of her. "You sure?"

You'd never been more grateful for Nate throwing the lamp to your right rather than your left.

You'd never been more grateful for Nate giving you a hickey on your right rather than your left.

You nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, though."

"So. Did you... you went to his party, right? Did you see him? Did you guys talk?"

It took you a moment to figure out that she was talking about her ex.

"McKay? Yeah. Yeah."

"How is he? Did he mention me?"

"He's, um... he's doing fine, I guess. He looks like he misses you, but you know him. He probably won't tell me."

"I just... maybe we... I just want to, um... fix things."

"You should."

"You think?"

You nodded. What the fuck else could you do to distract her from the fact that if she took one look down, she'd see Nate blowing up your phone? "Yeah, you guys were great together."

You instantly cringed. Because that was what Nate had said about you and him. "See? We go great together."'

"I don't know if I want him back, or what. What do you think?"

That I just fucked Nate Jacobs. And that the molly was only half of it. That I'm going to kill myself.

"I think... I think you broke up for a reason, Cass."

She nodded, and the rest of the car ride went in pleasant silence.

Then she dropped you home.

And Rue was waiting for you.

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"You're pissing me off. What is this, blackmail?'

"Yeah. It is. I saw you two in the bleachers, and if you tell people I'm not sober, I'll let it slip that you let Nate Jacobs inside you."

Keep your calm. If you show even a tiny sign of accepting that she was right, you're dead meat. "It was a psych project. He had just finished a practice, so we sat there and finished some work."

"With tequila?"

Silence. Okay. She was not talking about tonight. She was talking about the gun-night. This was salvageable.

"Funnily enough, Y/N, according to what Lexi told me, there's been no 'psych assignment-slash-project.'"

"Rue-"

"So you've not only been lying to all of us, you've been betraying Maddy. And you've done Jules so wrong.'

"Look, you don't even know-"

"Then tell me."

So you did. You told her about the Instagram story, you told her about the Russian roulette, hell, you even told her about the dinner and the scar. What you didn't tell her about was the sex. The mind-blowing guilt-inducing sex.

"But I saw you kiss him on the bleachers."

"I was drunk, Rue. I'd have let the fucking janitor kiss me."

"Look, Y/N, those are my terms."

"You're asking me to lie to everyone about your health, your wellbeing! We're all looking out for you, Rue! Y'can't just blackmail me into not doing right by you."

"As nice as that is, the fact still stands that you fucked Nate."

FUCK!

"Rue, please-"

"He doesn't even fucking want you. He wants to get back at Maddy, and you're too fucked out to see it!"

"Rue, you're crossing the li-"

"I bet that fucking him was the only thing you've been doing this whole time. What, did you fuck him when Maddy was with him?"

Rue laughed after you slapped her and that definitely told you she was so high she couldn't even feel it. "C'mon. Grow up.", she scoffed, tucking hair behind your ear. "Girl code's not important anymore, is it? We're all eighteen - adults - now."

WHY must everyone always do that with your hair? So fucking condescendingly, too?!

"Rue, I didn't fuck Nate Jacobs."

"Then why is he blowing up your phone? Yeah, you think I didn't notice the name on your screen?"

"He blows up my phone because he's a psycho- I told you about the Russian Roulette thing and the gun and the slit wris-"

"Yeah, but you said you asked him to leave you alone and he did. Why would he break no contact? What could've happened?"

"Rue, I am not going to help you fake sobriety in front of your family- I- Rue, what is that?"

She frowned, looking down and following your line of sight. Her bag. The front zip. A needle. She looked back up, deadpan. "Fent."

"RUE! YOU CAN'T EXPECT ME T-"

"Look, Y/N, I like you, I do. There's no reason for you to worry, okay? If you could be quiet, your life will go on as it always does. No reputation loss, no guilt, no embarrassment."

"This will kill you! I can't do that to you, Rue, please!"

"But you can do Nate Jacobs?"

You were genuinely about to strangle this fucking trapper cunt.

"Think about it."

What, had she gotten lessons in blackmail from him?

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

That night, you were too fucking exhausted to even question why Nate was knocking at your window. You just opened it for him. You just let him kiss you. You just let him tuck your hair behind your fucking ear.

