#with less animals around him all the time

[rainswriting-blog]

Flashing Them

Warning(s): suggestive

A/N: you flash them during an argument

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

John Price

The tension in the air is heavy, Price pacing back and forth in the living room. His boots thud against the wooden floor, his voice calm but undeniably laced with frustration. He gestures sharply, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You’ve got to think things through more carefully," he says, his tone level but firm. "It’s not just about you—it’s about how your choices affect everyone around you."

You’re already bristling, and defensive, and instead of responding with words, you do something completely unexpected. You lift your shirt, exposing your chest with a raised brow and a defiant tilt of your head.

Price freezes mid-step, his mouth slightly open as his eyes flicker up and down. His brows knit together in pure disbelief, and for a moment, the only sound is the ticking of the wall clock.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" he finally says, running a hand down his face, his frustration giving way to reluctant amusement. He exhales heavily, shaking his head, the corners of his lips twitching as if he’s fighting a grin.

"You’ve got a strange sense of humor, love," he mutters, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. "But fine. You win. I can’t keep a straight face after that."

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a soft chuckle. "Just warn me next time, yeah? You nearly gave me a heart attack." As he teasingly brushed his fingers against your nipple, a sly smirk playing on his lips, he guided you toward your shared bedroom with an air of quiet determination.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost stands stiffly by the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, his imposing figure taking up the small space. His tone is clipped, his words deliberate as he levels you with a look.

"You can’t keep doing things like that, alright? You’re not thinking about the consequences."

You cross your arms, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before deciding to take a different approach. Without a word, you lift your shirt, your gaze steady as you watch his reaction.

He goes completely still, his body language shifting as he takes a small step back, clearly thrown off. His eyes widen slightly beneath the mask, and for the first time, you see him falter.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, his voice muffled but tinged with something between exasperation and disbelief. He shakes his head slowly, one gloved hand lifting to his face as if trying to compose himself.

"You’ve got some nerve," he says, his tone softening into something almost amused. "But I’ll give it to you—that’s one way to end a bloody argument."

He steps closer, his movements slower now, less rigid. "Alright, love. I’m done. You win. But don’t make a habit of it, yeah? I’m not sure my heart can take it."

Removing his mask and gloves, he revealed the rugged softness beneath his hardened exterior. His large hands gently cupped your breasts, his touch both firm and tender. Leaning in close, his voice dropped to a husky murmur, “Let’s continue this in the bedroom, yeah?”

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Soap is pacing around the living room, his hands flying in animated gestures as he tries to make his point. His thick Scottish accent makes his words spill out quickly, his frustration clear but not overbearing.

"All I’m sayin’ is you’ve got to stop and think! You can’t just go runnin’ into—"

You cut him off mid-rant, pulling up your shirt without a word. The sudden, bold move catches him completely off-guard. His hands drop to his sides, and he stares at you, his expression frozen in a mix of shock and disbelief.

"What the—?" he finally stammers, his voice trailing off as a grin spreads across his face. A second later, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard he has to brace himself against the back of the couch.

"You’re bloody insane, you know that?" he manages between fits of laughter, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Here I am, tryin’ to have a serious conversation, and you pull this? Unbelievable."

When he finally catches his breath, he steps closer, cupping your face in his hands with a look of pure adoration. "Alright, love. You win. I can’t argue with someone who’s clearly lost the plot." His tone is teasing, but the warmth in his eyes says everything he doesn’t.

He pulled you closer, his hand gently gripping your throat, his other hand cupping your breast with a possessive yet tender touch. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his harden cock pressing against you through the denim of his jeans. Leaning in, his voice was low and rough, filled with a mix of challenge and desire. “You’ll have to finish what you started, lass.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed as he looks at you with a mix of concern and frustration. His voice is calm, his words measured as he tries to reason with you.

"I just need you to understand where I’m coming from," he says. "This isn’t about being right or wrong. It’s about making smarter choices."

You meet his gaze, letting the silence stretch before you make your move. Slowly, deliberately, you lift your shirt, breaking the tension in an instant.

His reaction is immediate—his eyes widen, and he straightens up, a surprised laugh bubbling out of him. "Wait—what? Did you seriously just—?"

He shakes his head, his laughter growing louder as he leans back against the counter, clearly caught off-guard. "You’re unbelievable," he says, his grin stretching ear to ear. "I don’t even remember what we were arguing about anymore."

He steps closer, still chuckling as he wraps an arm around your waist. "You’ve got the strangest way of shutting me up, you know that? But it works, so I guess I can’t complain."

His expression softens as he kisses the top of your head. "Next time, though, maybe just say you’re sorry instead of… well, whatever that was." 

His hands roamed over your body, one gently cupping your breast while his thumb teased your sensitive skin, sending shivers through you. A soft groan escaped his lips as you slid your hand down, slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans to touch him, feeling his growing cock. His breath hitched, and his grip on you tightened slightly, his voice low and laced with need as he murmured, “You really know how to test my control, don’t you?"

Taglist

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[savvymantis]

Blinded By Love?

Maybe you were a little off your rocker. But who could really blame you? Cybertronians were utterly fascinating, and despite their differences, they were still eerily similar to humans. Luckily for you, the Autobot team were rather tolerant of your questions about their biology, some even finding it flattering that you were so interested in them.

However, your friendship with them stopped you from being able to discover your less. . . kind curiosities. After all, with so much of them being similar to humans, did it also mean that their bodies reacted similarly to humans? You were too tiny to really startle any bot to see see if their equivalent of a pupil retracted from fear, and you were too weak to whack them on the knee to see if they had a reflex.

But still. . . opportunities presented themselves to you in the most interesting of circumstances.

Take, for example, the current moment. What was supposed to be an easy drive with Bumblebee led to a surprise ambush by a Decepticon jet. Which then led to you being thrown out of the car and into a ditch.

And now, towering over you with a sharp grin, was the second in command of the Decepticon army, Starscream.

"Any last words, fleshy?" He asked, wiggling his fingers at you.

Your head cocked, your own fingers brushing the fun little toy Wheeljack had snuck you some time ago. 'Just in case.' He had whispered to you with a wink.

You grinned back at Starscream, eager to test a theory that had been brewing in your brain for ages: if optics were like eyes, could they be blinded?

You threw the flash grenade, and twisted around to shield your face, ready to find out.

~

Starscream had met many a clever foe in his time. Even before the Deceptions were formed, he was known to be brutal and strategic, hard to knock off his pedes.

But even he had to admit, you smiling back at him like you were excited about being crushed did make him pause. Were you defective, he wondered briefly. No matter, you were dead regardless.

But before Starscream could finish lifting up his pede, you threw something at him. Instinctively, his optics followed it as he moved to dodge, only for it to immediately explode into a light so bright it burnt out the circuits of his optics.

Starscream let out a shriek that shook the air around him, vents firing on high as his body seared with heat and paid. He bent forward, clutching his faceplate, and swore to Primus above that he was going to kill you. Oh, he wanted to pick you apart piece by piece, but his anger controlled him, and he stomped relentlessly into the ditch where he knew you were.

But he felt nothing but the sickening earth dirt tamping beneath him. Then there was the rev of an engine and a hysterical laugh fading away into the distance.

You. . . you escaped??

Starscream raged, uncaring of what was around him. His nanites were slowly fixing the circuits lost, so he couldn't see what was there, but he felt for anything living to crush and grind away. All plants, for any animal life no doubt fled at the first sight of chaos, but snapping a tree over his knee did help him feel a little better.

"Blasted human. . ." He huffed, rubbing at his tender optics.

How had you managed to catch him so off guard? Starscream gritted his teeth, furious to have been bested by a waste of space plaguing this dirtball of a planet like a parasite. Oh, he was going to kill you the next time you dared to leave the Autobot base. He'd make it nice and slow for all your little Autobot friends to see.

He'd look at your little face, and you won't be smiling that little smile anymore! You won't be laughing that shrill laugh, no. You'll be begging for mercy, begging for him to spare your pathetic life.

Luckily for him, you left the Autobot base not a few cycles later. He chased down your guardian once more, Smokescreen this time, and ran him off the road to eject you from the seats.

"Your eyes okay?" You asked, breathless and pinned by his hand. He wasn't touching you, not yet, wanting to play with his prey, but you just gave him that damned smile. "Hope I didn't blind you back there, but with how shit your aim, I must've fucked you up."

"I'm going to kill you." Starscream ground out, the heat of anger, the thrill of an imminent victory, causing his circuits to sing. "And I am going to make sure it lasts."

You. . . You chuckled, turning your little head to rest a soft, warm cheek against one of his digits. Starscream froze again, despite the shrieking of his processor, caught by that look in your eyes. Was that. . . fondness?

