#youre stuck with you forever. might as well have a fun ride

[meatheadmutt]

i love when people post 100% genuine "cringey" things on the internet. dont laugh at them. they are the backbone and future of this world.

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Keeley bringing Rebecca to find the perfect outfit, not because she needs a new outfit and not because Roy and Jamie won’t love her in whatever, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Getting ready, building anticipation, sneaking another drink at Aeronaut while Derek fetches her two more dresses, just for the hell of it.

Rebecca tells her that she looks gorgerous in every bloody thing, but that she looks particularly gorgerous in the second pink one, and oh, they should stop by The Connaught Bar on their way to the spa, celebrate Keeley looking like the marvel she is, and maybe raise a toast to Roy and Jamie being far, far luckier than either of them deserve.

“If you were into women I’d never date anyone else,” Keeley says very seriously over her Fleurissimo. “We’d never even have to go on actual dates, we could just do this forever, it’d be fucking fantastic.” She makes an exaggerated face. “Now I’m stuck dating icky boys.”

And Rebecca laughs and hugs her and knows that she’s not serious, at least not about the last part.

(Rebecca hopes this works out because if it doesn’t and she has to deal with the implosion of a relationship between her head coach and their star player… Well. She’d put the brakes on the whole thing, maybe, if it weren’t for Keeley and the way she lights up when she talks about her icky boys, if it weren’t for the fact that Roy and Jamie are going to be absolutely ridiculous about each other no matter what Rebecca allows or doesn’t allow, if it weren’t for her sordid affair with Sam and how it hasn’t left her with a single leg to stand on.)

---

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Jamie giving Roy an incredulous and halfway reproachful look as Roy sticks his head out the office to tell him that they’re leaving, so mush. “I’m going back home, mate. Dani’s giving me a ride.”

And Roy’s eyebrows do their Roy’s eyebrow thing. “What the fuck for? Keeley’s picking us up in less than two hours. At my place. You can do your fucking hair bullshit or whatever you need to do there.”

(It’s unclear to Roy exactly what hair bullshit Jamie might need doing, because he’s already spent half an hour after training in front of the dressing room mirror with most of the team chiming in with encouragement and advice, but it’s Jamie, so it’s probably something.)

“Not with your tragic products, I can’t,” Jamie mutters (and that’s a right laugh because Jamie knows better than most everybody that Roy does not, in fact and unlike some other people, settle for fucking Lynx or the like). “And anyway, we’re going on a date with each other, right, not just with Keeley, so we can’t get ready together. What am I supposed to do, sneak out the door and ring the bell when it’s time to pick you up?”

“What? No.”

Jamie points at him. “Right, ‘cause that’d be weird.”

“That’s not—“ But Jamie doesn’t let him finish, he just walks off with Dani, because he doesn’t have time for Roy’s spluttering, has he, and doesn’t Roy know Jamie has a date to get ready for?

Get ready he does, but because he is a filthy hypocrite (a word he does know the meaning of, so there, Coach Beard) he doesn’t hesitate to call Keeley when he can’t decide between his favourite Stone Island jacket and the new patterned Gucci number he got sent the other day, and then he has to have opinions on her shade of lipstick, and she suggests he wear the Layton she bought him a few years back, and it’s a brilliant time, just like them getting ready for the red carpet back when they were dating before.

“Bit like cheating, though, innit,” Jamie tells Keeley, out of a sudden and uncharacteristic sense of fairness. “Us asking each other for advice when getting ready for a date with each other, yeah? I should be on the phone with like Isaac, and you should talk to Rebecca or Barbara.”

“Well,” Keeley reasons as she sips her mimosa and waits for her nail polish to dry. “We’re going on a date with Roy too, and since we are the ones who properly knows what he likes and we want to look fucking fit for him, it makes sense for us to help each other out, yeah? Besides,” she adds, “we can do whatever we want, babe. Screw the rules, right?”

And yeah, right. That’s the basis for this whole thing, innit? “Yeah,” Jamie agrees, giving her a grin. “Screw the rules.” And then his smile softens into something gentler, almost shy, something she used to be the only one ever allowed to see. “Want look fucking fit for you too,” he admits, like it’s a secret.

Keeley’s smile, too, is soft. “Aw, babe, me too. And you do.”

—

Getting ready for their first date, like—

Roy picking Phoebe up from school and dropping her off with Sophia’s retired colleague, and when Phoebe asks why she’s not staying with him this time he takes a long moment to answer, and it’s messed up, isn’t it, that he’s this concerned about what a fucking child should think about his love life.

Not just any child, though, is she. “I’m going on a date,” he says eventually, glancing at her in the rear mirror.

“Oh.” She frowns; not in disapproval, he thinks, but in careful consideration. Then: “Is this a date with Keeley or with Jamie?”

Huh. All right, then. First potential hurdle cleared. As for the second… “Both.”

To his stupidly immense relief, Phoebe brightens at that. “That’s very clever of you, Uncle Roy. It would have been really hard to choose between Jamie and Keeley, and they both love you so much.”

Roy shakes his head, biting back a smile that’s as much affection as it is incredulity. “All right, you little precocious shit, get out of here, and be good for Ms. Mallard.”

And then he has just enough time to get back home and change out of his black shirt and trousers into another black shirt and pair of trousers, to trim his beard and add a textured silk tie (very dark purple, Keeley and Jamie better fucking appricate the splash of colour). He spends a long time staring at his reflection, partly because he really is quite vain (his stubborn protests to the contrary), but mostly because this means something to him. They do: Keeley, Jamie. The three of them, and what they could be.

It leaves him a little dizzy. It scares the hell out of him. He wants to get this right.

The door bell chimes. Jamie, and Roy has barely let him in, has barely even begun to figure out what he’s supposed to say to this Jamie, to his date Jamie, to the Jamie whose eyes sparkle and who manages to make even that ridiculous outfit look good, when the bell chimes again, and there is Keeley, a fucking vision, and Roy knows what to say to her.

“You look fucking amazing,” he says, and she giggles and leans in to kiss his cheek, very chaste (it’s a first date, after all), and still it’s nearly enough to leave him breathless with how much he’s missed her.

“Got you this,” he mutters a little hoarsely, picking up and handing over a Black Baccarat rose that’s been strategically sat on the sidetable.

Impractical, since they’re going out, and corny, but fucking sue him. Roy Kent will headbutt anyone who dares call him a romantic, but that doesn’t mean he thinks they’re wrong – and anyway, it’s worth it for the way Keeley smiles as she inhales the sweet scent.

“Uh, where’s my flower?” Jamie complains.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls. “Fine.” And he heads off into the kitchen where there is indeed a second rose waiting in a small vase. He’d left it there, deeply unsure if he was supposed to offer Jamie one or not; but that’s that cleared up then, flowers for Jamie is a go, he’ll make a note for their next date.

Jamie beams as he accepts his rose; grins wickedly as he, too, leans in to kiss Roy’s cheek.

Roy clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart’s sped up at the brief touch. “Okay. Let’s fucking do this.”

“Yeah,” Keeley agrees. “Let’s.”

And Jamie doesn’t say anthing at all, but he nods, and he takes Roy’s arm, and Keeley takes his hand, and they walk out into the night and fucking do it.

[killemwithkawaii]

Hello! I’ve been reading your stuff for almost a year now, and idk if your taking requests rn but do you think I could get headcannons of yan!Sal being your best friend and what that would consist of? If your able to of course. Also I love all of your work! I always come back to read it!

Aw yeah, gotta love some platonic yan~ 💖

Sal as your Yandere Best Friend (forever and ever and ever)-

[CW: Yandere, obsessive behavior, borderline stalking, self-sacrifice, emotional manipulation]

>Sal is extremely sociable and gets attached to people quickly. He’s likely to be the one to introduce himself to you and invites you to hang out with him and his other friends almost immediately. Once you guys click, you go from casual acquaintances to ride-or-die overnight. You’re pretty much stuck with him after that (he doesn’t take friendship lightly!) 🤝💙

>Constantly wants to hang around you, even if you’re not doing anything in particular, invites you along to pretty much everything, and shows up at your place unannounced for impromptu bro time. He just really enjoys your company! Because he's constantly asking what you're doing when he's not there, he knows your schedule and where you are pretty much at all times. He would feel very left out if you mention that you did something fun or important without him. (He covers it up well, ‘Oh, I’m glad you had fun! That sounds awesome, I’ll have to try that out/ go there sometime…’ but you can tell by his mood change that he’s upset about not being included 😞)

>Incredibly generous, always willing to do favors for you without expecting more than a ‘thank you’ in return, and is happy to go out of his way to help or please you. He will literally give you the shirt off his back, if it seems like you’re in need of it. After all, what are friends for? (He of course has his limitations, but you’d have to make some pretty preposterous requests for him to deny you something.) 🙇‍♂️

>Wants to do everything that you do. Take the same classes, join the same clubs, have the same hobbies, listen to the same music, and live in the same house as you, if he can manage it... He wants to appreciate what you’re all about, really get to know you on an intimate level and know who you are at your core. Doing all the same things is a great way to do that and an excellent way to spend more time with you, especially if he can get you to teach him a new skill or you both learn something new together. 🎨📸📚

>Very physically affectionate. He’s always down for a hug and likes to stay within close proximity (almost zero personal bubble, unless you make it very clear you need some space, which he will do his best to respect). He’s not keen on strangers getting to close to either of you, but you guys might as well be conjoined at the hip. 🤗

>Is quick to be your scapegoat and come to your defense. He’s great at lying and coming up with excuses to get the both of you out of trouble (or just get what you want), will always politely yet firmly speak up when you’re slighted, and he never lets anybody get away with being a jerk to you. Sal can be absolutely scathing when the situation calls for it! Assholes get roasted on the spot if they dare to mess with his BFF. (Be aware: He can take a punch, but he’s not much of a fighter, despite his willingness to get into physical danger for you. Don’t let things get too heated or you’ll have to help patch him up later.) 🩹

>Texts you often and at all times of the day because of his insomnia. If something reminds him of you, you’ll know about it. 💬

>Highly sentimental. He keeps receipts, tickets, photos, and other small mementos from the times you’ve hung out together and talks about those memories with a deep, rose-colored fondness.  🎫💭

>Always wants you to talk about your feelings (sometimes to the point of prying), loves it when you tell him your secrets, and plays therapist for you all the time. He delights in lending an ear when you want to vent and when he gets you to spill all those juicy personal details, especially the ones you haven’t really told anybody else about before. Letting him know those things about you means that you trust him enough to be vulnerable and that you two have a really strong bond. He’ll always be there for you, no matter what! ♾💙

[askthetimemaster]

It's been fun these 12 years. Our story has been told. Jitters will be forging on with his creative genius, and I will be continuing with my career and marrying the love of my life. A lot has happened, a lot of the friends and foes made in the last decade have move on or stuck around. For those gone, I wish you the best in your future. To those who stuck around, thank you for allowing me to share some of the stupid ideas that have gone through my head since we started this. For those of you who have yet to discover this, I hope it brings you joy. Goodbye my friends, followers, lurkers, and foes. It's been a wild ride.