"I have a question."

"What?"

"Did you visit Shane in the hospital?"

Okay. No way he could have found out about that. You didn't tell a single fucking soul.

"Huh?"

"I beat him up for you. 'Cause he was saying you fucked when you didn't.", he said, his voice oddly calm for a man betrayed.

"I didn't ask you to!"`

"Please.", he scoffed, clapping sarcastically. "Biggest cop-out of the century."

"I didn't!"

"He was calling you a slut, basically. As if you'd just give it up to anyone." What, like he knew you that well?

"Hundreds of people say hundreds of shit about me every fucking day! What am I, supposed to set you on them?"

"You could."

You scoffed.

"I'm being serious. You could say "'sic 'em' " and I'd beat them to a bloody pulp.", he informed, brushing hair over your ear again. "Say it. Tell me someone to beat up. I'll do it. No matter who it is."

"Nate. I didn't ask you to do any of this. I asked you to leave me alone, and you did the opposite!"

"You're acting like I showed up, fucked you, and then just left!"

He clenched his jaw, his grip on the piece of hair he just pushed behind your ear, now shifting to the rest of your hair. "No, cunt. I said 'I love you'. Or did you conveniently forget that?"

Oh. Right. THAT.

"What? You're suddenly acting like a pussy, baby, what's up with that? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't remember. Don't be a pussy. C'mon, tell me. Oh, yeah, wait a minute, you can't."

"You didn't mean that. You wanted to get what you wanted, so you-"

"You think I say shit like 'I love you' lightly? You think I throw that word around?" Yes, he did, but you didn't need to know that. He decided to deploy the trauma card.

"You've seen what my parents are like. You think I'd abuse the words 'I love you'?"

"I guess not-"

"Yeah. EXACTLY."

Ooh, you were putty in his hands and he almost got a semi because of it.

"Look, okay, fine, Nate, that- that was out of pocket, but you can't expect me to-"

"But I do. I have never lied to you. Have I? I've blackmailed you and threatened you and, fuck, yeah, I've stuck a goddamn gun down your throat, but when have I ever lied?"

"So you're saying you 'love' me and I have to just accept it."

"I'm saying I love you, and you have to just believe it.'

And god help you, you somehow did.

"Rue's blackmailing me."

He mock-gasped. "You're cheating on me, then."

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. Him being so calm in the face of danger should make him look foolish in your eyes, not admirable.

And the molly excuse was being held up by string the breadth of dental floss, honestly.

"Does she use firearms as well? Did you think about me the whole time?" He was clearly trying to make you laugh, and it was working.

He kissed your forehead. "What did she blackmail you for?"

"For or about?"

"Both."

"For : keeping her relapse a secret from everyone. About : the gun-night at the bleachers."

"Okay, so the choice is clear."

"What?"

Nate Jacobs had scared you when he'd said he loved you and when he'd said he'd kill himself for you, but he'd never scared you as much as he did with what he said next.

"We just sit back and watch that bitch OD."

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie have to learn to give and take a lot in their relationship. They are two very different people from two very different backgrounds and that means they have different needs and ways of navigating life and it takes a lot of listening and compromising to fit their lives together. Those differences become especially pronounced around any major holiday.

Steve is a bonafide loverboy and while Eddie loves Steve to the point of becoming a feral raccoon about it, he's never been one for Valentine's Day. It's not even that he has any particular baggage attached to it. It's just that the popular crowd that loved to rub him into the dirt was always so gung-ho about it growing up so it's become second nature to tear it down for its capitalistic nature, forced affection, and disgusting color palette. When Steve wants to take him out for their first Valentine's Day, Eddie completely shuts him down without a second thought.

