#There's no rules. Only things that help and don't help

[nikknamed-ink]

What helps me in life, or rather the thing I struggle with most, is pressure.

I had a time during my school days, when I didn't write at all. I only noticed this like a year in, but I simply had no time due to the school pressure and having to learn, and stuff.

I also had a time, maybe it was even the same timeframe but I don't remember fully, when I decided that if I can't finish anything I start I can't start anything new.

This pressure led to me not writing at all for that time.

Maybe situation A caused B, maybe the other way around, but I spent a long long while not writing.

I think what helped me out of it, ultimately,was a) to give it time. And b) to take all the pressure out. Or, as much as I could.

That could look like: only writing down ideas (a habit I rly rly encourage. Write down your ideas every time you get them bc that means you'll get more and it's generally a lot of fun to look at later on). Or... Only writing dialogue. Or something that might help you: if you wanna get back, but you can't get far, set yourself the goal of writing one (1) word per day. Just one. If you feel like more you can write more. But just write one. That's all it takes.

Because I generally find that putting pressure on myself to do it all always super well it... Leads to disappointment and pain when I get a bad day and I get rly hard on myself about it.

Which, also, I wanna talk about: be kind to yourself. Focus on what you did do, not what you didn't.

When you said you managed to write 2 sentences and then faltered, that's two entire sentences! That's amazing. Like, you went from not using those muscles to two sentences. That's infinite improvement.

But I think, what's most important, is listen to your body and brain. If something doesn't work it usually is a clue for the fact that you're going at it wrong. Find different routes. If you wrote a lot of prose (novel-like text for example), then try poetry. If you can't get descriptions down, try dialogue only. Or the reverse. How about movie scripts? Comics? See what strikes your fancy!

I'm currently in a phase where I don't really write much in the "the story moves forward" sense, but I plan a lot. I think about the stories, I try to figure out where the story goes and what the problems are and why this character does that.

Lean into what works, and ignore what doesn’t for now. And look at that in a week or so and try to figure out why.

Also, best tip of mine: grab yourself a buddy and talk with them about your ideas. Brainstorm together. Create ideas that aren't intended to be written down. There's lots of games for this. (or if you don't know any, plushies or making an audio to yourself are great ways to just talk out loud to yourself about the story or characters or whatever it is that actually drives you to the stories you wanna tell.

See what works. Celebrate it. And be proud of what you're doing. Pressure is the enemy of creativity. At least it is for me.

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[mikkies]

「 BEFORE, I DO MORE THAN I SPEAK OUT. 」

Forsaken! Survivors x GN! Coil! Reader

warnings: mentions of blood and mild violence

notes: went against my own rules... sigh..

➹ — Guest 1337

He's the first to reach you when the exit opens, sprinting back into danger just to drag you out even as alarms blare.

“You did more than enough,” he says, shaking, trying not to cry while patching up your face with trembling hands.

The sight of you makes him physically ill — covered in blood, barely standing, armor shredded. And you still tried to walk on your own.

In the lobby, even when wounds don't fully heal, he won’t let you out of his sight. He carries you, lets you sleep on him.

Tries to make jokes to lighten the mood. You don’t laugh. He breaks down later thinking it’s because he failed to protect you.

➹ — Chance

He jokes at first, thinking you're just playing a real cruel joke.

“Rough day at the round?”

but you don’t respond, just blink at him through crusted lashes and a split lip.

When you collapse after exiting, he panics like you’ve died and clutches you like you're glass.

It's the first time he’s silent around you. Genuinely shaken.

He watches over you in the lobby like a ghost, just lingering in the corner with bloodied knuckles from punching a wall (or maybe someone).

He knows how it feels to give and give until you're nothing. You don't even have to speak. He just… understands.

➹ — Elliot

Elliot freezes when he sees you. That’s not “a little blood” — that’s trauma incarnate.

“Geez—what the hell did they do to you?”

He’s angry. Not at you. At the Spectre, the game, the Killer, at 007n7 if he happened to be in the round and didn’t help.

If he’s holding pizza slices, he shoves every last one in your hands despite your protests. 

“Eat. Heal. I don't care if it tastes like cardboard.”

Doesn’t normally touch people, but he holds your shoulder the whole time you're in the lobby like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

➹ — Taph

The moment he sees you post-match, he coos lowly and nuzzles you, feathers ruffling.

“🥺😭🤕” (You okay? I’m scared, you’re hurt. Let me help.)

He tries to help by giving Builderman the necessary equipment to heal you with. 

You try to stop him. He shakes his head angrily. You stop resisting.

Sits near you or 3 feet away from you even if you’re safe. No fear. Just trying to make sure you're safe even if you can handle yourself.

➹ — 007n7

The second he sees you, he assumes you died and goes still, pale.

When you breathe, he falls to his knees in relief. “Oh thank god—I'm so sorry—I should’ve—”

He blames himself even if he wasn’t there. He always does.

Cries quietly while holding your hand, too afraid to hug you in case he hurts you more.

If you don’t say anything, he understands. If you cry, he won’t let go.

His whole vibe changes. He starts using himself as bait more in the next rounds so you don’t have to burn out again.

➹ — Builderman

Builderman freezes when he sees you stumble into the lobby. His usual calm cracks instantly.

“No… No no no—”

He drops his tools and rushes over, catching you before you collapse. The blood on your uniform, the broken movement—it makes him panic in a way he hasn’t in years.

He gets you to a cot in the corner of the lobby and immediately starts pulling materials from his inventory — not just medkits, but parts of healing devices, handmade painkillers, repurposed wires for splints.

He's constantly muttering to himself.

“You’re still breathing. Good. Stay with me. I’ll fix this. I have to fix this…”

The other survivors watch in silence. They've never seen him like this. There's blood on his gloves and sweat on his face.

Builderman’s hands shake while trying to patch you up, even though he’s done this dozens of times. Because this time it’s you.

Afterward, when you're unconscious but safe, he stays by your side, arms crossed, eyes never leaving you. If anyone tries to joke or downplay what happened, they get the glare.

➹ — Noob

Noob sees you stagger through the exit and just freezes, Bloxy Cola halfway to their mouth.

Their whole face twists. It’s not the scared, “uh-oh” kind of expression you’re used to — it’s pure horror. They whisper your name, slowly stepping forward, food dropping from their hands.

They don’t even know what to do. They’ve never seen that much blood on anyone.

Tries to hand you their medkit right away.

“Y-You—you need this more than me. Please. Please use it. Please...”

They panic when you collapse and yell for someone — anyone — to come help. They grab medkits even if they don’t know how to use them right.

Once you’re resting in the lobby, they hover nearby with tearful eyes, trying to feed you food slowly like you’re a dying patient.

“Do you want burger? No—wait, too much chewing—uhhh jello? I can— I’ll mash up pizza. Do you want mashed pizza?”

Even if you’re half-unconscious, they refuse to leave your side. They keep talking quietly, nervously, trying to keep you awake.

➹ — Two Time

Two Time is still smiling when they see you. That dagger is twirling lazily in one hand, blood on their boots, head slightly tilted.

Their first words? Not “Are you okay?” but:

“You almost crossed over, didn’t you?” “...What did you see?”

They're fascinated. Not in a cruel way — but in a morbid, reverent, terrifying way. You were so close to the edge. To death. To respawn.

They crouch beside your mangled body, brushing bloody hair from your face gently, eyes wide and sparkling.

“You bled for them. You broke for them. And you came back... You’re beautiful like this.

While others panic or cry, Two Time is calm. Too calm. Holding pressure to your wounds, whispering verses about rebirth under their breath.

Offers you their own second life. You’re too weak to understand. Their dagger is in their palm. They’re ready to sacrifice themselves if you die.

Builderman and Guest have to intervene. They drag Two Time off of you when their chanting gets too intense.

“Glory to the Spawn…! Let them rise! Let them—AAAH—LET GO OF ME—THEY’RE MEANT TO ASCEND—!!”

After you stabilize, they don’t say sorry. 

But they do sit by your bedside, humming. You’re bandaged, half-asleep, and they’re staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching.

➹ — Dussekar

Dusekkar appears behind you like a ghost, no footsteps, no warning — just a gentle flare of orange flame inside his head.

“Tattered soul and broken skin… What a storm you’ve weathered in.”

He kneels beside you as your head droops, your blood soaking into the floor. He doesn’t flinch.

“I see the wounds that none can bind, I see your heart — still brave, still kind.”

He doesn’t heal like Builderman, but comforts. He pulls bandages from his belt and quietly, skillfully wraps your arms.

His rhymes are soft. Like lullabies for the half-dead.

“Rest now, flame that burns so bright… Not all heroes end the fight.”

When the others avoid your gaze, Dusekkar speaks for you.

“Do not fear what blood may say — this one bled to light your way.”

He never calls you foolish for sacrificing yourself. He calls it divine.

➹ — Shedletsky

Shedletsky is busy making some dumb joke when you come limping in, covered in red, barely recognizable.

Mid-sentence, he stops. His wings twitch.

His smile vanishes. In seconds, he’s at your side. His goofy swim shorts barely move with how fast he crouches down.

“Hey, hey, hey—no dying. That’s my thing. You don’t get to steal my bits.”

He calls out over his shoulder: “Get Builderman. Now.” His voice? Cold. Commanding. Not funny anymore.

Carefully he would pull off his “BLAME JOHN” shirt and presses it to your worst wound, like it’s all he can offer. 

“This is gonna hurt, but you’re tough. Tougher than me, maybe. Just hang on, alright?”

Once you're stabilized, he sits with you, blood drying on his arms. He tries to crack a joke — then swallows it when you flinch.

You ask, “...Did I do okay?” Shedletsky stares for a beat, then gently flicks your forehead. 

“You did better than okay. You saved us, you stubborn pancake. Now rest.”

[gay-for-helen]

A lot of people like the headcanon that Aphrodite appears differently to each person depending on what their ideal of beauty is, but I don't think we talk enough about the potential of Helen doing the same thing.

Leda gives birth to the daughter of Zeus, and everyone says she is the most adorable baby they have ever seen. But no one can agree on the color of her hair or the shape of her features. When the young Helen looks in the mirror, she thinks she looks just like her big sister, the most beautiful woman she can imagine. But when she says as much to Clytemnestra, her sister is confused. Helen is unlike any woman she has seen in Sparta, she says, with forest-green eyes and hair like sunlight on wood.

Helen starts training with the other girls, and she sees less and less of Clytemnestra in her reflection. Instead, she sees the warm brown eyes of the visiting prince who smiled at her across the table, the square jaw of the girl who pinned her in wrestling practice and shot her a wink before she rose. The sons of Atreus come to stay in Sparta, and after a few conversations with the younger brother, Helen finds that her hair has turned his exact shade of red. It stays that way for months after he leaves, and so when scores of suitors arrive hoping to claim the woman of their dreams, he is the one she picks. And they rule together, and laugh together, and lie together, and he tells her that he loves her. But in the long hours of the night, she can't help but wonder if he would still say so if her face wasn't perfectly tailored to his desires.