-Warden

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

Hi everyone! My name is L and I’ve been working on Time Master and Discord Whooves for ten years.  I started my part as a gamble: would anyone know who Patience was?  Would anyone care about an older character with Time Lord lore?  They did, and I had a wonderful time breaking people’s hearts!  Coming back after so many years to finish the story was a blessing that Jack and Warden gave me.  I’ll be forever grateful that I had the chance to be a part of a complete work and that I had the chance to entertain you.  A decade is a long time.  During this time, I furthered my education, I said goodbye to some of the most important people in my life, and I said hello to some of the most important people in my life.  At the end of the day, though, graduating from Discord Whooves and Time Master is a feeling of release.  I waited for such a long time, waited for you to see the end of the Master and Patience’s story, and I hope you liked it as much as I do.  What’s next? Jack is making a new comic, Warden is building a happy life, and I’m going to fade into the background, happy to close one chapter and start anew.  Writing is a deep passion of mine, and you might see my work again someday, but it won’t be under the name L.  I’m grateful for every view, comment, reblog, and tag.   I hope the passage of time treats you well. Next time we meet, just like the Doctor and Rose, it will be as strangers.  Yours in time, L

[decks-writing-blog]

Here to Stay Drabbles: Not a Big Birthday Guy

Summary: I wonder, how would Gordon or Benrey try to handle celebrating each other’s birthdays?

~

‘Mr. Freeman’s b-day is on the 21st of this month. What do you think we should for it?’ read Tommy’s text.

Benrey looked up from the phone to glance over at Gordon, leading the way down the grocery store aisle with the cart. He hadn’t mentioned his birthday was coming up. It was still more than a week away but still close enough that he should’ve said something about it, right?

He turned his attention back onto the phone. ‘y u aking me?’ He’d never organized any kind of birthday celebration.

‘I was going to suggest we to go to Chuck-E-Cheese again. Do a surprise party like my Dad did for me. But then I thought maybe he wouldn’t like that. So I’m asking you. He’s your boyfriend so you’re closest to him and should know I think.’

Ooh. A party at Chuck-E-Cheese would be fun. Benrey had missed Tommy’s birthday party there because he’d been too busy coming back to life and scrambling to find a way out of Xen before he got stuck forever. But alas, Tommy was right; Gordon might not like that. The only time he’d brought up that party himself had been to complain about it how weird and uncomfortable it had been to go from his life being in danger to that ‘nonsense’. He’d immediately followed up with telling Benrey to not tell anyone he’d said that about Tommy’s birthday party, especially Tommy himself. Tommy apparently had some idea he hadn’t had fun though. Not that that was hard to guess.

But did Tommy have a point about Benrey being the person to ask about what to do instead? While it was true they lived together and were dating, Benrey had never been invited to a birthday party before – he’d crashed a few in the lab offices but none of them had been particularly fun and thus he hadn’t stuck around for long – let alone helped plan one. … He was in a good position to just ask Gordon himself though. So maybe that’s what Tommy had meant; he wanted him to ask Gordon.

Pocketing the phone, he jogged to catch up and then surpassed Gordon and his cart. Before he could protest, Benrey stepped up onto the front of it so that he was riding it while facing Gordon. Facing outward was more fun but it was conversation time.

Gordon let out a sigh as he stopped pushing. “Really, dude?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Okay, fine but I’m not going any faster. The staff here don’t get paid enough to deal with our bullshit if we crash into something.”

“That’s okay.” Their one good cart run had indeed almost ended in a crash. “We gotta talk anyway. Um, your b-day’s coming up soon. Where you wanna have the party for it? And don’t say at the lab, ‘cause I wanna go to it too.”

Gordon resumed pushing the cart with his gun hand now too. “I guess my birthday is coming up soon, huh? I’d actually kinda forgotten it. How’d you hear about it?”

“Tommy texted me. How’d you forget it?”

Gordon shrugged as he stopped them in the cereal isle. “I’m just not a big birthday guy. It kinda stops being a big deal after you turn twenty-one.”

Benrey watched for a few seconds Gordon browsed and selected his preferred cereals. He’d tried a few himself at Gordon’s instance he try different foods, none had appealed to him all that much. “Well, what you wanna do for it?”

“Uh… I don’t know. The last couple years, I haven’t done anything. Before that, I got high and watched cartoons or the year I couldn’t get any pot, got drunk instead. I’m uh… not sure doing either is a good idea with the whole…” He gestured vaguely with his gun hand, currently securely wrapped in the scarf he’d bought for it. “Being inebriated when this thing is part of me sounds like a bad idea. Not to mention all my other problems that drugs and alcohol probably wouldn’t help.” He returned to pushing the cart. “So don’t worry about, ‘kay?”

“But we gotta do something. We could go to Chuck-E…”

Gordon didn’t even let him finish before interrupting. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Damn.” Benrey had expected that though.

“If that’s where you wanna go for your birthday, that’s fine. I’ll go and even try to have fun or whatever. But just… not for my birthday, okay?”

“I don’t got a b-day though.” He hadn’t been born. They’d established that for sure when going through his files.

“Decanting day then, whatever you wanna call it. It’s on April 1st if I recall correctly. Which I’m pretty sure I do since that’s fitting. We already missed it this year but I guess instead of dealing with celebrating mine, we could have a late party for you or something if you want.”

“Ooh, could we?”

“Yeah, dude. Since you’ve never had anyone celebrate your birthday before, we could totally do something. A party with gifts and stuff or we could go somewhere special, whatever you want, dude. And I doubt any of the others will care that it’s a few months late.”

Benrey’s grip on the basket in front of him tightened. It wasn’t the first time Gordon had done something nice for him, far from it in fact, but it still felt like the emotional equivalent of a surprise warm hug. His ‘decanting day’ was months back but Gordon was willing to throw him a party for it anyway because he’d never had one before. … A late party wouldn’t be proper though, would it? Surely not. But… but… he wanted it so bad. Now that he knew it was an option, how could he possibly not want it? Waiting all the way to his next decanting day would take forever.

It had been Gordon’s birthday they’d been talking about though. Benrey couldn’t take that away and make it all about himself. “Maybe uh… we could do a double party this year? Late party for me and on time party for you. Doesn’t have to big or whatever. We maybe don’t even gotta go anywhere. Could have a home party instead.” Benrey wasn’t sure where he’d want to go anyway. The main draw was the gifts, cake, and everyone being together anyway.

Getting all of the Science Team together physically in one place wasn’t exactly rare but with everyone having jobs and their own things going on, it wasn’t exactly the most common thing in the world either. Especially since Bubby had just gotten back from losing his job at NASA a couple weeks ago. So a big double party at home would be great.

Gordon thought about it in silence for a few seconds, his expression soft; he was open to the idea. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. So… sure, let’s have a double birthday party at home or whatever. Maybe it’ll even be fun.”

“Sweet.”

[bellofthemeadow]

Blended Hearts and Bitter Brew | Part 2

Summary: Your life was boring, hoping for your big break, you were stuck at Starbucks for what felt like forever. The hot metalhead that just came through your door might just be the amount of shit-stirring fun you've been looking for. (3.8K)

A/N: Hey everyone, I am very sorry for the delay for this chapter, its been quite crazy at work and with the ini starting again (MY LAST ONE YEHHH!), things have been even more intense. So, it's safe to say it's been quite a whirlwind. I also had to delete my previous post because I encountered an issue with the chapter that required me to go back and make some fixes. I'm hopeful that everything is resolved now - fingers crossed!

Additionally, I'd like to extend an invitation to anyone who may have questions or requests for me. I would be absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to work on them. I'll be away for a few days, and there's nothing I'd love more than to find myself writing by the lake, to be honest. Thank you all for all of your support and kind words, I love you all very much!!

Taglist: @hehekittyhawk

Warning: SMUT, phone sex, discussion of sex, masturbation, wearing, suggestive language, reference to bratting and brat taming (18+) (no minors like at all!!!)

The Phone Call

Usually, after a long day at work, you were more than ready to head home and collapse on the couch while munching on an entire box of hot pockets. Today was a bit different, though. For the first time in a long while, you were actually... excited! Still riding the high from your encounter with Eddie, you took the extra 10 minutes out of your way to stop at the corner store and grab the second cheapest bottle of wine (Fancy) that you could find! Cradling the bottle like you were Gollum with the ring, you were ready to let loose and get a bit frisky.

You got home quickly, stepping through the streets of Indianapolis, your overheated mood a total contrast to the frosty outside. After a quick shower where you made sure to scrub every inch of your skin, which was now pinkish from the scalding heat of the water, you put on your favourite black satiny robe. The soft frock hugged you deliciously, flowing around you like water and reaching just beneath your ass, highlighting its fleshy curve. In front of your antique floor mirror that you’d found in a second-hand shop, you gave yourself a saucy wink while twirling like a damn Jewelry box ballerina. A slutty ballerina, in your case.

You giggled to yourself as you sifted through the kitchen drawer, searching for the candle you were certain you'd received during last year's Secret Santa. Your hand moved blindly, finally identifying the candle's rounded shape with your extended fingers. As you grasped it, you opened the container and took a deep sniff—Peppermint Mocha. You snorted; your manager really was an unimaginative dick. Well, it would have to do for tonight.

You lit it up using the lighter you had stashed under one of your flowerpots for smoking emergencies. You had promised yourself that you would cut back on smoking this year, but every once in a while, nothing could help ease the tension like a good cigarette. It was also unmatched after sex, although THAT front had been pretty quiet in the last few months. Perhaps Eddie could help resolve that, you thought with a cheeky smirk as you imagined him pulling harshly on your hair as you devoured his tattooed neck.

You let the pepperminty aroma waft through the room as you started to set the mood around your little shoebox studio. It wasn’t much – barely enough space for a double bed and a small round table – but it was all yours. You didn't have to share with anybody, didn’t have to abide by anyone’s schedule but your own. If you wanted to get high and eat ice cream straight out of the tube, or if you wanted to practice the riff you couldn’t quite get right on your guitar until early morning, or if, like tonight, you wanted to set a sultry mood and masturbate thinking about Eddie’s tattooed chest… Well, you damn well could.

You sink down to the ground and settle onto your round, fluffy carpet. This very carpet had been among the first pieces you had bought after settling in your new life in Indianapolis. Regret over this purchase had never crossed your mind; its deep burgundy shade harmonizes exquisitely with the studio's dusky tones. And right now, as you reach for your vinyl collection, you can feel all of its fibers against your bare legs. Your senses heightened since the afternoon; its gentle touch now feels almost teasing against your puckered skin making you shiver deliciously.

