#thwick

[navybrat817]

I can get to you blog and your master list but I have to confirm that I want to view everything. And then when I get to actually click on your fics, it just says there isn’t a post 🥺🥺

Hi, lovely! I've had a few nonnies and @thwick send differing things. I think it may have to do with the "content" filters since I'm flagged? Maybe.

I appreciate you lovelies all looking into it. Love and thanks! ❤️

[battywitch]

Oooh I just randomly had a full sensory memory of what it was like flipping through floppy disks 😭

[sexcromancy]

I'm back. kate beatons ducks book is really really good

[cosmerelists]

Stormlight Characters Meet an Octopus

As requested by @miss-madithe-baddie :)

It's Octopus Time on Roshar!

1. Kaladin

Kaladin: [stares at octopus] Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: So it...what? Is it one of those creatures that squishes down into crevices during storms? It doesn't look like it has bones. Kaladin: Kinda big though. Would need a big crevice. Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: ... Kaladin: I feel like it's judging me, somehow.

2. Bridge Four

Moash: Well, I don't like it. Moash: An animal with no carapace is unnatural. Rlain: ...You're an animal without a carapace. Moash: W-Well, it's different for humans! We can build houses! Drehy: Maybe the giant squish bug builds houses. Drehy: We all saw it pick up the shell and put it on its head. Skar: That's more fashion than construction, I think. Sigzil: We saw it go into the water. It's a sea creature. Sigzil: Sea creatures don't need carapaces like land animals do. Moash: It's on the land right now!! Skar: Guys, shut up! It's wearing a shell as a hat again! Renarin: It really is quite fashionable.

3. Adolin

Adolin: Sure is weird looking! Adolin: Look! It has little sticky cups under its legs! Kaladin: D-Don't grab it! It's gonna bite you! Adolin: I bet it can crawl up walls 'n' stuff! Adolin: Hey, isn't that something you can do too, Bridgeboy? Kaladin: I use Stormlight! Not sticky vine legs! Adolin: Bet its some kind of tiny Windrunner. Kaladin: It is NOT!

4. Shallan

Shallan: Hush, all of you. Shallan: This thing is beautiful! Gorgeous! Octopus: [abruptly changes color to match surroundings] Shallan: !! Shallan: Talented! Amazing! Shallan: This might be the most important drawing I'll ever do! Adolin: ...You drew me last week for our wedding anniversary? Shallan: [already drawing] And you didn't even change color ONCE!

5. Lopen

Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [concentration face] Rock: ...You're trying to grow more arms, aren't you? Lopen: I didn't know EIGHT was an option!

6. Zahel

Zahel: I've seem those things before. Zahel: Very smart. Zahel: Very tasty. Rock: ...Tasty you say? Shallan: NO

7. Navani

Navani: Seeing this bizarre creature gives me so many ideas. Navani: Dalinar, do you think we should build semi-aquatic vehicles that can go on both land and water and develop color-changing camouflage technology? Dalinar [trying to be a supportive husband]: And perhaps the land-water vehicle could have...tentacles? Navani: No ideas are wrong in the brainstorming stage. Navani: But also no.

8. Dieno (the Mink)

Dieno: [gives octopus a bro nod] Octopus: [gives Dieno a bro nod back] Dalinar: ...What was that? Dieno: Ah, it is nothing! Just two master escape artists recognizing each other. Dalinar: Escape...artist? Dalinar: This creature has done nothing but sit on that rock and occasionally go into that pool this whole time. Dieno: Yet nevertheless, people like us...we recognize each other. Dalinar: ... Dalinar: [doubtfully] If you say so. 

9. Dalinar

It is later. Dalinar is walking through Urithiru. Something from above touches his face with a thwick sound. He looks up. The Octopus is looking down at him from the ceiling, one tentacle reaching down. Lift is also in the ceiling. Lift gives him a thumbs up. Dalinar keeps walking.

10. Lift

Lift: Today has been the greatest day of my life. Lift: I had no IDEA there so many vents 'n' shit that someone like you could squish through! Lift: And when you used your dark water attack to push that button? Amazing! Lift: Even I had trouble keeping up with you!! Lift: Truly, you are my new best friend.

[luveline]

hi jade <3 can you pls write an “idiots in love” scenario between fem!reader and peter. something really gushy and fluffy <333

hi baby <3 I'm really sorry I think I may have misunderstood this so they're idiots in love but they aren't together yet !! fem!reader, 1k

Peter's dragging you by the hand through the crowd like one might dangle a carrot on a stick, though you aren't sure what it is he's hoping to attract in the sticky floored Burger King you're dominating. 

"Coming through!" he shouts, shouldering past people in a way that isn't strictly polite. 

You're laughing so hard your waist aches and the tether of your hand is a necessary precaution to stop you collapsing into a baby stroller. The greasy bag of your spoils quivers with a paper crunching as it whacks some poor bystander in the arm, your "Sorry," a swallowed shout in the busyness. 

Finally, you arrive at your destination. Broken crayons and tear away colouring pages splayed messily over a table hidden in the corner of the room, and there, nestled between the chaos, a precious diamond in the rough, lays the true purpose of your visit to such a fine dining establishment on such a hot summer's day. The Burger King crowns lay in their pop put forms, thick printed card stock. 

"They were more impressive when we were kids," you say.

"They're rustic." Peter drops your hand and gathers up way more crowns than you. "Understated. Humble, even." 

"Yeah," you say, giggles emerging once again. 

Peter tucks the crowns into your bag and you leave the way you came through herds of disgruntled New Yorkers and out into the summer heat, dipping into shadows as the glaring yolk of sun dips behind a skyscraper. Peter leads you deep into a cold alleyway and fiddles with the shooter at his wrist. 

"You're sure you won't drop me?" you ask, taking the paper bag of burgers and cradling it against your chest like a child. 

"You think you're so heavy," Peter complains, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"I am heavy, Pete. A normal guy could pick me up, much less carry me onto a rooftop." 

"I'm not a normal guy." Chest to chest, Peter gives you a shameless smirk. "Hold on tight. I won't drop you, but if you drop even a single French fry, I'll be tempted." 

"Don't even joke about thAT–" your words turn to a breathless hoot as Peter thwicks his wrist upward and the two of you careen through the air. 

"It's alright!" Peter shouts. 

"Woah woah woah!" you shout back, strangling him as you try to climb up his arms and away from the bottomless air below you. Another thwick and you climb higher. A swing that takes the air out of your lungs ends with a jogging stop on a gravel rooftop. "Woah, I'm gonna chuck up." 

Peter rubs between your shoulders. "You always say that." 

"I'm dying." 

"Don't crouch like this, you're begging to be sick." 

Peter helps you up, close and smelling like all things nice. Laundry detergent from a stickler of a laundry sheriff, deodorant and aftershave and the sweet burned sugar smell of his unwise experiments. 

The rooftop is one you've come to before, wide, abandoned, but outfitted with two camping chairs that can be dragged into or out of the sun depending on what half you sit on. You drag your chairs into the sun once your nausea has abated and sit down, Burger King bag in your lap. Peter peels the straps of your tote down enough to grab your unmanufactured crowns, his fingertips summoning an odd shyness from you while they touch you. He's familiar to the point of seamlessness, usually; you and Peter may as well be one person. But now every close encounter, each gentle hand on your skin, is demarcated by a fizzy excitement you can't ignore. 

Peter hooks his chair with an ankle blindly, dragging it under his butt as he sits and pops crowns from their cardstock holdings. He guesses the sizing for your head, and props a golden crown on your head while you retrieve his cheeseburger. It slips down your nose. 

"Woah," Peter murmurs, leaning in to nudge it back up. He looks you right in the eye, close enough to kiss. "Hi there." 

"Hello, good sir," you say, eyeing his own crown. 

"Your majesty," he corrects. 