"You said that last time, Screamer." You said, and suddenly a new device was in your hand. Starscream jerked, but you were quicker this time, pressing the metal tongs to the inner wires of his wrist joint. "And you'll say it next time too."

Electricity lit up his body, so powerful Starscream was forced to fold, landing on his back in his alt form. Over the buzzing in his audials, he could hear you cackling again, racing off towards the worried shouts of Smokescreen.

As his optics once again rebooted, Starscream caught sight of you throwing another little grin over your shoulder, eyes bright and hair wild.

Oh. . . a fleshbag you were. . . but maybe you were a worthy opponent. After all, not just anyone could escape his clutches twice. He'd need more than brute strength to get you, and you. . . you were worth more than your death, weren't you?

A fine hostage you would make. A fine plaything for him to poke and prod until he understood how your clever little mind worked.

Yes. . . He knew what he was going to do next time he caught.

[takendruid]

This is the video! I saw it and was pretty interested. There are some things I just don’t agree with in the video, but the bit about concept-based vs gameplay-based games made me have my epiphany. I think the actual point comes from a take I massively disagree with, but yeah.

Massive Bleach spoilers ahead, but I haven’t been able to talk about this with anyone other than my friend because Bleach fans are boring asf people who don’t care about trauma and the effects of trauma and being killed like I do. Because I’m a Jason Todd fan. But I’m gonna go on a huge fucking ramble because… I need to talk about this and have someone listen to me.

I’m a huge mental health, trauma, and realistic trauma responses freak when it comes to characters. People acknowledging characters having PTSD makes me so happy, which is why I love the fandom around Jason so much. BECAUSE PEOPLE ACKNOWLEDGE HIS TRAUMA!!

One of my favourite characters in media is Ichigo Kurosaki from Bleach, and I have heard not a single person even whisper about the fact that he blatantly has PTSD, or should at least be heavily affected by the shit he went through. Yes, he’s an anime protagonist so he can’t really have it for story reasons, but… HE VERY CLEARLY DOES HAVE IT! AND HE VERY CLEARLY HAS SURVIVOR’S GUILT!! This is why I love Evangelion so much.

Ichigo’s ENTIRE motivation for becoming a Soul Reaper (I’m a dub watcher) and wanting to help people is because his mother was killed protecting him. One of the reasons season 1 of Bleach is my favourite animated arc is because of how much it actually delves into the fact that Ichigo was severely affected by his mother’s passing. His entire personality, his entire person, his entire motivations and desires were fundamentally changed because of that one event when he was 9. It’s talked about so much in season 1 and I LOVE IT!!! Obviously it’s redundant to constantly bring it up over the rest of the series, but I’m certain Ichigo and Bleach are why I’m such a freak over this stuff.

BUT IT GETS EVEN BETTER!! Because in the final arc, he can’t get to his final level of power because the trauma of losing his mum IS STILL AFFECTING HIM! HE STILL HASN’T BEEN ABLE TO MOVE ON AND HEAL DESPITE EVERYTHING! Until his dad finally tells him what really happened, and it allows Ichigo to finally move on, heal, and accept that IT WASN’T HIS FAULT HIS MUM DIED!! AND THEN HE GETS HIS FINAL POWER UP!!!!! I love Ichigo so much, he’s an amazingly well-done and grounded protagonist.

It upsets me that people hate him as a protagonist, and say he’s unrelatable because he is extremely relatable (also I kin him a lot. I haven’t lost any parents per se, but I see myself in him). Those guys just want a loud, silly guy who isn’t scowling 24/7 and isn’t objectively the straight man the entire show. BUT THAT’S WHAT I LOVE. Like I’m sorry, we can’t have silly loud guys who are extremely goofy for all three of the Big 3, Goku will never be a Big 3 protagonist because he is the founding father of those three anime/manga.

Also Ichigo… in less than 12 hours, died TWICE in EXTREMELY TRAUMATIC WAYS to the SAME FUCKING GUY and then COMES BACK without ANY TIME TO MENTALLY PROCESS. I have been a Bleach and Ichigo fan for 13 years, and a Jason Todd fan for about 3 months. Jason didn’t need to teach me anything because I can use my own brain to realise that DYING IS TRAUMATIC. I need Ichigo with PTSD around dying. Please. For the love of god. He was 16. He acts and looks older than 16 so I think everyone forgets how young he actually fucking was, but he was killed twice at 16 within the span of 12 hours without any time to process because he had to continue fighting, and then go to the World of the Living to fight another even bigger threat; where he ends up watching his friends and comrades all get cut down and nearly killed, EVEN HIS OWN DAD AND MENTORS. And then he’s stuck fighting for 3 months to unlock a power that will LOSE HIM HIS POWERS THAT HE’S ONLY HAD FOR ABOUT 8 MONTHS.

Jason Todd 🤝 Ichigo Kurosaki: dying as a teenager, and also fighting bad guys, and isn’t really able to properly get therapy about it because what? The fuck? Do you mean? You died and came back?????

Only four people knows he has died, only two people know he has died TWICE.

But to go onto that second death. Holy fucking shit.

I have not seen a single person talk about how much this affected Ichigo mentally. No one. Not a single person.

It’s extremely clear it affected Ichigo in-universe, because he can’t use his hollow mask correctly after it, and he’s very clearly shaken up by it when he sees it with his own two eyes. And yeah, you could argue “well if it’s focused on in the story then there’s no need to talk about it otherwise” I THINK BATMAN FANS WOULD LIKE TO HAVE A WORD WITH YOU. Because that’s just something I really like with Batman as a whole, and Batman fans. In-universe, and in fandom, people talk about Bruce’s trauma, Dick’s trauma, Jason’s trauma. The entire reason Bruce is Batman and Dick became Robin is because of the trauma of losing their parents. In Batman & Robin: Year One, Bruce literally says “as a trauma survivor” like?? This stuff is talked about frequently, and acknowledged. And I never see the same thing with manga…

Anyway, Ichigo doesn’t get time to process this. Maybe he does in the 18 months where he’s not a Shinigami, but he doesn’t get time to process it before losing his powers. Yes, he’s fighting in a time warp thing for 3 months when it’s actually 1 or 2 hours irl in-universe, so maybe he gets time to think about it during that… but he’s more focused on learning the final Getsuga Tensho to take down the ultimate evil bastard of the series at the time.

Again, sorry this rant is even longer. Can you tell I have been waiting to talk to someone about this? /lh

Gotham Knights is so fun when you don’t have a little bitch in your ear telling you it’s shit, and that Arkham Knight is better

[ethereal-moonglow]

┊┊┊✧ ⁺               •

┊┊❁ུ۪۪⸙ ͎.

┊┊.

┊ ➶ ｡˚  　　°

*.           *    ·

Legends untold by time, can you hear them now?

Matchup exchange with @tillichan

Zayne was currently looking for places to take his girl out this weekend. He was busy the past few days and wanted to make it up to her. He was scrolling through his phone as he waited for the test of his patient to arrive. He was looking at various places with animals or some sort of garden so they’d be able to sit back and relax, maybe have a picnic as the two of them talk about their week. His eyes scan each option that popped up. Each of the choices had so many pros and cons, it was hard to settle for one. He wanted this date to be the best. He won't settle for less. From petting zoos to flower gardens and fruit picking, he tried scanning each location for reviews and did research if it was ethical. He won't bring his girl to an unethical zoo or garden! She’d be furious and their date would be ruined.

But before he could commit to a location he was pulled away to tend to another patient, with a sigh he reluctantly went. And there goes the cycle of never ending patients and surgeries. And of course they were short staffed this week! Oh how he hates and loves his job. No matter how hard the job is, there is only one person in his mind. He needs to stay strong, he has a date to plan. He needs to make things perfect! As a reconciliation for the lack of attention this week. Well, he was going to plan it but the extra load made it hard to sit down and find a place. 

The day of the date eventually came rolling around, and to say he was unprepared was an understatement. He was usually okay with spontaneous dates but he feels as if he had failed her somehow. He wanted her to enjoy the date and it had to be perfect. He was pacing around the room, phone in hand as he continued browsing. He should've turned down that one patient that did not have any serious ailments. He could have planned this better! His mind was swirling with all sorts of last minute date ideas. Anything to make sure this date was perfect! What he didn't realize is that time slipped past his fingers and she was now here.

“Zayne, are you okay?” She asked as she gently reached out to hold his arms. He jolted at the contact, his eyes widened in surprise. What time was it? Why was she so early? His head immediately turned to the side to look at the clock. His usually well kept hair was messy and even his polo was down two buttons. It was already time? He ran his hand through his hair. God, he didn't achieve anything.  “We can canc-” but before she could even respond, Zayne straightened up and fixed his collar. “No, no, there is no need to cancel. It's just that,” He hesitated after that.

