#you got plants that grow out of the earth

[aceingonthecake]

Good Omens Rant!!!

(And a pretty long one too)

I swear, if I read another comment about how stupid Aziraphale's final decision was and how some people hope they'll be CrAwLiNg BaCk To Crowley and beg for forgiveness, I'll fight them (verbally, no violence here).

I get that in the final 15 Aziraphale could have worded some things better, but the same can be said for Crowley, plus, that's beside the point. THE point is that there was no wrong or right choice in that situation.

Crowley has every right not to want to go back to Heaven and I'm very happy they stood by their decision. However, Aziraphale has the exact same right to make their own choice and try and make Heaven what it's supposed to be.

They're not stupid and they're not naive, we literally watched their character grow more and more conscious of Heaven's toxicity and we watched them defile it with the means they had. Now, they're offered a position to try and change things from the inside and to protect Earth, the same Earth they fought for in s1. Aziraphale knows the other Archangels and the Metatron are against them, but there are other angels up there. We saw Muriel and we all found them adorable. How many other angels like them are there in Heaven? Are they not worth trying to change the system for? And do we really expect Aziraphale to pass up an opportunity to protect like that? Please.

I absolutely get we all wanted a happy ending and a romantic getaway like Crowley suggested. But if we think about it, how realistic is it? Let's say Aziraphale accepted and went away with Crowley. Heaven would have moved on with the second coming and Earth would be destroyed. What was the point of s1 then? Did they fight then just to give up later? No, they fought because their love was born and grew on Earth and they're too fond of it and its humans to let it be destroyed. What would they do in Alpha Centauri? With no books, no plants, no food, no music, no car and so on? It would be just them and eternity. Not so tempting, mh?

And finally, while I see a whole lot of people analysing every single word Aziraphale said (and some of them were wrong, I have no problem admitting it), I don't see them do the same for Crowley.

I love Crowley, I relate to them a lot, but some things they said in the final 15 didn't sit too well with me. They got mad and, while I know it was out of heartbreak and fear, in the end they downright said that Aziraphale is not able to make choices. That they don't understand enough to make them consciously. That they're an idiot just because they made a decision Crowley doesn't agree with. And I repeat, I KNOW it comes from a place of protection and love, but that doesn't make it right.

They both said things that have been totally misunderstood by the other and that's on them. But I love them both and all I want for the final is for them to be together and happy. I just really can't understand how someone might watch this show and hate Aziraphale, like they didn't understand their character at all. And let me tell you, I strongly doubt Crowley would appreciate such mean comments on their angel.

With that, I'm done. Sorry for the length of my rant. These are actually just some of my thoughts on everything that happened, but I believe it's quite enough for a single post 😅.

[dretanya]

Windmills are such a fantastic feat of engineering

Like, hey, there's all this free air blowing around, why wouldn't we take advantage of it?

Grind up some flour, or olives, or lavis, pump up some water, baby you got yourself a bread!

[indiegame]

today was. good. yeah. needed that.

[myfandomrealitea]

I know there's a lot of advice for handling things like depression and its so fucking easy for people to say "just do this and you'll feel better!" and I hate that, I fucking despise it, but I'm also gonna throw in my two cents about what is personally helping me get out of bed some days and genuinely, not kill myself.

Its taking care of nature.

Seriously. It sounds stupid and some days it feels stupid, but I put up bird feeders because I live in a semi-rural area where human activity is decimating the local bird population and options for safe feeding. So I put up bird feeders. And now I have like 83 different birds flocking to my garden on the daily and screaming at my window if the feeders are empty. And I've seen generations of baby birds brought to my garden by their parents because this is where the food is.

And I researched what plants and flowers were native to my area and I spent like $5 on a few different seed packets and sprinkled them around the grass and the sad empty flowerbeds and the lawn because the bees have nothing to eat and that's awful and it turns out wildflowers will fucking GROW the moment you look away, but now every spring and summer my lawn is a pretty little multi-colored bug haven.

And I've even gotten the chance to save a few little bug lives because of it. I've taken in cold-shocked bees and given them a warm little tupperware to recover in. I've fed bugs sugar water to get their energy back to take their food home. I've given dying bugs a sheltered, safe place to spend their last moments.

I planted a veggie garden. And I know I'm very lucky in that I have the space to do that, but also, you can grow a lot of things indoors. My friend has literally the smallest apartment you can imagine but she grows chives in her bathroom and grows five radishes at a time in a pot in the kitchen. Literally five. But it makes her so happy every single time she pulls them up or trots off to the bathroom to snip some chives.

I pick trash up every two weeks. The pick stick was like $4 online and I just put the bag out with my bi-weekly trash pick-up and its disgusting but but nobody else is gonna do it and I've only got finite time on this earth. If nobody else is going to pick up that can, I will. Because some innocent wild animal doesn't deserve to get hurt by human ignorance, and I deserve to walk home and see pretty flourishing nature instead of depressing discarded trash like I feel like most days.

I've left water out for the wildlife and watched hedgehogs, local dogs on their walks, squirrels and all sorts stop by to take a drink, because humans are fucking selfish and we're making something as basic as water so hard to access for anyone but ourselves, but I can fix a little bit of that just by putting out a bowl. Sometimes I don't even have to remember to fill it because the rain will fill it for me, and its kind of like nature's way of saying "you're helping me so I'm going to help you out too." Which is neat.

Like most days I do not want to be living on this earth but my god earth did not get a choice about us living here, and we're ruining it, and it actually feels so good to help stop and un-do a little bit of that destruction.

And you don't even have to try everything I do. If the only thing you've got the spoons to do is buy one bird feeder and you only remember to fill it once a month, its still something. That once a month could mean the difference between starvation and a full belly to a bird.

Again, none of this is obligatory and I'm not saying at all this is some magical cure for depression, but personally these things are things which are helping me slowly find things to keep getting out of bed for and things to feel a sense of self worth and satisfaction over. I feel better both in and about myself when I feed the birds, when I see the bugs in the garden, when I pick up the trash.

If its something you haven't considered yet, it might be worth a try.

[teaboot]

As someone who learnt english as a second language via textbook, I have to say "flying by the seat of my pants" is a hilarious idiom xD

It's the first time I've seen/heard it.

Could you share another one you like using?

Idk about idioms specifically, but there's a bunch of phrases I learned from my mom!

Lord love a duck! (Incredulous, like 'oh my god')

Lord suffer in sheep dip! (Sheep dip meaning sheep poop. Incredulous, but for annoying things- like 'are you kidding me?')

Is there a piano tied to your ass? ('Don't be lazy, do it yourself')

Someone's cruising for a bruising. (You're picking a fight.)

I don't give a rat's rip. ('I don't care'- a rat's 'rip' is it's butt crack.)

Pull up a stump! (Get yourself a chair, sit down.)

Everybody out of the pool! (Get out of the car)

I'm flying by the seat of my pants. (I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm doing it.)

Don't go blowing smoke up my ass. (Don't over-compliment me, don't flatter me, don't stroke my ego, don't tell me positive lies)

Looks like it's gonna rain on our parade. (A storm is coming.)

Sorry to rain on your parade. (I've given you bad news- can be used sincerely or sarcastically to denote sympathy for incurring a bad mood.)

Better button that lip. (Stop talking.)

Someone's gonna stick a boot up your ass. ('Stick a boot up your ass'- fight you, beat you, kick your ass.)

Stick that lip out any further, and a pigeon'll shit on it. (Stop whining.)

Suck it up, buttercup. (Stop whining.)

Dumber than a fence post. (Very stupid.)

The back forty. (The wild or forested area behind a rural home. The 'forty' being forty acres, or farmland.)

Don't go begging for a fat lip. (Whatever you're saying or doing is going to bother people and get you in trouble.)