You allow your index finger to roam over the spines of the hundreds of vinyl records stacked at the foot of your bed. There were so many of them that you reckon you could use them as a bedside table or something. You were quite proud of them if you were completely honest. You’d spent so much time curating this collection since your dad brought home a vinyl player for your 11th birthday. Your dad had insisted that "its sound is far superior to them boom boxes kids use these days." Along with the player, he had purchased your first ever metal album: "Master of Puppets," That night, you had both spent the rest of your birthday listening to the music with your dad, both huddled in the living room, heads bobbing to the harsh rhythm of the tracks—much to your mom's annoyance who must have shouted "SHUT IT DOWN" at least a dozen times before you’d gone to bed, feeling like your life had changed completely. After that, there was no turning back. Ripped jeans, short black skirts, fishnets, and leather became your uniform, and music became your greatest lover.

You reached out and retrieved the specific record you had in mind. Gently sliding the sleek, obsidian vinyl out from its protective sleeve, you cradled it delicately. As the stylus met the surface, K. K. Downing’s guitar strings struck like a punch to your senses, in a delectable impact of metal. The music flowed through you like an electric current, coursing through the grooves, infiltrating your ears, and permeating every fibre of your being, until you were immersed, entwined, and carried away by the raw yet exquisite sound.

Moved by the beat, you rose and started swaying back and forth, the music's rush flooding you until you didn’t exist. Music always held a flavour more alluring than any drink and a sensation more ravishing than any drug – music consistently brought you to a peak of euphoria that couldn't be replicated by anything else. You loved that feeling; the one where you would float over the world in your own little bubble, where no one and nothing mattered except for you and the music.

 Your hand found the bottle of wine resting on the kitchen counter, and you took a large gulp, letting the burning liquid cascade down your throat. With the buzz of the wine slowly enveloping you and the music infusing life into your being, you began to move your hands up and down your body, tracing your curves beneath the satin of your robe.

Swaying your hips to the music, you let your mind drift back to Eddie; his husky voice as he tried to tease you, the mischievous tint behind his hazel eyes that you hoped would, when properly provoked, turn more devious—perhaps even a touch wicked. You let your mind wander to what Eddie was hiding behind that Metallica shirt. With a teasing smile to yourself, your body swaying from side to side in a tantalizing shimmy, finding balance with the rhythm of the music.

Come crawling faster Obey your master Your life burns faster Obey your master, master

The sound of your phone ringing brought you back down. "No way he called already!" You dropped the volume of the music before grabbing your phone.

Unknown number

This was too good to be true! And right on time too as the song on the vinyl changed. "Burnin' Up" started to invade your ears. Grinning deviously, that was perfect timing, and you were more than ready to put on a show if Eddie was on the other side of that line.

“Hey there handsome, feeling desperate, are we?” you sultrily cooed.

“Good to know you are a little brat outside of work too.” Eddie’s harsh tone sent a shiver down your back while his words sent a clenching wave through your core.

“Aw, but I just did what you wanted me to do.” You added a quiver to your voice for full effect, “I just wanted to be a good girl for you…”

“Fuck, you can’t just say shit like that baby!” You let out your best teasing laugh.

“Why is that? Am I making you hard?” You questioned innocently, “Are you hard for me right now Eddie?” A strained sound made its way to your ears as you took another gulp of your wine “Am I being a good girl for you now?”

“Good girls don’t tease. Good girls don’t… arg… Good girls listen, and they don’t act like desperate little brats for attention! ‘That why you were acting like a spoiled little princess earlier? Ya wanted all my attention, like the desperate little slut you are.?Well, you have it now baby, so you better make it worth my while” You whimpered at his words, but you didn’t want to give into him – not yet anyway, you wanted to savour this as long as you could.

“Tch, don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need attention from wannabe metal douchebags, thank you very much.” A dark chuckle erupted from the phone.

“Tut, tut, tut. Baby, you can fool yourself all you want. But I can see right through your little spoiled brat display.  Beneath all that though, rocker girl thing you’ve got going on, all you want is for me to put you in your place. Am I right, or am I right?”

Fuck, he was too good at this. Most men you had been with had not really wanted to indulge in this fantasy of yours. Most of them had found it weird, not really understanding that when you were acting like a bitch you didn’t want to have a “conversation to settle our differences” as one of your exes so aptly put it. You snorted - No, what you wanted was for someone to grab you by your hair and spit in your mouth. And then, you wanted to cuddle, eat junk food and listen to music until your ears bled. But that was a bit too much to ask apparently.

“Where did your mind go baby? Am I too much for your little bratty ass?” Eddie teased through the phone.

Suddenly a wave of vulnerability like you’d never really felt before washed over you, making you extremely self-conscious. You felt stupid in your little satin robe, half drunk on wine and desperate for some guy you all but had 10 words with. Your skin was itchy, and you felt too hot like a hand had wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed. Fuck, what was wrong with you? For once, a guy was willing to indulge in your little kinky fantasy and what? You were gonna have a panic attack?! You didn’t even know the guy, why were your nerves on fire, why did it feel like you couldn’t disappoint him? Why were you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to plummet to your death?

Were you afraid of the fall, or were you afraid that no one would be there to catch you?

“… I’m sorry Eddie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You could feel tears gathering in your eyes.

“Fuck, shit.” You could hear Eddie scrambling on the other side of the line, “Did I go too far? Fuck I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Shit I should’ve checked for safe words before, shouldn’t have gone straight into it, it's just you drive me goddam mad honey.” A pause as he seemed to realize what he had just said, “Not like “mad-mad” more like lust-mad or – fuck, I don’t even know what I am saying and I’m rambling, and I probably sound like a complete maniac and…” You let him continue, his unfocused voice making you feel safe and maybe, just a little… understood.  

“s’ok Eddie. It’s me, it's just… I guess I got a bit scared because you know… You just seem a bit too good to be true.” Silence.

“WHAT?! I seem too good to be true?” His voice took on a misbelieving tone, “Have you looked at yourself? You are like the definition of hot!” You chuckled at his words,

 “Nah I am serious babe! Next to “HOT” in the dictionary, there is a photo of your face, I promise you that!”

You felt yourself grow warm under his words, “You’re just saying that…”

“Hey, don’t do that alright,” he counters sternly, his voice so full of certitude and assurance that it fills you with safety. You were so full of his words that you could pop at any moment, “I don’t say shit I don’t mean, never. And look,” a sheepish pause made you hold your breath, “You kinda intimidated me back there, you know. Like your fucking hot, and your witty and then I find out your kinky AF too? I mean, you’re like my dream girl brought to life. I feel like if I pinch myself you’ll disappear, like I made you up or something.”

You release a breath at his words, attempting to regain a modicum of composure you tease, “What like Pygmalion? Am I your Galatea then?”

“Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind…Did I kill the mood?” you ask in a squeaky voice.

In response, Eddie burst into a hearty laugh, “Nah baby you didn’t. It’ll take a lot more than that to scare me away from someone like you… How ‘bout we slow down? Maybe you could tell me what you were doing before I called you up.”

That you could do, "Well, I got back from work all flustered, just had to blow off some steam, you know? Poured myself some wine and put on Killing Machine..." A pronounced groan reached your ears.

“A tad controversial for a so-called metalhead to choose that record—a bit too... mainstream," Eddie quipped, his tone teasing. But your lips curled into an unabashed smile. "Maybe, but I was riding a Burnin' Up vibe, and needed the perfect backdrop. Anyway, a solid album's just that, regardless of how mainstream it might be." you bantered in return.

"Amen to that, baby. But tell true honey, was that all you were doing? Sitting around with music and a glass of wine?" Eddie inquiries with a touch of salaciousness in his tone.

"I might have been dancing... explored a bit beneath my robe—" you teasingly purred.

"Describe it," Eddie suddenly interrupted breathlessly.

" Oh, you want to know what I’m wearing? Is that what you want Eddie?" you replied teasingly.

"Don’t tease baby, be a good girl and describe what you’re wearing.”

You pause for dramatic effect, taking the time to compose your thoughts. "I'm in my black robe, it's all satin with lace, barely grazes below my ass..." you slowly croon, your voice a delicate whisper.

"Damn, keep talking, baby," Eddie's voice urges you, dripping with desire. "It caresses my skin so sensuously, makes me feel so good... Am I doing well?" you inquire, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your voice.

"Absolutely amazing, baby. Have you touched yourself yet?" he inquires further.

"Just my tits, Eddie. I was kinda hoping you'd give me a call," you shily confess “Are you happy to hear how much I want you?"

"More than you can imagine baby, are you wet for me?” You could almost picture him; he was sitting in a nondescript room, perhaps with some Metallica posters and records strewed about, he’s clenching his teeth as you describe how much you want him, perhaps he took out his cock too. Is he touching himself, you wonder? Because right now, all you want is to dip one of your fingers inside your panty and relieve some of the tension that has been building since before you left for work.

“I’m so wet for you Eddie… I think I’ve been wet since before I left work, that’s how much you affect me. I want to show you that I'm not just a brat; I can behave, I can be your good girl" you say earnestly.

"I know you can be, but let me share a little secret with you, baby." Eddie pauses, and you hold your breath, awaiting his words. "Truth is, I kinda love it when you get all bratty on me..."

At his words, emotions erupted within you—a mélange of lust, desire, joy, and a tad of shyness. Each little butterfly fluttering deep within your belly in a symphony of feelings.

“There’s more of that where it came from,” you sheepishly admit, all too aware of your tendencies to tease and your strong-headedness. You lick your lip, and purr, “Are you hard right now Eddie? Are you as hard for me as I am wet for you?”

“Oh baby, I’m as hard as fucking Andúril right now!” Eddie loudly pants.

“… What did you just say?!” Nervous laughter meets your ear as Eddie stammers,

“No-nothing. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” With regained confidence, he continues,

“You gonna touch yourself baby? Come on, be a good girl and touch yourself with me.” 

You quickly fumble with your phone as you put it on speaker and lay it next to you on your bed. “I’m in bed…” You shakily exhale.

“Yeah? Me too honey. Now. Touch. Yourself.” His tone left no room for arguing. You could hear a belt unbuckle and a zipper coming undone amidst the rushing of fabric on the other side of the line making you shiver as you imagine him taking his heavy dick in his large hand.  

Slowly you hiked your fingers up your thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise under the trace of your nails. You reach under your robe, and you hiss as your index finger grazes your weeping pussy. “Ohh Eddie, I’m so wet, I’m dripping everywhere.”

“Fuck baby, I want to hear.” Blushing like mad you position your phone next to your dripping pussy before slipping your index inside, the wet squelching of your finger going in and out of your core sending pleasurable shivers down your spine as you imagine Eddie’s reaction on the other side of the line.