She gave him a look of encouragement, as if telling him to continue. His expression softened as she leaned closer to him. He sighed, not being able to deny the sweetheart in his arms. He wrapped his arms around her. “It's just that I wanted this date to be perfect, and yet I have nothing planned.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I haven't been present. So I wanted to do something for you. To show you that I'm still here.” He looked away, almost embarrassed about what he said. But instead of anger, the only reply he got was a soft laugh. “Any date is perfect, because you and I are together” He couldn't help but smile at her words

More under the cut!

❥︎  I decided to pick Zayne for a few reasons and one of them is the fact that you want to live a calm and peaceful life. And with Zayne? That’s practically the goal. I mean he is a doctor and STILL manages to make time for you. 

❥︎ Unlike the hunter, the artist, the mafia leader, and the soldier, Zayne is the calmest (And less stressful) of them all.

❥︎ I also picked him cause of his temperment! He's calm and quiet. He's gentle and would definitely vibe with your energy.

❥︎ Not only that I keep seeing the two of you like on this cute date where he takes you wherever you want and you just dragging him around happily. 

❥︎ The two of you would definitely be a good couple! Like teh couple that everyone is envious of caus eit’s obvious that the two of you are so in love 

❥︎ Not only that I feel like he also would be the perfect match for you in terms of your interest. I personally HC that Zayne knows how to horse ride and knows ballroom dancing (idk he just seems like the type) 

❥︎ If he doesn’t know it, he definitely would ask you to teach him! He wants to know you inside and out, including the things you enjoy. 

❥︎ I feel like this would be a very healthy relationship! Especially Zayne is the type to immediately communicate when he feels something wrong. He won’t let you feel like you are alone or that he is against you. (Which again, ties perfectly  peaceful life you wanted) 

❥︎ In short, your lifestyle, personality, and wants in lives just screams Zayne! 

Random Hcs: 

✧He hold your hand all the time. He just wants to feel that you are with him all the time

✧Playing chess is how the two of you solve petty arguments. If he can sense the two of you ar about to be in an argument (over smth senseless like where toe at), he’ll pull up his phone or a physical ches sboard so the two of you can play. The winner is the one who decided what to do. 

✧ Every weekend, the two of you will go on a nature themed date, may it be horse back riding or 

✧ The first time he fell in love with you is when the two of you were playing chess and he lost. Then he saw how bright your smile was? God he was a goner after that. 

✧ He has a beautiful black horse! It's a gorgeous stallion that he bought just so he can ride with you.

Notes from the Author: Omg that took a long while to write XD I hope you enjoy! And it's definitely longer than my previous ones. I might stick to this layout to make more depth to my matchups

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Thirteen: love notes

tw: anxiety

Simon stares at the bathtub. 

It hasn’t changed a bit over the last decade or so. No, it’s been a lifetime ago since he was thrown into this tub and its frigid water. It still has the same pale, cracked tiles with ancient peeling caulk. Perhaps the spout is a bit more rusty than he recalls—tiny speckles dot the iron like high impact splatters in old, oxidized blood brown. They sit and fester, like cancer growths on decaying lungs. 

He swallows and doesn’t appreciate how tight his throat is. Serpentine constrictions plague his neck as if he were a tasty mouse—he’s surprised he can even breathe. This feeling is so unfamiliar to him. He’s removed himself from this agonizing fear for so long, and now he doesn’t know how to force it into submission. He doesn’t remember how to be strong. All he knows is that if he were to compare his nose to the dent on the spout, the scars would match. 

A fluffy cotton towel and fresh set of clothes rest on the corner of the counter next to the sink. It screams at him. It reminds him of what he came here to do. 

It’s only water. He’s bigger now. 

Five minutes, he promises himself—five minutes, and that’s it. 

In reality, it’s significantly less than that. Short hair is easy enough to wash and rinse, as is his body. A part of him is used to washing up quickly, in some terrified way. Less time under water, the better. Less time in here, the better. Without any blood or grime to scrub away, he’s even more efficient. Soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. 

Soap, scrub, breathe—breathe. 

Then, the tiles start to whisper to him. Hushed echoes of the past bounce around at his feet, saturating the tub, filling it up until it’s at his knees. It's all briny tears, spit, and viscous snot. Muffled cries that can’t quite leave his throat. Childish begging. The yearning for his mother. Angry fists gripping his shirt. 

An unceremonious squeak sounds as the water ceases. Fat drops dribble out of the showerhead as clawed fingers drag the curtain open, cold air rushing in to meet his exposed body. Old scars pucker and dance along his skin as goosebumps form, and he sucks in a breath through the brume wafting around him. Pale blue walls turn grey—like dead, rotting flesh. He swallows. His throat is still tight. 

Soft cotton rubs across his abrasive skin as he dries himself and quickly dresses. Moisture wicks from his skin and it feels like sweat instantly replaces it. It seeps from his skin as anxiety brews into something tangible and rotten. A thin fog obscures the mirror he attempts to look at, leaving only the shadow of him on its surface. Huffing, he rubs his bare hand across the glass. With such heavy nervosity gripping his throat, he half expects to see a scared child as the image of himself forms. Instead, it’s him. 

Just him—his father’s eyes and all. 

A knock declares itself with a sharp crack, but Simon’s eyes don’t wander a bit. He stays, hands on either side of the counter, gripping the tile as if he’ll fall through the floor if he doesn’t. The only thing that prompts him to finally move, to crack the stone encasing his body, is the soft sound of anxious feet shuffling against the floor outside the room. 

When Simon opens the door, you’re certain you’ve upset him somehow. Furrowed brows and firm set lips make your hands tense, nearly snapping your toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste in half. You look up at him like a wounded animal. Tail between your legs, lip caught in your teeth—you try to smile, but the malaise hanging around him is thick enough to suffocate even you.

Then, something snaps. He melts. His eyes soften as his shoulders fall, and his lips part to speak only to then say nothing. He looks you up and down, still dressed in your pajamas, and then smiles. 

“Am I takin’ too long?” he teases. 

“No, just wondering if I could squeeze in real quick to brush my teeth before breakfast,” you sheepishly admit. 

Warmth swirls around your body and envelops you as Simon steps to the side, letting you steal a spot at the counter. Though he smiles at you kindly, something feels wrong with that room. It festers like a bad wound—a dead body that wasn’t quite cleaned up. Spoiled viscera still soaks the floor for the flies to eat. You stare at your hands—at the way your fingers grip your toothpaste, trying to squeeze it out onto the brush—and you think for a moment, that maybe; maybe that rot comes from you. Sullying everything you touch. 

“Is that kid’s toothpaste?” 

Fluttering eyes land on Simon as you open your mouth to reply. Nothing comes up but a strained laugh and a half formed smile as you bashfully look down at your items. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nod. 

“I’ve got real toothpaste if ya want it,” he offers, shaking the tube. You stare at it. That classic minty green freshness flashes in reflective foil like a warning beacon. Cracks form in your smile, and you feel your stomach turn. 

“No thanks. I… erm… don’t like mint,” you admit. 

Your admittance feels like you’ve laid some sort of hot sin before him, and you avert your gaze in favor of spreading a generous line of paste on your brush. Imitation fruitiness coats your tongue as you shove it into your mouth, and you grimace. You forgot to wet your brush. The texture is rough and sandy, yet you persist. 

Simon shrugs. “Suit yourself.” 

You try not to let him see the way your eyes water when he begins to brush his teeth. Abrasive mint overpowers your senses, seeping into your nose and churning in your stomach. It’s too strong. Offensive. 

You disguise your disgust with a cough. 

Breakfast is a quiet event. With the Christmas cheer dwindling into the back of everyone’s minds, the delectable meal of pancakes, sausage, and eggs is brought to the front. Mrs. Riley’s cooking truly is remarkable, and you feel yourself missing her meals already. Bruce keeps you fed plenty well at work when he can, but there’s something different about eating in the presence of her warm gaze. Pale blue eyes flicker like sapphire flames as she glances back and forth between you and Simon. The look on her face isn’t lost on you—that quiet simper that stains her lips isn’t either. 

It screams. Shouts at you. You are welcome here. 

“So, back to London, then?” Tommy asks as he wipes his mouth clean of crumbs. 

Humming, Simon nods. “Yeah. Work tomorrow night. Gonna get busy with the new year.” 

“Everythin’ going well at the club?” Beth chirps. 

It’s a simple question—an innocent one. Still, it has Simon and Tommy sharing glances with one another. A million words are shared in an instant with one simple exchange. Tight lips, tighter fists; this is what happens with men like them. There is always bound to be some sort of dark secret they keep buried with the old versions of themselves; the versions they had to snuff out in order to survive. 