She is the woman of every man's dreams, and so of course she is the perfect prize for the goddess of beauty to promise the Prince of Troy. With Paris, it is never a question of whether or not he loves her- if she were not a perfect beauty in his eyes, he would have stayed with his first wife, with whom Helen is certain he had more to talk about. In Troy, she is never just Helen. The women look at her and they see the sister that was taken in a raid, the husband that was killed on the battlefield, and they despise her.

And are the Greeks any better? Her unnatural beauty called them to the shores of Sparta all those years ago, drove them to make a pact that only one of them stood to gain from. They have been at war for ten years because of her, they mutter, and so they despise her too. But when they have her in their clutches at last and they gather together to stone her to death, she lifts her veil, and the stones drop from their hands. She bears the face of the wife they have spent ten years yearning for, the lover they lost to a Trojan blade, and not one of them can bring themself to kill her.

The gift of her beauty saves her life, and the curse of her beauty condemns her. Because for the rest of her life, she will be the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who brought so much suffering and death simply by existing, a woman who escaped the war unscathed but bears the face of every soul lost in it. She will always be someone else's Helen, and she will never know who she is when no one is looking.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

The Heart of a True Believer: Chapter One

➾In Which: Neverland is dying and you, my dear, are the only way it can survive.

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

Star's Fairytale July

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, 40's fantasy au, dub-con, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: peter pan hongjoong !!!! a spin on "( Return to ) Neverland", loosely inspired by "Once Upon A Time", heavy fantasy elements: pixie dust can make people fly, magical island - things don't age + weather in tune with hj's emotions, shadows act separately from bodies, hj has unspecified magic powers, fantasy drug use + tripping balls HARD. reader is wendy's daughter, talk of arranged marriage + period accurate stereotypes of women (briefly), kidnapping but it's chill (reader is okay with it when she realizes what's happened), featuring lost boys!ateez, something is off...

➯a/n: AAAAAAAAH- calm down omg 😮‍💨 kkkkk are we even a little bit surprised that this turned into a multi-parter ? hongjoong is my bias, Return to Neverland is my all time favorite movie- i can't help myself okay !!? no smut this chapter but when it happens it's gonna be freak nasty anywayyyy enjoy <33

˚⊱like a fairytale⊰˚@m00njinnie @tinyteezer @boxofhyunebuns @ninjakitty15 @binniesbabe @cocostar1117 @raicecakes-and-buldak @scheepsmans @cherrytaesan @motheraiya55 @cotton-candyclouds @tunafishyfishylike ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+, MINORS WILL WALK THE PLANK.

Your mother always told you stories.

Of a place called Neverland.

A beautiful island with blue seas and bright skies and green grass. A place where there was only one rule — never grow up.

Even as you did, unfortunately, have to grow older; you clung to those stories. You think of them, to this very day.

Your mother told them like she was there. She was either an incredibly talented story teller — or she was there when Captain Hook was almost swallowed by a crocodile.

And she wasn't very good at telling other stories. They only felt real when she spoke of Neverland.

Maybe it's just a way to hold onto your childhood, but you do find yourself truly believing in all of the fantastical tales she told you about Neverland. Before you realize that's ridiculous.

Kim Hongjoong isn't real and people don't fly.

But... it's always fun to imagine, you suppose.

What it would be like to meet the same Lost Boys you've heard a hundred stories about. How it would feel to be sprinkled in Fairy Dust. How it might feel to fly.

You scoff to yourself as you find your mind wandering towards Neverland again, so much so that you've been standing still as you're meant to be packing.

It must be so beautiful. Your mother spoke so fondly of it.

It would be so different to what you know. Dull colors and a life of never ending work to stay afloat. A life of being told what to do, who to do it with.

"You're daydreaming again," your younger brother says from the doorway.

"And what of it?" You sigh, quickly folding up the shirt in your hands.

"You need to stop," he shrugs, like it's obvious, "what if you zoned out while watching your children?"

"Who says I am having children?"

"Your new husband, I would think."

A stalemate. You turn on your heel quickly and glare at him.

You used to be so close. You used to play and share stories and you have saved each other from trouble more times than you could count.

But he grew up. You are still a girl at heart, and he is a man. And men in this society — you do not care for them. Even if it happens to be a man made from a boy you once close with.

"I have said a million times, Danny-"

"Yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes, dismissing you, "you don't want kids. You need to grow up, (Y/n)."

You storm towards him, poking his chest and searching for the words to express how you feel in a way he might understand. But, you think you finally realize, he never will understand.

"Ugh!" You groan, shoving him out of the way and slamming your door.

You can't help it. You yourself are a child at heart, and everyone expects you to be a mother? They want you to grow up?

You never want to grow up.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You had went to sleep after hours of fantasizing, wishing. In your bed, you roll over — only for your cheek to meet something that feels like sand. Water laps at your feet, soaking your socks and the bottom of your long nightgown.

You open your eyes quickly, coming face to face with the granulated Earth, sunlight blinding you before you bring your hand over your eyes. "What the fuck..." You whisper to yourself as you roll onto your knees.

A branch snaps in the tree line not too far away; but you're too frazzled to notice it as you place both your hand in the sand and pick up two handfuls; letting it slip between your fingers as you stare at it in disbelief.

"What the fuck?!" You yell this time as you scramble to your feet, stumbling. You look around frantically.

For what, you aren't sure. But you find a short beach on one side of you before it quickly turns into dense forest, and an endless dark ocean on your other. The sky bright blue and cloudless.

You fall right back down in shock, eyes wide as you look into the ocean. The ocean that you live nowhere near.

"Did-" The voice that comes from behind you makes you scream, turning around quickly and scooting away from the source; backing into the water.

"Oh, god! I'm sorry!" The young man backs up as well, putting a good amount of space between you.

He's tall, light blue hair, brown eyes — your eyes flick back to his hair. Blue? Who in the world has blue hair? You continue to scan him quickly; your heart stopping when you see the sheathed dagger on his loose leather belt.

"Hey," he says softly, raising his hands slowly as he sees your panicked state, "I'm not going to hurt you..."

"Where are we?" You demand to know with a wavering voice, shivering as the cold ocean water seeps into your skin; the entire bottom half of your sleep dress soaked.

"We are on-" He tilts his head. Recognition in his eyes as he inspects you just as you did to him. His arms fall to his sides. "Wendy?"

You back further into the water as he steps closer, soft shock written on his face. You sink in the sand slightly, pushing yourself up as you glare at him. "Who are you?" How do you know my mother? Is another question you want to ask. And how are you mistaking me for her?

The stranger turns to tree line, yelling, "It's Wendy! Wendy is back!"

Your jaw drops as three other young men appear from various spots among the trees swiftly — almost like... they're excited.

Who are these people? How do they know your mom? Where the fuck are you?

Those, and a million more questions run through your mind as you try to take in the frenzy of activity.

"Wendy?!" One of them drops from a branch, hanging upside down on his legs. "No way!" The fake rabbit ears attached to his hat flop as he swings; falling upright onto his feet.

"How? You left forever ago!" Another runs up quickly: curly hair bouncing with his movements, the quiver of arrows on his back doing the same.

The last one is silent as he follows them — but there's a flick of joy in his eyes. Blond hair all messy.

But you don't have time to think about any of that before the men are bombarding you with questions.

How did you get back here? How's John? How's Micheal? What's going on in the world? Did you get their messages from the shadows? How old are you now? Do you forgive-

"Stop it!" You scream as tears start slipping past your waterline. Completely and utterly overwhelmed, scared.

"Jeez, Wendy!" The one with the rabbit ears says, "we're just excited to see you! It's been so long... You grew up a bit." He looks a bit sad at the fact that 'you' are no longer how he remembers. "We've missed you so much- oh, we need to tell the others! Hon-"

"That's not Wendy..." The blond pouts, inspecting you closer. Kneeling in the water with you, he picks up your arm even as you flinch. "Her scar isn't there."

Her scar. You remember it quite clearly. She said she had got it when she was trying to learn how to sword fight with San in Neverla—

You look between them again.

'And Yunho had the most colorful hair! Blue as the sky, it was so beautiful.' The blue haired man looks down at you with his eyebrows pinching together.

'-that's when Seonghwa came swinging from the trees! His bunny ears moved with him like they were apart of him-' He tilts his head, and the bunny ears go with him.

'Yeosangie... ah, he was such a talented archer. He had such adorable curls in his hair.' The curly haired man looks down at you, as confused as the rest of them.

'My favorite Lost Boy? Oh, you know I could never choose~ ... I have to? Well, I suppose it would have been San. He gave me this scar here, you see? And then he felt so bad he gave himself one to match.'

"No. No way," you grab the blond man's wrist quickly and shove his sleeve up. Sure enough — there is a scar that matches the one your mother had.

You stand up quickly, all of the men backing up. You turn in a circle, taking in the island again. "Is... Are we on Neverland?"

They all hesitate; looking between one another. "If you aren't Wendy," the man you think must be Jeong Yunho asks slowly, "who are you?"

"I'm her daughter!" You laugh, disbelief in your eyes as you look all over the place, rambling. "Oh, goodness! My mom told me all kinds of stories about this place, about- about you guys! I knew it was real, I knew it had to be- everyone said she was crazy but I believed her! Her brothers too, I knew they remembered something, they looked too fond when she spoke of you all-"

The men watch you, dumbstruck. "Daughter?" San and Yeosang ask together.

"Yeah!" You turn back to them with a smile, but it quickly falls when you see their mistrust.

"How could Wendy have a daughter as old as you are?" Seonghwa pouts down at the sand, "has she really been gone that long?"

"She really grew up." San realizes, sadly, as he looks at you closely again. "You look just like her, too- how I thought she would, anyway..."

"I don't believe you," Yunho shakes his head, "no. Wendy would never be so grown up to have a kid! She can't possibly have been away that long!"

"She left Neverland more than forty years ago," you say, like it's obvious. It is to you. "She had two kids, actually."

But time moves differently on Neverland. To them, it only feels like a handful of years since they've seen your mother. "Forty-" Yeosang stutters, backing up to sit on the dry sand as shock washes over him.

Yunho quickly follows, practically falling beside him. San stays kneeled in the water beside you, and Seonghwa stands completely still.

"H-" The words die on the bunny hatted man's tongue, and he stares at you in puzzlement. "Are you really? Wendy's daughter?"

"Mhm."

"No way." He turns around, waving his hand, "absolute-"

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"-ly no way!" Mingi yells in bewilderment, grabbing you by your jaw the second you enter their camp; practically pressing his nose to your face as he looks at you. "You're telling me that's not Wendy?!" He backs up, crossing his arms over his chest.

The rest of the Lost Boys are here, too. Gathered around a fire lit curtesy of Seonghwa to help you and San dry off.

Yeosang ran ahead of you all and explained to them with a simple 'don't freak out'.

They are indeed freaking out.

Jongho has his hands over his face, peeking between his fingers. Wooyoung is quiet, chewing on his thumbnail. Seonghwa, San, and Yunho are still in shock from walking with you, having been staring at you the whole time. Yeosang seems to be handling it best. Mingi, the worst.