They end up spending the entire day alone and they're both miserable about it. Eddie calls at midnight and they talk on the phone for almost an hour about what happened. In the end, Eddie relents because he knows how much it would mean to Steve to have a day to celebrate their love besides their anniversary. The compromise is that there won't be any cheesy gifts that will end up in the landfill or themed gifts that have no purpose on any other day of the year. Instead, Eddie makes brownies (of the non-pot variety) and Steve makes dinner and they make a blanket fort at home and watch movies. They end up celebrating on February 15th every year and vehemently refuse to call any other day Valentine's Day

With Christmas, it's Steve who pushed too hard. He has a very picturesque image of Christmas in his mind that includes piles of presents, loads of decorations, and wholesome family time built up from too many holiday movies and too many lonely Christmases. The Munsons on the other hand are generationally poor and usually don't do anything for Christmas besides cooking up the ham the plant gives Wayne every year. Eddie especially hates how many people feel pressured to break their backs working overtime around this time of year so they can get their kid or spouse or whatever the newest this or that. Wayne did that Eddie's first year living with him, trying to build good memories with his nephew, but Eddie hated seeing his uncle hurt for him and spent Christmas day crying out of guilt.

He tries to explain this all to Steve who seems, at first, to understand but then he shows up to the Munson trailer Christmas day laden with wrapped gifts and decorations. He sets it all up quietly while the Munson men sleep and Eddie wakes up to find his living room covered in Christmas cheer. He knows Steve means well, but to Eddie it just feels like Steve is treating them like a charity case. That they just need someone to spend a bunch of cash on stuff and they will magically understand the magic of Christmas. He chews Steve out and goes back to his room after demanding Steve take everything down.

Steve comes back later that day with his tail between his legs apologizing for not listening to Eddie. Steve explains that he's always wanted a family Christmas where they spend the whole day together exchanging thoughtful gifts and eating way too much fudge and got carried away and tried to force it. When Eddie talks about how many people slave away to try and make Christmas happen when they're on his side of the poverty line, Steve takes that to heart. He may not get it personally, but he understands how Christmas can be a source of stress. The next year, Steve asks if Eddie would like to do a low-budget Christmas exchange with him (Wayne included). They make each other handmade gifts and aren't allowed to spend more than $10 for materials. They eat ham and mashed potatoes and exchange handmade scarves and patches and mugs. Even when inflation goes up they both refuse to raise the money threshold, both of them taking it as a challenge.

[teddybeartoji]

it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

[little-pondhead]

Classic "promised-at-birth-to-the-Ghost-King" story, except the contract never states how, exactly, the King is to use the offered soul. Usually, one would be offered as a bride or sacrifice. But with Pariah Dark sealed away, his retainers got a little lazy in the last few millennia. They just made some generic contracts and practically handed them out like candy.

When Danny took over as king via conquest, that included all the weird and messed up soul contracts the previous retainers had signed. And since ghost magic was a thing and seemed to have it out for Danny personally, many of these contracts updated their terms and conditions as soon as that crown hit Danny's head, reflecting the new King's subconscious desires and personality.

This caused many issues with those still around to profit from these contracts. Some people lost their power, some gained more, and some were unbound and kicked to the curb. A few special people found themselves dropping dead after their less-than-ethical abilities disappeared.

Danny was unaware of the chaos he had unintentionally caused for quite a while. It was only brought to his attention when a letter arrived on his desk one day with a copy of someone's valid contract enclosed. The new changes have been highlighted, and a separate note is attached.

It seems that in exchange for blessings of near-immortality for her infant son, a mother had offered Pariah Dark both their souls in order to ensure her child's survival during harsh times. (The souls were to be collected upon death and were to be used as soldiers in the King's Army.) The mother's soul had returned to the Keep decades ago and was recently assigned to tend to the gardens, while her son seemed to have grown into a fine gentleman and was still alive. He used his mother's gifts to serve his country and loved ones well, it seemed.

At first, Danny didn't see what any of this had to do with him. If the mother was already a part of his kingdom, and the son would be eventually, why was a letter about the whole thing showing up before him?

Then he read the revised contract, which bore his magical signature. A signature that overruled the power of Pariah and binding it to him.

'...and as such, in return for the abilities stated above, [Mary Pennyworth] and [Alfred Pennyworth] will fulfill the conditions detailed below, upon pain of Ending.

[Mary Pennyworth], when returned to the Kingdom of Dark Kingdom of Stars, will work as a lieutenant in the Skeleton Army caretaker in the Gardens of Pluto.

STATUS: COMPLETED

[Alfred Pennyworth], when returned to the Kingdom of Dark Kingdom of Stars, will work as a general in the Skeleton Army caretaker of the King and his Court.