What on God's green earth (What the fuck)

I'm sweating like a pig in a porta-potty (like a pig in a plastic outhouse- I'm very warm, it's hot here)

He thinks the universe flew out of his ass. (He thinks he's more impressive than he is.)

Your mouth wrote a cheque your ass couldn't cash. (You promised more than you were capable of providing.)

You've got a horseshoe up your ass. (You're very, very lucky.)

Taking a dirt nap. (Dead.)

Pushing (up) daisies. (Dead.)

Give me forty acres to turn this rig around. (I need time and space to move this large, heavy, or unwieldy thing. Usually about navigating a vehicle. Taken from a song lyric.)

Jesus take the wheel. (God help me, I can't handle this, I give up.)

Gone belly-up. (Has died.)

We've got a floater. (This one is dead.)

Herding cats. (Trying to organize chaos, managing an impossibly complicated situation.)

I've got a black thumb. (I am bad at growing plants, all my plants die- reference to having a 'green thumb', or being good at growing plants.)

Stop trackin' floor cookies. (Floor cookies are bits of animal shit that fall off your work boots- 'tracking floor cookies' means wearing your boots in the house; take your shoes off at the door.)

Running around like a headless chicken. (Frantic, disorganized, stressed out by many tasks or panicked by a big situation.)

Spinning my wheels. (Waiting around for something to happen, getting nowhere, frustrated by inactivity, not making any progress towards a goal.)

He's gonna blow a gasket. (He's going to lose his temper, he's going to be angry.)

They'll tan your hide. (They'll punish you severely; usually through violence. Specifically in reference to a spanking.)

He's a few bricks short a load. (He's not clever / he doesn't think things through / he's crazy)

Not the sharpest tool in the shed. (Not the smartest person. Very dumb, clumsy, or absent-minded.)

I'm not going to bail you out. (Not going to save your sinking boat- not going to help you out of your bad situation.)

Looks like things are going south. (The situation is growing worse.)

I'll start making tracks. (I'll leave now, I'll start working, I'll get going.)

He's fucking the dog. (He's not being productive, he's doing a bad job, he's made things worse, he's screwing around.)

He's making puppies. (Less graphic version of 'fucking the dog'.)

Plant your ass. (Sit.)

Playing grab-ass. (Procrastinating- accomplishing nothing, slowing people down.)

He couldn't find his ass in the dark. (He's stupid, ineffective, underqualified, or incompetent.)

He couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. (He is unbelievably, comically dumb or ineffective. He can't do anything right.)

One foot in the ground. (Dying, or half-dead.)

I'm kicking rocks. (I'm not doing anything productive.)

I'm hauling ass. (I'm running away.)

Madder than a wet hen. (Very, very angry.)

Like I said I'm not sure that these are all idioms but they're all the phrases and sayings from my childhood that I can remember right now

EDIT: Cannot BELIEVE I forgot my mom's favourite

52. Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which gets filled first. (Wishes don't come true by themselves)

Plus some more I forgot:

53. You make a better door than a window. (You're in the way of my view.)

54. You can take a long walk off a short pier. (Go fuck yourself.)

55. He's about as sharp as a bowling ball. (He's stupid.)

56. Scoot your poot. (Move over.)

57. Not my first rodeo. (I know what I'm doing.)

58. He's built like a brick shithouse. (He's broad and sturdy and very strong, solid.)

59. I smell bacon. (I saw a cop nearby.)

60. I don't want to hear a peep. (Stop talking.)

61. You're thinking with the wrong head. (You're making bad decisions because you're horny.)

62. I'd lose my ass/head if it wasn't tied on. (I'm very absent-minded, forgetful.)

63. That went down like a lead balloon. (That situation was bad.)

[satoruxx]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: bestfriend!satoru has returned, fluff, pining, slightly angsty bc of pining, simp satoru hehe, oblivious reader is back again, satoru loves you !! rheya's note: continuation to this drabble bc bestfriend!satoru is everything to me !!

bestfriend!satoru who insists that you have him on speed dial because "he's the most important person in your life" but really it just satisfies him to know that he's the first one you'd call if you needed anything.

bestfriend!satoru who started off being a bit of an ass when you first met. not because he was trying to be but because he's got an ego and doesn't know how to control it, until you call him out for his shit and it sends his heartbeat all out of wack.

bestfriend!satoru who doesn't trust anyone else around you. it's not out of concern or anything, oh no. but in his expert opinion only him and the people he trusts (like suguru, shoko, or nanami) should ever get within six feet of you.

bestfriend!satoru who waits outside every class for you, leaning against the wall with a bag of your favorite snacks in his hand, glasses perched low on his nose. the smile that crawls onto his face as you walk out of the classroom and join him is practically blinding.

bestfriend!satoru who grows older thinking of nothing but you. the person most important to him, the person he would move galaxies for. and no, it's not romantic or anything. he's just your best friend.

bestfriend!satoru who realizes that he's not the only one in the world who knows that you're attractive, and has to clench his fists with a scowl as he sees other men noticing you. then he has to stop and check himself because, why on earth is he mad about it?

bestfriend!satoru who starts openly staring at you because he can't even control it anymore, eyes soft and overflowing affection as he watches you indulge in silly mundane tasks. and when you turn and catch him looking all he can do is give you a dreamy little smile. he's got no excuses but he's gonna play it off like it's something you shouldn't worry about anyway.

bestfriend!satoru who makes you his number one priority, who doesn't care about anyone else when you're in front of him. and even if you aren't around, he can't bring himself to look at anyone else. if someone comes up to him on the street, mumbling something about how he's their type and they'd like his contact info, all he does is give them a breezy wave, saying "sorry. i got someone waiting for me."

bestfriend!satoru who, when you're trying to explain something and someone speaks over you, gives you a resolute "no i'm listening." and doesn't take his eyes away from you until you've said all that you needed to. don't ever think that nobody is listening to you because you always have his attention.

bestfriend!satoru who grits his teeth as you tell him about another unsuccessful date with a man who didn't even know how to treat you right. and how could they, when they don't even know how you like your coffee or what side of the bed you prefer to sleep on? they don't know what your favorite movie snack is or about your obsession with plants or your most precious pair of fluffy socks. not the way he does.

bestfriend!satoru who has to hold himself back during your ranting, who has to keep himself from just letting go and spilling that you weren't going to find someone who loved you more than he did. to stop himself from leaning down and kissing you so hard it takes your breath away, because he's wanted to do it since he was sixteen. he was just too stupid to understand it back then.

bestfriend!satoru who chooses to wait instead, knowing that he'll be stuck with these feelings for the rest of his life, so he'd rather wait for you. because he'd hate himself if he made you uncomfortable, and if he lost the relationship he had with you now over his silly little heart. no instead, he'll keep proving himself, staying by your side and showing you even just of fraction of the devotion he knows he has for you, if it means that you'll be by his side. and hoping that one day, maybe, you'd tell him you feel the same.

[headspace-hotel]

listen one of the major reasons i care so much about Arundinaria is that she's gotta be legit the most exciting rising star in the evolutionary world.

Flowering plants emerge like 100mil years ago, proceed to become the baddest bitches on planet earth with hundreds of thousands of species found in every environment.

from this lineage emerges the GRASS which, using the simple technologies of "Grow leafs from the bottom so the tops can get eaten and you can just keep a-goin'" and "Not die when stepped on" become the undisputed masters of the sunny and arid regions

From the lineage of the GRASSES. Emerges a grass that decides to step up its game and invent WOOD to become some sort of fucked up tree. This grass is known as WOODY BAMBOO and it kicks everybody's ass.

The woody bamboo is mostly thriving in Asia, but around 2mil years ago, a bamboo got LOST AS FUCK and accidentally went to NORTH AMERICA. It turns out the south-eastern part of North America is a downright luxurious climate for a bamboo and so the bamboo actually evolved into its own genus.