You breathlessly moan “You hear that, Eddie? You hear how much my bratty little pussy wants you?!”

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s the most metal music I’ve ever heard. My dick’s so hard right now, I feel like it’s gonna fall off.”

“I want to hear you too.” You frantically demand “Yeah? You want to hear me rub my dick baby? You’re such a perverted little girl!” Eddie didn’t need much convincing and all of the sudden you heard a loud plop, and a loud moan escaping Eddie’s throat. The sounds sending an arrow straight to your warm core; did Eddie just spit on his dick? The wet sound of his hand going up his dick was truly one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard.   

“I’m close baby…” Eddie admitted between loud moans.

“Already?” you giggle breathlessly.

“Fuck, don’t be a brat now baby. You close too?”

“Mmm-hmm” You hummed “Not close enough.”

“How many fingers, you’ve got in that sweet little pussy baby?” Eddie pants, almost pained.

“Just the one Edd.” “Shit baby, add another one. Can you add another one for me, honey?” His words alone were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Yes Eddie, Yes I can. Anything for you!” You whisper-shout into your phone.

You dip another finger inside, ripping a loud moan from your throat. You part your finger, frantically spreading your slick all over and making a mess over your sheet.  You curve your index toward you until you reach the spongey spot inside of you that feels oh so good. You rub and rub while your thumb aggressively circles your clit.

“Oh Eddie!! Mmmmm… Fuck, I’m close Ed, I’m so close! I don’t want to come alone!!”

“You won’t baby, you’ll come when I tell you to come. Not before.” Eddie pants into the phone. After what feels like forever, you feel the cord that had been steadily building inside of you start to grow taunt, teetering on the edge of snapping in half.

“Eddie… pleasepleaseplease! Please let me come!”

“FUCK! Come for me baby, I’m cumming!” His words send you over the edge and you see a white light blinding you as your body grows tense before letting go.

You can hear Eddie’s panting on the other side of the line while you try to catch your breath. Now sticky and half-naked with your robe open, you feel a wave of shyness overtake you.

“Eddie? Are you… Are you ok?” A loud laugh meets your ear.

“Am I ok, Baby? Pretty sure the Milky Way just exploded in my room. Damn, that was the hottest thing ever!!” You shyly chuckled at his sweet words.

“It wasn’t like… too much or anything?”

“Wait Baby… Was that your first-time having phone sex?” You grew hot and are quick to dispel any ideas he might get “No, not at all. But…” you hesitate, “But it’s the first time anyone ever made me feel like that before.”

“What? Orgasmic?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up!” You laugh before your traitorous vulnerable heart plants himself down your throat, “I meant like safe; you know. Like you wouldn’t make fun of me or like you actually wanted to hear me come. Like I really mattered for a minute and it wasn’t just about your dick.”

Eddie’s voice grew soft at your words “Baby, there is nothing that I would love more than hearing you come every day, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. If you let me, I’d put it on a CD and listen to it on repeat.”

“You mean that?”

“With ever fibers of my being baby.” Eddie answers honestly. You can hear the truthfulness and the transparency in his voice. makes you feel better, and perhaps a little bolder, as you ask, "Does that mean you'd like to see me in real life again and not just when I have to serve coffee?" When Eddie doesn’t answer for a second you feel your heart drop down like a lead balloon.

"Or not," you chuckle, "I didn't mean to sound conceited. It's fine if you don't wan—"

Eddie cuts you off, "I'd love to, baby."

"You would?" you ask, your voice tainted with disbelief.

"I didn't mean to sound so unenthusiastic. It's just that I'm not used to having such a pretty girl proposition me like that. Had to pinch my ass to make sure it was real, ya know."

You laugh as your hand nervously toys with the lace of your robe. "So when would you like to see me?"

"How about tomorrow? Pancakes for dinner, and then if you want, I have a show with my band in town. You could come with."

"Yeah? You want to see me tomorrow?"

"Nothing else I'd rather do."

"There's nothing else I'd rather do either, Eddie."

“Then it’s a date… Be ready 'cause I’m gonna rock your world Baby!”

You giggle at his words “Can’t wait Eddie.” You look around you, with thighs still sticky with your pleasure—yeah, you really couldn't wait to see your rockstar again.

Next chapter

[living-a-charmed-life]

my fav shifting coded songs

accompanied by my favorite lines in them

these are mostly rock and metal songs, so if you're not into that, this might not be for you

Charmed Life by Vixen - "She acts so nonchalant/But the girl gets everything she wants/Livin' a charmed life/ Everthing's workin' out right" Just A Feeling by Lita Ford - "The days go fast, you're stuck in my head/I'm so alone, I wish you'd tuck me in bed" I Want You by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts - "I want to be with you and I will somehow" Fantasies by The Runaways - "Night visions of fantasies/Are laying in bed with me/In the dark I can see you smiling" Dream Warriors by Dokken - "When I close my eyes, I realize/You'll come my way"//"And maybe tonight, maybe tonight you'll be gone" Surrender by Cheap Trick - "Surrender, surrender/But don't give yourself away" Tomorrow by KISS - "And tomorrow/We're gonna fall in love, fall in love/Tomorrow" I Wanna Be Somebody by W.A.S.P - "You're nobody's slave, nobody's chains are holdin' you"//"Cause I, I got the guts to be somebody" Hollywood by The Runaways - "I'll be a star that shines/I can make the whole world mine"//"Each day at home I scheme for the fame and fortune dream" Odyssey by Kiss - "From a far off galaxy/I hear you calling me/We are on an odyssey/Through the realms of time and space/In that enchanted place/You and I come face to face" I Wanna Be Your Dog by The Stooges/and a version by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts - "And in my room I want you here/ And now we're gonna be face to face" I'm Alice by Alice Cooper - "Created just for your lust with exquisite control/A thing you can trust to satisfy your soul" Sure Know Something by KISS - "But late at night I still hear you call my name"//But late at night I still want you just the same"//"But late at night I still need you just the name" Little Dreamer by Van Halen - "I had to tell them baby you were armed with all you need"//"You are a little dreamer" Stay Hungry by Twisted Sister - "Are you feeling the fire?/Are you ready to explode?/Are your dreams and desires Riding down an open road?" Wishing Well by Black Sabbath - "You find that life's not always what it seems, no, no/Then think of a rainbow and I'll make it come real" I'll Fight Hell To Hold You by KISS - "I'll fight hell to hold you/No river too deep or mountain high/I'll fight hell to hold you/By my side" Rooms on Fire by Stevie Nicks - "Somewhere out in the back of your mind/Comes your real life and the life that you know" Alone by Heart - "And the night goes by so very slow/Oh I hope that it won't end though/Alone" Dream On by Aerosmith - "Dream on, dream on, dream on/Dream until your dreams come true"

Honorable mentions:

I Am (I'm Me) by Twisted Sister

Talking In Your Sleep by The Romantics

Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles

Born Again by Black Sabbath

I'm Going Home by Tim Curry (the Rocky Horror Picture Show)

Don't Try To Close A Rose by Cher

Dream Police by Cheap Trick

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Looking for Today by Black Sabbath

Let Me Go, Rock 'N Roll by Kiss

I Will Prevail by Doro

Girls Just Want to Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper

King of the Silver Screen by Alice Cooper

My absolute favorites:

Let's Pretend by Raspberries - "I can't sleep nights/Wishing you were here beside me"//"If we close our eyes and believe it might come true" A Dream Away by The Cars - "Because the good life is just a dream away" Waiting For The Weekend by The Vapors - "And everyday I dream my life away/just waiting for the weekend/Then I know I won't have to leave you here/and we can be alone again"

Rock And Roll Hell by KISS - "He wants it bad, but he wants no charity/He seems to think it's his destiny"

Tambourine Dream by Lita Ford - "The spell that I'm under/ Has brought you to my door, the love that I hunger for"//"We can last forever in a lover's fantasy"

[mistysharks]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @hilarychuff thank you! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

11! For now:)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

75,643

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Stranger Things for now! I would love to branch out but the hyperfocus does what it wants and I am just along for the ride!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm Stupid (Do Me) Steddie/M/Getting together/first time (first one I wrote of them!)

All you have is your fire (and the place you need to reach) Hellcheerington/E/Sex Pollen

Five times Steve Walked in on Eddie and Chrissy (And one time they walked in on him) Hellcheer + Hellcheerington Pre-slash/M/Accidental Voyeurism

5 times Steve absolutely didn't have a bisexual meltdown (and one time he did) Hellcheer + Hellcheerington/M/Getting together

Some lonely night we can get together (and I'm gonna tie your wrists with leather) E/Hellcheerington/ final part of my Vampire Eddie and Chrissy series!

(I need to start doing shorter titles :') )

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Almost always, though it might take me a while! I always appreciate them all <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ok so honestly? I don't do angst much haha, and literally never sad endings. Its all gonna be tied up with a neat little happy bow from me, baby! I think I left chapter 3 of Bardic Inspiration in a pretty sad state - does that count?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Orgasms cout, right? ;D Right now what comes to mind though is the only fix-it fic I've really written - (I only need) the working of my hands Where I give Hellcheer the happy, sexy ending they deserve (but make it Sapphic with a side of coming back wrong)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! Fingers crossed it remains that way! I usually try and stay miles away from any fandom drama tbh

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I am determined to! Like sure I would call some of what I've already written smut but I feel like I'm not quite fully there yet. I haven't fully realised the lengths of perversion/intimacy hyperfixation that sits in my mind! Its an ongoing process hehe

Regarding what flavour of smut I write, its always queer, soft, and a little gothic in the undertones... Would love to do some more genderqueer stuff in the future as well

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not yet! I'm not against them, and I loove a good AU, but nothing has stuck so far. Maybe one day I'll write that Stranger Things Persona 4 AU. (look it would work so well!! Eddie as Kanji makes me feral ngl)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I love that that is a thing people do <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but that would be super fun! I tried RP once couldn't get into it:( Sharing ideas and bouncing plot points is always fun though:)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Thats too hard! I'm just gonna do a current top 5 lol 1. Steddie 2. Hellcheerington 3. Hellcheer 4. Lan Zhan/Wei Ying (Untamed) 5. Kanji/Naoto(P4)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have 2 unpublished, lengthy chapters of a Steddie pirate AU that I love but I really don't know how to keep going with :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm pretty proud of how I set the mood of a scene - the colours, the light, the sounds... just hinting at a feeling without describing the feeling itself.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I can like, either do super dialogue heavy bits, or really descriptive bits, and its so hard to marry the two together!! ahh!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Look english is hard enough lol

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry potter haha, wrote some truly terrible angsty self-insert when i was 14 (luckily that is gone forever!!)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Honestly, I really love When I am done, its such a snap-shot kind of fic, and its got such a mood that I love. Keeping a one-shot simple and to the point is really difficult, and I think this one is my best attempt at it.