STATUS: PENDING'

Danny had to re-read the contract several times to understand what it was saying. He now had a caretaker? What did a caretaker do? Was it like a ghost parent? Could this guy ghost-ground him??

He sighed and pressed the speed dial on his phone for Tucker. Time to find out who the hell this Alfred Pennyworth guy was, and how to break a magic contract when it wasn't even fulfilled yet.

Meanwhile, Alfred had just found the original copy of the contract amongst his mother's belongings after it glowed and drew him in. The paperwork cleared up a lot of mysteries he'd always wondered about himself, even if he disapproved of his mother's methods. Nonetheless, he smoothed out the aged paper with dark green ink, noted the fresh (sloppy, a teenager?) signature, and began preparing to meet this supposed new King and his Court.

It wouldn't hurt to make introductions before he died, after all.

[choccorin]

boyfriend!toji who loves being shirtless as he walks around your apartment. “like what you see, doll?”, he teases everytime he catches you looking a bit too long, not that he minds. in fact, he loves it. the way you'd turn all heart-eyed when he slightly flexes his muscles. also loves the reaction you give him when he calls you out, your body flinching just a bit and you scrambling around your surroundings trying to find a good excuse like it wasn't plainly obvious that you were admiring his naked back. he thinks it's cute, he thinks you're cute.

[munsonthings86]

bedtime with steve

warnings: fluff, soft!steve, clingy!steve, new relationship, 0.3k words

an unofficial part two to this fic

steve had you safely wrapped in his arms, palms supporting your thighs that were tight around his waist. he gently laid you onto his plush, doughy mattress without ever unlatching his mouth from yours. he was ravenous for the feeling of your plump lips against his. through the opening of the patterned curtains adorning the square window, the moon's glare that poured into steve's bedroom casted a silver glow along your skin.

he caught a glimpse of your beauty when your smile pulled you out of the kiss, head going fuzzy from being so engulfed in him. the way you were practically glowing in the dark like this was so alluring to him. a true work of art.

"you're so beautiful," he laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips as he did so. before you could even properly kiss him back, he pulled away, brushing your hair away from your face. "so, so pretty," another kiss. "i can't handle it," he chuckled against your lips. another kiss.

"how'd i get so lucky, hm?" it was more of a question to himself than to you, though. he rested his body on top of yours, but held most of his weight off of you with the help of his forearms. you shuffled under him, opening your legs so that he could lay comfortably between them, folding your arms around his neck to pull him in for another smooch.

your lips were puffy and wet from what felt like hours of kissing steve and you're both breathless when you finally pull away. steve's hand finds your wrist as he trails your hand away from his cheek, lacing his slender fingers through yours. "ready for bed?" he asked, with a dopey smile that disrupted his usually stern features.

you nodded your head, though the last thing on your mind was sleep. "one more kiss?"

"you read my mind," he mumbled, leaning in to kiss you again and again and again. the two of you weren't going to bed for another while.

💌 1 new message from jojo: requests are open and strongly encouraged. whether it’s for a blurb, fic, or just some thoughts in general :) see u in the next one

[partycatty]

johnny cage > character development

reader dating johnny as he trains at wu shi academy and visits outworld

notes: i was inspired by that one fanart of johnny cage inspired by myspace era tom hardy

masterlist <3

•johnny cage sending you stupid fuckboy selfies while he's away at the wu shi academy training to be a champion (he hasn't been thru his character arc yet, he's still johnny "can't cut back" cage)

•he'd pull up his undershirt with his teeth and expose his midsection, looking into the camera with that trademark grin and wink combo that sends his fans to the moon

•sends u update pics on his build, sure, he was built before but his muscles came in even more defined with the excessive training the monks put him through

•would send you every. fucking. photo and video this man takes. ipad baby could not put that damn thing away in chapter 3 good LORD.

•"babe look" and it's a man you've never seen harnessing the power of lightning. what.

•whispered phone sex since he's in a shared room

•send you texts like "missin u like crazy rn" and "cravin that sweet ass rbn"

•of course you roll your eyes at your boyfriend's ridiculousness but you also hope he goes through a genuine development in his life. god knows he needs it.