"Your majesty. Take your burger." 

"Where are my fries?" 

"The crown suits you, I think, considering you're a royal pain. Give me five seconds and I'll give you your fries, jerk." 

Peter's eyes squint gently closed in a slow blink, eyebrows raised. "Jerk. Nice. You're a royal dick." 

"Nice!" You pass him his fries, and the ketchup dip. "We should've got milkshakes." 

"Then you really would throw up." 

"You're probably right," you say, leaning back into the chair, the sun warming your cheeks like a lingering kiss. You tip your head back to eat a handful of soggy fries, salt like an explosion on your tongue. 

"Christ," Peter says, fries in one hand, burger in the other, "they're trying to give us heart disease!" 

"I was thinking the exact same thing," you laugh. 

Peter nods, pleased to be on the same wavelength, and curls your legs together, elbows bumping as you eat with all the laziness of rich people poolside at the country club. The subtle crunch of fries, the crinkling paper bag held under your foot to stop from flying away on the breeze. New York doesn't need anymore litter. 

You give up on your salty fries and Peter doesn't ask, he doesn't need to, polishing them off. His metabolism is enhanced in time with his healing and regenerative abilities, his stomach an endless pit. 

"You should've gotten another burger," you say. 

"You should mind your business." 

"Is it 'cos I was paying?" 

Peter dunks your crown down your face, kisses your cheek, and steals another handful of your fries. "Too slow." 

You laugh and tip your head until the crown falls off. The wind picks it up, and Peter throws his wrist forward without looking, catching it in a web before it can fly off. Burgers, laughter, the flirting sun and an accompanying breeze. Things are perfect. 

You look at Peter as he tries to pull his web from the crown without ruining it. He gives up, grabbing a new one from your tote. 

Well, things are almost perfect.

[nouearth]

the black cat and the mysterious nightwing.

pairing ; dick grayson x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, nightwing. word count ; 2148. genre; angst. rating ; pg-13. warnings ; blood, depictions of violence, bone-breaking, head trauma, physical fighting, verbal arguing, flirty banter, blackcat!malereader. notes ; i tried my best doing a blackcat!reader. i gotta admit, i don't know much about the character, so i just did my own little spin on it! req ; anonymous.

“don’t you think,” you scrambled to your feet, but caught yourself with a lunge before picking your hands out of the dust to charge at your opponent with vigorous speed. the sensor in your gloves triggered your metal claws to come out and you attacked with the intent to mark the masked man—not to wound, but to warn him off. “we would make a great couple? i’d happily sell my persona if it meant that ‘the black cat and the mysterious nightwing’ gets turned into a film and made billions at the box office.”

“you know,” nightwing blocked every swipe of your claws except for one to the face—a nick. the fresh cut on his cheek stung when it caught the cold breeze, but he’s too quick on his feet for you to notice the blood. he then circled around you with his escrima sticks drawn out, huffing. like your opponent, you followed back in his steps in defense, facing him as your senses were on high-alert from the advent of his signature weapons. the last time you were tased with them, you were sent to the ground, feeling tremors days later—they weren’t exactly the highlight of your interactions with him. “i’m the one bringing the audience in, right? flip the order of our names and it’s a maybe!”

“and haven’t i told you that i’m taken?” he continued, stalking you in a circle like a predator with its prey—an eagle with its cat.

“huh...” you thought to yourself out loud, eyeing the rooftop environment around you for a brief moment. cardboard boxes, plastic bags, cigarette butts, candy wrappers—nothing you could use to your advantage. “never thought you’d be the loyal type.”

“what?! you’re kidding, right?” nightwing interrupted the banter by charging at you again and you leaped to the side to dodge the first, but your back eventually caught the stick when he swung his right arm. he hopped back in defense, watching you gather yourself in a hunch, groaning.

“I mean, fuck-“ you tasted the wind that was knocked out of you, chapped and dry, and it all made the taste of metal more profound in your mouth. “with that body? no way. i can only imagine what’s underneath.”

“I’m flattered!” as he rushed towards you, nightwing swung a powerful right, a heavy grunt paired alongside. you evaded with a flip and another with an arm-block, but the impact knocked you back onto the concrete floor. your padded uniform took the brunt of the contact, but not your exhaustion. you were almost at your limit, panting and grunting heavily as you continued to dodge his onslaught of thwicks and whams at your chest and sides, beat after beat to the best of your ability. he was fast, always been faster than you, and he showed no signs of slowing.

“you have no reason even stealing from bruce wayne. come on,” the man meandered towards you, arrogance in every step while he stretched the tight muscles in his arms and back. “give it up. i won’t tell him, and i’ll even get you off scot-free.”

“you’re too handsome for me to send you to jail.” he said, half-earnestly.

despite assuming full responsibility of blüdhaven, and occasionally, gotham, his personality never diverged from his regular civilian-self: confident, playful, optimistic, and much more, but that was what you loved most about dick grayson. he was always himself.

you watched him slowly approach, elbows scuffed and planted to the ground as it supported your bruised body. he lent a hand down to you—gentlemanly. 

“hm… so you do find me handsome.” you grasped his hand and he began to pull you up, naive and trusting. “i got a chance then?” 

but you pulled him downwards instead, met your foot with his gut, and one strong kick tumbled him to the floor. “i’m still up for you getting me off, though!”

the distance between the two of you was larger than expected. he was going to chase after you no matter what—he’s done it before. the mental clock inside of your head was ticking as you watched him writhe, catching his breath. worry ignited, but it ticked— continue ticking until he found his footing, and you made a run for the ledge. your thrown backpack that harbored the stolen item resided in the nearest corner and your arm extended, reaching whatever you could grasp onto in midst of your flee.

but your palm held nothing—only cold warmth when you gathered air into a tight fist—as nightwing rammed you onto the floor with all of his body weight, skidding you near the ledge. your head hung off the edge as you blindly bore his swings to your hips and waist with a groan louder than the next, a bruise stacked on top of another. “fuck!”

the familiarity of gotham became foreign as half of your body dangled off the ledge—apartment buildings emerged from skies and the moon rose from seas—and it didn’t help that your opponent was weakening you with every guttural punch, drawing out hard groans from your throat.

“one last chance, cat. this has been fun and all, but i’m kind of getting sick of your schtick.” nightwing grabbed you by the shoulders and yanked you back up.

but something in the wind caught your eye—something black, something familiar. you turned your head, groaning when the muscles in your neck have stiffened in the mere moments it vacationed on the ledge, and a gasped left your hot throat.

your mask. 

“is that a yes?!” dick shouted, hands still clutched onto your shoulders while your cheek was still turned toward him, watching the mask ride the wind through gotham.

the air cooled your exposed skin, bruises and cuts melting with every breeze, and you were hesitant to turn, to respond. but dick was frustrated now and began pressing a knee to your bruised gut to warrant a glance of any kind—he can tell you were close to surrendering. 

you do.

you bit back a pained scream and turned towards him; nightwing, dick, your boyfriend of two years. the frustration and annoyance in his face soon wrinkled into shock, confusion, then betrayal.

but he feigned normalcy; you could tell by the waver in his voice and the twisting of expressions between artificial calmness and deception.

“what- what is this?” he stepped back once he let you go, lying. “you’re just a regular dude-“

“i can explain,“ you coughed out, blinking the etched image of dick’s betrayal away—a desperate attempt. there was no lying your way out of this anymore. years of being untruthful regarding the wounds he unknowingly left on you, nights you disappeared into; it has all accumulated into this very moment—karma. “dick-“

“no-“ dick twitched at the sound of his name. it resounded from a familiar voice—a voice that he would yearn to hear every morning and night, a voice that he has loved since day one, a voice that wouldn’t have held secrets. “you knew? you fucking knew about me—about all of this the whole time?! what the fuck, y/n?”