"This is a trick!" Mingi falls to sit next to Jongho on a log, sighing dramatically, "a trick from Hook!"

"Hook can't use magic..." Wooyoung reasons, "how could he do such a trick?"

"It's not a trick," San shakes his head. "She is really Wendy's daughter, she told us all about her. Things Hook would never know."

"How is Wendy?" Seonghwa asks with something soft in his eyes as he looks up at you from his seat across the fire.

"Oh..." You hesitate. Based on their excitement when they thought you were her, they really cared about your mother. She went naturally, but that would still be heard to hear — that the twelve year old girl you once cared for grew up, had an entire life, and passed away all in what felt like a few years to you.

His face drops for a second, as if he can tell just by your pause. Before he can really ask, though —

"Hongjoong will be so happy," Yeosang smiles a bit, "he can finally st-"

Wooyoung tackles him, shoving his hand over his mouth. "Ah! No!"

You tilt your head as you look towards them, "what's that about?" You ask Seonghwa, turning back to him and jumping as you see a shadowy figure lowering itself behind him.

He doesn't flinch, though, he's used to the shadow. He looks up to it, meeting its stark white eyes. "Did you do this?" He points to you.

It nods.

"Was it Hongjoongs bidding?"

Hongjoong; you had almost forgotten about the leader of the Lost Boys. You wonder where he might be.

It shakes its head. You yelp as it quickly fades through him and towards you, pointing at your heart.

Everyone is quiet now.

"Return." Seonghwa snaps his fingers, and the shadow flies up into the trees. He looks down at his feet.

"Wh-" You breathe as you watch it disappear, "what was that?"

"That was Hongjoong's shadow," Yunho hums while he passes you a wooden cup, something warm and steaming inside of it, "didn't she tell you about that?" He can see why not.

"No, she didn't."

"All of our shadows act like that... Going outside of our bodies, I mean," Yeosang offers with a shrug, having pushed Wooyoung off of him.

An unintelligible yell comes from somewhere in the distance. You all turn towards it. "I suppose his shadow has informed him-" Jongho's whispering is cut off when a rush of wind cuts into the clearing; carrying along with it Kim Hongjoong.

He floats much like his shadow did, for a moment, as he stares at you with wide eyes. He falls, stumbling on his feet. The sunlight is replaced with clouds quickly. Thunder rumbles overhead. A bolt of lightning strikes within the camp; frightening you into Sans side.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa stands up quickly, placing a hand on the shorter man's shoulder, "it is not her. Wendy has a daug-"

Hongjoong doesn't hear a thing he says, pointing at you with misplaced anger as he yells, "I told you never to return! Why have you come here?"

You turn into Sans chest as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. Frightened of the man who you know has the powers to hurt you without ever laying a hand on you.

He and your mother must have had a falling out when she left Neverland as a child.

"Hongjoong!" Seonghwa yells, "that is not Wendy!" His head snaps to him, fury clear on his face. "That is Wendy's daughter! Your shadow brought her..." He whispers more to the man, but you don't hear it; especially because San places a hand over your head comfortingly.

"Oh, wow," his shoulders slump. Relieved. More than relieved. Then he realizes what he's done, "oh! I'm so sorry, I-" He sighs, looking to Seonghwa for help.

"Your mother didn't leave Neverland on the best of terms," he says slowly, "did she tell you?"

She never did. She always changed the subject. You shake your head.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"I am sorry again," Hongjoong says as he enters the quiet room.

In one of the small tents, Seonghwa's you think; given the different rabbit hats strewn about, you take shelter from the drizzling rain.

Hongjoong asked for a moment alone. You hesitated, but given that everyone was a literal shout away in the crowded camp; you gave in.

"You frightened me," you say back, picking at your socks as you sit in the corner, never meeting his eyes. Your mother spoke so softly of him, painted a picture of a man almost entirely different to what you witnessed. He looked ready to sic his shadow on you or strike you down with some painful magic.

He slowly lowers himself to sit in front of you. "You look exactly like her..." He pouts as he takes a good look at you, "she really broke my heart. Not- not like that, but," he shrugs, "still."

"How?"

"She left." He utters, "she grew up. She broke our one rule. And she took John and Micheal with her."

It's more than that. You can tell. "Why, uhm, why did she leave, actually? She only ever told good stories of you, she loved it here."

He leans his hand in his palm as he stares at you. Calculating, and it turns softer when you finally look at him. "I think... she just wanted to grow up. Neverland isn't for everyone. But," he leans forward a bit, "my shadow tells me you don't want to grow up."

Confusion flickers in your eyes. His shadow told him that? How does it even know?

"Is that true?" He asks, looking hopeful. His dark eyes shine in the lanterns glow, his red hair casting a shadow over his face. A bit of thunder rumbles outside. "You don't want to grow up anymore?"

You think for a moment. The thunder crashes. The rain comes down harder as he searches your face for any clues to what you're thinking.

You don't want to. You would dread returning home. To an arranged marriage and a life of being forced to be someone you aren't.

"No, I don't."

He smiles, wide. "Yeah!" He cheers, standing up quickly and clapping as he spins, "that's what I like to hear! Come on!" He grabs you up by your hand as you stumble, leading you back out to the clearing.

"Woah! Wh-" You stutter as you look up to the clear sky through the gaps in the dripping leaves. Hadn't it just been storming?

"Lost Boys! Fall in!"

The others emerge quickly from the other tents, wide eyes and buzzing with hardly contained curiosity as to what you've talked about.

Hongjoong stands behind you, grabbing your shoulders, "will you tell me again, is it true you never want to grow older?"

A bit unnerved, you nod, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Never ever? Once you become a Lost B- a Lost Girl," he corrects himself with a grin, "you cannot leave Neverland. Your mother was never officially a Lost Girl, and your uncles never Lost Boys. You will not be able to leave like they did. You will remain on Neverland."

The Lost Boys watch closely from their line-up. San shifts on his feet as if he's nervous.

"I don't want to leave," you say before you can think anymore about it. "I don't want to be a grown up anymore."

His grin broadens. "Perfect," he giggles, grabbing either side of your head before kissing the top of it. "The very first Lost Girl."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"-saying is it not better to wait because of that?" San's voice catches your attention as Yeosang and Jongho show you the encyclopedia of all the different kinds of plants native to the island; keeping you busy in awe as the others hurry around you to prepare — well... exactly what they're preparing, you're unsure of.

You look over to his voice, watching him chase after Hongjoong; who dismisses him quickly. "No."

"Hongjoong-"

"We waited last time and look what happened! No, s-" His voice gets further away, and Jongho masks what he says entirely as he starts bickering with Yeosang about how he spelled something in the book wrong.

You look back to it as Yeosang argues back that it doesn't have a correct spelling — that they made up the name to begin with.

It's starting to feel more comfortable on Neverland now the initial chaos has passed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The sun sets slowly and makes way for nighttime on Neverland, darkness falling over the camp and shadows dancing within the flickering light of the fire.

You sit on the Earth in front of the flames, watching as Hongjoong goes around and hands a berry to each of the Lost Boys; who sit on the logs around the fire. He has two more left as he takes a seat next to you.

"It will make me see things?" You ask as he sets one of the berries in your palm.

It's got a soft luminescence to it, glowing gently onto your face. The silvery-blue color is unlike anything you've seen in nature before.

"If it does its job right," he smiles, looking around to the others, "we've all done it before, you have nothing to worry about. It's a right of passage to become a Lost Boy, and now for our first Lost Girl."

"And... it's safe?" You hum as you pinch the berry carefully between your fingers.

"Of course," Hongjoong shrugs, "totally harmless."

Wooyoung giggles a little bit, getting his shoulder shoved by San's with a quiet, "jackass."

"We'll all be doing it with you," Seonghwa leans and puts a hand on your shoulder comfortingly, "it's like... a family trip!"

"How does it feel?"

"You will probably get cold," Mingi speaks up quietly, the first time he's done so since Hongjoong returned. He's still in a little bit of shock, more than the rest. You remember your mother telling you that while the others always treated her like she was their age; Mingi always treated her like a little sister.

"And it will feel like you're floating!" Yeosang offers more enthusiastically.

"But sinking at the same time!" Jongho adds quickly.

"Floating, but sinking?" You ask with a small laugh, "how is that possible?"

Hongjoong lifts his hand to your lips, offering the berry he holds, "ready to find out?"

The Lost Boys watch intently as you open your mouth, letting the leader drop the glowing fruit onto your tongue; making you a Lost Girl. The first of your kind.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You felt as though you were sinking. Your muscles heavy, bones feeling dense.

But at the same time, you felt as if you were floating. Your stomach full with butterflies and your head light.

The berry had melted on your tongue nearly half an hour ago, the sweet flavor was so potent it almost made you gag. The others followed suit, just as they promised.

The effects hit Yunho first. He was just talking to Yeosang when he suddenly started giggling; going on to say that he looked like a tree elf with his fluffy hair. Yeosang followed, laughing with him as they both touched his hair in awe.

Jongho wasn't very fair behind, laying on his back next to you and a few others when he asked if you could all see the leaves breathing. Wooyoung, from his side, agreed.

You and San laid next to them, watching the leaves above you closely to see if you could tell what they meant. He hadn't left your side since you took the berry.

Mingi lays half asleep on a log, tracing patterns in the dirt and smiling as they appear to start moving on their own.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa sit a bit further away, their backs against mirroring trees. "Maybe she needs another," Hongjoong says as he bites his nail nervously, "it doesn't look like it's hit her yet."

"It will hit her. One berry is more than enough, we don't want her to get sick and throw it up." Seonghwa sighs as he looks away from you, kicking his foot against his lightly, "how do you feel?"

"Better already. I felt it when she arrived — my magic coming back, stronger."

"Perfect timing on your shadows behalf," he takes a steadying breath as he feels the psychedelic effects hitting him. The world looks a little bit blurry. "Seven times I've done this, and it never feels normal."

"For me either," Hongjoong tears his eyes away from you and looks to the slightly older man. "Do you think she will know? When she wakes up, will she feel it?"

Seonghwa shakes his head, shrugging, "it was different between all of us. Most of us couldn't tell, right? I didn't feel any different, even though I knew."

"I suppose," he leans his head back, his chest feeling a bit heavy as the berry soaks into his bloodstream. "Time will tell."

Not a lot of time, it seems. A few minutes later — it hits you.

You're the last one to feel it. And when you do, still laid on your back next to San; you look over to him.

"Can you hear that?" You ask, calling the others attention. Hongjoong stands up quickly, wobbling on his legs. Falling onto his knees next to your head, he puts a palm on your cheek and turns your head back to him.

Your irises are swallowed up in the darkness of your pupil. He smiles.

Yeah, one berry was definitely enough.

"Do you hear it?" You ask him directly, staring up at him with slightly wide eyes.

San leans up on his elbows, looking down at you. "What?"

"The air."

The rest of them still, listening closely. Wooyoung is the first to break, cackling, "oh! I do!"