“As well as it can,” Simon nods. 

Simon doesn’t completely beguile her. As far as anyone else is concerned, Terminus is doing fantastic. Only occasionally does he have to bloody his hands and toss out patrons who are too pissed for their own good. It’s an easy job. A simple one for a man of his talents. 

But there are names that lurk in the depths. Swarming in ruined water, waiting to capture their next prey; their next victim. Andrei. Though he’s been off having his fun with you and his family, the bastard’s name and face etch in the grey matter of Simon’s brain. It’s quite the balancing act, hunting a man who vanishes into smoke and mirrors all while trying not to concern you with the mess. His skin itches at the thought—that terrible memory of you. Doubled over, blacking out. 

What would have happened to you if he hadn’t been there? 

Clearing his mind, Simon reaches for the plate of toast just as you do. Knuckles knocking, you retract, hand falling back into your lap. Had he not known any better, he would have thought he electrocuted you. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, gauche laugh expelling from your lungs in a pitiful huff. 

He looks at you, curled forward in your seat like a shriveled bug; always making yourself small. Always too afraid to take up the space you need. His hand persists, fingers gripping a golden slab of toast before he places it on the plate before you. Only then does he retrieve one for himself. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 

Once plates are cleaned, it’s time for farewells. Everyone meanders around the house, picking up their items and shoving it into bags for easier storage. Simon steals your travel pack like a bandit, refusing to let you assist in packing anything into the car. You’re not sure why you even bother to do anything for yourself anymore; not when you’ve got Simon around to wait on you hand and foot. 

So you watch him from inside the house as he loads up the car. He moves everything around with ease as if it’s lighter than air itself. Tommy leans against the boot with his arms crossed as he shivers in the bitter Mancunian winter. Once Simon manages to get your bag situated next to his in the backseat, Simon retreats, back straightening out and stretching as he slams the door shut. 

“So. Gonna bring Chip home for Easter?” Tommy questions. 

All Simon can do is shrug. “We’ll see.” 

“Oh, come off it,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “Sleepin’ in the same bed as her, gettin’ all cozy on the couch. Takin’ the fuckin’ piss outta me sayin’ shit like that. Well see? You pillock.”

“What I do in my personal life doesn’t concern you,” Simon says nonchalantly as his hands wave the man off. “Now up. Off my shit.” 

Tommy huffs, and it’s cynical. Boiling acrimony laces his words as he mumbles: “Used to think the same thing once. Next thing I knew, I was nearly gettin’ gutted like a pig.” 

Flooding memories cause Simon’s eyes to gloss as they sear through his brain. Unpleasant bile eats at his esophagus as he recalls that day at his old job. A butcher’s shop. He would spend his life quartering swine, never once thinking about how similar humans are to pigs. Tender meat. The fiber of muscle and skin. A sharp blade sinks into flesh all the same no matter what you name it. The blood is just as warm. The gasps are just as cacophonous. 

Tommy’s warning is clear. It causes his diaphragm to freeze as dark eyes cut through the air to find you like he’s scared you’re already injured. Like he’s ruined you. His heart ceases to beat when he finds you on the porch, little Joseph wrapped around your leg with tiny arms. 

“Bye-Bye Aunt Chippy!” he says, unabashed with his gaiety. 

Red hot embarrassment burns Beth’s face until her cheeks are the same shade as her hair, and within an instant she’s beckoning her son off of you. Just as always, you are kind. You smile and shake off the awkwardness with as much grace as you can muster. You assure Beth it’s fine. You’re not sure what you are—be you an aunt or something else—but the title fits snug like it’s the first thing you’ve ever worn that fits properly. 

“It was lovely having you,” Mrs. Riley cuts in, easing the tension. She’s bundled herself up in a thick blanket draped over her shoulders like a shawl, and still she shivers so fiercely you swear she’ll turn blue. Despite the tremor, she reaches her arms out to you, welcoming and warm. 

You accept her embrace without a second thought, and for a moment things are quiet. Nothing rings. Nothing buzzes at the tip of your brainstem. There is only the quiet, and the scent of lavender. It leaves your body yearning in a way you haven’t felt for quite some time. A bitter tainted nostalgia dances along your spine and weaves through your ribs—and yet it is welcoming all the same. 

“Thank you for having me,” you whisper. Your voice decays in your throat—half formed and hardly ejected. 

Mrs. Riley steps back, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. You know you should. You’ve always had to let go of everything eventually, but your fingers flinch and your arms twitch, and you realize this time you can’t. Some sort of mawkish pain squeezes your heart and you fear you’ll crumble if she’s not there to hold you up. You’ll crack and splinter into dust that the December wind will carry away without so much as a second thought. 

She doesn’t let you. Instead, she holds you together, scooping you up in her arms until you’re buried in her. Pressure builds and twists behind your eyes, and you ignore the way your throat begins to shred itself. 

“You’re always welcome here, dear.” 

They wave from the porch when you and Simon leave. It’s a proper send off that has you smiling to yourself and aching for their presence again. Simon turns the heat up the moment you hit the motorway, and you feel your eyes begin to grow heavy. It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly why you’ve been stuck with such lassitude these last few days, but you only feel it worsen as the heat warms your skin. Leaning against him, nearly falling asleep on the couch, resting in his arms… Simon feels safe. Like you can rest and wake up knowing everything—including yourself—will be fine. 

He offers you his coat to use as a pillow just as your head begins to nod. You don’t bother to argue. You don’t say that you’ll be fine, or that you can stay awake, or that you’ll just rest your head on the jittery window. It feels nice accepting his help. You think he’s the only person who’s ever been kind to you without it leaving a bad taste in your mouth. So you take it. Bunch it up and curl into a ball in the passenger’s seat as best as you can as the hum of the engine sings you to sleep. 

Tobacco and nicotine envelopes your senses. It’s stronger on his coat than it is himself. It’s marinated—burrowed into the stitches. 

You sleep so well that you don’t wake up until you reach the outskirts of London, and even then you’re only roused by Simon rubbing your arm. Limbs extending, you stretch as much as you’re able to in the confines of the car as you rub at your face. The afternoon glow ignites the frost lining the railing that leads up to your apartment complex, but it looks like glitter on dull cement. A waste of something pretty. In whatever festive cheer your ancient, crabby landlord can muster, you notice a spindly wreath on the entrance. Perhaps it’s his attempt at making that dilapidating building feel more homey—if anything, it feels more fake than ever. 

Simon opens your door with a smile as he helps you out of the car. He’s still on a mission to refuse to let you carry your bag, and he lets you lead the way inside the building as he trails behind you like a good dog. Creaky stairs announce their existence all the way up to the second floor, but their song is quickly drowned out by the violent vibrating of Simon’s phone. 

He plans on ignoring the call until he reads Johnny’s name on the screen. 

“Hello?” he answers. His voice catches you off guard, and he watches as your head snaps over your shoulder to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile as he shakes his phone, and you smile back in recognition. 

“Got a hit on your dance partner.” 

Simon’s heart skips a beat. That deadly killer in him begins to surface—the one that’s cold and calculated; the one that can’t afford to let feelings get in the way. His face hardens as images of Andrei flashes across his mind, but he knows he can’t be too standoffish. Not when he’s with you. Not when you don’t know something’s wrong. 

“Workin’ through the holiday?” he asks, attempting to tease but it comes out too gruff. 

“Had nothing better to do,” Johnny shrugs. “Aye, but listen. You remember Milena Romanova? Makarov’s financier?” 

Simon scoffs at the name, bitter bile rising in his mouth just as you both reach the second floor. “Plays well with Garrick’s mum, doesn’t she?” 

“Oh, plenty well. Plenty of letters, threats, the usual,” Johnny deadpans. “Anyway, Kyle caught sight of her at some bullshit aristocratic party his mum was throwing on Christmas Eve and Andrei—whose last name is Nolan, I’ve learned—was there with her.” 

The tension in Simon’s jaw grows so tight that he can hear the way the enamel in his teeth creaks with the pressure. It’s an easy conclusion to draw. One that has his chest growing tight. 

“Whatever mess Chip has got herself in… Riley, if Makarov’s got his sights on her-”

“I know,” Simon interrupts. It’s sharper than he intends, but he doesn’t apologize for it. 

Johnny sighs, breath crackling on the line. “One more thing… you’re really not gonna like this.” 

Somehow, Simon has managed to fall behind you. Several paces back, he sees you standing at the entrance to your apartment. You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the doorknob, wide as saucers, lips parting as if to say something but nothing comes out. 

“The security system here at Terminus caught some weird activity on cams yesterday,” Johnny continues. “Checked them out this morning and… well, it seems as if Andrei’s not the only one hanging around where he shouldn’t be.” 