“dick, I never meant for it to get this far.” you said, getting up with sluggish movements. “i was just- fuck, uh.” you stammered and your thoughts clouded. 

what were you doing this for? it started off with wanting vengeance for your mother, then it amassed into wealth, then… then? 

what else was there left in this second life of yours that you needed to fulfill?

“seriously? cat got your tongue, or what?” he walked towards you, pointing one of his sticks at you, intimidating. “you can’t even give me a reason?”

“calm down, okay? i can’t exactly think when you probably broke my fucking ribs-“ you spat bitterly. not the best time to be annoyed at him, but you’ve always been quick to anger.

“wow, okay… maybe, i don’t know—if you would’ve told me about all of this earlier then we wouldn’t be in this position right now!“ dick’s powerful voice shouted, and you flinched when he pressed his weapon to your chest.

“okay- why are you even angry about this? it’s not like i robbed you!” you shouted back, leaning your chest forward until the butt of it pressed into your bruise. it was painful, but your jaw tightened to hold your anger.

“you kinda did considering it’s from the manor i grew up in.“ he scoffed, irritating you further with multiple pokes to your chest. “you lied to me, stole from my family. you seriously think that’s okay? after everything i told you?”

you didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. though it was only a coincidence that you and dick happened to fall in love; you kept this charade up and toyed with his alter-ego despite knowing who he was. stealing from a billionaire sounded great on paper—if only you never knew dick grayson, but his alias instead.

“I trusted you.” his voice softened—hurt and disappointed—as he stared into your eyes, and you could feel guilt swimming in your gut. “i don’t even know if this is all real—us, y/n.”

but you’ve never been one to face the consequences of your own action.

“here,” you limped to fetch your backpack, and dick instinctively followed you in case you were to escape again. “take it.” you handed a jewelry box to dick. the valuable wasn’t worth it anymore, even if it meant it would make you a millionaire. right now, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep your injuries off.

maybe even rethink your purpose on earth.

“so, just like that?” dick’s voice began to hollow as you walked away from him, nearing the ledge. “no apologies? not even going to look at me?”

“that’s the plan.” you muttered to yourself defeated, strapping yourself to your backpack, and before dick could say another word, parachuted yourself into the night. “always the plan.”

that was all you could think about as you writhed on the ground, dazed from the multiple beatings to your head and body. 

it was a burglary gone wrong. since you’ve last seen dick, you became sloppy. heists were done with aimless drive; not for your own gain, but out of pure spite because you’ve lost the best thing you had in your life, all because you were stubborn—a coward. 

stubbornness has done nothing but led you into a downward spiral of life, and now, you were at its very last step. you thought you broke that spiral by giving back to the community—donating to charities that you were passionate about, that needed the wealth that you profited off the most. 

but instead, you envisioned yourself banging on heaven’s door, gasping and screaming in pain as you begged.

a wheeze was knocked out of you once more when you took another crowbar to the gut. the taste of metal in your mouth became your comfort—you weren’t dead yet. close—soon.

you moved, but barely, crawling to a void you were sure you’d be left dead at, with nobody to witness the final breath you would draw. it was an amusing image for the henchmen. the trauma to your head muffled the demonic laughter of the predator, but it induced another cycle of ringing in your ears—you whimpered. you could feel yourself breaking into tears at any moment—if you even had the strength to. 

when the henchmen pushed his heel onto your broken hand—hard—you knew it was over. excruciating pain sent your body into tremors and you halted to break out into a cowardly sob.

your begs for him to stop fell on empty ears and he only dug deeper, until you could both hear a snap—a wail. 

heaviness slowly fell on your eyelids and you became numb, lolling your head to the side for comfort as a sudden relief on your hands and body washed over you. pain throbbed in silence, soft whimpers like yours, and it would become your lullaby as you mindlessly watched—half-lidded—a shadow in pursuit of vengeance. it was a recognizable thrill upon memorizing the swing of his arms, the dance of his feet as it dodged, flipping and twirling, until it was victorious.

you expected a warrior, running to you with triumph, present to reclaim its prize. but instead, you were met with panic, heavy anxiety as you were lifted off the ground and immediately cradled into a pair of familiar strong arms. 

“you’re okay,” dick was disturbed, anxious in every motion of his hand, but he mustered the courage to gather you close, sprinting far from your death bed. you could only respond in hums, weakly curling into the warmth you longed for as the breeze cooled your injuries.

“you’re going to be okay.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

[slutforecstasty]

🎨 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🕷️

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 🤤 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝. 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

word count; 1.2k

tags; fem! reader, nsfw, penetrative sex, creampie, dirty talk

“Fuck, baby please” sweet, dulcet whimpers leave his cherry pink lips, forcing you to pull away, lips sticky with spit and cum. You look up and relish in the way his body shakes, eyes teary as he bites at his own lips.

His shirt was ripped apart by you, unable to contain yourself at the way he was on his knees begging for more of you, his hands shaking as he grabbed at your thighs, hands curling closer to your cunt before you slapped them away. Heart racing at his needy moans.

“What do you want love? C’mon tell me. Now” you slide out from between his legs and straddle his thighs, your body pressed so intimately against him, feeling rafayels cock pulse against your core. His hands gripping your waist tight, trying to drag you even closer.

“Please, please, want. Want you so bad baby, please” he’s drooling, tears streaming down his pink, plush cheeks as he holds onto you like your his lifeline, shoving his face into your neck, inhaling your tantalising scent before he moaned for more, hips bucking into you.

“Wanna fuck me? Want to be inside me” you push your foreheads together and wait until your eyes meet, those hetrocromia eyes of his so fucking dazzling in the light, the blues and pinks shining from his tears. You wait until he’s focused only on you as you grab his hand.

Dragging his long fingers down your thighs, body involuntarily tensing at his touch before you finally reach the part he’d been begging for most. Grinning as you force his fingers inside, one at a time, teeth digging into your lips as he slowly fills you.

You’re so fucking wet, cunt dripping puddles beneath you. Knowing that the clean up would be a hassle, but you could care less, eyes rolling in pure ecstasy to finally have him touching you. But you weren’t the only one affected, forcing your eyes to open and watching the bliss that bursts through rafayel.

His body shaking so fucking hard, you almost worried he came untouched, looking down as his fingers began to slowly fuck you. Only to see him gripping himself, cock turning a lovely shade of purple as it pulsed for release, precum leaking all over himself. No need for any sort of lube.

“Baby, baby. Please, please i need you so fucking bad. Wanna come inside you, wanna smell you. Fuckin’ need you so bad”

His words had you shuddering, head thrown back as his fingers hit that speical spot, thighs uncontrollably shaking as you began reaching your peak. You grab his hands and pull them from your pussy, almost putting them back in at his loud whine, babbling about “why?” “So close” words incoherent. You couldn’t cum. Not yet.

You watched as he pulled his fingers to his mouth, sucking them on by one, tongue lathering them as he tasted you, dazed eyes meeting yours as he sucked at them, tongue twisting between his fingers as he made a show of swallowing down your juices.

“S’ho good” rafayel was so fucking gone, his eyes hazy, nothing but pure and unadulterated lust was left behind. He was nothing more than a body begging, pleading for ecstasy.

And you’d give him exactly what he wanted.

You removed the last of your clothes, shirt gone, breast free for him to nuzzle into, smelling you so deeply you couldn’t help but blush as he grabbed at your hips. His mouth open as he dragged his lips across your tits, letting his spit dribble out on them. The cold air causing them to perk up, so close to cumming just at the feel of the cold brushing against them.

Rolling himself against you, cock sliding against your dripping cunt. Fluids making a messy thwick, so fucking wet.

“Tell me rafayel. You wanna cum inside me yeah? Wanna pump full so i smell like you? Want me in every way?”

His nods like a mindless slut, eyes lighting up as he pulled away from your tits and babbles out incoherent words.