However, there was an ICE AGE that froze a bunch of North America and the bamboo was forced to a tiny edge of the Gulf Coast. Fortunately, the bamboo made a mutualistic symbiosis with HUMANS, which used controlled burning to create its ideal habitats in exchange for using the stems for a super-strong, versatile, flexible, water resistant material for literally everything. So basically it spread all throughout the Southeast of North America and formed its own habitat type, a bamboo forest environment known as a CANEBRAKE.

It's native North American bamboo, y'all. It's been reduced to 2% of its former extent and a lot of people don't even know it exists.

This plant is going places we can't let this shining streak of weird-ass plants with ideas just strange enough to work collapse because of a freak colonialism incident

Arundinaria gigantea my absolute beloved

[emacrow]

Poison Ivy's little sprout

Ivy just got back to her main base after a lil three month fun vacation with Harley and Cat women. Only to see her giant plants seemingly a foot or two away from one lil growing pod sprout literally shaking as if the Fear of God was put into them.

Now she doesn't remember planting this lil bud, it was sickly green in the leaves and steam, the pod itself seem to be glowing blue that the size of a peach. The chaotic maddening whispers from the plants around her wouldn't even come close enough to where she stand right in front of the lil sprout.

They seem more afraid of this lil plant then the last time Harley accidentally brought her an invasive species plant that sass the hell out of the other plants until she secretly relocated it away.

She grab her plant shovel and replant it into a slightly bigger pot, picking it up and walking toward her lab part that didn't had much plants there, considering the big plant babies immediately took over the previous place where that tiny plant was and inched away from where she was walking to.

Maybe it was sick, with how pale and bright green the plant was and whatever fruit was growing was sucking the literal life out of the plant. She could probably add some extra nutrients and plant fertilizer to help it grow until it was ripe to be plucked. Watering it with enough to last the week after putting extra fertilizer.

Taking just one tiny bud leaf since the silent was deafening coming from this plant was completely abnormal to her to a degree that something was very wrong or this plant was alien not from earth's native plants.

Weeks of research turned to months as she watch with pure heavy fascinating interest, seeing that the leaf she cut off turn into an unstable green goopy mess of dna not even an 15 minutes off the plant. It made Ivy wonder what kind of giant peach was growing from it with how it glow so bright purple yet ominous at night. Her lab never felt so cold yet the heater was on 79 degree for her plant babies.

It was by month of September that was a surprise, when Harley came over to help pick the super sized fresh vegetables and fruits off the other plants to maks chicken salads, not noticing that Harley took the large peach fully ripe from the plant she had been observing on.

She was chopping carrots up into bite sized pieces before Harley's voice spoken out.

"Um.. Ivy? I don't know where you got this plant from that momotaro movie, but I think you just grow a boy from a peach."

Ivy turned around immediately to see Harley looking rather shocked as well, with a peach juice covered sleeping baby boy lay in a half way peeled peach. A wet curly black hair with grey eyes that she know in her gut that it will turn blue later.

Oh no.. she caught the bat-bait disease.

"We're not keeping him." Poison ivy said sternly and sharp to steel herself from that sappy adorable puppy eyed look Harley was giving her.

🥺

"Harley, we don't even have-

🥺🥺🥺

"Har-

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"...."

"One night and then it straight to the the good orphanage near the rich area." Poison ivy sighed, pinching her nose.

"Yessss!" Harley cheered, holding the baby up like he was simba.

It was only for the night, what the worse that could happen.

......

......

......

She was weak to that stare and she knew it.

Poison could only sighed, holding two month old Dara in the baby sling, staring sat which baby outfit to pick, the olive green that had the baby duckies or fern green with the adorable flower patterns.

(Thanks the commenters for telling me the original name. All Google gave me was the Peach boy or Jack and the Giant Peach XD)

[itsclydebitches]

Just finished Good Omens 2 and I'm honestly boggling at the Aziraphale hate because yes, his decision led to the angsty cliffhanger, but it makes SO much sense for his character. Not just in a "Religious brainwashing and sunk-cost fallacy" kinda way but also a "Aziraphale has no reason to believe this isn't the perfect solution" way. That scene among the nebula is crucial because it establishes that Crowley loved being an angel—reveled in his ability to create and allow his creations to grow kinda like plants—and the only problem was that someone else was calling the shots, someone who wouldn't listen to his criticism. Aziraphale has also spent 6,000+ years watching Crowley do good, all the while forced to deny the fact that he's "nice" lest embracing his original nature get him into trouble with hell. Now, Metatron comes along with an offer that fixes everything in one fell swoop. Crowley can be an angel again, be nice without censure, his ideas and criticisms will hold weight because he'll be answering to Aziraphale, and they'll be together.

It strikes me that Aziraphale isn't there when Crowley sees Gabriel's trial, ergo he likewise doesn't see the (non)acknowledgement that there's an institutional problem up in Heaven. There just happen to have been two archangels who called it quits. Same when Gabriel blurts that phrase out to Crowley. Aziraphale has always been more blind to the ways in which Heaven is "toxic" (for very understandable reasons) and this season he's continually sheltered from new evidence of its structural problems. The plot just preaches to the choir: Crowley. He likewise wouldn't see the conflict Gabriel and Beelzebub have caused as evidence of an underlying problem because that's a problem he and Crowley will no longer share. Why would they be worried about Heaven still being unable to accept partnerships between angels and demons when Crowley will no longer be a demon? And that's something he presumably wants based on Aziraphale's memories of him and the ongoing admission that he's lonely.

The way I see it, they got what they thought they wanted at the start of Season 2. Heaven and Hell are keeping an eye on them, but functionally they're left alone. Crowley can spend all the time he wants with Aziraphale and nothing comes of that except that they're both continually named traitors and the higher-ups grumble about it. If Gabriel had never shown up, things should have been perfect based on Crowley's "Let's just run away and have each other's company" standards. Better, even, considering that they get to be together on their beloved Earth, rather than being bored out in Alpha Centauri without any sushi, plants, books, or Bentleys. And yet... Crowley doesn't strike me as particularly happy. Because, you know, based on that kiss he wants to be with Aziraphale, not just literally be with him, but the point of this post is that his "Let's run away and be an 'us'" falls totally flat when he doesn't explain that specific desire to Aziraphale; the desire to change what an 'us' means. From Aziraphale's perspective they're already an 'us.' That was the entire point of "our side" in Season 1 and now they can continue to be 'us' up in Heaven. Plus, Aziraphale likely sees this as a sacrifice on his part. He will give up his bookshop, his Earthly indulgences, take on the responsibilities of leadership (which I don't think he actually wants for a variety of reasons), and spend the rest of eternity in a place where he's felt so small because he thinks that's what Crowley wants. Crowley was happy as an angel. Crowley wanted them to be together without risk of permanent discorporation. They were able to achieve that after not-Armageddon and he still wasn't happy... so surely those two things together will do the trick. Crowley never actually articulates how he wants their relationship to change and the kiss comes much too late, when he's already rejected what Aziraphale must see as a perfect, selfless solution he's secured for them. Even if Crowley wasn't always moving too fast for him, an overture of romance isn't going to go well after that.

Is this crushing and angsty and devastating as a hiatus? Damn straight, my heart it breaking. But it's a good setup. More importantly, it makes perfect sense for their characters, particularly when they're still talking past one another. Aziraphale is someone who has always moved more slowly as a matter of course, as an angel he has remained immersed in the rhetoric of Heaven, his main avenue of breaking free of that (Crowley) has a huge communication problem (to say nothing of his own denial. He only made headway with the help of Nina and Maggie, seconds before Aziraphale shows up), and Metatron (in a no doubt incredibly manipulative manner) has just offered Aziraphale a job that presumably makes him happy AND Crowley happy AND allows him to maintain the moral this-is-how-the-universe-works perspective he's had since he was literally created. Of course he's going to say yes to all that!! And sure, there are problems in Heaven, Aziraphale isn't completely blind, but he can fix them now that he's in charge. How? Well... he'll figure that out later! Kinda like how he's been making plans on the fly this entire season. That seems logical from his perspective, right? It's not like he's gotten a crash-course in the concept of the master's tools never being able to dismantle the master's house...