Activity breaks out in the camp as you disperse slowly, all feeling the effects separately; but doing so together. It's kind of nice, you think.

San never leaves your side. Hongjoong has joined him in keeping you company.

You sit with your back against one of the logs near the fire, watching in awe with your jaw dropped as he places a few pebbles in your palm before making them float. San smiles at the sound of your laughter. It sounds like your Uncle John's. He remembers it clearly.

Seonghwa joins eventually, sitting behind you on the log as you retell a story your mother shared. Your favorite, you tell them. When they had stolen Captain Hooks precious treasure and hid it in dead man's cave, sitting outside and giggling as they listened to Hook and his crew fight the living skeletons to get it back. They remember it. A good day full of trickery.

Hongjoong leans against your shoulder with a small smile. "We can make all kinds of stories like that," he hums, "now that you are a Lost Girl, we have eternity to have fun."

A shiver suddenly runs through your body, urging you to pull your legs to your chest as you lean back into Seonghwa's legs for warmth. He doesn't provide a lot of it, he's just as cold. But he places a hand on your head comfortingly.

"Are you starting to get cold?" Hongjoong inquires with a big smile when you nod.

San opens his eyes and looks over to you, something sad about him as he scans your face. "I'm sorry, Wendy," he whispers, making you a bit confused. You think that in his high, he must be mistaking you for your mother again. But, he's looking over your shoulder as he says, "I will try."

You and the older Lost Boys look to where he speaks, seeing nothing — no one.

"Hm," he yawns, rolling his head back to face the sky and taking your cold hand in his, "bye-bye."

"Strange guy, he is," Hongjoong brushes his behavior off before you can get too concerned. "Why don't you get some shut eye, too?"

"Yeah, I think-" You breathe out, shuddering, "that's a good idea."

"Goodnight, Lost Girl." You hear him say as your eyes droop closed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

-> chapter two (coming soon)

[thewillowfletcher]

Willow smiled as she talked about Matt. "Oh, Nadja..." she chuckled."You think the way he clings to you and touches you is how Matt normally is? He needs you like he needs air, and you're the one worried about being too affectionate." She said

As Nadja brought up Frank willow leaned forward, placing her feet on the floor and elbows on her knees. She reached out for another cigarette.

"The problem is, I'm the problem, not Frank," She said. "I'm not meant to be here, in Hell's Kitchen."

She lit the cigarette. "I have to leave eventually, go back home... to - my best friend." There was something else there, Nadja could see it, but Willow couldn't

"And Frank, well, he can't go with me. I know him too well. He isn't a ghost with a gun, he doesn't have to be, but - I don't know." She took a long drag and leaned back on the couch.

"I would Bucky I'd be gone a few months, clear my head after that girl, Karlie died. How I wanted to go back to working to save people, without the government rules without needed to back to getting arrested every time I saved someone because of all the illegal things I did on the way."

It wasn't the truth, at least not all of it anyway. As the nicotine rushed to her brain, it started to spill out.

I took care of Bucky every night, but the guilt he felt about it, he needed to know that *I knew* I could step away. I want to prove i can do it without him, after years of only doing it with him. So Matt needed help, and here I am."

Willow looked back at Nadja. "Sorry, got carried away.

to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you. by A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt

[formulafanfics13]

Oscar and the reader are friends. They met at boarding school in the United Kingdom and became close because they were foreign students. Things continue like this until a new girl arrives at the boarding school and takes an interest in Oscar. He is afraid of ruining things with you if he tells you he is in love with you, he thinks you don't reciprocate, so he gives the girl a chance. The reader, besides being heartbroken, wonders if he never saw her as a woman, since she was always available to him, hoping he would see her as more than a friend. Our protagonist changes classes and becomes a ghost in Piastri's life. The more distant she becomes, the crazier he becomes. Things between him and another girl end quickly. He confronts his friend and she pushes him away, but he resists and declares his love for her (🔥)

She was always there - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You and Oscar met at fifteen, forming a deep, unspoken bond that never turned romantic — until he fell for someone else. Heartbroken, you disappeared from his life. Years later, on the brink of graduation, he finds you again and confronts the truth: he’s always loved you. In a raw, emotional confession, everything comes to light — ending in a desperate, cathartic, and feral reunion in the school library.

Warnings: Angst, emotional heartbreak, miscommunication, public sex, rough sexual content, school setting, past emotional neglect, intense reunion.

You met Oscar the first week of Year Ten. Both of you new. Both foreign. Both awkward in the way only fifteen-year-olds can be, thrown into a sea of cold uniforms and clipped English vowels and rules you didn’t fully understand.

He sat beside you in Geography. You shared a desk. You shared homework. You shared silence until it turned into familiarity. Then into laughter. Then into something sacred. Something private.

By the end of the year, he knew everything about you, what songs you cried to, what food you hated, how your voice sounded when you were fighting sleep. You knew everything about him too. He was blunt. Brilliant. Terrified of spiders. He’d press the side of his fist to his lips when he laughed and never told anyone when he was hurting, except you.

You were always there. Always.

At 16, he gave you his hoodie when you had cramps during finals week. At 17, he snuck chocolate from the staff kitchen into your bag before your big literature exam. At 18, he held your hand under the table during your birthday dinner because your parents didn’t come.

You never kissed. Never fucked. Never called it anything. But god, you loved him. You thought maybe he’d eventually love you back.

Then she arrived. The new girl. Pretty. Polished. One of those international students with expensive lip gloss and a sharp laugh. She came in halfway through the final term. Laughed too loud. Touched Oscar’s arm when she spoke to him. Wore perfume so sweet it made your stomach turn.

And he liked it. You could see it. In the way his eyes followed her down the hallway. The way he stopped waiting for you after class. The way his texts became shorter, more spaced out. You didn’t ask. You didn’t say a word. You were always afraid he didn’t love you, now you were terrified he never even saw you.

Then he told you. He sat beside you on the library steps one evening, looking everywhere but your face. “I think I’m going to give her a chance.”

That’s all he said. Not a warning. Not a question. Just a fact.

And you smiled, smiled, god help you, and said, “Yeah. Of course.” He didn’t see the way your hands clenched when he walked away. Didn’t hear the sob you swallowed later in the bathroom. Didn’t know you stayed up all night thinking: maybe he never saw me as a girl at all. Maybe I was just convenient. Familiar. Comfort. Not someone you kiss. Not someone you fuck. Just a placeholder until something shinier comes along.

By Monday, you’d changed classes. Science. Literature. Even lunch period. No warning. No note. You ghosted him. Weeks passed. Then months. He texted. You didn’t reply. He showed up at your locker. You weren’t there. He waited outside your dorm. You snuck out the back. The more you disappeared, the more feral he became.

Things with the other girl crumbled fast. Too fast. He was distracted. Cold. Distant. She told him she felt like he was chasing someone who wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t argue. She was right.

Because you weren’t there. He tried to corner you once after class, hand on your wrist, voice low, asking why. You said nothing. Just stared at him with eyes so hollow he almost didn’t recognise you. Then turned around and walked away.

The night it finally snapped was the last week before graduation. The halls were quieter than usual. Everyone gone or partying. You were alone in the old library, the upper floor no one used anymore. Feet tucked beneath you on the couch, a book in your lap, music low in your headphones.

And then Oscar. He didn’t knock. Didn’t call your name. Just stood in the doorway, chest rising fast, eyes dark. You looked up. Met his gaze. And something cracked.

“What the fuck did I do?” he said, voice shaking.

You blinked. “Osc-”

“No, fuck this,” he snapped. “You disappeared. You left me. You changed your whole schedule just to avoid me and you never said a fucking thing.”

“I had to,” you said quietly.

“Why?” His voice broke. “Because I liked someone? Because I tried something new? Was that all it took for you to hate me?”

You stood up. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sure act like it.”

You stared at him. At the lines in his face that weren’t there two years ago. The shadows under his eyes. The way he looked at you like you’d ripped something out of him. “I was in love with you,” you whispered. “For years.”

Silence. He blinked. Swallowed.

“I waited,” you continued. “I waited for you to see me. Not as a friend. Not as your backup. As a fucking woman. I thought- I thought maybe if I was always there, you’d finally-”

“I did see you.”

You flinched. He stepped closer. “I saw you every single fucking day. You think I didn’t? You think I didn’t know you were it for me? I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you,” he said. “Of ruining it. Of saying something and hearing no. Because you were my best friend and I thought you didn’t feel it back, and then she showed up and I panicked. I wanted to forget how badly I wanted you. But I couldn’t.”

His hands were shaking. His breath uneven.

“I couldn’t even fuck her properly,” he muttered. “Every time I touched her, I saw your face. Every time I kissed her, I wanted it to be you.”

You stared at him. Rage and grief and lust twisting in your gut like poison. “Why are you here now?” you asked.

“Because I’m done being scared,” he said. “Because I’m done pretending I don’t dream about you every single night. Because I want you. All of you. And I don’t give a shit if it ruins everything.”

And then he was kissing you. Fierce. Desperate. Like he was starving. You pulled at his shirt, fists curled in fabric, teeth clashing. He slammed you into the bookshelf, hands on your thighs, dragging you up until you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your mouth. “You’ve always been mine.”

You moaned, loud, feral, as he rolled his hips against you, hard cock grinding into your centre. Still clothed. Still messy. “You ruined me,” you breathed. “You broke me and now you want to fuck me like nothing happened?”

“No,” he panted. “I want to fuck you because it happened.”

He dropped to his knees, pulled your skirt up, shoved your underwear aside. Then his mouth was on you. Wet. Ruthless. Tongue working you open, fingers digging into your thighs. You cried out, hips bucking, and he held you down like he was drowning in you.

You came with his name on your lips, sharp, trembling, obscene.

And he didn’t stop. He stood up, pulled his cock out, stroked it once, twice, and then slammed into you, shoving you back against the shelves, your legs still around him, your body already shaking.

“Mine,” he growled. “Fucking mine.”

The sound of skin. Of breath. Of books falling off the shelf. Of your moans echoing off stone walls like confessionals. He fucked you like he was claiming you. Like every thrust was an apology and a promise and a punishment. Like he needed to feel every inch of what he lost and what he could still have. When he came, he didn’t pull out. He buried his face in your neck, held you there, and whispered, “I’m never letting you go again.”

And for the first time in a long time. You let yourself believe it.

[laserbobcat]

Soap box moment but bad world building triggers me, I'm annoying like that.

No shade to people who like these tropes as is, I don't want to shit on your porn with plot, and I believe in well tagged free from judgment content. Policing what people draw or write is step 1 to puritanism and other pleasantries like whole works getting deleted and all lgbt content being bagged in with all that. Fiction is a great way to explore and get things out of your system, and the line between what's acceptable and what's not is too easy to move further and further until it's only squeaky clean right wing approved content. Just don't interact with people you think are weirdos that you don't agree with and keep moving. They're just writing weird shit in their little corner, and you are someone's weirdo in your little corner, you wouldn't want people to barge in and shame you to stop because you're a problem to society. Don't create a line at all. Idk we have bigger problems, like all these motherfuckers who actively go out of their way to interact with as much people as possible and actually changing mentalities IRL with shit like "women should be in the kitchen and men can't help themselves and black people are always angry and the lgbt are annoying they're so out there, subscribe for more wisdom"

ANYWAY

Talking about furry sex and leshycat "lore" stuff :3 It's LONG, I'm way too talkative.