•and when he finally returns, there's a new spark in his eye. a new, mature sparkle. he tells you about liu kang, outworld, the hourglass, kenshi, kung lao, raiden, the tarkatans, and the lin kuei. he sounds happier. he sounds inspired. and before long, he's running out of the room to make frantic phone calls about a new franchise pitch: mortal kombat.

[bratbarzal]

Cheet-spo (cheeto inspo)

this blurb was literally unavoidable after these pics!!! we love cheet-spo!! my hc that they were a dog family is firmly dead and buried!! CHEETO MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL!!!!!

(no comments on those last two looking like T I know your game)

anyways enjoy this sweet little on your side lore drop, obvs set way after the actual fic lmao

"Why is there a live animal on the couch with our daughter?"

Nico probably should have been listening out a little better for Poppy to get home - especially considering the pretty big secret he's been keeping from her all day, responding to all everything good? texts with as many kitten-less photos as he could take, careful of any stray hairs that might have been visible on their daughter's clothes.

Maybe if he'd have been on top of it, he could have made it all look a little better - perfected the whole bed and litter box set up so that he looks like the kind of person who can actually be a responsible cat-dad instead of leaving all the new purchases in a heap by the couch, too distracted with all the playing him and Lina had done. Little soft mice and cat teasers strewn across the floor, discarded once Lina did her tell-tale tired crawl into his lap.

Or maybe he wouldn't have left his daughter half-unsupervised with the pet, but he can still keep an eye on everything where he stands in the kitchen, and she's historically gentle with all animals. Plus, all the kitten has done all day is play and explore, and it seemed pretty exhausted - 10 minutes for him to get the dishes done before Poppy got home was all he really needed to sweeten the deal, he thought.

But she's a little earlier than he anticipated.

Or maybe she's not, and he had just lost track of time as he so often does when him and his daughter have their rare full days together, just the two of them.

"Don't be mad," he holds his hands up, soapy residue dripping down past his wrists as he holds a plate in one and a sponge in the other. "Google said that a pet is a great way to teach babies how to share space with another living thing. It's meant to help them be more responsible."

"I swear we've talked before about Google, baby," Poppy huffs, "You don't think you could have talked to me first before you went and got a cat?"

"Well, it kind of ended up just happening." Nico winces, realising he probably should have called, or texted, or even just spoken to her about it at any point before bringing the little fur ball home.

"Right," she snickers, "You just happened upon that tiny Pinterest cat over there." Poppy hook her thumb back toward the perfect view of his little Lina Bug cuddling up to the creature, blinking sleepily as she watches TV with it in her lap.

"Well we were out walking today, and there was this adoption drive at the park, and what was I supposed to do, Poppy, tell her no?"

"Kinda." Poppy laughs, and Nico's thankful for the turn of her lips, because he really doesn't want her to be upset with him. It really had been a spur of the moment thing - if he'd have known the drive was at the park, he might have gone a different route.

Plus, Lina's walking so well now - toddling along at a safe distance where he doesn't always have to hold her hand but he still wants to - and she had found all the animals before he had any chance to stop her or do anything about it.

He thinks that he and Poppy are actually pretty lucky it was the cats that caught her eye - god help them if they had to have a puppy in the house.

"And you don't always come across kittens that cute at the shelter, you know, it was a no-waiting-around kind of situation." He defends himself, drying off his hands with a towel before he throws it to the side.

The cat really is adorable - picturesque like Poppy said; fluffy as hell, despite the fact the lady at the shelter called it a shorthair, and a gorgeous grey colour.

"Was it really?" Poppy's pretty eyes are narrowed his way, glinting under the dim light in the kitchen, the rest of her glowing in tandem, it seems.

"Yes. She's been asking me for a kitty for a while, now," he smiles softly, opening his arms for her to walk into, hands splayed out on her hips when she's close enough and tugging her the rest of the way until she bumps straight into him. "Like non-stop, and she's convincing, babe, you know that, one flash of those big brown eyes and I fold."

"I'm familiar with the technique." Poppy snarks, her hands swatting at his chest before she uses them to hold him back, trailing around the side of his neck and playing with the hair he's been meaning to get cut for a few weeks now. "You know she's calling you Kitty, right? She wasn't asking you for a cat."