Your door is open. Slightly ajar, hardly even cracked, but it’s open. You swear you locked it before you left, but it doesn’t matter when there’s splintered wood on the ground at your feet. Simon’s hardware and new screws held up plenty fine. The door plate isn’t even bent. Still, it can only do so much when the wood it’s screwed into is as soft as butter. 

The air is wrong. Too thick. Like water. Like smoke. Like it’s someone else’s breath. 

“Marco was here last night. It… It looks like he was looking for someone.” 

Eyes welling with tears, you turn to look at Simon. His face is like stone. Hard set and rigid as he continues to hold the phone to his ear. The line has gone silent. His throat bobs as he swallows. 

“I gotta go.” 

The line dies. 

Neither of you speak as Simon quickly puts himself between you and the door before gently pushing it open. You hold your breath as he does. Quiet hysteria builds in your chest as you wait an eternity to see what’s become of your home. The door creaks and whines as it falls open, hitting the wall, revealing the state of your apartment. 

Nothing is as it should be. Plastic plates and cups litter the ground in the kitchen, along with old—and now bent—pots and pans. Cupboards and drawers lay flung open like spilling intestines, completely emptied of their contents, all dumped into a pile on the floor as if setting up a pyre. The rubbish bin is knocked on its side. Old garbage spews from its mouth, staining the faux tile as nameless black bugs enjoy the rot.

As the two of you cautiously press inside, you catch sight of the way your clothes hang halfway out of your dresser. Plastic hangers lay shattered outside of your tiny closet, sprinkling the floor with the shards. The bathroom light is on, and when you meander inside, you find the mirror is shattered. Your reflection is warped. Wrong. A drop of blood stains the sink. It’s old. Hagriding. Clotted. Hardened. You stare at it, and it screams back that you have made a very grave mistake. 

There isn’t an inch of your apartment that Simon leaves unchecked. Hackles raised, he turns every corner with care, eyes darting around like an animal ready to strike. But there is nothing. Your flat has always been too small to properly house yourself, let alone hide away anyone that would cause harm. There is no Andrei. No Makarov. 

No Marco. 

You stand in the midst of your home like a lost child, spinning in circles as you witness the war-torn room. Your eyes widen as you scan everything like a hawk, or some clever fox finding her way out of some precarious situation. Trepidation coils around your chest as you attempt to hold back sobs, but your diaphragm shudders despite your efforts. You are both overcome with terror and yet so devoid of emotion because—in some way—you know you deserve this. 

You brought this on yourself. 

“Fuck,” you curse, hand slapping over your trembling lip. 

Simon’s ears perk at your voice. Heavy feet crush rubbish and clothes as he reaches for you. He’s careful, as if trying to calm a spooked horse. Warm hands bleed through your skin as he holds you steady, but you don’t look at him. All you can do is continue to take in the mess around you. 

“It’s gonna be alright. We’ll get this sorted, I promise,” he assures you. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” you snap. 

Hands brush against his chest as you push yourself away from him while a hyperventilated sob rattles your throat in the process. You nearly trip on a cup as you stumble around the room. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“How the fuck could I forget? I’ve… never… fuck,” you mumble. 

Simon says your name, but you refuse to hear it. Utterly disconsolate, you continue running away, feet meandering throughout the room as if you’re in a drunken stupor. He lets you. Watching you carefully as the emotions overwhelm you, he lets you feel what you need to as you stare at the crumbled remains of your life. 

The only thing that isn’t ruined is your bed. 

You freeze. It’s perfect. Pillows fluffed. Blankets neatly pressed along the mattress. It looks professionally done with a folded lip at the top for ease of grabbing. Spotless—it almost looks lovingly done. 

You don’t remember making your bed before you left. 

Careful feet approach the furniture as your nerves begin to fry. You feel your mind start powering off—neurons going silent. There’s no fear or anxiety or anger; there’s just you and your shell. You’re so far underneath the waves that there’s no use in screaming for help. All you can do is let the tide carry you forward. 

A pristine envelope sits quiet and docile on top of your blanket. It’s unmarked, but there is no mistaking who it’s addressed to. Simon slowly approaches from behind, hands outstretched, requesting that you hand it over to him, but you refuse. Shouldering him away, your quivering fingers can hardly undo the seal. It tears. Shreds like cloth and skin. You retrieve the note inside. 

Missed you on the 25th. Will come by to collect your late fee on the 28th. Same place as usual. You know better than to call the police. Don’t stand me up this time, babe. 

-M

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[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Yellowjackets Agere Hcs and Moodboards

Lottie: she regresses very young 0-5 mainly, but even when she is feeling a bit older it’s harder to tell because she doesn’t talk. She likes being called “sweetheart” but also any kind of animal themed pet name like “doe” or “baby bear”. A lot of the time when she’s little the others will call her “Lots” and under no circumstances can anyone call her Charlotte. Very quiet bub, almost entirely nonverbal unless she’s alone with Nat - her primary cg. She knows a few basic signs in ASL but not enough to properly communicate and the other girls don’t really know anything but figure out what she means eventually. The only things she will say is like “mama” or the equivalent for different characters and usually she’s not even talking to them just babbling to herself. Unless she’s having a particularly bad episode of visions or thoughts she’s a very happy baby. She is giggly and smiley and just happy to play with anyone or help out with chores. She LOVES story time with Van and sometimes if she’s feeling extra brave she’ll whisper story requests in Van’s ear. She has one of those blankies with a stuffie attached from when she was growing up, it’s pink and soft on one side and floral on the other… at least it once was, now it’s very tattered and faded but she always carries it around with her. The stuffie is a cat, it’s called Daisy. That’s the one toy no one else is allowed to touch. She also has a paci which she uses pretty much constantly. She’s the queen of parallel play and is sooo happy just to sit and mind her own business next to anyone. When she is having a bad day she becomes sniffly and clingy and very panicked. She hates having scary thoughts and sometimes turns to less than helpful coping mechanisms but the others are quick to catch on and Nat can always calm her down. After a particularly bad episode she almost always regresses and spends a few days just lying around with her stuffies. Nat never ever leaves her side during this time and will give her soup and cuddles till she feels better. Nat will slowly coax her outside to sit on the porch for some fresh air and it always helps. She’s definitely still a klepto when she’s small but she only ever does it because she thinks it’s funny. Someone will notice something small (like a spoon or a cup) has gone missing and then look up to see Lottie poorly hiding a giggle and holding something behind her back. She does learn very quickly not to take anything that belongs to Shauna. She loves playing tea parties and she’ll set them up and then drag whoever is nearby over to play. I like to think they make paints out of rocks and water and Lottie loves to make paintings. She follows Laura Lee around a lot when they are both little - Laura Lee is very good at knowing what Lottie is trying to say without her having to say anything. *when she’s not little she loves taking care of Laura Lee <3*.

Laura Lee: regresses 1-5 but unlike Lottie is always very articulate. She’ll talk to herself, she’ll talk to Leonard, she’ll talk to Lottie even when she knows she won’t get a response. She loves reading and Van is always very patient and sits with her and helps her read. Leonard obviously never leaves her side. She takes him on walks and tells him what she can see. Sometimes during story time Van will put Leonard on her lap and use a silly voice to pretend he’s reading. She’s the happiest baby 99% of the time. She doesn’t get irritated when Lottie quietly follows her around all day or upset when Shauna is having a tantrum so she can’t play with the toys she wants to use. She does get upset sometimes but tries to hide it because she doesn’t want to be a bother. She’ll go off and cry into Leonard’s fur but Lottie is insanely in tune with Laura Lee’s emotions and she’ll go help her out or if Lottie’s feeling too little she’ll make sure to find someone (usually Nat) who can. Usually she gets darling, sweetheart, sweetness or flower when she’s small. Van always calls her ‘clever little one’ and it makes her feel so proud. She’s super content with all of the cgs and doesn’t really have a favourite but she does spend a lot of time around Nat because she spends so much time around Lottie.

Van: cg!!! I don’t think they have a specific little but all of the littles love Van. They love story time, they love the silly games van comes up with and van can always make everyone laugh. I think cg names vary for van - nothing really gender specific but a lot of them have taken to calling her bubby !! Will always hold a little on their lap during story time (especially if one of them has been having a particularly bad day) and rock on the rocking chair. She has the best voices for all the stuffies when she plays with littles or reads stories.

Nat: usually a cg, mainly just because regressing generally isn’t very pleasant for her. It really takes a lot for her to regress - I think in s3 e4 she’s feelin’ pretty small. when she does regress I’d say anywhere from 3-6. when she’s big she is the most patient cg in the world. everyone thinks nat is tough n everything but she’s really so gentle with the littles, especially lottie who struggles to communicate her emotions. and she’s all smiley when the babies are smiling. she can calm anyone down. mainly the littles call call her ma or mama depending on how little they are feelings. I don’t know what it is about Nat but whenever any of the littles find something super cool like a rock or leaf they run up to show her.

