#a considerable chunk of asks

[lupucs]

I have a few questions! Mind answering? 1. What/who is your persona and what is their name? 2. What animating software do you use? 3. What software do you use to edit? 4. How long Have you been doing this 5. Are you open for 3d commissions ?? 6. whats your most famous video 7. Whats the least famous video? 8. Favortie video you have made? 9. Favortie model you have made? 10. Least favortie model + video you have made?

My youtube avatar? They're just a scruffy little goblin, their name is Lu (short version of "Lupucs"). They are supposed to be a loose representation of myself for stuff like 3D timelapses. As for my profile pic, that's just an oc. Her name is Ruby and she's a scarecrow who can wield magic and turn into a giant crow

Blender

Blender for animation editing, adobe premiere for timelapse editing

I've been doing 3D for about 6 years on and off, though ive only started doing it more regularly roughly 4 yrs ago

sadly not since i have a full-time job, but I really appreciate the interest!! It wouldnt feel right accepting commissions without the reassurance of being able to set aside enough time to commit myself to them, not to mention balancing my hobby of making animations and 3D models. i'll definitely post an announcement on here if I reopen them again!! it's definitely not out of the question.

it's the susie noelle lunch break one!! back then i didnt even wanna upload this to youtube but my friend convinced me to do it anyway and... it sorta exploded. never expected so many people to love these two goobers so much. I'm still both shooketh and a little scared but also extremely grateful!!

probably those few old oc animations i made years ago. like this one, it's my icon but it's animated! :P this is so old lol

ooh that's tricky! there are a few that come to mind, but i think Hometown Fall studies is my favorite. I like how the cozy vibe turned out and it was so much fun animating these characters playing off of each other in a mundane scenario like that. Im also really happy with how my Alphys and Undyne anim turned out. It took about 5 months (on and off) to make

i'd say susie and papyrus. oh and alphys too!! none ut/dr models would be king from TOH, and this fanart of my friend sphinxmothra's ocs

I guess that would be my Little My Moomins model from a while ago... i kinda wanna remake it one day as i really dont like how the shaded gradients look. Oh and this old oc. As for least favorite video, it's this animation. It's so floaty lol!!!

[kelocitta]

I wanted to ask, I might have missed it, but how is the new Scav chieftain as a character? With her having to take over after her daughter’s passing, and the needed cleaning up after Artificers mess in this AU? It’s really interesting that shes now suffering a loss of a child, acting as a parallel to Artificer also.

Bolt of Silver (Although name has certainly changed) was an accomplished pirate* sharpshooter. Her particular skillset was in the execution of caravan/patrol captains from exceptional distances in order to induce panic for a followup assault. Her past is largely unknown, and as such she is not someone who would have ever been considered for the position of Chieftain had there not be a considerable amount of panic. She took the position because she, as an elder, is generally given respect of wisdom and also she herself showed quiet a bit of initiative and leadership during the panic that curried some favor- although she is notably more of a substitute than a properly recognized Chieftain, and will eventually step down once a replacement is formally put forth. Her daughter, in contrast, did not share her criminal history and was a rather accomplished explorer, archivist, and generally an upstanding Scavenger. The fact she acquired the position was a testament to her own skills, independent of her mother, who retired and integrated back into the larger community as a general assistant and expectant grandmother. *Pirate in the context of Scavengers does not refer to boat users, but rather caravans or groups of united thief or criminal rogue wandering groups. 'Unaffiliated' Scavenger groups are common, but many of them are merely small families, independents, or even particularly traveled traders and thus welcomed into the larger community even if they do not directly consider themselves a part of it. Pirate groups are distinct in that their activity is almost entirely criminal in nature, often violent, and ideally removed or pushed to the furthest fringes of territories.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[ghostieblotts]

I'm going to be honest. You remind me of Owen. I am not sure how much of that is just the icon you have or not, but it was my first thought, so....

AYYYYY HELL YEAH THANK YOU the guy ever <3 I do always love hearing people say I remind them of Owen whether it's just because of my love for the character or because of vibes!!

[syluses]

terrible thing

subject: caleb x reader

cw. yandere! caleb, obsessive behaviors, toxicity, unhealthy relationships, childhood bestfriend! caleb, unrequited love, jealous is an understatement, scoundrel caleb, manipulation

an. THIS IS FOR THE NONNIE THAT ASKED FOR THIS!!! im sooo sorry it took so long but i super hope u enjoy <3 i liked ur idea and made a lil fic based around it <3 by lil i mean almost 6k words :3 also listen to ‘terrible thing’ by ag because that song is LITERALLY CALEB.