“Yes, please. Wanna show you. How much i love you. Lemme fuck you darling, please”

You don’t give him a moment of reprive, reaching for his thick, purpling cock, stroking him, teasing him before finally, finally.

“rafayel!”

“y/n!”

You moan in unison, dropping on his cock, gummy walls squeezing so tight around his cock, can feel it so deep inside you. You can’t move, can’t do anything but squeeze around him, cunt pulsating and forcing rafayel to shake under your touch, at mercy for you and only you.

“M-move, please. Gonna cum, can’t. Can’t hold it”

You’re not far behind, can feel the coil inside you so fucking close to snapping, feeling his cock twitching so deep inside has you going crazy.

“Together baby, come together” your words come out rush, pushing your lips together, tongues just as incoherent as the rest of you as they do nothing but lick at each others cheeks, sucking up the spit that spills between each other, no rhythm or rhyme.

You rise, taking him with you before you drop down again, settling into a fast, paced movement, taking his cock so deep you can feel it pressed against your stomach. Gummy walls so fucking hot wrapped around him, fingers holding so tight onto your hips, nothing but bruises would be left behind, a sign, a testament to the passion.

His fucking you so good, cocking hitting every fucking erogenous zone, cunt pulsing wilding around his cock. You’re so close. He’s so close.

“Ah, gonna, gonna cum b-baby” his breath whiny as he pants in your ears, rocking his hips up in time with your thrusts, legs shaking as he plows into you.

“Fucking come. Come inside me rafayel, mark me as yours” words slurred out before they come to a screeching halt, body convulsing as hammers into you, hands grasping your thighs before he freezes.

A long drawn out moan shakes through his whole body, feeling yourself become full with nothing but his cum, thick, hot liquid filling you so deep and with so much you can feel it pool out, dripping down your thighs.

You can’t stop it, can’t stop the way your own body snaps and follows suit, shaking in his arms as cum, jucies squirting and pushing out his cum around his cock, thick creamy rings made between the two of you.

Your legs continue to shake, panting hard into his neck, his hands gripping you tight and unwilling to let you go. His shifts, cock twitching inside you and letting out a few small spurts.

You finally pull away, slow to look up, vision still so blurry, before finally clearing as you look into his eyes. Tears streaming down his face, ears the prettiest tint of red.

“Like it?” You ask cheekily. only to grin wider at the shy smile on his face. Unable to look at you, eyes darting between your face and back down to the mess you both made.

You could feel him beginning to harden, a teasingly grin on your lips as your grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks, relishing in the surprised and heavy blush on his cheeks.

How cute. Cumming inside me like buckets yet still so flustered.

I want to fucking ruin him.

“How about this time I fuck that pretty little ass of yours baby?”

His cock coming alive is all the answer you need, predatory grin on your lips as you think of all the ways to destroy him.

[aerialflight]

fic rec list

I am into such random fandoms at the moment and I NEED to spread the word on how fantastic these fics are so people would get into those fandoms too. Join me in my rabbit holes!

-

[Dimension 20: Fantasy High]

serendipities of the mundane kind by fangirl_squee

Ships: Figueroth Faeth/Ayda Aguefort, Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey

The Bad Kid's lives wind through the world a little differently, but some friendships are just meant to be.

(ships aside, this is a fic about friendship! and it's absolutely beautiful!! i loved how all the relationships formed and how all of them meet under different yet plausible circumstances. they meet in pairs and then in groups, all of them introduced to each other slowly yet organically. i'm so in love with each character's journey and how meant-to-be the bad kids are. absolutely recommend this!)

thwick thwack by graeskies

Ship: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster

Eyes narrowed, slitted pupils so thin they could pick a lock. Wide, fin-like ears pressed flat back against his head—'airship ears', Adaine had said once, and it made Riz laugh so hard he had forgotten what he had been reacting to in the first place. Tail thrashing back and forth, making a rhythmic thwick thwack against his legs, or his briefcase, or both. Extra-sharp teeth bared wide, hissing with a confidence he didn't have in freshman year. Riz's threat displays were hypnotizing. Fabian almost forgot the punchline of his own joke.

(riz acting on his instincts and fabian Vibing with it so hard is a trope i never knew i wanted until this fic fnieowfnpewa.)

not by design (again, again) by jackpack

Ship: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster

To his knowledge, the world is right when Riz gets home, right as he falls into bed and curls up with a grin on his face, right as he closes his eyes and passes sometime in the wee hours of the morning, content that tomorrow was going to be even better. And, then, he wakes up to an alarm set for school. -- It's freshman year, and Riz has a found family to find. Again.

(time travel time travel time travel!!! the bad kids all struggling to find each other and solve the mystery! ugh, these kids have my whole heart and i loved every minute of this.)

Light My Fire by Anonymous (locked, need account to read)

Ship: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster

The sheet is too short to reach Riz. Fabian fully unfurls it, stretches both his arms as far as he can, thinks about fully letting go and grabbing The Ball midair, trying to tuck and roll and maybe take some of the damage for him. Despite his efforts, he's just a few feet shy of Riz, limp and unconscious and hurtling downwards, just like he was at the Row and the Ruction. Fabian, once again, is too slow and weak and incompetent to help him. Fabian screws his eye shut, half because he can't stand to watch Riz's body hit the ground and half because he feels like if he just believes hard enough, he can somehow save him. - I thought too hard about the time Fabian summoned a fire elemental that saved Riz's life and also kissed him and then nobody ever mentioned it again. This is the result.

(i caught FEELINGS when reading about this moment in the sophomore campaign, embellished and seen through the eyes of a desperate fabian. there's something about fabian being sincere and brave that always hits me in the chest like a hammer.)

meet me in the woods by macaronidoodles

A thought comes to him, and he pulls out the little rock he’d artificed out of his pocket. It’s probably stupid, he thinks, looking at it, so small in his hands. But there’s no one around to make fun of him, and if even one of his friends could hear… It’s Gorgug, he whispers. Keep going. * (in the forest of the nightmare king, gorgug gives everyone a chance to catch their breath)

(i will never be over that fucking line and all that it does. the hope, the love, the determination to keep moving forward, knowing that you are not alone. fnewifoewpa GOD.)

An Abjurative Wizard's Guide to Entrapment and Matchmaking, by Aelwyn Abernant by AgentStannerShipper

Ship: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster

“I cannot be in love with Riz Gukgak,” Fabian says. “I cannot be in love with The Ball. Under no circumstances can that be a thing that is happening.” Across the room, sitting in Riz’s chair, her feet up on Riz’s desk, ninety percent of her attention on one of Riz’s case files open in her lap, Aelwyn does the incredibly helpful thing of saying, “Uh-huh.”

(this is THE fic that got me into the ship. fabian's feelings of admiration and love for riz shines through and i'm so in love with how in love fabian is. seeing it from his point of view made me realize just how good of a person and character riz gukgak is. love this fic so much!)

Ring a Bell by Tangerine_Blast

“You are drunk,” Adaine accused. “I’m not-” Aelwyn protested but stopped herself mid word and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I don’t mean to alarm you, little sister, but I think you may be suffering from some severe memory loss.” Adaine was about to snap back at her but froze as the words sunk in. Memory loss. Yes. That would certainly explain why she was in a different outfit then she remembered. “What did you do?” *** The Bad Kids wake up on the first day of their freshman year. Or… no, it’s almost two years later and everything is so vastly different. Where are they? Who are all these people claiming to be their family and friends?

(*SCREAMS* god, it hit me so hard how all the bad kids grew up so much from freshman year?? they're such different people in sophomore year compared to the beginning. every single character, including the side characters, are going Through It and i wanted to hug all of them so. bad. nfewiofpewa absolutely a must read, i love every single character here so so much!!)