Misty: regresses around 4-12, she’s definitely older and loves getting to take care of the younger ones (especially if it means the cgs praise her for being helpful). Shes usually very happy when she’s small and wants to play with everyone but if some people don’t want to include her in their games *cough cough* little Shauna and Jackie *cough cough* she will throw a fit. She tends to gravitate towards Nat when she’s upset because she knows Nat won’t take sh*t from anyone and will make sure she’s included in the games. She loves to sing and dance and put on little performances for everyone. Jackie I think also LOVES starring in these performances. She has this vintage baby doll called Clarissa which she adores and treats like a real baby but it creeps out everyone else (except lottie).

Jackie: regresses 3-7. She’s the most energetic little, she always wants to play tag or climb a tree. But she’s also such a princess about it. She refuses to get her hair messy or touch mud. Her regression is very deeply connected to Shauna’s they are almost always together if one of them is regressed. She can be very headstrong and if Jackie wants to play a game then they are playing that game. Other than Shauna she is very hesitant towards any cg figure at first, eventually she eases into it though. She has definitely tried to start a bunch of clubs, most of which have required cg intervention because she was being a bit controlling. She’s literally a fairy princess who rides horses in her ballgown and has a sword and single handedly battles off armies of evil goblins. She’s a big fan of pacis, she has plenty and she uses them regardless how old she’s regressed to. Sometimes she gets a bit shy about it because not all of the littles use pacis and if so usually only the younger ones, but Nat in particular is very good at calming her down about it. She loves doing everyone’s hair!!! She tries her best to be a good friend to everyone all the time, even if she doesn’t always know how. She has a toy bunny called Peter. She HATES chores. She’ll do them, but you can bet she’s going to be whining the whole time.*if she’s big and Shauna is little she’s the biggest enabler ever and will indulge Shauna so much*

Shauna: regresses 3-7, same as Jackie. They are usually very in tune with their ages and often called ‘the twins’. She’s equally as rambunctious but couldn’t care less if she gets her hands dirty. She wants to make mud pies and make fake swords out of sticks. This is where being close with Melissa really comes in handy because Melissa is always happy to roughhouse a bit more than Jackie is. She’s a biter, obviously, and spends a lot of time in timeout for biting or taking a game too far. Shes looooves teethers and has heaps - sometimes she forgets to use them but the second someone notices her getting worked up they’ll just hand her a teether. She’s extremely jealous - especially of Tai and Jackie. If Tai is sitting curled up with Van, Shauna will wiggle her way in between to get cuddles from her Mama. If Jackie is playing with someone else Shauna will get pouty and grumpy and throw a fit. Jackie is equally as jealous so they even each other out. She loves story time with Van and sometimes she gets to help Van write new stories for the littles to read. If Shauna is getting really worked up Van will distract her by asking if she’s had any story ideas. She’s super attached to Tai. She’s always trying to hold Tai’s hand or babbling to tai about anything. Tai is the only one who can get her in trouble - she will literally just ignore the other cgs if they tell her off. She has a stuffed dog toy called Rupert. He’s a German shepherd and is best friends with Peter, Jackie’s bunny. They have a treehouse and Shauna loves to pretend she’s the guard. She gets called pup and kiddo a lot. She often gets baby from Tai but only Tai or Van can call her that. *she’s extremely good with Jackie when Jackie is little and she’s big, she’s super patient with her*

Tai: Shauna’s mama <3 she loves taking care of everyone but is especially good with Shauna. She loves making shadow puppets for the littles on the wall to act out whatever is happening in Van’s stories. Amazing for cuddles and the littles like to pile up on her. Tai gets extra scared about hurting the littles when she’s sleepwalking and gets super anxious about it. Definitely always the voice of reason and mediator for any arguments. The littles love to do drawings or paintings and show them to her because she always tells them how proud she is. Obviously they don’t have a fridge to hang the artworks on but they dedicate a small wall of the cabin to all the little’s artworks.

Travis: regresses 3-7. He doesn’t regress a lot and when he does he’s super shy about it. If Nat’s regressed and not super distressed they play a lot together. In fact, the only time Nat really regresses happily is when they go out for a hunt but end up spending the day chasing each other through the forest. He loves playing with little wood carved animals. I don’t think he regressed at all before the crash, hence why he’s extra hesitant about it.

Coach Scott: he’s everyone’s papa <3 peak girl dad. all of the littles adore him. They are always rambling to him about their games or their stories - they really want him to be proud of them. He’s amazing for hugs, they’ll curl up in his arms and he gives great bear hugs. Laura Lee sometimes begs him to go on walks with her because she gets worried about him being cramped up in the cabin and she’s super patient with how long it takes him. Jackie likes to decorate his crutches with flowers and vines she finds. He learns how to plait and in the morning the girls take it in turns to sit on the floor in front of him so he can braid their hair. He teaches them how to skip rocks and they all have competitions to see who’s can go the furthest.

Melissa: regresses around 5-8. Loves playing with Shauna and they have sword fights all the time. Loves getting called Champ or Buddy. Has a stuffed toy frog called Gregory. Gravitates towards Tai and Van as cgs. Built a rope swing out of rope and a branch hung around a tree and looooves to play with it. (idk how to explain it but I had one growing up and it was the most fun ever… also causes a lot of bashing into trees). Doesn’t like to sit still at all.

[idkhoworwhytell]

To Toss and Turn

Summary: Twilight had been restless all night, rustling and sleeping like no other reader had unfortunately had had enough of this.

Based on the fact I hc that twi is a restless sleeper, and can be a blanket stealer 

Readers pov 

Turn 

rustle 

toss 

shuffle 

Roll

Twilight keeps tossing and turning. And I’ve been putting up with this all night. I keep running the risk of being run over by a man who wrestles goats for a living! 

This morning, he was Wolfe, herding us all like cattle not letting anyone stray. He shouldn’t even be on his feet! The accident had happened just a little under a couple weeks ago and hyrule  is still worrying over him. I can't imagine what the transformation feels like when injured. 

Even now, I don't like the fact he's been moving like this all night. It's like he’s preparing for something that’s not going to happen , or is just itching  to go back home and get all this out on the goats (he treats those animals better than me some days.)

It helps that I can see his stomach muscles tremble from use and exhaustion.

 If he's having a nightmare right now, he's not showing it. He is not making any whimpers or groans. I think that's something to be ruled out.

”Twi” 

Another roll 

“Twilight.”

A grunt.

”Link!”

His head bobs up, eyes still crusted with sleep in them. 

“Darlin  the sun ain't  even awake, so why ‘re you?”

“You’ve been trying to roll me into the bed.  Turning like you're trying to find a missing key!

”Aint  the first time.”

He states with a smirk, there’s no telling what part of the sentence it was about. 

Oh how I want to wipe the sly smirk off his face.

Funny jokes aside, I still can't tell if this man is fully conscious. I want to let him fal bad to the lovely arms of sleep, but if he rolls one more time,I am stealing his blankets.

his arms wrap ’round my waist making themselves wrap around at the small of my back. He nestles his face into my neck,murmuring and muffling  his words, 

“Hmmmm doll you smell sweeter than honey…” 

he nestles deeper into my neck and rubs his nose at the crease. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

 He lets off a small huff in amusement as I put my hand up his hair moving them out of his eyes and untangling the knots slowly out.

We both fall back to sleeps warm and safely embrace cover with the blankets and a good chunk of time before the sun meets the horizon. 

It’s only been a couple hours. And he's stealing my blankets. I think this man moves more than wind when he sleeps!

and its cold, in a place that's supposed to be warm. The fires stopped burning not too long ago, but you would also think being near a burly man would have some heat. But noo this man steals the blankets that had once been nicely shared!

With one more tug I rolled and forcibly removed the blanket from his embrace and left the air of the room. He takes those blankets and rolls to the side where he isn't facing me and rolls himself like a burrito. 

Stealing them bak is a nice idea but it's unlikely I'll win against this hunk of a man, plus I would rather not get into a blanket war right at this moment. I'll consider later when I'm standing and he's wolfie. (He's still considerably strong there too.) 

Still just so i can say I’ve tried i'm gonna try and see if i get some blankets back. 

I tug.

And  i found some leverage when I tried to turn away from him. I get back just the smallest blanket that covers just less of a 4th of me.

 This man has the adult yet to try and roll those away.  Upset with my disturbed sleep, I think about how cold my toes are and how warm his back is…

(you can see my plan of attack here.)

i tug the covers i have salvage and i push my feet up to his back.