Heats: yeah that's all hot and fun, "Oh no shit happened and now we have to deal with the awkwardness. In my defense you jumped on me and I was a bit drunk. No I'm not angry at you. Idk, do you like movies, do you want to see Fast and Furious 27 with me friday?"

BUT LIKE if most of your characters work like that, your society should be entirely different. Ours work with our biology in mind, which is "Let's assume people are horny all the time and show naked women to sell yogurt" or "There's no such thing as "I couldn't help myself" go to jail" (in theory I mean, not talking about how society fails us you know)

Fun fact, I read LeGuin's book The Left Hand Of The Night before I was terminally online and learned the hilarious unholy existence of ABO and stuff, I'm already picky with worlbuilding and this one definitely upped my standards really high. It's a book about bringing a instantaneous communication technology to another planet, it's really cool. Love this series. People on this planet have the particularity of being sexless unless they're going through a heat cycle. It's very casual, it's just how people work. There's places you can go to get it out of your system and whole different social norms around that. The "Oops I'm stuck with someone while in heat that's embarrassing" thing is there too lol. There's no sexual scenes in it though. The hero is a regular human and it's interesting to see how the two protagonists see each other. Good, book, high recommend.

Love how I'm told ABO and these kind of animal instinct based work are either rough kinky porn with maybe plot, or super detailed commentary about society and the way we view sex, so funny. I like the furry tropes way more because there's no nonsensical anatomy and butt babies. Please no butt babies.

But while I like the chaos that SuperHornyForaWhile™ brings to relationships, I am extremely triggered by lack of consent. It's up to you to change whatever you don't like with tropes, I just make the whole thing softer by taking the "out of control" aspect out. Yes they are desperately horny but no they don't completely lose it. Someone in heat would feel like seeing your super hot coworker tits out "Well great, I'm gonna have to do all their work alone this week while they're at home AND I have a boner now. Fml."

Casual sex is way more common. Though there's a lot of social rules about carefully treading around this to make sure there's no pressure or regrets later. The power of communication. Almost everyone has some embarrassing stories to tell about the subject too, they come out when drunk and oversharing to make everyone laugh.

Maybe monogamy is thrown out the window more often than not "Oh my god I just want to netflix and chill, I don't have the energy for that today, go fuck the neighbor you have my blessing. Tell them to give me back my tupperware by the way."

Everyone has grandma tips and tricks to ease down the whole thing when you just want to wait it out. Most of those tips and tricks are hearsay bullshit, but everyone knows the ones that legit work. Some people don't experience heats at all. And they tend to change depending on age and mental and emotional state.

And like, it's fun to play with the differences between different animals and their perception of the world. Some of them know when there will be an earthquake, or what's the weather will be for the week. Some of them can tell what you ate yesterday by smell alone, and who you interacted with this morning. Again, social rules around that to respect people's privacy.

But the comedy potential. I mean I've seen a lot of it already and I'm never tired of it. "Why do you smell like you slept with that person you say you hate." "Why do you smell like they specifically rubbed on you possessively." "Are you ok? Do you want me to kill them? No?" chef's kiss. Poetic cinema.

Back to Morgan and Leshy

Morgan's well known to be 100% not interested in anything, people think he's legit aroace. Man's so repressed and emotionally unavailable that he's not even horny anymore these days, no more heats. It comes out as aggression, which he has to take out on random monsters in Darkwood. "Morgan's so brave and useful by going on missionary trips regularly" yeah no, he needs that to stay so sweet and polite the rest of the time. Thena teases that it would be easier and less dangerous to just jump someone from time to time and he DoesNotHear. I drew that here btw. Since Leshy's arrival, he gets a lot of steam out by punching each other on the regular. Despite the Denial™, feelings grow and the bottled up drives start to act out. He's incredibly confused about why his body started doing the whole cycle thing again. Very inconvenient, very annoying. No explanation for it whatsoever. Complete mystery. Now he's missing work days too, great.

Leshy has the strongest sense of smell of the whole cult, and did not get the memo about the whole social rules things. He doesn't really care what people do, but he does not really care about their feelings either. "Of course you're moody and nauseous, you're pregnant. What do you mean you didn't know, your scent changed two weeks ago. What do you mean I'm not supposed to say that out loud in front of everyone. What does invasive means, like the plants?" Animals with good sense of smell are very useful to doctors, since they detect a lot of things, but Leshy is the worst person imaginable in terms of communicating it. He finally learns to shut the fuck up though, and when he senses something weird he goes to snitch to the head healer Ilona. Some very perceptive people notice when he barges into the healing tent, talk to her for a while and leave, and then someone's called in for a "random health check up" and ends up with a treatment. Drew that here. Leshy 100% keeps tracks of what his brother is doing and absolutely makes fun of him whenever he smells a bit too much like "The annoying lamb and their annoying spouses." He notices when his brother isolates himself (Ew disgusting, brothers can't have hormones) and he absolutely knows what happened when he eventually comes back to society very relaxed, and still smelling like the trio under all the soap he used to try and hide it. "Woah finally, I hope they weren't too disappointed, I mean it's not like you would be enough for one person, imagine three lol" and there goes the fighting. Cain instinct. Now, about Morgan. There's no denial from Leshy at all, he's been down bad for the cat almost from the beginning. The dumb factor here is "I will not make a move, like, ever" because what if Morgan doesn't want him around anymore, like when he breaks something, but permanently. The horror. It's not that bad since they spend a lot of time together and he doesn't want to date anybody, so at least Leshy doesn't have to kill anyone. Great news. Except that one time when this cute stoat hit on the cat and gave him a hug and was a bit difficult to get rid of, and Leshy had to tackle and wrestle him until the scent was gone. He got his ass kicked but it was worth it, and it's not like he's not asking for it anyway. (I need to draw that) Morgan in heat is HELL. Absolutely impossible to ignore. He has to keep constantly busy/distracted the whole time to resist just knocking on his door -or knocking the door down really. The angel vs demon war in his head is particularly funny because they both argue for and against making a move alternatively but for different reasons. The sanity is gone. Burrowing 20 feet underground and breaking rocks down with his teeth helps.

That was long I talk too much.

[gwennkoi]

The doors to the throne room opened with a boom as a woman dressed in red-lacquered armor stepped through. She held her flaming sword at the ready and called out, "King Renfrid Bedillion! In the name of the people, our country, and by the righteousness of the Goddess, I have come for your head and the throne!"

The king clapped from their throne in thunderous applause. "Bravo! Yes! That was the entrance I was hoping for! Oh, it was worth the wait."

The warrior stalked forward, peering for hidden assassins and guards, but the chamber appeared empty except for the king and herself. "I will have my vengeance and free this kingdom from your grip. Your guards will never make it in time."

The king laughed to themself, "Oh, of course not. I haven't kept guards in here for years." They stand up and lay their crown onto the throne. "I have left a series of scrolls hidden in a cache beneath the throne. They have information on which nobles I believe to be the most corrupt and are stealing from my-- well, now your--coffers. There are also some recommendations on which members of your new retinue can be trusted."

"You can not talk your way out of this, you vile tyrant. You will die by my hands this day." The woman has reached the steps to the throne and continued with divine purpose.

"Oh, I do hope so. Also, make sure not to keep going with the whole divine mandate to rule thing. I'm certain that's all made up by the church and the nobility as a way to keep the peasantry under their thumb. I had an idea to let everyone help choose who is in charge, but I couldn't figure out how to stop the nobility from rigging it in their favor. I'm sure you'll figure out a way around that. My reports about you say you're quite clever." The king knelt to the ground and offered his neck.

The people's champion raised her sword and stopped. She stood there poised to make her final strike but did nothing until the fury finally drained from her face, and she stayed her blade.

"Why aren't you defending yourself?!" The warrior demanded with irritation taking command of her emotions.

The king looked up into her eyes and gave a sad smile. "Oh, I've been trying to get deposed since before you were born. I've been trying to find a worthy successor, and the prophesy said you'd do the best job of it."

"Why in the Goddess's light would you want to be deposed? Do you not care for your own life? Could you not change the rules of our great nation? Why have you taken steps towards a great revolution?" Her fury was returning, but her sword no longer threatened the king.

"Oh, child, I have no idea what the world looks like beyond these walls. I have no idea what it is like to grow up farming the fields or being threatened by monsters. I am too far separated from the reality of my people. There were other potential deposers I could have offered my neck to, but they had no idea of the true responsibility of leadership and would only have caused turmoil. Now, take your prize." The king once more lowered his head.

"I cannot! You are not the tyrant the church described to me!"

The king looked up and laughed, "Oh, they put you up to this? I hadn't heard. Yeah, don't trust them. They only want more power like my grandfather gave them. They care only about larger cathedrals, larger tithes, and their whims to have royal backing."

The king stood and stretched their arms and legs. They put their hand on the warrior's shoulder and led them down the steps before the throne. "From everything I've gathered about you, young hero, you seem like the type of leader the nation deserves. And now that you have lost that fervor I was depending on, I must make other plans for being properly deposed."

"What do you mean, your majesty?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just sad because I had always liked the artistry of it. Shame." And with that, the king sprinted to the large stained glass window and leapt through it.

The king, after hearing the prophecy about a child fated to depose them, decided to just let the events play out without interfering.

[includedisco]

Mistakes & imperfections aren't a bad thing in writing. We're humans, not AI

Writing fanfics is literally about you putting in writing the fantasies you have about your favorite characters. Thats why you're free to do that writing in whatever way makes you happiest; and whenever way best expresses the story/au you want to put your faves in.

That being said, you're also allowed to pursue your desire to write A+ quality fanfics. There are no rules in this thing.

But I wanted to also add that we're human beings and humans are designed to error in their ways. We're imperfect and so is the art that comes from our hands, hearts, souls and minds.

It's okay to be imperfect. Don't feel the desperate need to improve on your shortcomings in writing your fics.

I've been writing fanfics for ages since I was a teen, but:

I'm still bad at spellings;

I omit words when I form sentences;

I overuse the same verbs and nouns;

I still write cliches in my love stories;

I still write awful drafts and feel insecure about them

I'm still unable to outline my stories(shout out to my fellow pantsers✌️😉)

I still struggle to create original characters

I still can't describe physical features of my characters, their facial expressions or the clothes they're wearing

I still can ONLY write romance(in all forms) but no other genre

I still write characters with similar personality traits(now is when I'm trying to learn to incorporate other character traits).

I write blogs about the struggles of writing, to help other writers feel more confident, comfortable and happy in their writing; while I also still have days when I feel insecure in my own writing/fanfic stories.