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

father’s and mother’s day | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“happy father’s day!” annabeth came rushing into your bedroom causing you and spencer to flinch from the loud noise. you felt her scramble into the bed on spencer side, turning your head you saw how she cling to him.

spencer groaned, “thank you my love bug. you’re just as special since you granted me that title. i’d still be doctor spencer reid if you did come along.” he planted loving kisses along her chubby face. her high pitched giggles filled your heart.

“and what a shame that title would be,” you joked as you eyes the two. you looked down at your soon to be popped belly, “say hi to daddy.”

there was a kick and you quickly grab from spencer’s hand so he could feel the twins morning cheer. “hi charlotte and matthew, a great father’s day surprise was finding out there was two of you in there. mommy’s kinda glad we were able to get two kids in one, less work to be done.”

“but more pain for me,” poking a finger into his shoulder teasingly. spencer kissed at you stretched stomach, talking to both of them for a minute as your fingers carded through his hair and annabeth placed a hand beside his larger one to feel the kicks.

“does it hurt?” she asked you, her eyes wide and the same as spencer’s.

“a bit. they have to squeeze between my own organs, that’s why i need to pee a lot. my bladder is a victim to growing babes.” your free hand caressed at your daughters cheek, “you were such a good girl. you only kicked a few times then stopped, and sometimes you kicked when either of us talked directly to you. that’s why you know us so well already, we’ve been talking long before you came to earth.”

spencer moved to sit beside you, he planted a morning kiss upon your cheek. “did you know ties are the most common gift on father’s day? especially the best dad ones.”

“we got you one!” annabeth announced. spencer appeared shocked, “really! do i deserve the title of best dad though?”

annabeth stood to her feet, her legs wobbling with the mattress as she carried herself to spencer and threw her arms around his shoulders. “yes! yes! bestest dad in the universe!”

“the bravest and sweetest dad alive,” you added along.

-

a/n: i just threw this together in thirty minutes after waking up. happy father’s day.

[changisworld]

Cum Swapping with Hyunjin

Word count:2,116

18+, MDNI!! smut below the cut

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

Fourth part of my 8 part masterlist of the extension of this & this headcanon of the members!!;3

Kinks & pleasures masterlist here Main masterlist here

-> SMUT WARNINGS: Cum eating (both), cumshot, spit, Piv, Jinnie is a loverboy cuz duh, soft sex, marking (Hyun rec), mutual masterbation, praise, squirting, a few pussy slaps, choking (Hyun rec), edging, literally 100% smut

You were never surprised when you came to the realisation Hyunjin loves messy sex. Spit, cum everywhere, squirting, period sex, facials, you name it, he is obsessed with it.

You had tasted each others cum before, obviously, but it wasn't until today that you both got to switch your orgasms with one another, & you mentally slap yourself over it because god, has it became both of your new latest kink.

You're both sitting opposite one another, your feet planted on the bed as you lean against the headboard, Hyunjins legs inside of yours, forcing you to keep your own open as they tend to shake when you're close to an orgasm, Hyunjin leaning against the stack of pillows he has nabbed from the bed to keep himself up.

You're both comletely naked, looking into each others eyes, Hyunjin teasing the red, leaky tip of his cock, swirling the pre cum that is dribbling out, into the skin as your eyes dart down to the sight every once in a while as your fingers are teasing your folds with light touches, pulling your folds in a 'V' shape, exposing your already beyond needy clit for him, which his eyes struggle to move away from.

"Look at your clit hunny, it looks so sore, you gonna touch it f'me?" he questions, already knowing the answer & just to his assumption, you follow his words as if he is a siren & your index finger slides over your wetness & your stomach makes you lurch forwards as your feet dismount off the bed for a split second, the sensitivity almost making your brain short circuit as you rub small circles, matching the same pace as Hyunjins on his cock.

"Jinnie, want you to touch me instead" you whine, growing more impatient as the seconds go by, your mouth threatening to spill all the building up drool simply from watching the hottest man to ever walk the earth, jerking off in front of you, nibbling his bottom lip, it a darker shade of pink by this point.

"You know what we agreed to, cum for me first n then I'll think about it, mkay?" he retorts, a pretty smirk wiped across his face as he watches your eyebrows furrow, his abs tensing up ever so often at the feeling of his own hand, slowing down every time the pleasure starts to get too good.

You grumble at his response, getting slightly agitated as you grow even more needy, you pick up your pace slightly as your fingers sometimes slip from your clit due to how wet you’ve gotten so quickly.

“look how wet you are, slide a finger inside for me jagi” he asks as he spits into his hand before bringing it back down to his aching cock & picks up his pace slightly, his balls twitching as he does so & he has to make a conscious effort to not throw his head back, because why would he when he can watch you?

You do as he says without any hesitation & you slide your middle finger inside & you shudder at the feeling & you bite down on your bottom lip & you start to finger yourself at a decent pace, not enough to make you cum but a good build up.

“You’re so hot Jinnie, cock is so big, i want it” you purr, trying to keep your voice steady as you decide to add a second finger & you & hyunjin let out a small moan in unison, you because of the tiniest stretch & hyunjin because he is addicted to the way he sees your pussy swallow your fingers, he would prefer if it was his but he loves this sight too.

"Want you too hunny, wanna cum for you, want you to see how pretty you look for me, look how wet you are" he groans as he reaches out to caress your thigh as he tightens his grip on his cock, precum coating his hand & he works it into his cock like lube, his heart racing & he can't stop himself from blushing, honestly flustured by what's going on & you're no better.

"Wanna make you cum Jinnie, cum with me please" you plead as your fingers graze against your soft spot, not nearly as well or as quickly as Hyunjin can do but it's something.

You are visibly clenching around your own fingers as your thumb is nudging against your clit & your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, your legs hitting against Hyunjins & if it wasn't for his legs being on the inside of yours, they would have shut by now.

"Gonna cum" you rush out as your toes curl & your body burns under his & your own touch & you clench so hard so you are forced to pull your fingers & you slap your cunt lightly a few times & you orgasm from the feeling as your cum squirts out of you, coating your hand, the bed, your thighs & also Hyunjins thighs, a few drops even landing on his balls & he has to rush to pull his hand off his cock, edging himself, because he knows what he wants to try & he needs to last.

You rest on your elbows as you catch your breath, your hair sticking to your skin, a bit uncomfortable, but you quickly dismiss it as you lean forward just enough to grab his hands & you lean backwards while holding them, pulling him on top of you.

"You didn't cum with me Jinnie!" you whine & Hyunjin doesn't respond straight away & instead takes the hand that is completely coated in your juices & slurps it off your fingers, looking into your eyes as he does so & you both share a small hum.

"You taste so good, I wanna try something a bit different, you wanna try?" he asks, his hand playing with your hair as he reaches with the other to cup your tit, kneading it in his fingers, making you arch into his touch.

"What is it you have in your mind, hmm?" you question, because you have no idea he could even have in mind because you genuinely think you've tried everything by this point.

"It's a surprise, trust me" he giggles to you as he flips you both over so you're straddling him, his hard cock poking into your soaking cunt & you instinctively grind against it.

His hands come down to cup your ass as you lean down to lock lips with him, your tongues tasting each others as his plump lips hug yours & you reach back & grab onto his hard on & position it to your slightly stretched hole but as you slide down onto him, you can't completely ignore the tiny painful but huge pleasurable feeling & you & Hyunjin groan into each others mouths.

"You're so tight no matter what, I swear, you're so perfect." he whimpers into your mouth & you bite down on his bottom lip playfully & you clench around him, making him release another deep groan, his hands gripping onto your ass even tighter as he helps you start riding him at a good, quick pace from the start.