"Me?" He frowns, "Why would she be calling me Kitty?"

"Monsters Inc, babe," Poppy raises a brow in amusement, her fingers coming down to slide gently along his bulky forearms, tickling delicately as she goes, pushing against the dark hairs that line them all the way from past his elbows to just past his wrists. "You're big and fuzzy like Sully, and she's tiny and adorable like Boo."

"Oh," Nico pouts, thick brows slanting in the middle as he peers over into the living room, where their daughter is cuddling with the little ball of fur in her lap, calm and quiet as Bluey plays on the television. She wears her hair in little pigtails that he is sure were much neater when he did them earlier in the day - he's getting better at piggies or bunnies, he swears - and he can see it, now, with the context. She'd been asking him for piggybacks, more, too. She'd even thrown a sock at him when he changed her earlier and darted off in a clumsy run, a combination of screams and giggles ricocheting off the walls. "Was that her logic or yours?"

"Is there even a difference?" Poppy scoffs, turning in his hold as she watches the scene, too, her head resting back against his chest.

"Probably not," he chuckles, his arm extending around her frame so that he can hold her there, and the two of them stay in that position for a minute or two, a blissful, serene silence filling the air around them. "Can you try make this next one a little more like me?" he asks, lips pressing to her temple and his hands coming to rest on Poppy's stomach, fingers flexing around the swell of her bump and a reminiscent smile tugging at his lips at the feeling.

"I don't know, I think she's a lot more like you than you realise." Poppy's sigh is a little dreamy, probably in the same headspace as him, he thinks, her body lax and melty in front of him until it all of a sudden isn't. "Watch this."

Poppy peels herself from his body and heads straight for Lina, smiling soft as she kneels beside her, reaching out to stroke along the cat's back whenever their daughter leaves her space to do so.

"Hey Lina-Bug," he hears, Poppy's tone soft and melodic, specific to his little girl's ears. "What do you think you're gonna call your new kitty, huh?"

"I fink," their baby girl's voice is sweet too, dragging out the word as she takes a moment to ponder her answer, Poppy's eyes darting knowingly upward to meet his at the sound of the subtle mis-pronunciation. "Möckli."

Nico can't help the snort that comes out at the name, fist coming to his face in an attempt to conceal his amusement as he watches Poppy's face slowly turn in recognition.

It's what he'd called the kitten when he had belted the carrier in the back of the car beside Lina after they left the shelter, earlier. She'd picked the fattest one in the litter, it's face all rounded and the abundance of fur doing little to lessen it's plump-ness.

He keeps forgetting what Poppy tries to remind him - that tiny ears pick up everything.

But at least he'd only called it little chunk, and not something rude or inappropriate.

"That's very cute, baby," Poppy coos, tickling at the kitten's chin and smiling herself when it starts to purr back. She does the same to Lina's chin, which doubles when she giggles a little in response. "Five more minutes then I'm gonna take you to bed, okay? I'll let you put your kitty to bed, first."

"Okay, mama." Lina hums back sleepily, neck craning to look past her mommy to watch the TV again, absentmindedly running her own chunky little hand along Möckli's back.

"You're right," Poppy scoffs as she returns to his side, "Not like you at all."

"I don't know what you could possibly mean," he opens his arms for her to slot back into them before he wraps them back around her - her back to his front, his chin resting on the crown of her head, and her hands coming up to stroke at his arms again. "Möckli is cute."

"Don't get attached, she'll have a new name by the morning."

"Tell that to baby Lulu in your belly," he chuckles, deep and hearty as his hands travel back, "She hasn't changed her mind on that one, yet."

"I'm not naming our baby after Luke." She huffs, body melting straight back into his again. "I don't care that Lina and Lulu sounds like some sort of cartoon dream team."

"It's not me that you have to convince, babe." Nico shrugs, "I don't make the rules around here, anymore."

[kobanzme]

🐬🐙 a silent admiration,

A mini comic that I illustrated for Jeiazu June, featuring middle school Jade and Azul!