Thanks for tagging me as always, Hil! I'm tagging whoever reads this hehe - if you made it this far you should totally do it too (these are fun!)

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

4, 13, 20, 22, 29 and 40 for the fic writer asks, if you don't mind answering all those :)

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

God knows! Coming up with an initial idea is the hardest part for me. As soon as someone gives me a starting point i can do something, but if I'm left completely adrift it's truly just static. That's why I love prompts, but alas, most people like to give really broad prompts and I work best with a really granular, specific thing, the more random, the better. Sometimes a random idea strikes and grows into something, but except for my two big multichapters all my favourite fics started as a prompt from a fic exchange or a prompt list!

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

If you're stuck, the problem is never with the last sentence. And, when in doubt, less is always more. You can usually afford to lose a sentence or a paragraph or a whole scene more than you need to add another (although that may not work for other writing styles - I find mine works best when it's kind of reduced and destilled).

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

I remember running the first half of TWTaS through a linguistic corpus software for funsies once, and the top repeated things as far as i remember were "small smile" and "coffee", which frankly - yeah, muted emotional expression and themes of tiredness and coffee are in there for sure. Loneliness and loss are also pretty common themes as well as trust and, on the brighter side, there's usually at least one very close long-term friendship or sibling relationship in every story of mine. I seem to tend to set things in cities, probably because that lends itself to the themes of loneliness and lacking connection and homesickness, and I LOVE settings that allow for quiet, intimate but nonsexual one-on-one conversations, like late-night phone conversations or long car rides. Also set mostly in the US or UK, I want to say due to the origin of the original material but who knows really, I've got so used to it at this point...

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

There's a lot of things I'd have a hard time with, but might challenge myself to write them precisely because of that; 2nd person narration or a very pronounced omniscient narrator are things that come to mind. Writing genres like straight action or horror would definitely not be my instinct but it could be fun to try! I do have some tropes that I'm iffy on and would probably never write about, like I'm really not about unwanted/unexpected pregnancy stories or really pregnancy stories in general, and I really don't like body swap stories for some reason. I also don't really see myself writing about love triangles, I just don't find them at all interesting.

29. What’s your revision or editing process like?

Honestly, I'll just try to reread after stepping away for at least a day and see if I can reduce or clarify anything or if there are things doubled (there usually are...). I don't really have a process? I probably should, it would probably be a huge step forward. If anyone has tips, I'd love them!

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

This might surprise people, but my dream fanart is for fic I'm definitely not known for - my lighter more comedic pieces! I mean I'm honoured and delighted by any fanart, and people have been so creative and wonderful about TWTaS and Fluent in Silence especially, and I still go back for those pieces a lot. But I'm secretly hoping someone will do another piece for The Running Kind (@doptimous kindly made a manip and i love it a lot). Also ngl, if someone drew Bodhi with Charlie the Lobster from The Gales of November Remembered I would love them forever.

Other scenes I think would make cool fanart and would buy my very biased affection instantly: the first kiss from TWTaS from chapter 15 (that's like the one chapter of that fic where I feel like I got striking visuals); ANY scene from my Food Travel AU entry In den Herzen ist's warm because my thing I wrote + my favourite place in the entire world; and two scenes that don't exist yet: the final scene of TWTaS (which, alas, has been finished for years but I just can't get the scenes before it right) and Jyn at the Leipzig Demonstration on 9th October '89 in Spiel ohne Grenzen (Lord knows if I'll ever get to that point in the fic but that visual would kill me dead if someone made art ngl)

Send a fic writer ask!

[myhatisblue]

I started this Mills thing forever ago.  I did what I could with it since it was already pretty long but it does just kinda stop.  Least there’s some fun lore here.

In an ideal world Gaspar Mills would be at home. Curled up in blankets, as the smell of a slow cooked stew permeated the air, and the television showed and sang the roars of a kaiju or two.  Left alone disconnected, and at peace.  

But it’s been a while since he’d gotten the freedom to even go home. His most recent job went bad, sure an abstract horror laid slaughtered… But not before Mills found himself gutted, and internals spread across the floor. The beast was arrogant, its twisting limbs and multiple mouths came in close to enjoy the meal. Close enough to touch, and stupid enough to forget to make absolutely sure he was passed out. Regardless of the nature of the creature it was just meat and bone… It cried out the same, a broken form trapped in skin it never consented to. Craving to be unwound and set free.  A request the King of roaches would deny over and over again on any other day.  It was a step too far, a peak that wasn’t easily backed down from.  

But the madness brought on while at the brink of death drives all sense away. Before he fully grasped his action the room was coated in red fibers of meat and spikes bone.  And in the middle of it all a flower bloomed from what hadn’t been cast away to the walls or floors.  A victory yes, but what remained of Mills was barely held together. Death would finally come this time, he’d be done with all of this. The world faded and nothingness gripped him once again.

“Can’t believe you finally did it.”

Even in death there was no escaping that voice. It was as much a part of his mind as he was.

“Just let me fucking die in peace Kenneth.”

“Man, you wish Gaspar. You already know there’s no getting off this ride.  Within the hour the monster hunting bastards will be scooping up your sorry corpse.”

“It’s Mills asshole… and as if there’s even enough there to put back together…”

“God you’re being dramatic as fuck again.  You might have earned the cute little title of ‘King of roaches’, but you ate the heart of the eldritch lord of flesh.  You really think a few missing organs are going to stay gone for long?”

“...Eldritch lord?!”

“Oh, ha wow that just slipped out. Woops.”

“Fuck off Ken. You just like dumping shit like that one me when I can’t get rid of you.  Then refuse to say anything beyond it.”

“To be fair I’ve already told you that I make up half of the shit I tell you. If you get stuck on one thing or another that’s your fault.”

“Urgh… Can you atleast give me a hint about what the flower was?”

“Say please and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“...”

“Come on Mills.”

“Ugh.. Please Kenneth tell me what the hell that meat flower was.”

“Making something new is complex, even more so when it’s alive. Why wouldn’t you start small? Wouldn’t have pinned you down for someone who’d spread flowers though.”

“I didn’t plan on doing that, I just did what it’s flesh wanted… And I guess that was what it wanted to be.”

“Sure it was.”

“... I’m not taking the bait.  If I ask what you're implying you're just going to say ‘oh nothing’ in that stupid tone.”

“That sounds about right.  Well it seems like our time is running out, but I’ll give you this.  Keep doing anything and you’ll get better at it.  Though I’m not sure that’s what you actually want this time.”

It all went quiet after that, and soon the world saw fit to drag Mills back to consciousness. The ceiling was white, and mumbling voices filled the air.  They seemed like they wanted his attention, but it all faded into background noise. His body felt wrong, the placement of joints and internals…  It wasn’t right, but just like every other lump of flesh it could be altered. With an unsteady hand he reached towards his stomach. Skin parted, and it wasn’t long before the  voices around changed from murmurs to out right screeches.  No matter how much he tried to correct the mistakes it was never perfect.  The pain was growing, still he tried to fix what was broken. Until his arms were grabbed and an all too familiar needle was stabbed and injected into his neck. Instantly the world faded and not even that cold nothingness could take him.

By the time Mills was able to open his eye again a man was sitting next to him reading.  He was wearing a Navy blue suit,  with a black dress shirt underneath.  The gray hair and tired eyes spoke more to the amount of stress he deals with day to day than his actual age.  Mills had asked once expecting him to be well over 50 only to find out he was only 39. His name was Harris, and he was the poor fool stuck trying to keep Mills in line. A job that likely only added to the amount of gray hair growing on harris’ head.

After letting his eye wander between Harris and the ceiling, Mills tried to pull himself up out of bed.  It was only then that he became aware that his hands were currently restrained.  6 black bands that were about an inch thick had been placed on his arms.

“I… Pissed off the higher ups.. didn’t I?”

His voice was shaky, and pathetic but it was enough for Harris to put down his book. He looked as if he was about to scream at Mills but took a breath and managed to only let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what you expected… You gave the medical team the scare of a lifetime. What were you even trying to do”

“My insides… they don’t feel right…  I just wanted to fix it.”

“Sneckdraw had suspected it was something like that. Give me a second. I wrote down a message from him.”

Harris pulled out his phone, making sure to mimic the emotionless tone of the demon hunter Mills knew all too well.

‘Organs that undergo complete evisceration often grow back imperfectly.  I can only conclude that this process will hold a heavier weight for one so engaged in the subject matter.  All you can do is move forward, bear the weight of your choices, and do better to avoid them in the future. With time it will fade.’

Mills couldn’t help but scoff, that sounded like something he’d say. Most of the time Sneckdraw says nothing, he just stares and leaves everyone around him on edge.  But on rare occasions he’ll speak with extended detail. Drawn out words, spoken in a deep monotone, slow and deliberate. Always unsettling in their delivery.

While Harris couldn’t capture it fully he got the gist.  Although Mills couldn’t be sure if the impression was actually intended, or just how a message from sneckdraw naturally ends up sounding.

“That sounds like a lot of words to just say that it’s normal…”

“There was nothing normal about that scene Mills… What was that?”

“Guess you saw me after all that huh…’

“Yeah, I did.”

No escape from this conversation… The grim look Harris had been wearing since the start of all this was evident. It was a genuine concern, the kind that always knocked Mills off kilter.  He could bear the pain and what it did to him, it was easy enough to ignore it, and bury it deep within.  But being reminded that it wasn’t normal, that it wasn’t just fine to keep going like that… It shattered the poorly put together illusion everytime. Mills would have to be honest, or he’d never leave the medical wing.

“...You know how I ask people to avoid physical contact?”

“Yeah, I remember you saying their bodies were too loud.”

“It’s not just that… Their flesh speaks to me.”

“It what?”

“‘The skin is a prison’, and every single living thing I’ve been forced to have contact with wants to be set free. Everytime I’d tell them to fuck off.  I was out of options, so that was me giving it what it wanted…”

“Why haven’t you brought that part up before?”

“Cause the list of possible solutions can only really end with me locked in a cell somewhere for being a problem.”

“That’s the paranoia speaking Mills. We’re here to support you, but we need to know what the problems are before we can help solve them. Has this gotten worse over time?”

“Na, since I woke up it’s always just been there.”

“That’s good to hear at the very least.”

A phone rings, and it only takes a glance at Harris to know what was coming next.

“I have to head out for now,  I’ll be back later tonight. If you need me before then you know my number.”

“How am I supposed to make a phone call when my arms are tied down…?”

“Just shout, someone will be around to check on you.”

“Well at least tell me what the armbands are about before you fuck off.”

“Ah right, they should help you stay grounded and stay focused on where you are. It’s a better answer than just wrapping your arms in cloth over and over.”

“Right…”

Again Mills was left alone to stew with his thoughts… While he was sure he could escape the restraints if he put his mind to it, what would be the point?  The compound the medical wing was in was deep underground. He wouldn’t get far before he was thrown back in bed.  