Hyunjin readjusts you both slightly, just enough so he can suck on your tits, swirling his tongue & his teeth nibbling down on the hard bud & you let out a small shriek, his cock hitting into your G-spot, way more than your own fingers were no longer than ten minutes ago & you pick up the pace as much as you can without forcing Hyunjin to let go of your tits.

"Hyune, you look so- feel so good, shit." you splutter, the sounds of your sweaty skin connecting clapping throughout the room along with your moans & whimpers.

Much to your own dissatisfaction, you pull away from his mouth & you lean down until your connected, chest to chest & you nuzzle into his neck & you nibble on the sensitive part of his neck, making him hiss as he holds onto your hips as he helps you keep fucking onto him since he knows you so well & he can tell that despite you not verbally saying it, your thighs are starting to burn.

You suck a dark spot onto his pretty, smooth skin as his tip kisses your cervix & bullies your G-spot & your eyes furrow shut as you try ignore the burning of your legs to keep riding him, the pleasure far too good to ever stop.

You slither your hand up to rest against his neck & you squeeze it slightly & his breath instantly hitches, a whimper leaving his throat as he melts into your touch.

"You're so g-good y/n, g'na cum" he blabbers before he is flipping you both over so you're on your back & he pulls his cock out, trying to prolong his orgasm until you cum one more time.

Hyunjin lets a glob of spit land on your pussy & you wince at the coldness as your hips buck, your clit & folds swollen from stimulation.

"Hyune, put it in!" you beg as you try sit up to latch onto him but he is quick to push you back fully onto the bed & he leans over you as he pushes himself back to the hilt, getting that tiniest bit deeper in the new position & the words lodge in your throat, a croaky whine being the only thing that leaves instead.

"Open up f'me" he purrs & you open your mouth & go the extra little bit & stick out your tongue, already knowing what he is gonna do & you purr back at him as he spits into your mouth & you swallow it proudly.

"You're so good for me, you know that? My perfect y/n." he mutters as he is fucking into you like a bunny & you have your hands wrapped around his back, your nails accidentally digging into his back, scratching him, not that he minds though, a moan leaving his mouth as he leans into your touch.

"Wann- gonna cum Hyune, so deep." you cry as you move a hand to feel over his toned stomach & he reaches down to play with your already pulsating clit & when he does this mixed with the way his perfect dancer hips are moving, your second orgasm gushes out of you, landing all over you both & you clench so hard, his cock is forced out of you but just from the sight, he cums with you this time, ropes of his orgasm landing all over your lower stomach, his legs threatening to give way as he groans at the feeling, his head refusing to throw itself back, instead, watching the way his cum lands & sits on your skin.

"come n cuddle me Hyune, so sleepy, so good." you blab but he hums a 'nuh uh' & you open your eyes to look up at him, his hair dripping with sweat & his red face as he moves back enough before leaning down & licking a strip from your cunt before slowly working his way up & licking his own cum off your stomach, not daring to leave a single bit, before worming his way up your frame & grabbing onto your cheeks, guiding you to his face before spitting it into your mouth.

"Hold it there, mkay?" he says in a soft tone before he takes his fingers & drags them through your folds, gathering more of your own cum before suckling it off his fingers.

He holds the taste in his mouth & he then leans in & kisses you & you whimper in surprise as you exchange juices, but you'd be lying if you didn't say you weren't more horny than you ever have before.

You both break away from the kiss after you both lose all your breath & you swallow it. "That is what I wanted to try, that was the hottest thing i think we have ever done." he chuckles to you as he lifts you up to help you to the bathroom.

"Couldn't agree more, dirty Jinnie. Bath n sleep?" you ask, already knowing his incoming response, it is basically your daily routine together now & he just nods, gigging as he sets you down to turn on the tap.

->Taglist is open!

->Anon list is open!

[sexhaver]

i saw ur garlic post and see people telling you its easy to grow and i need to tell you they are lying to you. if you want anything useable out of planted store cloves. garlic as a plant HATES competing and LOVES nutrients and full sun it needs so so so much compost and fertilizer and you need to plant it pretty far apart or itll rust early. unless you have really loose black earth you're gonna need to buy well draining soil for it. the cloves will rot if the soil is too wet or clay but if it goes a week dry itll stunt its growth amazingly. most people who say growing garlic is "easy" have beds they have already composted into. its one of those plants where if you havent already prepared a fertile compost bed for it then its going to be a very stunted plant and u will get a bulb the size of ur thumb. and sometimes even when you think you did everything right and its got a long green shoot & gave you scrapes you will pull it out of the ground and see it tricked you and never grew past grape size anyway. this plant has wronged me

normally with asks like these i would just nod and internalize the info and move on without publishing it but i can't bear the thought of this passionate wall of text being lost to the void. i didn't know garlic could inspire emotions this strong

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[yaut-jaknowit]

Back again with yet another idea -🥤

So this could be with any of the beans but I was thinking that the reader got caught by some bad bloods or human and experimented on. One of those being something that slowly transforms them into a yautja. The reader might try to hide this from their mate (like the scales slowly appearing, how sensitive your senses are becoming) but the reader can’t hide much from an experienced yautja

The Wrong Secret to Hold

Pairings: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self harm (needing to rip off skin) (?)

Word Count: 2334

Summary: Ahtaal may no be an enforcer but when he found out you were stolen right off of his ship, he became one. Just for that reason. He tracked you down through the stars until he was able to pinpoint your location. From there, he tore apart the bad bloods who stole you. But it was already too late. The bad bloods had already planted a seed.

Author Note: I love the fact you called them beans! I'm going to refer to them like that for now on. It's always great to see from you Cup Anon!

Masterlist

Ao3

Three weeks has passed since Athaal saved you from a cunning duo of Bad Bloods. He may not be an enforcer but he took upon himself to kill them after they kidnapped you. Right from the safety of his spacecraft. A mistake he has since learned from, increasing the security of the ship’s systems. He had almost lost you, his mate.

After he retrieved you, gaining the two skulls of those who wronged you. Both of them hang nicely above your shared bed. A bed you were curled up in, even after being awake for at least three hours. Three hours of rest you desperately needed. In the end, they were lost.

The nest like bed built into the floor was usually comfort, perfect to curl up in and nap. Everything was too much. The room was too cold. The air too dry. The blankets too scratchy. Then, there was the noise of the engines. They caused a raging headache to pound in your skull, driving away every rational thought in your mind.

Everything was too much.

This had progressed ever since Ahtaal saved you from those Bad Bloods. Your memory of your time with them was foggy, blurry of what they might have done to you. It wasn’t long they held you but they had changed something in you. You blamed it on the trauma they had put you through, part of the reason why you couldn’t recall what happened to you.

Athaal saw an uptick in your heartbeats. Not by much, only ten on average, but called it normal. Fear of a prey animal only reacting. That was that.

Then, the oversensitivity began to grow. Even the clothes Athaal had stolen for you from earth were too much to put on. Yet, your mind warred on the fact being naked was bad or being driving into insanity when you could feel your own skin. You had to reframe yourself from scratching your skin off every time you breathed.

All the blankets had been pushed of out the massive concave bed. They had been touching you, grazing your skin. The feel of them made you want crawl out of your own body and throw yourself into a pit of lava.

As this progressed as well, you refrained from telling Athaal. He’s been stressed since you’ve been napped right from underneath his mandibles. He’s been working hard on the ship, ensuring the same thing never happens to you again. Plus, with the killing, he also had to make a case against his clan’s court about the legal execution of the Bad Bloods. Not that the seem to disagree but it all revolve around the honor code. To keep the balances and checks in their strict system.

The last thing that Athaal needed added to his plate was whatever was affecting you. It would pass. It was just trauma. Your scenes overworking to keep you safe after such an attack.