-

[Naruto]

Into the Wide Blue Yonder by OneEyedRaven

Ship: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Sasuke

“Take off your mask,” the clan head demanded. He might as well have ordered Kakashi to strip naked – to reveal his face to all these strangers felt as vulnerable as baring his neck to a sword. “You will not be allowed to hide your face here, Sharingan-thief.” - Kakashi gets misplaced in time and taken in by the Uchiha clan during the warring era, thanks to the mysterious one-armed man, Sasuke.

(i've never been into this ship but my god they make it work here in the most delightful slowburn i've read in a long while. i am rooting for them so hard, they're trying to change the world and make it better and i am so here for it! yes! disestablish the corrupt power structures of konoha from the very beginning! hell yeah!!!)(also kakashi's growth and characterization makes me want to cry he's doing so well considering all the bullshit he's lived through fnewfew)

fluffy clouds and a tinge of wonder by TheOneKrafter

In a world obsessed with killing and dying, Seiko is mostly concerned with chasing off her boredom. The Academy wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating, but dying in the second shinobi war sounded like a long walk off a short pier. Everyone is always so stressed about avoiding attention, or min-maxing skills in situations like this. Seiko is of the opinion that those people need to chill the hell out. Maybe play a little shogi. Death comes for them all anyways. Better to enjoy this all while it lasts. (genius self insert stumbles into disrupting a timeline with the intentionality of an elephant trampling a very fancy tea shop.) (updates weekly-ish.)

(*cackles* i love how built the world and relationships are in this fic. the SI is not overpowered, actually intelligent but not omnipresent, and has actual social skills instead of being an oblivious airhead. i appreciate the time and care that's taken to build the friendships the SI has and am eager to see how the plot turns out in the future!)

How to Redeem Your Past Mistakes, Commit Mild Treason, and Accidentally Build a Family by themidnightguardian

If Kakashi hadn’t seen Naruto living in squalor and Sasuke’s personal trauma shrine and whatever civilian fuckery was happening at Sakura’s house, he’d have at least tried to fail them even if logic told him the Elder Council would never let it fly. Screw the Hokage for that. * * * * * * * * * * When the Sandaime showed him Naruto’s apartment, he didn’t think that was going to be the tip of the iceberg that was the shitshow of his soon-to-be team. But as it turned out, Naruto wasn't the only one with a less-than-optimal home life. And as it turned out, Kakashi was apparently the only person in Konoha who cared.

(*hugs all of team 7* they are family and it's the council's mistake in thinking this wouldn't happen. kakashi is Doing His Best and doing Well and i want to pat him on the head in appreciation for his efforts.)

-

[Diamond no Ace]

Lay Sunflowers at My Grave by Kinryuuki

Ship: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun

"If you could go back, and do it over. What would you do?"

(literally the best time travel fic since trajectory of laughter, i am OBSESSED.)

Aromantic Way to Propose by blue_flowers_bouquets (cianderia)

Ship: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun

Miyuki Kazuya doesn't get romance, and he's painfully aware of it. Sawamura Eijun is a hopeless romantic to boot, but he insists that they should date. Their relationship goes as smooth as you could expect.

(so sweet and fluffy! exploring how an aromantic and romantic person can work, yet the characters stay in character! i really like how this was managed and written, absolutely give it a read!)

-

[Bridgerton]

a thousand cuts by wall_e_nelson

Ship: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma

Every single day, Anthony tries very hard not to walk directly into the ocean. A collection of non-linear one-shots, headcanons, AUs, and missing scenes for Anthony Bridgerton. (this story was written in the year between s1 and s2. the character is based in the little we knew of s1 show!Anthony, pulling the rest of him and the world needed from the books.)

(it feels insane to me now that this was the first fic i read in this fandom. this isn't even my fucking fandom, i never even watched the show or read the books but god, god, this made me cry more than 10 fucking times. i can't remember the last time my heart ached so badly for a character, and anthony bridgerton is a phenomenal character indeed.)

Unspooled Thread by happilyinsane13, itakethewords (Itakethewords)

Ship: Benedict Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington

Benedict's life changed the moment Lady Danbury commanded, “Follow that Featherington.” The year is 1813 and Benedict's sister Daphne has just made her debut. He thought he knew how this season would go. Little did he suspect he would stumble on the youngest Featherington daughter's biggest secret. -- A complete, Benelope canon re-write, starting from S1, Ep1 all the way through season 3.

(this fic has RUINED me, i can't unsee the potential this ship holds. they're artists who bond over art! they admire and protect and care about one another! it's the slowest of slow burns that immediately catches fire before running around in panic! it's a proper friends to lovers fic done incredibly well!)(i started reading this author's other benedict/penelope fics and GOD IT'S SO GOOD FNEWIFOEW.)(i'm ruined! this rare pair has ruined me!!)(i have no regrets.)

-

[Jujutsu Kaisen]

The Phantom Guardian by MissingN000

Ships: Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki, Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Inumaki Toge/Okkotsu Yuuta

There's something about this girl, like looking in a funhouse mirror a third of his size. “Oi, kid,” Toji says. “It’s you, isn’t it?” The girl glares daggers at him from behind a pair of red-rimmed glasses too big for her tiny face. She’s looking at him like he’s totally crazy, which isn’t entirely untrue. “Huh? Who the heck are you?” In lieu of answering, he asks, “What’s your name?” The girl scowls. “Maki.” “Maki,” he repeats, and it’s like a missing piece of his soul falls back into place. The record of his life before he fought the Six-Eyes brat is a long, impossibly white scroll of nothing -- but written on it in faint letters is the name of a child, a child with a delicate name that brushed the heavens, spun a prayer into letters; a name that began with an M, and it ended in i, too. “Maki,” he says again. “I think you’re my daughter.” -------- Toji makes a mistake. It changes everything.

(*running around throwing glitter like a sparkling system* and you get found a found family! and you get a found family! and you-)(but seriously, this is the one and only fic i'll read from this fandom, i legit don't care about anything else except these fuckers in this fucking fic. they are all disasters and i love that every single character here is traumatized and still somehow ruining themselves while thriving?? it's amazing.)

-

[Star Wars]

You and I (drink the poison from the same vine) by northpeach, wolfsrainrules

When one wakes up from death into a universe many of us have dreamed of, truthfully Kiyo can say it was both easier and harder then she thought it would be. Yes, she's gonna get a lightsaber. Yes, she's gonna bite someone to get a bes'bev. No, she's not forgetting where she's come from but she cannot grieve for a lifetime. Not when this life has so much potential. Has so much to offer. Not when she knows exactly how well Mandalorian and Jedi cultures fit together. Absolutely not, especially since she knows Jaster Mereel has a 700 page love letter written to his people to publish. She's going to get her hands on it and read it if it's the last thing she does.

(*breathes* i need this to update so bad. i usually hate SI fics in star wars, but this fic is amazing?? again, i NEED TO KNOW where this is going, my impatience is clawing my brain.)

(They Were) Made For Us by Echuta (setoboo)

Ship: Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

The Kaminoan tilts his head with a small smile. As if he’s trying to be indulgent for the Jedi’s sake. “Well yes, you and your fellow Jedi, Master Kenobi. They were made for the Jedi - and since the Jedi serve the Republic. It was implied they would do so too.” ‘They were made for the Jedi.’ Obi-Wan thinks in a daze. Clinging to that one sentence and grappling with all the implications buried within it as the Force around him pulses with tension. ‘For...for us? For me?’ What can that possibly mean? ---------------- Or; the Clones are really, and truly, perfectly made for the Jedi. The real issue is that it seems the Jedi are just as perfectly made for the Clones. This throws a major wrench in the works for the Darkside when the Jedi aren't very willing to let their men die. Not even on the senate's orders.