It's okay, guys. I'm only human and so are you. Your errors are what make you uniquely you and add charm to your writing. Trust me. If you don't believe me, ask yourself how come AI-written stories don't get our hearts racing when we read them

[allieslittlewritings]

A Place to Rest

Spencer Reid + toddler!reader

Summary: Spencer's daughter picks a better place to nap than her bed.

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: None, Spencer being a soft dad <3

Spencer valued few things more than days he got to spend with you. Whether you wanted to visit a museum or spend a whole day playing princesses (you were a big fan of putting tiaras on his head; he was a big fan of how happy it made you), he was there for all of it.

Recently, your favorite thing to do with your dad was play chess. Though, your version of chess was comprised of arbitrarily moving your chess pieces to places on the board that "felt right" and capturing pieces that you thought "looked like they wanted to leave."

The first time it happened, Spencer tried to explain the correct rules of the game in a way you could understand. The second time, he couldn't help but find your way of playing endearing. You still had plenty of years to learn the proper rules and principles. For now, Spencer was more than willing to follow yours.

In your version of chess, you always won. The one rule you partially understood and followed was that the game ended once the king was compromised. Except there was no strategy or logic for that, at some point in the game you would simply decide that you now wanted to capture his king and that was the end.

How your face lit up every time you "won" meant a lot more to Spencer than any rules or strategies, or winning. He only attempted to copy your logic of winning once, and never again, after he saw the heartbreak on your face when he did.

After a long morning of several chess matches and twice as many colored in pictures, Spencer could see your eyes becoming droopy.

"Do you want to take a nap, sweetie?" he offered.

You wrinkled your nose in thought before nodding your head and standing up. A yawn left your lips as you traipsed behind Spencer to your room.

Spencer drew your curtains closed to make your bedroom darker as you climbed up onto your bed and waited patiently for your dad to kiss your head so you could sleep peacefully.

Your dad sat down on the side of your bed and pulled your blanket up higher. He placed a gentle kiss your forehead—earning a content smile from you—and then quietly exited your room, leaving your door ajar.

Spencer debated on what to do with himself while you slept and settled on using that time to begin grading his students' most recent assignments.

He had just sat down on his armchair with a warm cup of fresh coffee by his side and the first paper in his hand when he heard the familiar light pitter-patter of you running to him.

He looked up and watched with a hint of worry as you came to a halt right in front of his armchair. Your blanket loosely lay on your shoulders and you had your favorite teddy bear gripped in your hand.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Are you struggling to sleep?" Spencer put the paper to the side and picked you up, letting you sit on his lap.

"I don't want to sleep in my bed," you confessed.

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed. "Okay. Do you want to sleep in my bed?"

You shook your head.

"No? Then where, honey?" He brushed a hair out of your face.

You let your teddy bear out of your hold—knowing your dad wouldn't let it fall—and gently poked Spencer's chest. "Here."

Spencer's eyes drifted to the short stack of papers waiting to be marked and he felt himself hesitate. And then he looked down and saw how you gazed up at him, eyes wide and full of childlike hope.

The corners of his mouth turned up into an involuntary smile, his face softening with adoration.

He let out a quiet, lighthearted sigh and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Okay."

"Yay," you grinned.

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat so you could lie down more comfortably. You let your eyes start to fall shut with tired contentment.

"I love you," you mumbled, lightly pressing your head further into his shirt.

Spencer's heart swelled in his chest as he watched your breathing slow down and hold on your bear ease.

"I love you more, sweetheart," he whispered.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

TRAIN STAN! he isn't limited to tracks and can fly

He can go anywhere

He has as many cars as he wants

He can change what the cars are

Need food? Food car!

Need sleep? Bed car!

Only thing he needs is the front one

(I don't know what the cars are called)

Hmm. Hmm.

Stan the crime infinity train here.

Somehow got got for some kind of magic getaway vehicle for some supernatural crime syndicate that planned to use his soul to power their getaway train. Too bad they messed up some of the enchantments and now Stan's on the loose! He's flying around, chugging away! Going places no train has gone and desperately trying to not be a train before it uses up his soul power and he stops existing.

Starts by just using his train power to get away, then starts stumbling upon wandering vagabonds, feels bad, gets train cars going for beds and food, drops them off. Starts becoming the infinity train here except its giving homeless kids someplace to lie low for as long as they're willing to ride. Maybe learns he can sustain himself for longer from their own grateful soul energy?

Now there's the ghost train. It follows no tracks or any route, but it always has a bed and a warm meal for anyone who's lost on the road. There's no conductor, and the engine blazes with a golden light (Stan's soul). And its.. not a bad existence, giving all these kids a ride, hearing their stories, chugging along, seeing the sights. Glides over the ocean, sees some pretty cool things, gets some repeat passengers, some not. Eventually gets his own 'rest stops' going, places that, at some point if you're lucky, he'll slow down, stop, and kids can get on or off, depending on how they're feeling. Gets a system going to take requests, and now he's taking runaways to distant relatives (or away from them), reuniting kids who got lost with their families, or giving people a place to call their own for a while.

Maybe stays like this for a few years, and he's actually pretty happy? With his train life now? He's got a dedicated 'staff' of kids that grew up on his train, help the new kids adjust, spread the word about the Runnaway Train, maybe has a 'car of fame' where he figures out how to hang up pictures of all the kids who've gotten on. He's everyone's uncle train guy, they know something controls the train but not who or why, just that it likes jokes, has a sense of humor, and is pretty lax on the rules as long as no ones causing too much chaos. People have rarely been kicked off the train (and a few people have been run over), and there's a car for anything they might need, as long as they ask (and plead, and beg and offer Stan entertainment in the form of stories or fight rings. He's still Stan after all, he loves to watch kids fight)

Then one day Stan's soul starts to flag. He was never meant to last this long after all, just some poor guy who got snatched for his soul and managed to run off before they tied him down and managed to prolong his existence by being a semi decent caretaker.

The trains slowing down, and his passengers are desperate to save him. Start looking into magic, learn that the giant glowing golden fire thats been getting dimmer is a soul, and they need to figure out how to boost it if they don't want their train uncle to snuff it.

Along comes Ford! Some kid who loves cryptids and ran away from home to hunt monsters (and away from their own) knows a scientist who studies this! They'll just kidnap him, get him to look after Engiy (or whatever name a bunch of homeless kids came up with for Stan), get the guy to fix their train home, and voila! Problem solved!

Well Stan does love crime and kidnapping is a crime so sure. Why not. Lets go to Oregon! He's always loved riding around here, feels good (Stan got trained before he learned Ford moved there perhaps?)

Chugs along to Oregon, follows his kids directions to Fords house, stops right in front of it, then do do do's making a kidnap car do do do while his kids break into Fords house and drag him kicking and screaming in confusion then follow him when he catches sight of the train on his lawn when he scrambles to climb on and figure out its whole deal.

Stan gets one look at Fords grinning face and slams his soul engine shut. No way is he letting Ford poke around like some kind of messed up mechanical soul doctor. Not happening, not his brother. Lets find someone else maybe?

There is no one else.

Ford gets to ride his brother train and gets slammed with guilt at looking at and hearing about all these homeless kids lives, how the train saved them, how its their home, how its dying and if Ford can't fix it they'll have nothing.

Doesn't he know how hard it is for kids who get kicked out or run away? Especially if they never graduated, have no other family, only have themself to rely on? So many things can go wrong, so many kids can get taken advantage of. Some of these kids grew up on this train, its all they have, and if it goes they'll have no documentation to make it back in the real world. They love their train, they take good care of each other.

This train existed only after Stan got kicked out. Ford knows, he's heard of it before.

There's no way Stan would have gotten a chance to ride.

Then Ford learns to be a magic train mechanic while Stan the magic train becomes the most uncooperative patient ever. He makes all the locks funky, never does as Ford asks, makes all his meals bland and tasteless. He loves Ford but Stan's sorta.. moved on? He has his family of kids and they need him and thats the only reason he hasn't kicked Ford out for looking at him like a mystery to be solved and not a living train with feelings.

How does it end? Does Ford find evidence of Stan in the engine? Maybe the Stanley Mobile license, or pictures of them? Does he find an alternative fuel source, finds a way to boost the soul and never knows that's his brother? Does he realize the train is actually killing the soul, and they work to pull it out to save it, and out pops Stan, shaky at being a person again and tired from being a train for years? Who knows!

[salientseraph]

Astarion discourse i guess??

Good morning!

I'd like to preface this by saying this is all based on what I remember, I've only scoured Astarions lore a few times, so if I get anything wrong you are more than welcome to correct me politely.

I've been trying to think more critically about my favorite fictional characters recently. More specifically why I'm so drawn to the morally-grey-borderline-evil-but-secretly-misunderstood type of character. Who in the end, most of the time tries to do the right thing. Whether its by their nature or by a learned behavior later in the story. It's like I've always played the devils advocate for them, and I'm not sure if that would totally change if they where real, either. I think it's because I, too, had a villain arc of sorts. Not nearly as flashy as say Loki or even Astarion, but I understand in part why they are the way they are. I relate, in a way. Specifically I've been thinking about why Astarion disapproves when you help others near the beginning of the game. [[GIANT RANT INCOMING]]

I was reading up about a couple of different areas you can get some extra points with him for fun, and I just saw a lot of hate. "Why would he be so awful? How could he not want you to help (insert person here)!" And I took a second to sit with that. Because yeah, shit, after all that he had been through, wouldn't he want to be the person to help others out of that same situation?

And to that question, I ask you this. Can you really even fathom how long 200 years is?

People always respond to that with "Oh well he was a corrupt magistrate and the gur beat him to death." First of all, yeah, he could've been a bit of a dick, but holy shit the gur have always been temperamental pricks. We don't know what ruling led to that, so its purely up to interpretation. 

The worst part is, if he really was an out of touch magistrate, even then, he couldn't have been nearly as bad as everyone makes him out to be, but then being turned into a vampire sex slave for nearly the average of 3 human lifespans didn't fucking help! As someone who has experienced trauma her whole life, especially the worst of it as a kid, closely thematically matching the type of things he went through, holy shit. Yeah. After that type of thing happens to you, and you have nothing you can do about it, after crying and screaming on the floor for days on end to whomever god might be listening and still not being released from something like that, you become fucking jaded. I'm still struggling through my trauma, and I've been in therapy for 3 years going on 4 for things that happened to me when I was a kid.

When the only way to escape from a bad situation is to get into another, almost equally bad situation, you do not want to help anyone. Its only with time to reflect, move past, and heal from the things you've experienced, that you can move past the more self-centered feelings trauma besets upon you and want to help others. It comes easier to some than others, and this switch flipped in me at about 12 years old. But then it got so bad that I didn't start helping myself until I was 18. Two sides of the same coin I suppose. I don't know, maybe I play the devils advocate because I too, am a devil. Maybe I'm not a good person. I try to be, though, even if I wasn't a long time ago, and I think thats what counts.

[angelltheninth]

Outdoor Sex with Geralt

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, traveling together, established relationship, clitstumulation, teasing, flirting, erection, outdoor sex, grinding

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Not sure why I suddenly thought about him. It was kinda random.