At the very least he would be able to rest his eye for a while. Or at least that would have been his plan if not for a new guest slipping into his room.

“Talk about Déjà vu, at the very least you're looking better than last time I crashed your hospital room.”

Brandom Lewis was always easy to pick out of a crowd, his fashion choices were unique to say the least.   Tending to favor bright colours and floral designs, and a pair of orange toned glasses he was hard to miss.

Brandon took a long look at Mills, getting really close to his face. Unintentionally showing off the other unique feature the man hid.   Perhaps man was the wrong word, because he was more accurately described as a highly complex hivemind of insects piloting a human corpse. And under the right circumstances liked getting annoyingly close to other peoples faces. Letting them enjoy the sight of his collective squirming ever so slightly beneath his skin.

After evidently enjoying making Mills visibly uncomfortable, he set on freeing his hands and crashed on the seat next to his bed. Mills took the opportunity to rub his wrists and stretch out his stiff arms.

“They’re gonna have to go back on before I leave, but may as well enjoy the freedom while you can. Though between you and me it’s stupid to even bother with them.”

“I agree but the illusion of control is a hell of a thing.”

“Don’t I know it! So Kid, how are you doing? Last time I actually saw you, you were still a twig by comparison. Faye mentioned that you were going to work on bulking up. Didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”

“You know how time goes, months in the other dimension, are days out in the real world.”

“Mhm, I’ve heard new blood is gonna start being trained there in the next year or two.  Once the nerds make sure people won’t blow up randomly after prolonged exposure from being there.”

“They don’t mention shit like that to me, building materials just start showing up.”

“Huh I figure they’d just have you make those kinds of things.”

“Things I make there have a minor habit of collapsing into meat if my brain gets too fuzzy.”

“Ahh with the millions invested in equipment, I guess that would be a bit of a problem.”

“Millions??”

“Oh yeah there’s some serious money being poured into you. No pressure or anything.”

“So you're saying I probably shouldn’t make the ground under them collapse no matter how funny it would be.”

“Nahhh do it anyway, It’ll be great for you.”

“Yeah I’ll get to enjoy a few years without having to worry about taxes, or bills. It’ll just all be in a nice cell custom made to fuck me…  Now why are you even here Brandon?”

“I’ve got the day off, and didn’t have much planned beyond doing dailies and that's easy enough to do here.”

“Dailies…?  I assume that it's related to the game that you’re always playing? Heard Faye ranting about how you dropped a few grand on that thing.”

“She just doesn’t have the backing of the gatcha gods.  And if we’re being real here what else am I gonna spend money on?  Housing, internet and food is covered already, and I can’t exactly go out and party like the old days.  If I drop a few bucks here and there investing in the things I enjoy, what's the big problem?”

“It sounded more like gambling when Faye was telling me about it, and pretty shitty investment if that’s the case.”

“Says the dude who spent hundreds on original godzilla posters…”

“That’s art!”

“Riiiight…”

“You have to have seen them, I know people around here are always breaking into my house and bugging the shit out of it! Shits real nice looking, it’s peak classic poster art.”

“Information related to your house is classified, But I have been keeping up on your reports.  I enjoyed the ones that just degraded into calling people assholes or ‘mega dicks’ for 10 pages.”

“Well normally I have to get that shit done the second I finish a case.  Can’t blame me for still being a little pissed about the whole thing. Not like I really get why I’m even doing it, hell I’m shocked you’re even reading them.  Kinda assume they got tossed in a bin and thrown into a cabinet somewhere.”

“Nah, I read all of it. What might be some ‘crackhead’ in one of your reports could likely be related to some bigger fish in another game. So I might not be able to smash some skulls like the old days, but I still get a little rush from nailing down someone trying their best to be ignored.”

“I get it, I just didn’t really see myself doing so much deskwork.”

“Well you’ve managed to piss someone off given those arm bands so you might be doing a lot more of it if you keep this up.”

“Huh, Harris told me they were just replacing the wrappings I used to use.”

“Kid, you have got to work on your senses.  Skipping on the magic studies just cause you’ve got bad blood for it is gonna screw you.”

“I’ve been working on it, but it just never clicks.  Come on what the hell does magic have to do with the bands?”

“Try and take one off.”

Stares were shared over a brief silence before a loud electric pop filled the air. Even the slightest movement Mills tried to make against the bands ended in a sharp shock to his arms, while they stayed clung exactly where they were placed..

“Shit!”

“Pfft God you should see your face, kid.  Priceless.”

“Not fucking cool!  What if they get caught on something or someone rips them off mid fight?”

“It’s magic and set to protect solely against your interference. That’s talking mentally and physically. So even asking someone to remove them or even replacing your arms is going to lead to a lot of fun results.”

“Fuck they can do that?”

“They got your blood, name, and pretty much anything else they’d ever need to nail any spell or curse on you. You ought to be happy, it's not worse than a few shock collars.”

“Ugh… I killed the beast, while the details might have gotten a little messy but the results were still good.”

“The higher ups will always see you as a danger to humanity, giving them more reasons to think that lands you in early retirement.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“You know it…

Ah crud, look at the time.  I remembered some stuff I need to handle before night rolls around.  Show me your hands, so I can lock them back up.”

“Fine. But before you go, any idea how much longer I’ve got here?”

“Given the rumblings I’ve heard you’re gonna be stuck with a week of observation. So at least you’ll have tons of time to write the report for that last job.”

“Great…”

Mills let his arms be locked to the bed he was already stuck in. Without much else to do he could really only try and sleep.  Least that would kill some time.

[twilightmalachite]

Hinata Aoi Mini Talk - SS Arc／5th Stage Sandstorm

Translator: Mika Enstars

"…Wait, you know I’m Hinata, right? Man, now I’m thinking about Yuuta-kun…"

Season: Winter

School Bus Trip

Location: Inside Studio Bus

Hinata: ♪~♪~♪

Heheh~! ♪ We are 2wink! We are number one!

C’mon, c’mon, Oogami-senpai, you can’t keep sulking forever! We are~?

💬 UNDEAD!

Hinata: Ooh, hearin’ the real thing sure is something else! ♪

One more time, Oogami-senpai! We are~!

💬 2wink!

Hinata: Yaay~! Now we’re rockin’~!

Wait, but you’re not part of 2wink, Oogami-senpai, so maybe sayin’ UNDEAD would have been better?

💬 Shut up!!

Hinata: Wah, I made you angry!

I did go a little overboard, I’ll behave now, okay? Sorry~!

Hinata: I’m getting a little hungry, I wonder if there’s any candy I can eat~.

How about you, Otogari-senpai? Didn’t you bring a whole buncha things?

I personally recommend this candy, its so sweet it’ll dissolve your teeth! ♪

💬 Lets see what snacks we have

Hinata: Oh, isn’t that the spicy snack that Yuuta-kun bought?

I’m not sure if I should eat that. If you want to eat it, Otogari-senpai, I’ll ask Yuuta-kun for you.

💬 How about something else?

Hinata: Then, how about this chocolate candy?

Could we share it together, Otogari-senpai? ♪

💬 Can I have one?

Hinata: Okay~. Then, I’ll give you this crazy bright pink one! ♪

So, how is it? Isn’t it super sweet? It just tastes like sugar, doesn’t it~!

Hinata: Hmm… We’ve been traveling for a while now, I wonder why we haven’t arrived at a hotel yet?

I’ve been driving for so long, my butts kinda starting to hurt.

Are you doing okay, Yuuta-kun? If you feel sick, tell me right away, okay?

💬 What about you, Aniki?

Hinata: I’m doin’ just fine! ♪ My gluteus maximus are robust from training!

I wonder if we’ll get there soon. I’m really getting tired of this~.

💬 I’m doing okay

Hinata: I’m so glad! ♪ If something happened to you, Yuuta-kun, I wouldn’t be able to live!

Ah, I exaggerated things again. You understand my love better now, right, Yuuta-kun?

💬 You’re so overprotective

Hinata: Of course I am! You’re my treasure, Yuuta-kun!

Aren’t you cold? Warm up with a blanket if you get chilly, okay?

The Desert with my Senpai

Location: Desert

Hinata: So hot~… I’m being boiled alive~…

I woke up and I was in a desert. Is this a new trend of reincarnation isekai?

I’d be at a loss if it weren’t for you, Hakaze-senpai…

💬 Are you okay?

Hinata: Yeah, I haven’t developed heat stroke yet.

But it’ll be bad if we’re stuck in the desert forever, right~? What would the management do if an idol ends up collapsing?

💬 I’m glad you’re here, Yuuta-kun.

Hinata: Yaaay, I’m so happy! Yuuta-kun makes me so sooo happy!

…Wait, you know I’m Hinata, right? Man, now I’m thinking about Yuuta-kun…

💬 Reincarnation isekai?

Hinata: Huh, you don’t know much about those, Senpai?

Well, I’m not really well-versed either. It seems that stories about starting a new life with memories of your past life are rather popular.

Hinata: By the way, Senpai, what’s up with that surfboard?

We aren’t at the sea, so it feels sorta out of place, but…

When you nearly ran into me on the surfboard, weren’t you surfing on the sand?

💬 It’s pretty fun, actually

Hinata: Hmm? Does it have the same sensation as surfing in the sea?

If it weren’t for the situation we’re in, I wonder if I’d also be having fun challenging myself to it~…

💬 Well, something like that

Hinata: Ehh, so you can surf on sand too~?

Isn't surfing your hobby, Hakaze-senpai? It really suits you! ♪

💬 Want to give it a try?

Hinata: Huh, can I? Of course I wanna ride!

Heheh~, how was that? Looked pretty good, didn’t it?

Hinata: In any case, standing here won’t do anything, might as well move, yeah?

The future of 2wink basically lies in my hands, so I’ve gotta make some progress~!

…Or something like that, I say cheerfully. I’m lonely without Yuuta-kun~. I miss him~.

💬 C’mon, let’s go

Hinata: Yessir… I will do as Senpai says…

But I mean, is this really the Tottori Desert? Was it always this big?

💬 I feel you

Hinata: Right~? Don’t you get uneasy without the person whos usually always by your side?

You too Hakaze-senpai, don’t you get lonely without Sakuma-senpai there?