Jade loves Azul's tenacity. Azul's always accomplishes anything he sets his mind upon; it's what makes him fascinating. To stay at the side of someone with such resolve, surely there isn't anything in the world that they couldn't conquer together.

[alexanderwales]

I've got a book out today, the first book of Thresholder.

There's a genre of CYOA games called a jumpchain, where the reader picks up powers from different worlds and crafts a character that can steamroll through any challenge, or whatever it is they're in it for. They jump from world to world, in a chain, which is where the name comes from.

This was the starting point for Thresholder, but the more I read up on jumpchains, the more I realized that they weren't actually the thing I had invented in my head when I first heard of the concept. In practice, most jumpchains are at the extreme end of power fantasy, and they tend to be pretty uncreative, or creative only by combination, or because they're written by people who are ignorant of the rules of writing (which can sometimes result in interesting things to read). Of course, most jumpchains aren't written at all, the scenes just exist in the head of the person making point-based selections from a "jump document", and this is a level of arcana around jumpchains that does not remotely apply to Thresholder.

So you have Peregrin Holzmann, who is the worst parts of me when I was in my twenties, a guy who likes to argue with people on the internet, who feels adrift and without purpose, like his whole life is going to amount to being a cog in the machine. He's the kind of guy who's going to answer the call to adventure because of course you step through a mysterious portal, of course you go through it instead of calling someone or risking that it will close.

And the other major thing I wanted from this book, which I think I got, was a chance to just do some rapid fire worldbuilding, to have stories of far-off places with their own ways of doing things: places with gods and monsters, scifi civilizations on the edge of the heat death of their universe, oddly constrained worlds where people nevertheless make a living of it, or sometimes, a wasteland inhabited only by strange creatures that live in heavily decorated holes.

Anyway, I wrote this book, and it's out today, so if you're in the mood for something that blurs the lines between scifi and fantasy, about a man who finds his purpose in moving between worlds with his robot butler, maybe give it a shot.

[little-pondhead]

Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

[macabremilieu]

just a short, angsty fluff drabble for you.

(mention of PTSD!abby, depressed!reader, some cuddling and petnames)

♡

thinking about abby with depressed!reader.

struggling to text her the whole day: your thoughts spiraling and fatigue getting the best of you. merely reaching for your phone felt like too much, and when you finally did...

the sheer amount of sweet, loving texts she'd sent you throughout the course of the whole day. it instantly filled you with a sour, guilty feeling. she knew you struggled, and she always tried to be understanding, even if it frustrated her when you distanced yourself. struggling with PTSD herself, she empathized heavily.

just one "hey, abs" and she was immediately texting back, checking that you were alright before practically begging to come over and see you. you couldn't deny her, of course.

•

"hey, baby, i brought you some stuff— i know you don't feel great," she'd immediately start blabbering as soon as you opened the door, hands filled with snacks you liked, little things she thought you might need.

you'd welcome her in with a lethargic, guilty smile, watching as she frantically set her things down and moved to wrap you in a tight hug. it had always calmed you down to feel her muscular arms wrap so entirely around you. the pressure was comforting— like a weighted blanket.

"you know i'm always here, baby, i love you, i love you so much." she'd mumble into your hair, subconsciously pressing kisses to the side of your head as she spoke. her other hand would gently cradle the back of your head, holding onto you like something so fragile, so delicate.

she'd offer to cuddle with you sheepishly, as though she never had before. climbing into bed with you, carefully opening her arms to hold you in them as long as you needed. to hold you and press loving, gentle kisses to your forehead was a dream for her. something she felt honored to do at every opportunity she got.

no matter what, you knew she had your back. through anything and everything.

♡

[bananafire11]

Hi tumblr,

I'm tired and I've been considering making a masterpost with boundaries n shit, but this will have to do for rn,

It's come to my attention over the span of posting my Wretched au that some people haven't read my bio. I am a MINOR. I'm saying this because I've gotten comments under my posts or in the reblogs that make me uncomfortable, if not a little pissed off that people are saying innapropriate crap about my au.

Please, please do not sexualize my wretched au. Or any other au of mine for that matter. I create them for fun, not for fetishes. And to clear this up, i'm in no way judging you for liking what you like, but for fucks sake keep it to yourself and off my blog.

Thank you.