(i keep rereading this, i'm so obsessed with this kind of trope where people can read others' souls and just know who they are. this is the Shit for me, i was doomed from the start fnewifoewaef)

-

[Top Gun] (the most unexpected fandom to get into, watched it 2 months ago and it's completely taken over my life HELP ME-)

Where Are You Going by adiduck (book_people)

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

They’ve both heard all the philosophical bullshit, of course. Poems about your soul forever seeking its other half, impassioned treatises they were supposed to read in high school English about how you know where your own limbs are, quotes from long-dead guys about physical distance but hearts taking up the same space--that kind of bullshit. Maverick never put much stock in that kind of thing--he’d hated school. It probably shouldn’t have been surprising that Ice also really did not care about the science or philosophy--they were supposed to be perfect for each other, after all. (Or: There’s a handshake in the O Club the first night of Top Gun, and the very bearing of “magnetic North” shifts permanently under Ice and Mav’s feet)

(soulmate fic!! it's done so well and the relationship negotiations and trying to make it work is so up my alley. it's not an instant love soulmate fic, which i appreciate a lot, and i just love this author's characterization of of ice and maverick. definitely recommend this author's other works too, i just love the way they write in general, in whatever fandom they are in XD)

A Higher Fidelity by sintra

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

“C’mon.” Tori nudges him with an elbow. “C’mon. He’s cute. You can admit that one thing but you can’t admit this?” Gritting his teeth, Ice thinks very carefully about his next words. “He’s…” he trails off. “Some would say that…Mitchell is not. Unpleasant. To look at.” (Alternatively: the one where Ice and Mav learn to park bad, eat good, and love even better.)

(i want to kiss the author, ice's characterization here made me laugh so many times, omfg. absolute treasure of a fic! the narration and ice's thoughts were so fucking funny and maverick is just perfectly maverick in this haha! absolutely recommend for a good laugh with some extra sweetness.)

Precipice by V_Evergreen

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

Dating, it turns out, does not get easier with age. Alternately: [“Ice,” Maverick said slowly, “do you have a crush on me?” Ice flushed. “Shut up.” Maverick grinned. “How embarrassing.”]

(middle aged people going on first dates!! it's so sweet and snappy, i love how well-worn yet new this fic feels when it comes to their relationship. it feels both fresh yet comfortable and i felt warm reading this. <3)

Flowers for Sale by Owner by aelibia

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

Most people would do anything to stop the flowers from coming. Maverick is not most people.

(THE FUNNIEST FREAKING HANAHAKI FIC I'VE EVER READ HOLY SHIT! PLEASE READ, I CRIED FROM LAUGHING SO HARD FNEIWOFEWA)(never in a MILLION YEARS did i think about this aspect of the hanahaki curse, INCREDIBLE.)

I Need You to Live by PurpleArrowzandLeather

When Bradley finishes playing his dad's song at the Hard Deck, he sees a familiar figure collapse on the beach. Thinking the worst, he does everything in his power to make sure he doesn't lose him.

(i am so weak for fics that involve bradley and maverick re-conciliating. really great what if scenario done right and i definitely recommend this author's other top gun fics, they do gen fics for top gun really well!)

lost fight, grip tight on a heavy rope by writteninwaves

Bradley Bradshaw does not do regrets. Until he does. But in his fifteen years of self-imposed exile, there comes a time when even his stubborn will breaks. When Bradley overhears devastating news about his dad, he realizes just how much he lost and wonders if anything was worth it in the first place. Part 1 of revival

(mav is presumed dead and bradley comes back home because of it. the exploration of grief and how much maverick mattered to so many people is *chefs kiss* done fantastic here. there's a part 2 to this series when mav shows up and let me tell you, it's so good and i absolutely recommend that as well haha!)

What's In A Name? by maverickazansky

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

Maverick had never put any thought into Bradley not knowing the difference in surnames between the people in his family, nor his own. Nor had his put any thought into the fact that Bradley was a child. He probably should have.

(it's so cute!! it's so so so cute!!! i both laughed and cooed at little bradley, this is so ridiculously fluffy hahaha!)

With the Stars in the Darkness, and Love in the Light by flyingfightingfishy for LadyLanera

Ship: Tom Iceman Kazansky/Pete Maverick Mitchell

Ice cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I was calling about Wood and Wolf's wedding." "Oh yeah! I was sort of wondering about that. When I talked to Wolf a couple weeks ago he said the invitations would be out soon but I haven't gotten one.” Ice cleared his throat again, not quite sure how to address the situation. "Yes. Well. That's because it's with mine. Which is why I called.” Mav made a noise of mild confusion from the other end of the phone. ”They sent them together?" "Ah, no,” Ice said, taking a deep breath. “They invited us. Together. As a couple. Same invitation." OR Ice and Mav get invited to Hollywood and Wolfman's wedding together. They're not a couple. They decide not to correct the assumption.

(i wanted to smash these two idiots together, ice's anxiety was so palpable and real and i wanted to shake the man the entire time omg.)

-

[Crossovers]

Jokers to the Right by adiduck (book_people) for Serie11

Fandoms: The Saint (1997), Mission Impossible

Ship: Ethan Hunt/Simon Templar

It was supposed to be an easy one. (Or: Ethan Hunt is trying to save the world. Simon Templar is trying to rob an asshole blind. They work it out.) Part 1 of if you ever leave, i'm coming with you

(my goddamn gateway drug into this crack ship that i'm now absolutely OBSESSED with. truly and sincerely, this ship has overrun my life and i can't stop listening to lupin the third ost because it gives off spy vibes SO HARD.)(this ship is just, so much fun?? the banter, the fact they're both hyper competent people in the same field of work, whether that means working against or with each other. simon is fascinating and ethan is so inherently good and they circle around each other flirting SO MUCH LIKE NFEWNIFWE.)(the rest of the series is so good too and i absolutely recommend reading Serie11 too, they both herald this ship and god, GOD, i need more of this ship with their dynamics, it's AMAZING!! Please please give it a go and read!)

believe in you by Serie11

Fandoms: The Saint (1997), Mission Impossible

Ship: Ethan Hunt/Simon Templar

“I’ve sort of been wondering why you kept asking me out,” Julia confesses. “When it was pretty obvious that you weren’t going to make a move.” “Obvious,” Ethan echoes. He doesn’t like to think that he’s obvious about anything that he isn’t doing incredibly on purpose. He doesn’t like to think that even after all these years of only showing what he wants to show, there are still things that people can see about him that he would prefer them not to know. “This is date five, Ethan,” Julia says, lifting her eyebrows. “And you haven’t tried to kiss me once.” - Ethan's trying to escape from his past – but that's not exactly easy when he doesn't really want to run.

(a rewrite of mission impossible 3 with saintspy (this ship's name) in it. everything fits! the movie somehow has even MORE stakes and i got so hooked into the relationship drama between our mains and julia is so great here?? this fic is angsty and is in the break up era of their relationship, it's so juicy!! uggh, i love how this author writes, they really dig into ethan's psyche and i'm utterly enamored by it! even if you're not into saintspy, this fic's exploration of ethan still makes it compelling, so i definitely recommend you to check it out!)

run in the shadows by Serie11 for adiduck (book_people)

Fandoms: The Saint (1997), Mission Impossible, Top Gun

Ship: Ethan Hunt/Simon Templar

The changing soulmark on his wrist is a secret that Ethan has kept for as long as he can remember - one that he never thought he would have to explain to anybody, until a man with Peter Mitchell written on his skin appears to upend his entire life.

(*screams* soulmate fic! soulmate fic! this fic is separate from the two fics above, but man, it dives so hard into Ethan and his backstory on, "what if ethan hunt and pete mitchell are the same person". it's handled so well and the exploration on identity and what it means for both ethan and simon is so great!! a must read that will definitely win you over to this ship, i will die on this hill!)