Until you wondered into the bathroom to relieve yourself only to find… scales?! Your hands grasped the porcelain sink, heart beating at a thousand miles per second. You felt lightheaded, legs ready to give out at any moment. There were scales starting to grow on your chest.

Your fingertips gingerly touched the rough patches and winced since they were sensitive too. Tears burned your eyes, right on the edge of falling. Why was this happening to you? What was happening to you?! There’s no scientific reason for something like this to occur. You didn’t know of any disease in the universe that could cause this to appear.

What strength you had left, you stumbled back to the bed and collapsed onto it. The softness of the bed irritated your skin and made it feel like hot pokers were digging into where the cushion touched you. With an annoyed growl, you climbed back out and laid on your back.

The floor was unforgiving, cool to the touch. Yet, it was an improvement to the bed that made you want to desperately claw at your own skin. You huffed and curled up into a ball, hands covering your head as if protecting you from an attack. Your scenes were still on fire, driving you up the nearest wall. But, the energy to move was gone. Then, you were asleep. A fitful, restless sleep.

Raging hungry stirred you from your wasteful nap. A growl sounded from the back of your throat, sounding deep and dangerous. You stretched out only to bump into something warm. You froze. Then, slowly, you creeped your gaze over your shoulder to find the red form of Ahtaal sleeping at your back, chest facing you. Fear creeped into your heart, pumping into your veins. The lump in your throat was swallowed down thought. He wasn’t awake.

One of his arms was draped over your torso and kept you securely pressed against his body. At any other time, you would’ve enjoyed this soft moment with him. His loving embrace. But his heat, the texture of the scales on his chest. It was overwhelming.

Despite the love for him telling you to endure this discomfort, you grasped his wrist and held it up. It weighed a lot due to the muscles that cord it. But, you were able to roll out from underneath him. You climbed out of the bed then stopped and turned to look down at him for a fleeting moment. He was still, breathing normal, eyes closed. He hadn’t woken up.

A soft sigh of relief left you. You about faced again and snuck away towards the kitchen. Anything to quell this pang of hunger that curled and boiled deep inside of you. In all of your years, you’ve never felt like before. Even if you hadn’t ate the day before, and you had.

The open kitchen was dark as you worked inside of it, not needing light on to see. You worked diligently. Two bowls of fruits and a plate of dried meat was your preparing meal. Even that seemed not to be enough for you in the sight of your eyes.

Unease crawled up your spine. Instinct roared its head. A growl rumbled from the depths of your chest as you leaned over your prepare food, eyes darting out to the open space. Your teeth bared.

Ahtaal stood in the doorway of the kitchen, posture lax but eyes watchful. Your growl lessened until he took a step towards you. One of your hands slammed down on the counter. Part of the warnings that ranged from you not to step an inch closer. This was your food. No one would take it from you.

Through the darkness of the ship, you saw the way his head jerked back and he didn’t move any closer. The whisper of your name rolled off of his forked tongue. Questioning. Your piercing gaze refused to move away from the threat that could take away your nourishment. Food you were desperate to consume but not with him there. Eating would be an opportunity for attack.

His dark form stepped back and eased the pressure his presence seemed to caused to you. Your growled lightened slightly but your eyes didn’t wander. They were pinned strictly on him. His brows furrowed before he slowly knelt down. Anything to appear he wasn’t a threat to you, his mate. Submissive as the position seemed, he did it for you.

Your name fell from his tongue again. That’s when your scenes, this primal instinct started to clear. You shook your head, eyes flickering down to the floor. All of your thoughts scrambled as you attempted to make sense of what you just did.

One of your hands covered your mouth. What was that? Terror overtook every emotion inside of you. Your gaze met his again but as the prey you were. The exit was blocked by his kneeling body. Your heart pounded like a bird desperate for escape. You back away from him and the food, back meeting the wall opposite to him.

“Little one?” he softly called out to you.

Those Bad Bloods. They had done something terrible to you. There was something terrible wrong with you now. Your terrified gaze met his again. Then, you bolted.

Strong arms ensnared around your torso before you could escape. Heat pressed against your back. Your nails raked down thick scales, failing to cause any damage. Your legs kicked and hits his thighs and stomach but did nothing to deter him. Ahtaal traps your back to his chest and stand. Now, you were up in the air as he pinned you to him.

The restless sleep and everyday waking up more tired than the day before caught up to you. The adrenaline couldn’t keep up. You slowly go limp in his hold, chest heaving for breaths.

Ahtaal sets you back down on the ground and spins you around to face him. Those dark eyes of his are scanning every inch of your face and body. They narrowed down on your eyes. His hand pinched your jaw and dragged your head up. “Your eyes… they’re lightly glowing,” he grounded out. You felt his claws digging into the flesh of your cheeks for a moment.

His gaze continued until it notices the rough patch on your chest. The red giant pushes you back until your shoulder blades touched a wall. A hand softly encircling your throat to keep you pinned. He leaned down. His free hand running over the textured skin. You hissed and squirmed in his hold. “Stop, that hurts,” you whined, voice grumbler than usual.

Next, he moved his mouth to the crook of your neck. You felt his tongue rung across the skin there. Ahtaal tensed and growled shortly.

“You smell like a Yautja.” Instantly, you thought he was thinking you were somehow cheating on him or the Bad Bloods scent still lingered on your skin. He pulled back to look you in the eye again. “But it’s your scent.” The words were softly spoken, as if in disbelief.

The hand trapping your neck drifted up to cup your cheek. “What did they do to you?” he snarled but the anger was directed at the two who stole you from him. The question was meant mainly for himself but opened for you to answer.

You swallowed hard, chest still heaving to calm your racing heart. “I-I don’t know,” you cried, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Something’s wrong with me. Everything’s too loud. Everything’s too much. The air is too dry. It’s cold. My skin… I can feel everything!” Even his hand touching you was starting to drive you insane. The texture was rough against your sensitive skin.

Everything went still. But you could easily hear the engines rumbling, his heart pounding. You could smell his concern, his confusion, his anger. You could read him the same way he could read you.

His furrow deepened before his hand softly left your cheek. It was instant relief. Less contact. Less touch. Less everything.

“I keep the ship colder for you. I lessen the humidity for you,” he muttered and returned to his full height, gaze blank. He was working overtime in his mind. The gears spinning quickly to come up with a solution. You stood leaning against the wall, fingers twitching with the need to rip your own skin off again. “And… you can see in the dark, can’tcha?” Your weak sigh answered him, eyes closing to block out everything.

He took a couple of steps back and shakes his head, trying to deny this. Internally, he was attempting to put the pieces together. To figure out what they have done to his mate. Yet, none of it made sense. The site he found you at… those Bad Bloods, they- his mind stopped there. Pausing as the realization dawned upon his form. Experimented. On you. His mate. They had injected something into you to change you from his perfect mate.

A deafening growled tumbled from his chest. Your hands slammed over your ears at the sound. A pained cry leaving your chapped lips. He stopped immediately and even flinched himself. Pauk.

Instantly, his first mission was to find a way to fix this. To fix you. To save you. To help you. A firm, stern gaze passed over his features. He reached out and tilted your head back. Your eyes sliding open to find the dark gaze of your mate on you. “I will find a way to help you. I will scour this entire universe for a cure,” he grounded out, voice low to help ease the pain it may cause to you.

The Yautja was beyond pissed. He wished to go back when he slaughtered those two Bad Bloods and made their death even longer. For all the pain they have caused you that’s currently injuring you. His mandibles clicked against one another in a harsh way.

You believed him. You knew he would. He’s been through thick and thin with you. You are his as much as he is yours. The corresponding marks etched into the backs of your shoulders was physical proof enough. He grunted with a nod then glanced over at forgotten food. “It seems like you have a Yautja appetite,” he stated and pulled away from you. You dipped your head and also gazed at the dishes.