💬 Please bear with me for now

Hinata: I don’t wanna~… You can’t beat Yuuta-kun~… Thin, yet muscular older onii-sans like you are way too different~…

Sigh… When I get to see Yuuta-kun again I’m going to hug him to my heart's content… Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do…

story directory | next →

[terras-diary]

game review - final fantasy 7 rebirth

story: i mean yup that was definitely a part of the story of the original ff7. i did have some gripes - when you visit nieblheim they don't even bother to gaslight tifa and cloud into thinking it never burned!!! that was so important to me in the original. that is what makes the player really think 'okay cloud is for sure crazy, and tifa (who at this point seemed to be operating within reality) might also be crazy.' that was such a disappointment. aerith's death was pretty stupid too. it just didn't hit like the original. (i also really hated the multiverse thing they've got going on, like give it a rest) also dyne's storyline wasn't as good as the og either. it's kind of like whoever is remaking this game just didn't quite get what parts of the game are good and memorable and why they are good and memorable. i dunno

characters: you know i hated cait sith in the original. i don't even really know why, he's a cat riding a moogle. that should have been so cute. instead he was a little freak. well he is so cute in this one, him and barret were probably my fav characters. in the og, my favs were aeris and red13. i still liked them in this version but i dunno - cait sith and barret were kewl.

i hate chadley though.

battling: remember how in ff9 there was that crystal system that had attributes on all your gear (potentially) and if you battled with it equipped enough you'd be able to keep it forever (provided it was equipped through the crystal system)? they kinda did that in this one with having an ability attached to weapons only. it did give incentive to use the abilities (and i sure did) so that was pretty cool.

conclusion: i had more fun with this than part one of the game. although, when i played star ocean 2 r, i was like 'im never going back to the original, this is for sure the better version' i don't feel that way with this. it just makes me want to play the original again, i don't feel the need to play THIS game any more after beating it. and isn't that what a remake is supposed to do? replace the original? does everything need to be an open world action rpg? if they had remade the game but stuck with turn based combat + used those chibi models like that ff7 phone game - i think i would have liked it more.

this is just a cash grab cuz square enix needs that monay i guess. but overall it really wasn't bad - could have been a lot worse.

[leolo404]

🎶Astrology Observations Pt.6 🎶

⚠️Sidenote⚠️: Please take this with a grain of salt for not all of my personal observations will resonate you entirely.

🎶Moon in 3H are great at speaking their emotions out to others and usually a lot of people come to them and talk about emotional problems. They can be great therapists as well.

🎶Mercury in Sagittarius/Pisces/1H tend to be breezy when it comes to communication and jumps from one topic to another.

🎶Men who are water dominant are the guys that are usually the odd-one-out from the male stereotypes and this same goes for Women who are fire dominant.

🎶Sun in harsh aspects to Mars can indicate struggling asserting yourself to be confident and these people are usually shy by nature.

🎶Neptune in water houses/degree can enhance spirituality and might have psychic tendencies. Tend to be really focused with other dimensions than the real world.

🎶People say Aquarius is the weirdest sign but no one talks about Scorpios being in the same level of weirdness as Aquarians. Scorpios are known as the outcast as well but Scorpios are more reserved which is harder for people to perceive whether they are crazy or not. But once you get to know them, you will be shocked with almost everything about them, from how you see them as at first, to how they think, and to how surprising they are.

🎶Taurus/Sagittarius placements may have a huge fascination for piercings or tattoos.

🎶Moon in harsh aspects with Pluto are usually the ones that have their own emotions blocking their relationships. Mostly because their emotions tend to be really intense which is sometimes overbearing for others to handle.

🎶Air Mars are the hardest when it comes to making them angry because these folks are more focused on using their rationality. They may argue but in the end if you are the one who flew off the handle, you will notice your Air Mars would just say "Why do you get so angry easily?" then there goes the huge silence after.

🎶Earth Mars are slow to anger but they do get so annoyed or irritated easily especially Virgo and Taurus Mars.

🎶Scorpio/Pisces Neptune have great intuitions and may have the possibility of being a clairvoyant or a tarot reader.

🎶I've noticed a lot of Air Signs are intrigued by Scorpio's mysteriousness and depth because air signs are known for being curious and Scorpio doesn't easily open up to anyone which makes the air sign crave for knowing more about them.

🎶Also isn't it ironic that your opposite sign is suppose to be the sign you have nothing in common with but unfortunately it's actually the sign beside your opposite sign that has nothing in common with you.

Example: Both Sagittarius and Gemini are opposite signs but they have a lot of common traits such as being curious, adventurous, and inquisitive. But Sagittarius and Cancer or Taurus have nothing in common knowing Sagittarius is a risk taker who wants to experience and expand their visions to the world while Cancer and Taurus feels comfortable in its comfort zone, feeling secured.

🎶Aquarius Risings are usually easily recognized, there's just something about them that stands out from others. Also they are really entertaining.

🎶Aquarius x Scorpio friendship dynamic = Talking about aliens and demons 24/7 and would actually start an occult lmao

🎶Pisces/Aries moons may have tendencies of easily forgetting things and also not remembering where they placed a specific item. You can really see them having that confused or scattered look while moving around to find something.

🎶Cancer/Taurus placements 🤝 Listening to slow music on a winters night while drinking hot cocoa with blankets and pillows around them.

🎶Scorpio/Aries risings are resourceful and wouldn't mind cheating as long as they finish, then that's it. For them, it's called being efficient.

🎶Libra or Sagittarius Sun/Moon/Venus are the ones who fangirls/fanboys so much over a scene from an anime series when things become really intense.

🎶Saturn in 12H/9H/Virgo/Gemini might be interested in learning about history and literature.

🎶Neptune/Pluto in harmonious aspects with the Ascendant have this alluring and magnetic aura that captivates people easily.

🎶Capricorn/Cancer Venus always treats their friends like family and will always be there for them when they are in their toughest times.

🎶If the 1H is your house chart ruler, you might be considered as a charming and good-looking person. A lot of people tend to like you because of your loving nature but sometimes you can be vain or arrogant.

🎶Aries/Gemini placements 🤝 Forever young and all they want is to have fun.

🎶Pisces or Gemini Sun/Mercury can easily escape from any situation they are stuck in.

🎶Virgo Moons are actually more sensitive than you think they are. Once a Virgo moon is getting anxious and overwhelmed, they wouldn't be able to concentrate properly and would eventually break into pieces.

🎶Its quite tough for us, Virgo moons, in dealing with life since we are always here to put in our efforts to the table but get little to nothing in return and in the end, we are always the one who cares the most.

🎶Also Virgo moons are usually the ones who are used to being the "helper" knowing that they are always at service towards others but no one is there to help them when they need it so all they can do is rely on themselves independently.

🎶Libra moon is the least indecisive compared to the other Libra placements because the moon guides Libra to choose base on their heart's decision

🎶Having Aries degree(1°, 13°, 25°) in your Ascendant can indicate having more masculine features or qualities. Might be assertive, self-confident, and bold

🎶A lot of people often mistaken Libra as a feminine sign, sorry y'all but Libra is a handsome man🤸🤸🤸

All those GIFs are from a music video by NCT called ✨Regular✨ and yes, this is the second time I placed a whole ass music video/teaser in my astrology observations lmao. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this long ass ride and don't forget to stream Regular by NCT hehe...Regular huh? 😂😂💀(Only nctzens will understand this lol)

[noteguk]

devilish | kth | m

— summary; in which Taehyung has a bit too much fun toying with your limits. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, Taehyung x reader, established relationship, edging, guided masturbation, dirty talk, corruption kink, sliiiight dumbification, dom!tae, mentions of past virginity loss, mentions of blowjobs, mirror, begging, orgasm control, praise kink, use of the word “slut”, cockwarming, unprotected sex 

— words; 2,4k

— author’s note; this request has been sitting in my askbox since forever because I was stuck with the last version of it. Eventually I deleted that document and completely changed the plot (or lack thereof), and now here we are. I really like corruption kink so :) this was a nice ride 

Requested by anon! 

Taehyung was almost convinced that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

Granted, he was biased. He had been dating you for some time now, but, in his defense, he was positive that the wind had been knocked out of him (how cliche) the first time he had laid eyes on you. And it all went downhill from there. Taehyung became a bit more crazy about you every time he saw you, paid a bit more attention to the small details that he might have missed before — the way you played with your hair, the shy tug of your lips every time he made a flirtatious remark, the fluttering of your eyelashes when you leaned away after a kiss. It was all beautiful, perfect, created by angels just for him. And he loved every second of it. 

It was just a matter of time before his little obsession leaked into the bedroom and Taehyung didn’t hesitate to make good use of it. Even if you were a bit embarrassed by it, always so shy, Taehyung liked to watch you play with yourself as he told you what to do: where to touch, how to move, when to stop. And you were always so good for him — following his orders eagerly, giving him more every time he asked you to. 

You were so, so perfect that he thought he was dreaming. He couldn’t have wished for a better girlfriend. 

“That’s it, baby, take it slow,” his husky voice sounded next to your ear, one of his hands caressing your hair gently. You had your back pressed against his chest, sitting between his legs, with your own thighs open and pushed up to the level of your breasts. He could see everything like that. “So pretty. You’re always so pretty for me.” 

Taehyung had his eyes zeroed in the reflection before you two, the large rectangular mirror presenting him with the glorious view of your flushed heat. He followed, mesmerized, as you circled your clit with two of your fingers, whining beautifully at your growing pleasure, back arching and eyes closing. 

Taehyung was used to your body, how it reacted; he knew the telltale signs that your orgasm was getting closer. And that was the dangerous part. “Shhh, you’re almost there, baby,” he mumbled, the venom in his tone telling you that he would do it again — ask you to stop just as you were about to cum, making you cry and whine until he allowed you to start over. But then your pleasure was almost gone, and you had to build it back up from zero. “Look at you, you’re so desperate. You like playing with your little pussy?” 

You nodded, a frail moan leaving your mouth. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, begging to be filled up. 

“You do? That’s so dirty,” he teased. Taehyung’s hands were resting on either side of his body now, supporting his weight. No matter how much you wanted him to touch you, you knew that he wouldn’t. He found much more satisfaction watching you do it. “Is that pussy wet for me, baby? Does it want to cum?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you implored, overwhelmed. Taehyung had made you edge yourself five times already, it had been going on for too long, and you didn’t think you could stop it again. You would try, though, of course you would, but you were afraid that your body wouldn’t respond in time. “I want to cum, Tae, please.” 

He hummed, placing a wet kiss against the nape of your neck. Taehyung was breathing heavy, fighting against every cell of his body so he wouldn’t bend you over and fuck you full of his cock. He also had his needs, but his objective was to teach you some discipline. He needed you to need him. 

“One more time for me, baby,” he said. His cock was unbearably hard inside his pants, leaking into his underwear as he heard the beautiful sounds of your soaked pussy. He was going insane thinking about how well it would wrap around him, how gorgeous you looked when you were full of his cock. “Stop it one more time.” 

You almost cried out at his words. “N-No, I can’t,” you whined. You could feel your orgasm just about to overflow, your thighs shaking as you continued to rub your clit. “I can’t do one more.” 

“Shhh, you can,” he calmed you down. Another kiss against your neck and you swore you were about to die. “Stop now.” 