A yelp. 

Revenge is nice sometimes,

”[Reader] What the hell!”

”You stole the blankets.”

———————

Don’t steal the blankets :)

[starryeyedwolves]

Bless the Telephone

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, its rhythmic clicking the only sound in the dimly lit flat. Remus sat by the window, a cup of tea long gone cold in his hands. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, casting faint shadows across the room. He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. The war was taking its toll on all of them, but the distance between him and Sirius felt heavier than most nights.

The telephone on the table rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He stared at it for a moment, the shrill sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Who would be calling at this hour? He set the teacup down and reached for the receiver, his heart pounding inexplicably.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice rough from disuse.

"Moony." The voice on the other end was warm, familiar, and instantly comforting. Sirius.

Remus felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Padfoot. Do you know what time it is?"

"Course I do. That's why I called. Knew you'd be up." Sirius's voice was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something softer, something that made Remus's chest ache.

"Couldn't sleep," Remus admitted, leaning back in his chair. "Again."

"Same here," Sirius said. "Thought I'd bother you instead of staring at the ceiling all night."

Remus chuckled softly. "You're not bothering me."

There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken words. Remus could hear Sirius breathing on the other end of the line, steady and reassuring. It was strange, how something as simple as a phone call could make the distance between them feel smaller.

"I miss you," Sirius said finally, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

Remus closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. "I miss you too," he replied, his throat tight. "It's... hard, being apart like this."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "But it's not forever. We'll get through this, Moony. We always do."

Remus smiled faintly, though Sirius couldn't see it. "Optimistic as ever, Padfoot."

"Someone's got to be," Sirius said, and Remus could hear the grin in his voice. "Besides, I can't let you turn into a complete pessimist. Who'd keep me in line?"

"You'd be lost without me," Remus teased, though the words held more truth than he cared to admit.

"True," Sirius said easily. "So you'd better stay safe, yeah? No heroics."

"Pot calling the kettle black," Remus shot back, but there was no real bite to it. They both knew the risks, the sacrifices they were willing to make. But hearing Sirius's voice, even through the static of the phone line, made it all feel a little less daunting.

They talked for hours, about everything and nothing. Sirius recounted a mission he'd been on, his voice animated as he described narrowly avoiding a run-in with Death Eaters. Remus told him about the book he was reading, though he doubted Sirius was actually listening to the plot details. It didn't matter. What mattered was the sound of his voice, the way it filled the empty spaces in the room and in Remus's chest.

Eventually, the conversation lulled, the comfortable kind of silence that came with knowing the other person was still there, even if they weren't speaking.

"Moony?" Sirius said after a while, his voice soft.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Sirius said, the words simple and sincere, like they were the most natural thing in the world.

Remus's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected it, not like this, not over the phone. But the words settled over him like a warm blanket, soothing the ache in his chest. He smiled, his heart swelling with affection.

"I love you too, Padfoot," he replied, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat. "More than anything."

Sirius let out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with relief. "Good. Just wanted to make sure you knew."

"I know," Remus said, his fingers tightening around the receiver. "And you should know it too. Always."

They said their goodbyes, promises to stay safe and see each other soon hanging in the air. When Remus finally hung up the phone, the flat felt a little less empty, the night a little less dark. He sat by the window for a while longer, the echo of Sirius's laughter and his quiet "I love you" still ringing in his ears.

The war wasn't over, and the road ahead was uncertain. But for now, they had this—a connection that not even distance could break. And as Remus finally drifted off to sleep, the telephone resting quietly on the table.

[lsunstreakerl]

for the kink prompts- catboy max darkbull charles + overstim?

850 words, Charles POV.

HELLO HI: this is both explicit and has the typical darkbull style themes. read responsibly and all that.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: catboy max, maxussy, animal hybrids as pets, dehumanization, no possible discussion of consent/unavailable as an option, unreliable narrator

Max is crying, pretty little tears dropping off his cheeks where Charles has him pressed into the couch, spreading his fingers further into him.

"You are filthy, chaton. Making such a mess in my drivers room- they are going to think you aren't housetrained."

He has his other hand pinning Max's face into the cushions, gripping his skull just below his ears. Max is dripping wet, thighs slick with it, a wet patch starting to form on the couch.

His breath hitches as Charles curls his fingers again- there's four inside of him, petting at his walls, stretching him wide.

It's not for any particular reason other than that Max needs enrichment, and Charles is going to be busy with qualifying soon. No need to give the garage more responsibilities than they have.

It's part of being a responsible owner. Charles will make sure Max is nice and worn out for them, and that way his cute little kitten will be well behaved.

He'll be sweet for Charles later, when he gets back to the hotel room.

Charles thumbs at his clit, laughing softly at the muffled wail as Max clenches around him, fluid spilling over his fingers.

"Oh, you poor thing."

Max is otherwise limp on the couch, ears not even twitching anymore as Charles withdraws his hand.

He wipes it off with a stray towel, tossing it in the direction of the laundry basket as he shimmies his suit down past his hips, wrapping his hand around his cock.

He'd fucked Max when he'd first come in, but it's been a little bit since then, his kitten much less put together now.

He barely feels it at all when he presses in, just the slick wetness of his cunt, Max shivering underneath him. Charles curls his fingers at the base of Max's tail, just to watch him go wild underneath him, fingers clawing at the edge of the couch.

Charles should get his nails trimmed again- they snag a bit on the fabric, but he's more distracted at the way Max writhes underneath him, renewed vigor in his movements.

Max hates when Charles plays with his tail- but Charles loves it, enjoys the feeling of Max's cunt squeezing around him as he tries to move away, and the deep curve of his spine when Charles yanks him back onto him.

Max wails, sweet little cries as Charles drives deeper, fingers gripping into Max's hips.

"You are so loud, baby. The whole garage is going to know how sloppy you are later- all they'll have to do is look at you."

He can feel his gut tightening, leaning in close to press along Max's chest, whispering near his sensitive ears to watch them twitch.

"Wet, messy cunt- maybe I'll let some of the team members have a go, yes?"

Charles doesn't mean it. He'd never let anyone else near his precious kitten, not after all the work he's put in. Max is his. Sure, he gets a kick out of watching the others drool about it, the way their eyes hungrily stare between Max's legs- but he'd never let anyone else indulge.

It still gets him hot during sex, even if he knows Max can't understand him.

He tugs at his tail, grinning as Max whines, squirming on his cock. He's close, just needs a bit more.

He slides one hand down, biting into Max's neck the same time he pinches his clit- coming deep inside of him as Max spasms, wailing through his own orgasm, twitching underneath Charles.

There's a faint coppery taste in Charles' mouth, and a neat line of teeth marks in Max's skin. It'll bruise nicely, a clear reminder of who he belongs to.

Charles has placed it carefully, so that it will show between his collar and the neckline of whatever top he decides to put him in.

He pulls out, watching his cum start to drip out of Max.

He could clean him up- but he doesn't have enough time for the full bathroom routine, and it always drives Max a little wild to be messy.

He'll clean him up later tonight.

He leans down, kissing Max between the ears.

"Are you all better now chaton? Going to be good for the garage?"

Max makes a pathetic meow- the kind that always makes Charles want to bend him over again, see if he can wring out another orgasm from his sweet kitten.

Not today, but maybe some other time. He rearranges them on the couch so that Max's head is in his lap. Max is still laying in the wet spot of his own slick, but- it's his mess, so Charles thinks it's only fair he puts up with it.

His pupils are huge, consuming his entire iris, thin lines of blue at the edges.

Charles coos, petting his hand through his hair.

"You're such a good boy for me, yes. My pretty baby."

The whole garage is going to have a problem in their pants if Charles lets Max back into the garage like this.

It's what he wants.

They preform better when they're frustrated anyways.

[bluerose5]

Thinking about vampire Lucanis again. Some ideas I have:

Say for this, Lucanis died in the Ossuary or at least was on the verge of death when Spite was forced through to possess him, Spite giving him the strength and power to physically survive the horrors inflicted upon him.

At the time, it was very much Spite that possessed him, and will in large part continue to be. However, Spite sort of developed smaller aspects of other spirits/demons in the meantime, and that was why Zara kept him around because she was determined to warp them into the Envy demon/abomination that she desired. They were a failed experiment, but she sought to "correct" them. A painful process, of course.

Safe to say, Venatori aren't known for their kindness to their prisoners. So Spite developed some aspects of Rage and Vengeance, for example, in relation to the torture they endured. And then developed some aspects of Hunger when they would be locked up and starved for extended periods of time. When Spite took over in such instances, he didn't distinguish well between what was food and not food in Lucanis's mind. If Zara put animals in the room, then he'd feast on them, same as with people, which eventually evolved from a cannibalistic hunger of flesh to the vampiric thirst for blood.