Give and Take by GreenGlassMountain

Fandoms: The Saint (1997), Mission Impossible

Ship: Ethan Hunt/Simon Templar

When Max hires Ethan to steal the NOC list, she gives him free reign over his team members, with one exception. For such a massive heist, he must recruit the best thief in the business: a man known only as The Saint.

(i recommended this before and i need to recommend this again! seriously, it's a delightful first meeting fic between ethan and simon and the author did it so right! the dynamics, the cautious back and forth, and the fact this fic is set in the first mission impossible movie is all kinds of intriguing!! i'm so happy that this small ship is growing bit by bit and i'm so excited to see what comes next with this fic XD)

[gracegrove]

*Billy flirting with Steve, in just flip-flops, in the gym showers*

“Don't take it too hard man, pretty boy like you doesn't have anything to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea.”

*back slap*

thwick - thwack - thwick - thwack - thwick - thwack

[billdenbrough]

from our flash fic challenge on 21 july 2024: @vykio prompted me kevin + aaron + dog. going through my backlog of flash fics before the next one and umming and ahhing over posting them LMAO -- this one i decided i'd expand on and turn into something more, but i've got a few things on slate rn so i figured i could post this for now before revisiting the verse later lmao

“I’m just really worried,” Kevin confesses. He’s feeling a little jittery, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

The vet—Aaron, Kevin reads on his nametag—looks up at that.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Dr. Aaron says dryly. He’s lifting up Helenus’ paw, examining the movement of his wrist—wrist? Kevin resolves to study up on canine anatomy tonight—carefully.

Kevin’s cheeks colour. Dr. Aaron glances over, even as his fingers are still probing gently at Helenus’ leg.

“You’re fine,” he says. “Is he your first?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says after a moment. “Never really—I didn’t grow up with pets. I’m not sure what’s… normal.”

Dr. Aaron hums. “That’s pretty normal,” he says. He wraps an arm around Helenus’ belly and heaves, tugging him up. Kevin’s a little distracted for a moment by the way the sleeve of his scrubs gets caught between his torso and Helenus’ body, tightening on his bicep. Then Dr. Aaron looks at him again, quirking his lips a little to the left, and Kevin schools his expression back into one of active listening. “You’ll figure it out,” he says. “It’ll come with time. Well, as long as you’re observant.”

“I am,” Kevin says immediately, almost-indignantly. Dr. Aaron is looking at Helenus’ jaw now, not at Kevin, but he thinks the vet is fighting back a smile. It makes something in Kevin’s stomach float, just for a moment.

“All right,” Dr. Aaron says. “Then you shouldn’t have any problems.” He pats Helenus’ head, scratching at it in a way that makes Helenus let out a low, pleased keen.

Kevin shifts in his seat.

“Why Helenus?” Dr. Aaron asks. He’s feeling around Helenus’ mouth, pulling back at the skin to examine his gums.

“Uh,” Kevin says, then clears his throat. “It’s – he’s from the Trojan War.”

Dr. Aaron makes an odd sound, somewhere between surprise and recognition. “Cassandra’s twin,” he says, after a moment. It sounds like he’s placing the name.

Kevin can’t be normal about that. “Yeah,” he says, and then, almost too quickly, “Do you like history?”

“He’s relevant to special interests in a different way for me,” Dr. Aaron says wryly. He looks over at Kevin. “I’m a twin,” he says by way of explanation. “My brother used to reference any twin he learned about in casual conversation just to annoy me. He’s got – he’s got a good memory.” He shrugs. “Some of them stuck in my head. Usually the sad ones.” He tilts his head, releasing Helenus’ gummy mouth with a soft thwick of saliva. “So is that why? You like history?”

Kevin watches as Dr. Aaron scruffs behind Helenus’ ears. Helenus’s tail wags happily.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m finishing up my thesis for it, actually.”

“Oh?” Dr. Aaron asks, looking at him again. “New dog and major academic work at the same time? Sounds stressful.”

“He wasn’t exactly… planned,” Kevin says. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything, though,” he adds.

Like he knows he’s being discussed, Helenus looks up at him and makes a happy, snuffling noise.

“Mmm,” Dr. Aaron says, watching Kevin carefully. “Yeah,” he says. “I think you’re going to do just fine. He’s doing well already.”

[sin-sidejob]

Love your writing! Could you do some headcanons for Nostalgia Max! Brett?

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x GN!Reader:

Warnings: canon typical violence/shenanigans, childhood trauma, family trauma, bad childhood, canon backstory + some additional opinions and insight

Content: a lil angsty ig? SFW and more general headcanons rather than anything super specific or

- okay so he’s always been lovable himbo, not a thought in his brain, but Nostalgia Max Brett? Thoughts be rolling.

- this is all with the context or at least pretense that Brett didn’t take over that town and trapped the gang in the 80’s — BUT I’m going to work the concept of him still having the powers and using them or being affected by them

- watching Brett getting taken over by whatever chemicals and chem trails were within the Nostalgia Max brew was frightening, deeply and concerning, setting that chill through your bones like an ice cube rattling in your spinal column.

- you were so relieved when Reagan got him to calm down and go back to normal, or - well, at least what you thought was normal. The lot of you head back to work afterwards, tired and ready for sleep in the modern age and tired of feeling like you got trapped as extras in a Stranger Things episode.

- except you don’t go home just yet, you’re fretting over Brett who insists he’s fine and feeling okay but his eyes are twinkling green, swirling neon hues of emerald and peridot unnerving you. You and Reagan take him down to her lab, letting her run tests as you pace back and forth and warily eye the still-displayed parts of Robotus that linger on the walls, trying to calm before you roll yourself into a panic attack.

- turns out he’s fine, no radiation threats or concerns to worry about, but he’s now got powers. So much for halting that Stranger Things feeling. Brett and Reagan don’t know how they’ll manifest, but it’s something time will demonstrate. For now he gets to go home and he doesn’t go to his, he goes back to yours, shushing your worries and holding you close.

- that glint in his eyes fades away from the forefront of your mind, other worries and occupational concerns taking place until you’re all on another ill fated fieldtrip and off doing something else for the company, and you get held up in the crossfire. There’s a series of guns pointed at you, sadly not the first nor last time this occurs, but disheartening nonetheless.

- Everyone’s trying to calm down the situation and make sure you get out unscathed and nobody realizes Brett’s panicking until he’s not anymore. He’s eerily calm and staring straight ahead with fists clenched, Reagan goes to grab his shoulder to talk about how to get you out but she’s met with those acid green eyes, like green apple candy, and a cold expression so neutral it’s unnatural on Brett’s usually grinning visage.

- it’s so fucked it’s just beyond

- he just waves a hand and this glow, that watery green that looks like seepage straight from a nuclear reactor cooling pond, just whips in a wet thwick that sends necks angled cruelly, snapped with as much ease as breaking a pencil, and guns clattering to the ground.

- Brett’s blinking blearily before shaking his head, hair that was once floating now resting back on his head in a disheveled style as he races towards you and envelops you in his arms, making sure you’re okay and unscathed.

- meanwhile Glenn’s using every single southernism cursing phrase he knows, confused to all fuck, Andre and Myc are just both entertained and mindfucked thinking they roofied again, Gigi’s popping an antacid and a sedative muttering about how she should’ve got to work for the Illuminati, and Reagan’s going around to inspect the crooked bodies and talking to herself as she makes notes aloud, wondering just how this power has manifested.

- Reagan does find it very fitting that the powers manifested in a time of great stress, the second you were put in danger. God is he an utter fucking himbo.

- it’s not a power Brett can fully control, it kinda sets him into a subconscious state where it’s not a part of his mind that’s fully aware, but it’s sparked by very strong emotions, threats, and feelings of danger around him or directed at him. He likes to joke he’s got a nostalgia-sense instead of a spidey-sense but you’re still reeling and wondering why he’s now just a bit more attractive. (it’s the messy hair you’d never seen it, plus he killed for you and that’s also something)

[vodika-vibes]

"I'll tell him. I just need to figure out how."