And you actually stopped, because you were such a sweet, obedient girl for him. Taehyung watched as your chest heaved, your eyes closing as you pulled your hand away from your pussy, a shaky moan of frustration leaving your lips as you let your orgasm slip away for the sixth time that afternoon. He felt his cock throb in his pants when he saw how soaked and puffy your cunt was for him, caught himself groaning out in hunger. 

“That’s such an obedient slut,” he complimented, his voice a hoarse vibration against your shoulder. Taehyung knew you were on your limit, and he loved that, still, you followed what he told you to do. “You used to be such a good girl, baby, now look at you: edging that little pussy of yours, begging me to let you cum. That makes me so fucking hard.” 

You could only whine, because your limbs had turned to jello and you didn’t think you could find your voice quick enough. Your own reflection stared back at you in the mirror — your skirt pulled up and panties brushed to the side, your heat dripping against the bed, making a mess that you were sure Taehyung would tease you about later. You didn’t know what had happened to you, it seemed as if your life had completely turned around ever since he had walked right into it. 

And, as if he was reading your mind, Taehyung continued talking as your pleasure melted away. 

“When I met you, you couldn’t even kiss me without getting shy,” he started, one of his hands leaving the bed and resting on your waist. Your body shivered at the warm contact, sensitive. “You were this timid little virgin, you hadn’t even touched yourself yet, baby. You didn’t even know how to.” Another kiss against your neck had you shuddering, hoping for more. “And now you are soaking all over my sheets like a good slut. You learned how to take my cock so well, didn’t you? I taught you well.” 

You nodded, brain flooded with images from your past. Taehyung had always been drawn to your innocence, found his delight watching you discover your pleasure for the first time — rather, he loved teaching you, breaking that inexperience apart until he had you whimpering for more, embarrassed and needy, grinding your pussy against him just to feel something. He had turned you into a desperate little thing, an obedient girl that could cum just by playing with your tits, or that would start crying when it became too much — and still would ask him to keep going. 

You were a giver: you liked to provide Taehyung with whatever it was that he asked you to, loved to be showered with his praises every time you made him cum. You liked to play up your innocence just to see how he reacted, weaponized your apparent cluelessness because you knew that he loved to show you how to do things. It was a perfect game that you two played, and it always ended up just like both of you wanted to. 

Taehyung’s hand slithered up your stomach and groped your covered breast, pulling you out of your reveries. You pressed yourself closer to his chest, a shot of pleasure going straight to your core as his fingers brushed against your hardened nipple. 

“Taehyung, please,” you begged once again, your voice a pathetic little thing, “let me cum.” 

“My baby wants to play with her pussy again?” He asked, his voice an octave lower. You nodded. “Hm? Want to make that tight little cunt cum?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you were losing your mind, droplets of sweat running between your breasts. The bedroom was so hot, you felt like you couldn’t even breathe. “I need it so bad.”

He chuckled devilishly against your skin, his thumb grazing your nipple. “Alright, baby, you’ve been good,” Taehyung finally gave in, making you breathe out in relief. “But sit on my cock first.” 

Your heart hammered against your rib cage, your pussy clenching in anticipation. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.” He removed his hand from your tit and used it to unzip his pants. The sound was harsh and loud, shooting straight to your dripping core. “Come on, I’m not very patient.” 

Taehyung was patient, though, that was how he managed to edge you so many times without losing his cool. But you bought his act and moved forward so he could fumble with his pants, your eyes following his movements on the mirror as he pulled his cock free. 

You sighed at the sight, your mouth watering with the thought of licking his cock clean. He was so hard and heavy, leaking all over himself, and if you weren’t so desperate to have him inside you, you would’ve turned around and sucked him like he had teached you, until you were crying and he was cumming down your throat. 

“Don’t ride it. Just keep it in.” Taehyung shattered your dreams just as fast as he had built them, a frown covering your features as he placed his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. “Keep my cock warm as you touch yourself, baby. Make a mess on it and I’ll think about fucking you, alright?” 

Taehyung always had wonderful arguments, because that had you agreeing within a second. You struggled to place yourself over him, lining his tip with your entrance and, just as you were about to sink down, he stopped you. 

“No, baby.” Taehyung placed his hand on your chin, tilting your head towards the mirror. “Want you to watch too.” 

“I’ll watch,” you guaranteed, earning a soft smile in return. 

You sat down on his member with ease, thankful for how absolutely soaked you were. Ever since Taehyung had taken your virginity, you realized that you would never get enough of that feeling — of his length stretching you wide open, hitting every spot and throbbing inside you. Back when you had your first time, you had been so flustered that you couldn’t even watch when Taehyung entered you and, now, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from your reflection, your hand clenching the hem of your skirt so it didn’t cover the view. 

Behind you, Taehyung moaned out at the sensation, his eyes closing. “That’s it, baby, fuck.” He breathed out. “This pussy was made for me.” 

And you felt the same, felt like the two of you were made to be together like that, a perfect match for one another. 

Before you could react, his hands were back on your body, playing with your tits as you squirmed under his touches. The movement of your hips against him was automatic, filling the room with the sounds of your wetness and a beautiful whimper coming from your throat. “T-Tae, I’m…” 

“Sit still,” he commanded, ignoring your shy requests for forgiveness. You managed to stop your body from moving, instead focusing on how perfectly he was buried inside you, his pelvis glued against your ass. “Didn’t you want to cum? So, go ahead. Play with your clit, baby.” 

Another moan left you as he pushed your breasts together. “But I want to—“ 

“No, no. You already asked for what you wanted,” he interrupted. Taehyung’s eyes were hooded and dark, looking at you from the reflection like they were daring you to disobey him. “Play with your pussy for me, baby. Cum all over my cock. That’s all you’re gonna get for now.” 

You agreed with a frail movement of your head, your fingers moving back to your sensitive nub. You coated them in your juices before pressing down on your clit, crying out in sensitivity as you started to rub yourself again. This time, with the feeling of Taehyung’s cock inside you, it was much easier to find where you had left off, your walls clenching dangerously tight around him as you searched for your high. 

Taehyung continued to watch you, his gaze burning your body. He was biased, yes, but you were the hottest thing he had ever laid eyes upon. And he wasn’t ignoring the way you were moaning out his name, your perfect cunt clenching around his cock, the sweet smell of your perfume infiltrating his nose. All of you was perfect, handmade for him, and he was going insane knowing that you were all his. 

“Gonna cum,” you warned, looking at him through parted lids. Taehyung, of course, knew that already. He knew your body better than yourself. “Can I cum?” 

Taehyung smiled — you were so cute. He had already allowed you to and, yet, there you were, making sure his desires hadn’t changed. Even though you were about to break, you still needed his permission. “Of course, baby,” he said. “You’ve been so patient. So perfect for me. You can cum whenever you want.” 

He could not even blink when you finally tipped over the edge, your pussy gushing down on his cock and pulsating around it as you finally — finally! — found your high. Taehyung knew all those small mannerisms already — the opening of your lips, the rolling of your eyes, the high pitch of your voice — but he couldn’t help but feel like he was experiencing them for the very first time. 

And as you came down from your moment of euphoria, your thighs jittery from overstimulation, Taehyung had erased every single doubt from his mind: you were, undoubtedly, the most precious, beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

[snoopdoodle]

yellow! i've come from sunbee's blog :)) i just want to say that i love your writing! you're an amazing author and ill definitely request from you! right now actually! may i request a cc!karlnapity x reader where they're all meeting up and they're at the airport waiting for reader and when reader eventually does show up the boys are all over them and wind up squabbling over reader in the middle of the airport lmao :> thank you!

Y'ellow!! Hi, and of course i'll do this!! I love karlnapity, so this'll be fun! It might be short, so I appolgize, but please enjoy :] <3 (ALSO PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS WENT AGAINST THEIR BOUNDARIES, ILL CHANGE IT IF IT DID!!)

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Plane Rides

cc!Karl, cc!Quackity, cc!Sapnap x gn!reader

pronouns: they/them

summary: reader getting off their plane, the boys waiting for them.

Quackity, or better known as Alex, paced around the small area he and his friends were in. “What if their flight is late?” He asked, worried that the 4 hour wait they’ve been sitting through would be worth nothing. Karl sighed, this was the 5th time he had heard that question. “Their flight wasn’t delayed, Alex.” Karl spoke, filling in for Nick’s words, as he had fallen asleep. “I know-” Alex started, but Karl had cut him off. “Do you? You asked that question 5 times already.” Karl had dragged. Alex sighed. A ping was heard from one of their phones.

Alex picked up his, but alas there was no message, so he shook his head and turned to Karl. Karl was looking at his phone, but shook his head no as well. The duo turned to Nick in sync and stared at the groggy man who had been woken up by the ping, which was filled by a buzz, in his back pocket. He opened his phone and his eyes grew wide. He quickly typed in his phone password, confusing the others for a second. Nick looked at the image, uttering a small “What the hell?”

Karl raised an eyebrow and Quackity pulled the phone down to his level on the floor. His eyes were wide and he quickly stood up, looking in the direction of where the photo was taken. “Y/N!” He yelled, stirring some people awake, but at this point, he didn’t care anymore. You gave a laugh, alerting the trio of your presence behind them. You were trying to go for a scare, but Alex’s scream caught you off guard. “AHHH!” Nick yelled as he ran to tackle you in a hug.

You laughed out in pain as your back hit the ground, but you were so happy, it didn’t matter. “Y/N!!” Karl and Alex yelled in sync, running to jump on the dog pile. You groaned out of pain, barely being able to breathe. “G-Gotta breathe…” You wheezed out. Karl had dragged himself and Alex off of you as Nick snuggled into your neck saying, “No you don’t.” You laughed a bit, shoving him off of yourself. He gave a fake cry of sadness, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“So, we’re gonna have a boys night?” Alex asked as the 4 of you walked through the crowds to get to his car. You didn’t notice a fan stalking up behind you, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You blinked and turned around to see a 5’2-5’3 kid behind you. “Hello, are you [Online Name]” He asked. You nodded and smiled. He looked at you and beamed. “Sorry to bother you, but I love your all’s content!” He smiled, his brownish hair waving around as he bounced up and down.You smiled and patted his head. “If you want, we could take a picture.” You offered.

He smiled, and you grabbed the boys in for it. “WOAH-” Nick yelled, not ready for the picture to be taken. You smiled as the kid grabbed his phone, but they stopped and looked up at you. “You sure? You all seemed pretty tired… besides, there’ll be other chances.” He spoke, making you grin even more. For once, a fan thought of you all over themself. He grabbed his phone and handed it to you to take a picture. You did, and when it was done you watched how he walked off. He paused and turned around, stopping himself from walking back to his mom. “I’ll catch your next stream!” He yelled at you.

Alex and Karl laughed as Nick tiredly chuckled. You nodded, watching as he turned back around and went to his mom. You four walked off and went to the car. If everyone was like this? You'd live here forever.