Given that Lucanis had died (or something close to it) and been brought back through Spite, something about that state of undeath makes blood more satisfying to them, which they learn in time. Didn't make Lucanis feel any less disgusted about it, and he could still eat all of his favorite meals when he joined up with the Veilguard. It's just that they weren't as filling or satisfying as compared to before. For the most part, he can survive without fresh blood until his hunger rears its ugly head again, his body yearning for the life denied to it.

[lucagray813]

Shí Xióng

Meet Shí Xióng (石熊), the Stone Bear, or Zǒu Xíng Shí Xióng (走形石熊), the Misshapen Stone Bear, to give him his full self-imposed title.

In the canon of Monkey Talk, Nǚwā was tasked by the Jade Emperor to carve Heaven a champion out of Monkey King's stone egg, which had mysteriously put itself back together and found its way into Heaven's hands, and while MK was the ultimate result of this, she had many failed attempts before him, Shí Xióng being one of them.

After creating MK, she vowed to dedicate herself to "fixing her mistakes", and Shí Xióng, being the most stable of her creations acts as one of her assistants.

He is largely in control of himself and his powers with the notable exception being his shape shifting abilities. Often, he is not in the form he wants to be in - he's missing an ear, one arm is shorter than the other, he's too tall, he's too short, or one hand is a bear paw while the other is more human. The list goes on and he can't really do anything about it. Thus why he calls himself "misshapen".

In addition, if he tries to use the 72 transformations to take the form of another animal they always look distinctly bear-like.

He harbours a great deal of self-loathing at his perceived failings and feels conflicted about just about everyone involved in the story of his creation - Nǚwā, the Jade Emperor, Monkey King, MK.

Ultimately, however he is loyal to Nǚwā. Even if he believes her to be misguided in many things - her faith in Heaven's plans, her approach to fixing him and his kin, her understanding of the Tao - he knows she is not malicious or cruel by nature and that she cares about him and his kin in her own way.

So if, and when, the time comes, he won't fight for Heaven but he will do what he can to save her from harm.

He is serious and hardworking and shows very little personality when Nǚwā is around. But while he is the most stable of her creations, he does still occasionally have lapses of control, and he has had episodes in the past where he has become angry and violent - attacking his kin, destroying property and hurting himself.

Nǚwā suggested meditation to see if that could help him any and it did, but not in the way she thinks it did. He knows significantly more than most about what's coming, all of his "broken" kin do, and he has no plans to stand in the way of change.

He's a very minor character in terms of the overall plot, might not even get a mention in the actual fanfic, but I'm working on a little project and one of the prompts was "bear" and I just ran with it.

So this is what he's "supposed" to look like but he rarely does. His clothes are Nǚwā's colours but simpler in design to signify his lower position as her assistant. Although there is inspiration taken from Monkey King's design for the belt/tie and for the colour of his fur. The red and teal marks on his head frequently change place and shape.

His design might change a bit but I think I'm more or less there with it? It was fun, and challenging!, trying to design an OC where there was no existing base model from the show to work off! (Although I did use Azure for proportions and for his hands and feet!) And I think I did alright! Definitely needed this How to Draw a Bear guide tho!

But yeah, all of this was essentially inspired by this one shot from the show:

[lesmiix]

ONE-SHOT: Building a Family

Hyun-ju x Gyeong-seok.

Summary: Hyun-ju meeting Gyeong-seok's daughter for the first time!!!

Warnings: None.

a/n: 💗HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! check my pinned post for details💗

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the faint scent of freshly baked cookies. Hyun-ju stood in the kitchen, nervously arranging a plate of snacks. She had been dating Gyeong-seok for nearly half a year now, and things had been going better than she could have imagined. He was kind, patient, and had never once made her feel anything less than cherished. But today was different. Today, she was meeting his daughter for the first time.

Gyeong-seok had been a single father for years, raising his six-year-old daughter, Na-Yeon, with love and dedication. Hyun-ju had heard countless stories about her; how she loved drawing, how she had an endless curiosity about the world, and how she had her father’s infectious laugh. But hearing about her was one thing. Meeting her was another.

The sound of the front door opening made Hyun-ju’s heart skip a beat. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her dress, and stepped into the living room just as Gyeong-seok walked in, holding Na-Yeon’s hand.

"We’re home!" Gyeong-seok announced, his voice warm and cheerful. He glanced at Hyun-ju and gave her an encouraging smile. "Na-Yeon, there’s someone I’d like you to meet."

Na-Yeon peeked out from behind her father, her eyes wide with curiosity. She was adorable, with her short hair in two little ponytails and a pink backpack slung over her shoulders. Hyun-ju felt her nerves melt away just a little at the sight of her.

"Hi, Na-Yeon" Hyun-ju said softly, crouching down to her level.

"I’m Hyun-ju. It’s so nice to finally meet you."

Na-Yeon studied her for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Are you Appa’s friend?" She asked, her voice sweet and clear.

"I am" Hyun-ju said, smiling.

"Your appa talks about you all the time. He says you’re really good at drawing."

Na-Yeon’s face lit up.

"I am! Do you want to see my drawings?"

"I’d love to" Hyun-ju said, glancing up at Gyeong-seok, who was watching them with a soft, proud expression.

Na-Yeon immediately dropped her backpack and pulled out a sketchpad, flipping through the pages to show Hyun-ju her latest creations. There were drawings of animals, flowers, and even a few of Gyeong-seok, complete with exaggeratedly big ears that made Hyun-ju laugh.

"These are amazing" Hyun-ju said, genuinely impressed.

"You’re such a talented artist."

Na-Yeon smiled.

"Thank you! Appa says I get it from him, but I think I’m better."

Gyeong-seok chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You're definitely better than him". Hyun-ju said, looking up at her boyfriend, with a smirk.

She laughed, feeling the nerves ease completely. Na-Yeon was every bit as wonderful as Gyeong-seok had described, and her bright, open demeanor made it impossible not to feel at ease.

As the evening went on, the three of them sat together, sharing snacks and talking. Na-Yeon asked Hyun-ju endless questions about her favorite colors, her job, and whether she liked dinosaurs. Gyeong-seok watched them interact, his heart swelling with pride and affection.

Later, after his daughter had gone to bed, Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju sat on the couch, the apartment quiet and peaceful.

"She’s incredible" Hyun-ju said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"You’ve done an amazing job raising her."

"Thank you" Gyeong-seok said, wrapping an arm around her.

"I was nervous about today, but you were perfect with her. She already adores you."

Hyun-ju smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

"I adore her too. And… I’m really happy, Gyeong-seok. With you, with this. It feels like… like I’ve found a family."

Gyeong-seok kissed the top of her head, his voice soft.

"You have. And we’re lucky to have you."

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, Hyun-ju felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t known she was missing. This was her family now, and she couldn’t wait to see what the future held for all of them.

Hi! Are there any fanfics about player 120 meeting player 246’s daughter? I’ve seen some cute fanart and am wondering if anyone has written anything? Please let me know - thank you!!

[izayoichan]

They stood together watching as River used his magic to do the final painting touches, and everyone else was busy fixing the last few things in the stables, and innside. Liam nodded at his mom, as the two of them were about to get Silver and Shade from the shelter stables and ride them over.

Silver was Liam’s first horse, and now familiar, Shade was the first horse they wanted to take to the cafe, as they didn’t seem to have a good time at the shelter with all the other animals. It was after all Liam’s idea that some horses could stay here, and perhaps find a home that way, while dogs and cats would come for a daytime visit and then go back to the shelter after. Liam: Lets go get them? Lucas: Yeah.. Liam? Liam: Yeah? Lucas: I’m really proud of you. River: As am I, just come home and say hi on occasion. Liam: Of course I will, I mean I will be there every day to take some pets to the cafe.

River chuckled and ruffled his son's hair before watching the two walk to the shelter to get the two first residents. Silver and Liam had been close since they got Silver into the shelter, so for him to keep him had just become a thing.

Shade was a new arrival, and River hoped that this more calm spot would do the horse well. He had noticed that both Liam and Lucas had a natural way with horses, something he wondered if was a sundragon thing. 

Beginning - Previous - Next

[5-pp-man]

No. You guys don't get it. Yosukan is about them wanting to earn each other's respect, its about overcoming internalised homophobia together, it's about having each other's back and helping each other out and

[minasweep]

(sees your tags in my fanart if Mitch Williams) you. you understand

I haven't watched glitch techs in ages but we were ROBBED of his character development

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

unfortunately the concept of alastor compels me in a way i know i would be SO obsessed with him as a teenager