Geralt was already painfully hard by the time you came back from the waterfall, still in a towel and a little cold. You glanced over him with one eyebrow raised and chuckled, "I knew you'd peak. Pervert."

He hummed and smirked at the corner of his mouth, "I don't have to, I already know what you look like naked and wet." Geralt took a few long steps towards you, his hands just under your ass and lifting you up.

"Geralt! Your clothes! I'm still wet!" Both of you laughed, Gerlat's own slightly muffled by your breasts. Feeling his warm breath on your cool skin made your head spin just a little, causing you to fist your hands into his sleeves, the towel slowly falling from your body.

"I don't mind you being wet. But I really should help you warm up. Let's sit by the fire!" Geralt couldn't help the teasing smirk from gracing his face as he sat down cross-legged, siting you in his lap with the tent on the front of his pants. "Of course that's not the only thing I'm after."

You rolled your eyes, draping your hands over his shoulders and bending your knees slightly to draw yourself even closer, "I figured. You're really easy to read Geralt."

Instead of responding with words Geralt responded with his lips, pressing them against yours. You replied right away, parting them for his tongue and sighing into his warm mouth, your hips rolling on their own. Geralt's hands traveled your naked back, his rough fingers pressing and massaging, then traveling to your ass and grabbing a nice handful of your cheeks, driving your pelvis forward.

The rough material of his pants brushed against your clit, his cock throbbing and hot even though his pants.

"That's not just water is it sweetheart?" You didn't have to answer him, he already knew how wet you got for him, how easily you fell apart beneath his hands, his lips. How easily you spread your legs for him and his big cock.

You could imagine it clearly. Fully erect and pulsing for you, a thick pearl of cum sliding from the angry red tip and down the shaft, more and more gathering, forming a stain on the front of his pants the more his hips jolted upwards and you pushed them back down, only adding to the wetness.

Geralt's mouth travels down your neck, his teeth barely brushing against your nipples before closing his mouth around one, pinching and rolling the other between his fingers.

"You're so sensitive." He whispers against your hard nipple, licking over the swollen bud as he starts to buck his hips faster an faster into yours. You fist and pull onto Geralt's hair, guiding his mouth from your breast to your hungry mouth. As you lightly nip on his bottom lip you can feel him growl his release, his hips grinding wildly into yours, his clothed cock twitching against your wet cunt, sending you into your own orgasm.

He pulls away and leans his forehead against your shoulder, your combined heavy breathing, the sounds of the crackling fire and the low sounds of the wildlife in the forest. "I think..." You relax into his embrace, "I think that you're the one who needs to wash up now."

"Indeed." He tilts his head upwards, a blissful grin on his face as he offers, "Perhaps you want to join me?"

"To clean you up with my mouth?" You licked your lips deliberately, watching as his golden eyes follow. His cock gives another needy twitch, already hardening again despite him just coming mere moments ago. "I feel like you like that idea a lot."

Geralt doesn't even remove you from his lap, he just stood up, making you giggle. His hands braced under your thighs as he gave you a small, teasing peck on the lips before taking of in the direction of the waterfall.

[dollkuna]

⚡︎ fratboy!gojo had been burning a hole through you with his stare all night. you'd been laughing with some random guy, acting like gojo wasn't even there. besides, the way that dude was looking at you? ew, he though.

you batted your lashes, tilting your head with what you hoped was an innocent smile, up at the stranger. one hand twisted a strand of your hair, the other clutched a half-empty plastic cup — a drink gojo hadn't bothered to get you.

honestly, it was grating on him, having to watch you like that. watching some other guy who was practically drooling over you. so, yeah, in his slightly-messed-up mind, his actions were totally justified.

now, your gaze was fixed upwards again — but this time, it was on him. where it belonged, in his opinion. your lashes were slick with tears, mascara smudged artfully across your cheeks, your hair mussed from his fingers tangling in it.

he'd cornered you in the bathroom, cutting the ridiculously long line and just barging in (scaring the absolute shit out of you without so much as a word). but hey, it was his frat house. his rules.

"j— jesus," he grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head. "you say you're virgin, huh? taking my cock like a damn slut, cherry." your hands were busy too, one sliding up and down his length, the other cradling his heavy balls.

you were practically choking on him, your moans and whimpers swallowed by his thick shaft. at first, he'd actually tried. tried to be gentle, remembering that you'd only he one other time you'd only done this one other time — with him.

but patience had gone out the window fast. now, he was using your face, each thrust of his hips sending the blunt head of his cock slamming against the back of your throat.

gojo thought he'd died and gone to heaven. your mouth was so hot and wet, eagerly engulfing every inch he offered. "you— you're doing s'good," he choked out, his jaw tight. (you might've heard a tooth crack.)

you were gagging, and a part of him was terrified you'd actually throw up, but damn, you were determined. and who was he to stop you? after all, the initial idea had been to take things slow, maybe learn a few new things. this definitely counted as new.

"w— was it worth it?" gojo asks, likely rhetorical. "whoring off to some idiot like that, huh?"

drool slicked your chin, followed by a stream of tears. your cheeks hollowed with each deep stroke, feeling the frantic throb beneath your tongue, the way he strained against your mouth. the pressure built, a dull ache spreading in the back of your throat as he thrust deeper.

you didn't get a warning, just a slight tremor in his grip on your hair before his heavy balls clenched, and he spilled thick, hot seed into your mouth.

it caught you off guard, but what really threw him was the way you swallowed every last drop. every single bit.

his eyes were wide as he helped you stand, watching you brush off your sore knees.

"ch— cherry, you know you didn't have to... i mean, i should've pulled out, i'm sorry—"

you give him a lop-sided grin, "don't be silly. i wanted to."

oh. oh.

gojo might not be your boyfriend, but he sure pressed a soft kiss to your tear-streaked, mascara-smudged cheek like one.

[mastercherry]

Okay, this is weird because I'm typing it out on my computer and not on the app on my phone so bare with me. Bear? Bare. Right?

Anyways, okay, so. GHOAP. Ghost x Soap. Soap x Ghost. Simon x Johnny. Riley x MacTavish. McTavish? I'm sorry, y'all. I just don't know and don't want to leave this screen to check. My bad. I really haven't gone to Tumblr on my computer is YEARS. I honestly forget you could even do that.

But back to my Ghoap prompt. It's an AU where basically everyone is some type of animal shifter. You got your main categories of canine, feline, Ursidae (bears), avian (birds). Each main category has their own hierarchies and such. Like, in the canine category there are a lot of domestic types of dog breeds and then there's the wolves. Felines have domestics and big cats. ETC. You see what I'm saying?

Then you got the Avian group. They're very- no. Okay, the old families, the top of the hierarchy, those old money type of people are very, "We're better than you and we know it." They are very strict on tradition, on species. They basically hate all other types of shifters, and each group don't even like other types of birds. So, like, birds of prey don't really like other "lower" types of birds.

ANYWAYS, there's time to go over the different species and all that jazz later in another post. How does this relate to Ghost and Soap? Why am I even bringing this up?

Here. It. Is.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is a bird of prey. He comes from a long line of very powerful eagles (I Googled the deadliest bird of prey and got back the crowned eagle). Here's the problem. He can't shift into an eagle like his father or his brother. His mother, rest her soul, was a songbird, a Nightingale (Google again). (Also, I'm saying his mom was his dad's second wife. His first wife was another eagle like him, so Simon's brother is purebred.) So Simon is a "half-breed" according to his father. And the fact that he couldn't shift into an eagle was another hit. Here's the thing though, he CAN shift. Into a raptor.

Oh yeah, like the dinosaur. Forget about science. We're suspending and bending the rules. See, it's a very rare and very, very special gift to shift into a raptor. It's believed to be a sign that he's a protector. He's meant for great things. All this amazing and cosmic rhetoric. He should be praised and raised above them all. But his dad doesn't want such an awesome gift to be on his half-breed son. When his mom dies, his dad with the help of his brother and his dad's eagle family, basically make Simon feel like he's a monster. That he's something bad and something that shouldn't exist. They really beat him down and so he grows up forgetting the warmth that his mother tried to share with him. He hates his shift and really just hates his life.

He joins the military and keeps his shift under wraps. He manages to avoid it most of the time, only a small handful of people know about his true form. Laswell and Price are the only ones in the group.

Along comes Soap, who is not a bird at all. He's a dog/wolf hybrid. His mom is a wolf and his dad is like a German Shepherd or Malamute or something.

Oh dang, this has gotten way longer then I meant it to. But long story short, Soap and Ghost get close. At some point Soap gets hurt and needs to be rescued and Ghost ends up revealing his true shifted form to the team and terrifies the bad guys. meanwhile, Soap is awestruck. Gaz (a hawk I think), is starry-eyed too because how cool is it that he knows a an actual raptor? And Price (a bear, probably a brown bear) is just proud of his team.

oh, and should Ghost have a beautiful singing voice from his mom? I think so. ANYWAYS. Sorry for the long post. I could go on for days about this.

[k-sunstar]

Girrrereel!!! Cute start on your headcankns

Can you write another headcanon for Joaquin Torres and Bucky Barnes as bodyguards pls?

(If you do decide to add more character depth for them w the reader, maybe both romantic and non romantic routes? But that's up to you)

Thxxxx

Tysmmmm love!🥰

I love this prompt so much omg, for Joaquin the headcanon is set in the current MCU, for Bucky’s I made it a bit of an AU. There’s both romantic and platonic, everything will be the same up until they begin to realize their feelings, there are separate cuts for each.🫶🏻

BODYGUARD HEADCANONS

All pictures that I use I’ve found randomly on the internet - if I’m using something someone has created, please let me know and I’ll tag them! I never want to steal someone’s work and I would never want mine stolen.

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: slight angst, slight mentions of violence, Joaquin is lowkey a menace, Tony Stark being a protective older brother💀

Joaquin Torres

Background:

You’re the daughter of a big politician in D.C., a politician who Sam and Joaquin need to convince to pass a bill to aid their missions as Captain America and the Falcon.

Joaquin was assigned by Sam to be your bodyguard for a few weeks, to try and sway the favor of your dad, while your current bodyguard was hurt and off-duty (…👀).

You’re the kind of person who likes to do things at your own pace, you’re bold and independent, and you 100% hate having a bodyguard; your main bodyguard was more of a friend to you, keeping you company when you wanted it, letting you be alone when you needed it.

With Joaquin, it’s anything but that.

When the two of you first meet, you immediately hate him. To you, he’s too loud, he’s too unprofessional, he’s too annoying, and he’s incompetent.

He goes over-the-top trying to impress you and get you to like him as a person, which only makes you hate him more. You try and keep your distance from him as much as possible, but he makes it very, very hard.

It gets too much for you where you get to the point of writing a list of rules for him. “You either follow these rules or I'll go tell my dad that you are incompetent in your job and your little bill won't get passed...don’t think I don't know that's the reason you're doing this.”

You left the room after that, leaving Joaquin dumbfounded.