“Come,” he called and strolled over to the plates. Ahtaal picked up all three skillfully and brought them over to the table. “Eat. Eat everything you desire. It will take you time to grow accustom to this new side of you. But I will help you in every step of the way.” If it didn’t hurt, you would’ve hugged and kiss the alien to death.

Slowly, you moved over and gingerly sat down in a seat he designed for your smaller statue. Until your hunger was satisfied, he fed you whatever you wanted and needed. In that moment, you knew you could never want or need anyone else besides him.

[awkwardarmadildo]

to add on to the humans are space orcs/earth is the universe's australia, sensing. my therapist has recently explained that its not normal the way i know who and where someone is by their footsteps. not just the sound, but the vibrations. if someone isnt purposely walking on light feet, i can tell who and where they are, even with headphones blaring. imagine a human on a ship and the awe-filled terror itd earn from their non-human crewmates.

edit: ive realized i wasnt clear enough in my intentions. im not saying "if you can tell peoples footsteps apart, youve been ✨️ T R A U M A T I Z E D ✨️ d-(^♡^)-b ". its about the inherent panic in Not hearing the steppies and therefore Not having the time to prepare yourself for whoever might be approaching and essentially being ambushed. also, being able to tell if someone is normalTM, happy, sad, et cetera. the combined terror of not being given time to make oneself "presentable" for whoevers coming, And Also whoever has just seemingly teleported is fucking pissed, which is never good. Anyways, enjoy!!! ＼(^o^)／

Gilith enters the library, searching for Human Raven. They seem to be found most often either here or in one of the many gardens on the ship. Human Alex said he'd likely find them here today.

Gilith pokes his head through the doorway, not seeing Human Raven, but before he can move on, a voice calls out from one of the high-backed chairs decorating the library.

"Hello Lithy, what do you need?"

Gilith sputters, "Wha- Human Raven, how did you know it was me?" Gilith makes his way over to the chair that held Human Raven in a twisted knot that, when Human Raven stood up, would surely leave a horrifying crunch Human Alex had likened to a human candy that exploded in one's mouth.

"You've got some loud stompers, Lithy."

"I do not know what that means, Human Raven."

Raven stands, causing Gilith to flinch at many snaps and crackles of their bones settling into place, and smiles up at his towering form.

"What did you need?"

Gilith notices more and more Human Raven's greetings. He thought maybe they could hear him coming, but they greeted him while wearing ear speakers, the volume so loud, Gilith could hear it from a few feet away.

Humans did not have psychic skills, and the only other human who seemed capable of a preemptive greeting was Human Alex. The two seemed to share all of their off-hours, so maybe that was where he could find his answers.

Gilith scoured the many gardens, stopping just outside of the doorway. He could hear Human Alex and Human Raven chattering to each other, but neither seemed to notice his presence.

In an attempt not to disturb them, he walked with what Human Bea had described as "tip-toes". A challenging feat, considering his round flat feet, but he managed.

Both Human Raven and Human Alex had their backs to him, so he coughed in the same way Human Bea often did to get everyone's attention.

The reaction he got was unexpected when both Human Raven and Human Alex flinched so hard their shoulders seemed to lock.

"My apologies! I didn't mean to startle you," he rushed over, but stopped short when they both flinched again. He recoiled his hand.

"It's ok, Lithy," Raven says, voice slightly choked. "Just give us a sec."

"Oh. Okay." Gilith turned his eyes down.

"What-" Alex started, his voice sounding as though it was rubbed raw. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What can we do for you, Gilith?"

"I did not have anything specific to talk to you about. I wanted to..." he trails off. "I wanted to inform you of the new plants we are picking up at the next trade planet."

Gilith feels his face twist with the lie, but now didn't seem like a good time to ask.

His desire to understand, however, doesn't fade after the incident. It only makes his hunger grow.

Instead of bothering Human Alex or Human Raven, Gilith decides to ask Human Bea, who does not sense him before he greets her.

"Hello, Human Bea."

"Yes, hello, Gilith. Is everything okay?"

"I have question."

Bea tilts her head. "Ask away."

"Are you- humans- able to detect someone before you see them?"

Bea's face softens into an aching sort of frown. "Not naturally."

"What do you mean?"

She takes a breath, seemingly preparing herself. "Well, most people are able to live in a relatively safe place. But some people aren't as lucky. Some people have to memorize the falls of others' feet. It's a learned survival tactic."

"I don't understand," Gilith says, his face wrinkling in confusion.

"Some people aren't safe, so for the ones who weren't born with the good luck of a safe home, they have to know who and where someone is. They have to know if they need to hide or prepare themself. They have to know if they're in danger or not."

Gilith feels his whole body go slack as a wave of sadness washes over him at the memory of Human Raven and Human Alex's reaction to his sudden appearance.

"I have loud stompers."

Bea's face scrunches up as though she's trying not to laugh. "You do. You have safe stompers, too."

[retroaria]

Oliver Aiku NSFW Alphabet ∘°∘♡∘°∘

summary: NSFW alphabet headcanons for the sexiest man that’s ever walked this earth

warnings: NSFW (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) FEM!reader, I skipped some letters bc I got lazy mb yall, dom/sub play, choking, hair pulling, spitting, mentions of hitting, oral (m+f receiving), light voyerism, handcuffs, use of mommy/daddy, unprotected sex

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy my little freaks 🤍- aria

ꨄ︎ A is for Aftercare

Oliver does very simple aftercare. He’ll always run a shower for himself afterwards and invite (beg) you to join (potential round 2 if you say yes). Depending on the time of day/overall vibe afterwards he’ll always ask if you’re hungry or if you just wanna go to sleep. He’s not pandering to you in the aftermath but he’s definitely acknowledging that it’s now time to relax and just enjoy each other’s company. Just wants to make sure you’re comfy!!

ꨄ︎ B is for Body Part

Contrary to popular belief, Oliver isn’t full of himself, he’s just a confident man! He knows he’s attractive. his favorite part of himself is probably his arms/shoulders or his torso. He keeps up with his physique and puts a lot of work in for his sport of course and he likes looking a certain way for himself and the ladies. Oliver is 100% an ass man. He’s always resting his hand on it or on your lower back. As much as he loves looking at your pretty face when he fucks you he’s just a sucker for gripping you from behind watching is cock sink in and out of you.

ꨄ︎ C is for Cum

Oliver isn’t too into the concept of his own cum unless it’s inside of you. Doesn’t like cumming on your face bc how could he defile such an adorable fucked out face. He’d much rather watch it fill up your mouth and throat (slowly dripping out the corner of your mouth) Cumming on your stomach feels blasphemous to him bc why would he do the extra step when he could’ve just fucked all of it inside you??? Nonetheless he’s a respectful boy and will pull out if you ask him. Loves when you cum first and he can see it coating his cock around the base (even better if it’s his cum combined with yours after multiple rounds) (would make you suck it off after).

ꨄ︎ D is for Dirty Secret

Not really a secret but Oliver likes to record himself fucking you whenever he can to save for his own personal collection. He of course can and will always get off to watching you touch yourself or photos of you in cute lingerie, but nothing beats watching you get fucked by him. It’s like he can remember the feeling when he watches the videos, every sound you make reminding him of the corresponding grip of your tight cunt around him, how good you felt as he fucked you through every orgasm. He gets off on the fact that he did that to you and you let him.

ꨄ︎ E is for Experience

Before you and Oli started seeing each other he had his fair share of other partners. Truthfully, he’s a bit of a man whore. What can I say he loves to fuck and, now that he can, he especially loves to fuck you. the both of you have shown to be rather appreciative of his past experience bc now all those well learned skills get to be used on making you absolutely weak for him.

ꨄ︎ F is for Favorite Position

It’s either your legs thrown over his shoulders as he locks his lusty eyes with yours, gripping your thighs and ruining that pretty pussy, OR he’s ramming into you from behind, death grip on your hips, smoothing his hands over your ass, planting a soft slap every so often, pulling you up by your hair so he can turn your head and see your pleading eyes begging him not to stop.