😂

So last night I was thinking that Tup definitely spills the beans, because he shares a braincell with Arachne and it's Arachne's turn with the braincell. But I can't get the hilarious idea of Tup and Arachne getting into a sibling fight and Tup just, like, pushes her off a roof or something (because she's Arachne and of course she's going to be fine) and Dogma sees it and flips his shit. But then I had a better idea~

"Why are we standing in the fake rain?" Tup whines as the water falling from the sky plasters his hair to his head, "Arachne! This is the worst! I wanna go inside!" "No! Water is good! Water is our friend!" Arachne replies as she twirls on one foot in the rain, her own hair also plastered to her head as she dances in the rain. "Rain is not our friend. Rain is evil." Tup counters as he presses himself under the awning that should shield him from the rain, "Come on, Arachne, let's go back inside." "In a bit, Tup." Arachne counters with a laugh as she spins some more. "You're going to fall off the roof, spider girl." Tup grumps. "It's fine, I can catch myself." She grins at him and spins a few more times, before she dives off the rooftop. Tup sighs and shakes his head, and then he jumps when he hears a strangled noise from the door. He whips his head to the side and goes grey when he sees Dogma standing there, "Oh. Kriff-" He scrambles over to his brother, "It's okay! Dogma it's okay, Arachne is fine!" "She just...she just jumped-" He says faintly, taking a half step towards the edge of the roof, only to get stopped by Tup's firm hands. "She's fine, Dogma! I promise." Tup turns his head to the side, "ARACHNE! GET BACK UP HERE!" There's the familiar thwicking sound of Arachne's web attaching to the side of the building, and Tup watches as she flings herself high into the air, and lands neatly on her feet after preforming several very impressive flips. "I'm back! What's wrong?" "What's wrong is you nearly gave Dogma a heart attack." Tup chides, and Arachne turns and then blanches white when she sees Dogma standing there. His jaw is dropped and his eyes are wide, "What the kriff-?" "I can explain-" Arachne says at the same time. "She has superpowers," Tup says only half a second later.

[reticenceofladyeva]

hoax x (my best laid plan)

The old man isn't fooling anyone with his green robes and full beard. Hakoda knows perfectly well that this is a Fire Nation man, and there's a latent danger to him that keeps all the warriors looking over their shoulders even as Katara marches him around the camp, Kova in tow.

He strikes at another tree branch, whittling it down to another spear handle. His knife cuts through the wood with a satisfying thwick.

There's an easy familiarity between the old man and Katara, and the child keeps giving his (other) grandfather gummy smiles. This Uncle Mushi knows things Hakoda doesn't, like the ticklish spot behind the boy's knees, like Katara's preference for sweetened matcha in the morning and ginger tea in the afternoon.

Thwick.

They pointedly do not talk about someone named Lee.

Lee decided to go home.

Thwick.

Hakoda would very much like to get his hands on this Lee fellow.

Thwick.

Mushi is pleasant enough. His nephew is a scoundrel.

Thwick.

Pouhai was a trap, Katara is saying. We never should have gone. I heard, Mushi replies.

Thwick.

We were supposed to stick together, she says. Mushi reaches over and gently squeezes her wrist. His daughter puts her head in her hands.

Thwick.

Do you think Aang is okay, Katara asks. And Sokka? Mushi sighs.

Thwick.

The Fire Nation is unkind to prisoners of war, the old man admits.

Crack.

Hakoda looks down. The spear shaft has shattered in his hands.

Mushi looks at him with a sort of mournful understanding, and Hakoda jumps to his feet and hobbles into the woods. Need a new branch, he grunts, and the old man behind him bows his head.

[revelisms]

He does not remember how it feels to taste the sweet-summer warmth of laughter, real laughter: tangerine-sun, honey-smooth: the kind that oozes past cracked teeth and crooking smiles, shakes through one's bones and racks off the walls.

Oh, it's been years since he's laughed. A lifetime since the sliver at his mouth curled just-so at the corner, the way it used to: 45-degree slant, flash of teeth, chuff off the tongue.

He does not remember it—because to remember it means remembering it all: means sitting back in dim-lit rooms with shared cigarettes and smoke-sweet snarking and the floorboards bruising at his back, means ink-stained fingers and stacks of pamphlets and riot-songs in the streets, means that blazing silhouette in red and fire being hope and wonder and him—not betrayer, not murderer; not asphyxia clogging his head with cotton, and the toxins handling the rest.

He squeezes his eye shut, hard enough to ache—and he sees black. Sees pinprick-light at the end of a tunnel, thirty meters from salvation.

And that—

That, he remembers.

The way sulphur sat in one's throat like a poisoned seed: turned their spit metallic and their lungs to stone. Cool clay slick-sludged through his fingers. Gravel in his nails, coal on his teeth. Tick-tick-trings of steel and stone, and metal screeching down the tracks, and rusted shafts lurching beneath their feet: every gear squealing to slaughter, cattling them meter by soured meter into the chilled breath of a beast. Their days and nights marked by clean descents with the dawn; ash-coated resurfacings with the smogged moon. Thrown to the farthest rungs of hell—only to survive for a lesser purgatory.

A quarter of a lifetime spent underground.

One couldn't scrub the dust from their skin, if they tried. Or the blood, it seemed. Not that it made a bloody difference.

Blood in his eye, on his hands, in the clean red he buttons over the sallow of his skin; tugs sharp at the wrists, smooths flat at the collar. His tie ribboned and weaved, a dozy hiss between his fingers. A suit of silken armor: shielding, for all it confines.

In his office, he thwicks open a gilded lighter. Pulls in a drag.

"You smoke too much, y'know." Child's-lilt: quietly scornful.

Silco huffs blue through his teeth, the tail-end of a sound almost familiar. "Phantoms leave their marks."

The tobacco hits his throat with juniper leaf: sweet-bitter-burning. Even then, there's sulphur on his breath.

silco, on past lives / what you remember.

[m-tribs]

@everettcannon

The training room was just as intimidating as ever. Slate was off sulking somewhere, Mahlon was most likely moping, and Hestia was hiding. But Mercuria had a mission: to learn. She would need to do so in order to protect Slate. In order to help end the Games. So into the room she went.

It would probably be best for her to study survival skills, so it was to the deadly plants station she went. It wasn't long before the Trainer was boring her, though. Leaves of three, let them be ("Unless the Gamemakers wanna kill me," she thought). Her eyes wandered from the various warning colors to other stations when she saw him.

His posture was perfect - legs spread just a touch for a powerful stance. His shirt clinging to his waist, his shoulders wide and powerful as he pulled the string of the bow back. Those arms, straining, fighting, powerful against the taut weapon. One eye shut as he concentrated before thwick - a release of pressure all at once.

Mercuria felt herself gasp as the air pushed a spare lock of bronzed hair into Everett's face. She left the plants station with the Trainer midsentence, and found herself pulled by an unknown gravity to the archery station.

"Oh, Everett!" she said, voice faking surprise even though she knew she had been the one to approach. "What are you doing here?" Stupid question. "I mean. Uh. Archery. It's uh, not my strong suit. You seem pretty good at it, though?"

[shoot-me-baybee-one-more-time]

:lightswitch:

door-snapshutsnapshot

clic’.

ohmigowrsh it’s sough dark

pitchblackbut I haven’t seen tar so

well maybe that one time.

i’ve seen illustrations after all

dinosaurs or mammoths stuck in pitsch

clambering ceaselessly weighed down by bleak terror and imagination

on both the artists’ and the creature’s parts

not a good job one might say

hand goes palmout pointerstretched

thwick

thwack

thwunk

clic’!

hitit!!

illumination no longer foregone, objects revealing subjective reality

there’s the sink.