From then on, Joaquin kept his distance, watched from afar, and let you tell him when you needed his help or assistance. Little did he know that you kind of missed his presence and annoying tendencies.

One day, you were cleaning your house, playing your music loudly, dancing and singing along. Joaquin entered your house like he usually did, quietly, and without bothering you.

He caught you singing and dancing along to some pop song while putting away dishes. He stood in the entrance of your kitchen, waiting for you to notice him—you didn't, so he spoke up, tired of being a silent bodyguard, watching you but never getting to know you.

“So you do know how to be a real person, and not just a frigid bitch all the time?” He asked, a grin on his face when he saw you turn around with a jump.

“What the fuck, Torres?“ You shouted at him, nearly dropping a plate in surprise. Part of you was glad that he caught you…you felt bad for being a “frigid bitch” for the past week and a half.

He would definitely apologize for surprising you like that, but then he would compliment your voice - this is the start of something more.

Romantic:

After he surprised you in the kitchen that one morning, you gradually grew more and more fond of him, later realizing that fondness was romantic attraction.

You started treating him more like a friend than just your bodyguard, and everything only grew from there.

Joaquin became someone you could trust and confide in, someone you found yourself going to when you needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to complain to.

He loved being that person for you. He always thought that you were extremely pretty and attractive, he obviously never said anything, but that was why he was always trying so hard to get you to like him.

His assignment finished as being your bodyguard, but you’d ask him to come back and stay around - even when your usual bodyguard came back. You liked his presence and having him around, he was a strange sense of comfort for you after the four weeks of him being your bodyguard.

One day, he came to your house with flowers and a bracelet with a music note charm on it. He knocked on the door and everything and when you opened the door looking confused, he blushed and got nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Uhm…do you, uh…girlfriend? Wanna be mine?” He said to you awkwardly, holding out the flowers and the bracelet box.

You laughed at his adorable bumbling and took the flowers and box in one hand, taking his hand in your other, pulling him closer to you and pressing your lips against his in a short, sweet kiss.

You began to go on dates together, starting small; you took walks around D.C. with him, you guys watched movies together, you would cook or bake together (Joaquin would always eat the raw batter if you were baking something and you would always yell at him and slap his hand away), he would let you put face masks on him (he always said he didn’t like it, but deep down he did), you would go out to cute little restaurants and cafés, and he would take you to watch him work out on occasion.

There would be days the two of you would lay around your house and you would just casually go to cuddle up next to him. “You’re just warmer than a blanket right now, and I’m cold” you would say, using it as a reason to get close and feel the steady beat of his heart and his strong chest and arms.

Joaquin is such a romantic. He’s pulling out all the stops. You can’t meet his parents? That’s fine, you’re meeting Sam likes it’s the first time ever. You’re sick? He’s coming over with some cheesy rom coms or feel-good movies and soup and ginger ale. You see something in a store you like one day and your eyes linger on it for a second too long or comment about it in passing? He’s going and buying for you “just because”. He has to go on a mission with Sam for longer than a day or two? He’ll leave you his favorite hoodie and text you every single day. He’s 1000000% boyfriend material.

You still find him annoying, but now it’s in an endearing and sappily romantic way. You show him your love and affection in smaller ways; you’ll get him tickets for a sports game for a team he really likes, you’ll bake him little treats, when he’s away on missions you’ll send him little voice notes of you singing because he tells you it helps him fall asleep, and you’ll always make sure to check in on him when he’s gone for too long.

Even though he’s not your bodyguard anymore, he loves being the person who protects you. He always has his head on a swivel, he’s always holding you close by your waist, making sure that you’re safe and sound by his side at all times.

Platonic:

Although you started to warm up to Joaquin, you still had some walls up.

He was very successful in breaking those walls down. He would joke around with you, learn your interests and hobbies, and sing and dance around with you.

After his mission as your bodyguard ended, you would text him to hang out and he would respond within the first two minutes of you sending it.

Eventually, he grew to be one of your best friends. You met Sam (in a non-professional sense) and he told you a bunch of embarrassing stories about Joaquin.

You guys would have weekly movie nights where you would force him to do skincare with you and bake cookies.

You would confide in him and tell him your deepest darkest secrets and swore him to secrecy with a pinky promise.

He found out that you were a huge nerd and made fun of you for it, but you knew he was the same exact way. You guys went out and bought Star Wars Lego’s to build, you bought lightsabers to have fights in your living room (you always had the high ground), you guys would go to comic book shops together, and you guys would go to places like Disney and Universal and Six Flags together.

If you guys went to Disney together, he would force you to drink around the world at Epcot, then complain about having to take care of you while you were drunk.

The two of you would go to concerts together (he’s secretly a huge Swiftie - sue me, that’s what I believe😭) and went to the Eras Tour multiple times (against the will of both of your wallets). He would always dress up as the most random things from her songs - he once dressed up as the “You Okay?” note from the You Belong With Me music video. He was terrible at making friendship bracelets but the younger teen girls loved them because he’s a cutie and he’s the Falcon.

You asked him multiple times if you could try out the Falcon suit/wings - the answer was always no.

You guys would steal the shield from Sam and when it got cold in the winter and started snowing, you would totally take it and use it as a sled.

He still always felt the need to protect you, even when he wasn’t your bodyguard anymore, but he was always around you and made sure you felt safe at all times (this made it really hard when you wanted to go on dates because he would run intense background checks on each guy you showed interest in).

Bucky Barnes

**This is a slight AU, where Bucky is known as the Winter Soldier but he’s not a Hydra brainwashed assassin and he’s working in SHIELD and gets assigned to be the permanent bodyguard for Tony Stark’s younger sister.**

Background:

Your brother was an asshole. You knew it, hell, 3/4 of the world knew it.

What made him an asshole on this specific occasion though, was the fact that he made the executive decision in your life to get you a permanent security detail.

You hated the idea of having someone follow you around at all times. You hated the fact that Tony’s reasoning was “because the world is more dangerous now” - as if it wasn’t dangerous before a hole was ripped in the sky and aliens came through it?? There had been so many dangerous things that had happened to you before you were assigned a bodyguard. You single-handedly were able to track down a literal god (and punched him in the face - but that’s aside the point)!

You could handle yourself. So from the moment you discovered you would be assigned a permanent bodyguard and would be living in New York in the new “Avengers Tower”, you decided that it would be your number one priority to make this person’s life as hard as possible.

Then, the dreaded day came, and James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes - aka the Winter Soldier - walked out of the elevator. Despite being frozen under ice for decades with his best friend, Steve Rogers, Bucky was extremely skilled and talented in hand-to-hand combat and multiple forms of weaponry.

You fought every urge in you to be nice and channeled it all into hatred. He expected it though, Tony had told him of your aversion to this decision.

For weeks you would be silent around him, only speaking when other people were around and talking to you, constantly throwing glares at him, and trying (with very little success) to ditch him at every chance you had.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me soon, doll.” He would say every morning when you glared at him as you left your room.

He would talk to you though. He told you what his favorite color was, he told you his favorite breakfast and dinner meals were, he told you about adjusting to the 21st century after being trapped under the ice all those years, he told you how he lost his arm during the war and how he now had a full metal arm, and he told you how it was working with your dad (you didn’t have many memories with him and any time Bucky would be talking about him, you would stand up and leave the room, going to your bedroom - you were usually about to cry).

One day, you went out by yourself (successfully ditching Bucky), but you were cornered near an alleyway while you were looking through your bag. You did your best to hurt the guys, but there were too many of them for you to take care of on your own. They had knocked you to the ground when someone came running over and started beating the guys up, threatening them if they ever tried to do something like that again - it was Bucky.

After the guys had run away, Bucky checked on you, helping you up and to the car he had taken to tail you, “Can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, doll.”

After that incident, you began to open up. You started being friendly with him - small steps first; you would sit and have coffee with him or make small talk during the day. This was just the beginning of something more.

Romantic:

You hated how attractive you found him from the moment he walked out of the elevator. He was tall, bulky and fit, his suits always stretched over his broad shoulders and looked absolutely delectable on him, and his hair looked soft as hell.

When he would call you “doll” every morning it almost made you want to blush (who are we kidding, you would turn away from him and your cheeks would automatically be flushed).

When you finally began to open up to him, you would find yourself moving closer to him and seeking out his comfort if you were having a bad day.

You would ask him to tell you stories about your dad; Tony never shared anything other than the negatives of your father. Bucky would always tell you whatever you wanted to know.

He fell first, you fell harder (after you stopped pretending you hated him). You told him you had feelings first and all he said was “I know, doll, you’re not exactly subtle” before pulling you in for a kiss.

When Tony found out, he flipped out; went on a whole spiel about how “he’s too old for you”, “he can’t keep you safe if he’s busy kissing you”, and “this was a stupid decision, why would you let me make this decision for you?!”

He got over it. Eventually.

Date nights with Bucky are so cute and romantic, he’s secretly a huge sucker for romantic gestures. Dancing in the kitchen while cooking, going out to little restaurants, nighttime date nights where the two of you would walk around Central Park, going to see different plays and musicals, taking trips to different museums, visiting second-hand book stores and finding books for each other, and your favorite: late night stargazing.

The two of you would go stargazing a couple times a month, taking a couple days to drive and stay upstate. You would stargaze, make bonfires and roast s’mores, drink coffee in the chilly upstate morning air, and spend the nights cuddled up together under warm blankets.

It was during one of the upstate trips where Bucky asked you to be his girlfriend.

There would be days where you would intentionally annoy him (read: you would put magnets on his arm until he noticed).

You love his hair. Any opportunity you get, you’re running your fingers through the silky strands.

He loves to kiss you. He’ll hold you close by the waist and lift you slightly to bring your face closer to his, then he’ll ghost his lips just over your own, feeling the way your mouth turns up into a smile and you close the space between the two of you, giggling into the kiss.

From hating pretending to hate Bucky to falling in love with him, you loved every moment you spent with him, and he loved it just as much (if not more).

He always acts like your bodyguard though, making sure that you’re always safe and protected, keeping you out of harm’s way.

Platonic:

When the two of you began to get closer, you found him to be the friend you never knew that you needed.

Bucky would let you talk and he would listen. You would rant about the dumbasses you dealt with for Tony and the issues you had with your friends. He would sit and listen and offer advice if you needed it or wanted it.

Very quickly, Bucky got to see your playful and sneaky side. You loved to pull pranks on him and you bought a whole bunch of random magnets to stick on his arm when he wasn’t paying attention.

You would force him to sit down and watch your favorite shows and movies, do some skincare, and bake with you (like a girl’s night, but he took it like a champ; and he totally loved the rom-coms you two would watch).

Bucky acts all tough and mean, but you’re one of the only people who gets to see his stupid, silly side. He totally pulls pranks on you to get you back for all of the pranks you’ve pulled on him and will suggest new movies for you guys to watch.

Tony’s glad that you and Bucky are getting along (and you’re not tearing his head - or his clothes - off).

He’s still your bodyguard, but now there’s a new level of fierce protection that Bucky had (you are his first real friend aside from Steve🥹).

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