ꨄ︎ H is for Hair

He keeps himself trimmed, close to the skin, overall very well groomed. Doesn’t like when it grows out and gets too thick. Would 1000% not give a fuck if you’re shaven or not. Bald or full bush, pussy is still pussy and he’s gonna love it every time. He’s really into the little heart thing that some girls do, thinks it’s hot asf. Would actually prefer some sign of hair over completely hairless bc he likes women and women have hair lol. A simple man truly.

ꨄ︎ I is for Intimacy

As much as he loves using you like a fuck toy he’s a sucker for long foreplay sessions, classic missionary, medium pace, constant eye contact, deep kisses, all that. He likes knowing that no matter how he fucks you he can still ruin you. Wants to savor you whenever he can, even if he’s being rough, he likes to take his time with you and make his top priority to have you flushed in absolute pleasure.

ꨄ︎ J is for Jack Off

As mentioned previously, he loves jerking off to you. He spends an unfortunate amount of time away for games and training but he relishes in the peace of being able to go back to his hotel room and remember how good you felt wrapped around him.

ꨄ︎ K is for Kinks

Not the MOST kinky boy out there but he’s into basic dom/sub stuff. He is almost always the dominant one but he can’t deny the few times he’s let you ride him with your hands around his throat still cross his mind when he’s yearning for you. thinks calling you mommy is hot but you calling him daddy is even hotter. Likes choking, hair pulling, biting, and spitting on the giving or receiving end. keeps an open mind in the bedroom and likes doing whatever you think will get you off the most. Would let you even go as far as to handcuff or blind fold him, it gets him all excited. Wants to be a vessel that can consistently bring you pleasure in whatever form you need it.

ꨄ︎ L is for Location

In most spaces he’s probably already thought about how he could get away with fucking you there (horny bastard). Won’t ever push you to do it anywhere you aren’t comfortable but will go absolutely feral if you told him you needed him right then and there. You don’t even have to think about anything he’s already got you up against the wall in some closet he scoped out or bent over a bathroom sink. doesn’t care if it’s at someone else’s house or someone else’s bed even. Really likes fucking you in the car (enclosed space = more sweat = more pants and moans from you that make him want to cum on the spot)

ꨄ︎ M is for Motivation

His sex drive is unstoppable, he doesn’t even need motivation. If you wanna fuck he has no other choice what else is a boy to do?? He’s got a lot of different turn-on’s but at the top of that list is any piece of clothing/outfit that makes your pussy easily accessible. He loves tearing your clothes completely off but the idea of simply having to lift your dress and pull your panties to the side in one fell swoop before he gets to fuck you makes him feel like he can really have you whenever he wants.

ꨄ︎ N is for No

As said before he keeps an open mind but he’s still not a super kinky guy and he’s got some big no-no’s. Sorry for all my bratty boy tamers in the chat but Oliver would not let you peg him. The thought actually scares him a bit. not into any crazy bondage that wouldn’t allow you to tug on his hair, scratch up his back, or wrap your legs around him. Handcuffs are hot but that’s about it. He also doesn’t like to hit you at all unless it’s to slap your ass. Even if you asked him to bc you wanted it he would say no, it just wouldn’t feel right for him.

ꨄ︎ O is for Oral

Loves going down on you but can’t go for super long bc it gets him way too worked up. Always makes you taste yourself after he pulls his fingers out of you or he’ll come back up from between your thighs and push his tongue into your mouth while it’s coated in your wetness. Unless it’s a quickie, sex isn’t complete unless he’s sucked on your clit at some point. Will literally never deny a blowjob from you or any chance to fuck your pretty face. He’s also not above asking you for them, although it’s never really the first thing he wants to do with you. Likes having you do it after he’s fucked you. Goes nuts if you offer to suck him off in public.

ꨄ︎ P is for Pace

He likes to pay attention to your reactions during sex and base his pace and thrusts off of that. Whatever is bringing you closer to the brink is the way he wants to go. But sometimes he wants it his way and can’t help but fuck you hard and slow or fast and sloppy, depends on how he’s feeling.

ꨄ︎ Q is for Quickie

Oliver loves quickies. As a human being with free will he uses his right to fuck you whenever and wherever. If you happen to finish getting ready with an outfit on that he thinks would look better on the floor, it’s over. Likes to make it a challenge sometimes to see how fast he can make you come. Enjoys the thrill of fucking you before someone else is supposed to show up to where ever you are. “Stop it Oli your team will be back in here in ten minutes!” “I could make you cum at least twice before then, just relax baby”

ꨄ︎ R is for Risk

As stated in Q and L, he gets off on knowing he’s got you in a bad situation while making you feel so good. The embarrassment riddled across your face and the way you try desperately to quiet your staggered moans and whimpers drives him crazy. He’s got an effect on you that proves to be almost uncontrollable and he loves to watch you struggle.

ꨄ︎ S is for Stamina

Oliver’s stamina is very dependent on what his day consisted of. No matter what his want to be inside you will always prevail over any tiredness he may feel, but no promises he’ll stick out for long. At peak energy, 3-4 hours is his max, if he’s tired from practice or other work stuff, you’re lucky if you get 30 minutes but he’s still gonna have you a moaning mess in that short amount of time. (3 minutes with this man is all I need tbh let me in the ring)

ꨄ︎ T is for Toys

Oliver definitely has some toys but I imagine them just being for you. Like he’s got a few vibrators, definitely a pair of handcuffs, I don’t see him as the kind of guy to own a dildo. “My dick is already free use for you why do you need another one???” He has a fleshlight but doesn’t use it anymore bc it just doesn’t feel like you.

ꨄ︎ U is for Unfair

Oli is a tease. When he’s really into his dominant role in the bedroom he makes it his mission to drag you out as long as he can. He wants you seeing stars, blabbering nonsense, drooling his name, begging him for some sort of release. On the flip side he’s also a beast and wants to see you on the verge of tears after your 8th orgasm that night. He���s either overstimulating you or treating you like a little brat.

ꨄ︎ V is for Volume

AHHHH ok this man moans. Hear me out! He would honestly cry if he fucked you and you didn’t make a single sound and he imagines that you would feel the same way too so he really doesn’t hold back when it comes to moaning, groaning, even whimpering, whatever sound you’ve drawn out of him, he wants you to hear it. When you come around his cock and your pussy clenches down on him through your waves of pleasure he really loses it. No words could be said by him during this time just incomplete breaths and strangled moans. Don’t even get me started on when you suck him off. (He loves sounding dirty for you)

ꨄ︎ X is for X-Ray

Oliver is definitely above average in terms of length. He’s standing at about 8.5 inches, 9 on a good day. His cock isn’t too girthy but it’s proportional to his length. He curves slightly upwards and his veins are rather prominent.

ꨄ︎ Y is for Yearning

Oliver is always yearning for you sexually and emotionally when he’s away and he can’t be with you. Even if he isn’t away and you’re just busy doing work or something he is so bothersome to have around bc he constantly wants to be touching you (running his hand up your skirt) or kissing you (all over your body).

ꨄ︎ Z is for Zzz

Sex doesn’t wear him out too much. One of his favorite parts about fucking you is actually the part where you guys are done and you’re laying side by side holding each other talking until you both fall asleep. He loves the sound of your tired voice as you tell him about your day and the intimacy of the skin on skin contact. He holds you like a little baby kitten, with gentle caressing, smoothing his hand down your sides or along your back, carding his fingers through your hair or resting his hand on your face rubbing his thumb on your cheek (which very heavily contrasts the way he was digging his fingers into your hips as he fucked the life out of you just minutes ago)

My god what a trip. This is actually my first time writing anything NSFW ever!!!! So sorry if it’s kinda ass :( either way I needed to write something to fill the oliver aiku shaped hole in my heart. Love you guys, stay safe :)