Some things are better left unsaid.

And whenever Caleb is involved in the conversation? Your new boyfriend is definitely one of them.

You feel a little guilty for it, you know. For not telling him. I mean, you’d only spent the better chunk of your childhood running towards his room for safety during thunderstorms, using his arms as your own personal refuge whenever lightning flashed behind the windows and thunder boomed. You still have the ledger you’d written in your youth against him, stowed in a box in your closet, to record his slightest transgressions. It collects dusts like all the countless summers you’d leisured away with him as little children.

He’s your best friend, always has been; entering your twenties does not change that- or the thick tether connecting you from humble Linkon to his expensive suite in Skyhaven.

It’s just…

You know Caleb. Of course you know Caleb- your shared history a direct proof of that. Calling him protective would be the understatment of the year and you’re sure as soon as a significant other is introduced into the foundation of your life, he’d do all he could to uproot him from it. Not out of malice, no, his habits (resting an arm over your shoulder, hovering and glaring at men- or people in general- who stare at you for so much as a second longer than necessary, dismissing the idea of romance completely when you innocently bring it up, in awe at the prospect of finding your own disney prince to whisk you off your feet) come from a good place.

But for as caring and considerate your bestfriend- the veritable staple to your adolescence- has been, that ‘good place’ is one you want to leave. Gently extricate yourself from. It’s high time you grow up and see the world for what it really has to offer outside of your Gran’s cozy suburban home, from the crook of Caleb’s elbow, comforting as it is.

And your new boyfriend? Yeah... It’s better not to tell Caleb about him. At least not until later.

You convince yourself it’s better that way, that you’re making the wiser choice, because c’mon- Your friend is just terribly busy what with his rank as colonel at the DAA, his missions that leave him tired and pressed for free time in his day-to-day hustle. It’s impressive how he still manages to find the time to call you with the scant windows of opportunity his schedule allows, barraging you with thoughtful messages and cute pics he takes of miscellaneous items because they, quote-on-quote, ‘reminded him of you.’

Caleb would blow his fuse. Oh, undoubtedly.

And you worry for him sometimes, you know? This decision is in your boyfriend’s better interest- one hundred percent- but it’s in Caleb’s as well. You don’t want him slipping on the job because his mind’s a mess and his bestfriend from childhood- the one he has an inexplicable, self-bestowed duty to protect- has put his heart into overdrive.

You’d just worry him to death. Mistakes, no matter how seemingly minor, are fatal within aircraft apparatus. He can’t afford to make them, and you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if something were to happen to him. It’d be devastating.

For so many reasons— informing your bestfriend of your new suitor is just an awful, harebrained, bad fucking idea.

That’s… for another time. But not now, not when you’re so in love it feels like you’re walking on a cloud with him, his larger hand in yours like an anchoring weight between chaotic hunter trips and scares- a very welcome consolation that calms your heart and makes you feel like a princess- the one you’d always secretly wished to embody as a little girl.

You’re… older now. Grown. Caleb can’t scare them all away, right…? Especially not if he’s unaware of them.

This fairy tale- perfect, gentle, sweet- is one you want to indulge in for a little bit longer.

So yes. Whenever Caleb visits again, eagerly inviting himself into your quaint apartment with a bag of your favorite snacks in tow as conferral, your boyfriend will not be mentioned.

✿✿✿

When he comes in, he brushes past you- wafting up cold air and the citrusy notes of his faded cologne- and ruffles your hair with a chuckle.

The stirrings of unease take root in you as you toss a laugh back and trail him into the kitchen like a lost puppy: not just because you haven’t kept a secret from him in ages- a miserably failed attempt, might you add- but mainly for the reason that your phone is buzzing in your pocket and you have no choice but to ignore it because the caller is the one individual you have vowed to hide.

Mere seconds before Caleb turns to face you, setting his haul on the counter, you fish your phone from your jeans and power it off, wincing at the apology you’ll have to give your boyfriend later when he inevitably asks what became of his unanswered call. It’s- It’s fine, though. He’ll understand once you tell him, albeit, the same cannot be said for Caleb.

The brunet idles between your cabinets and fridge, scrutinizing your stock, and speaks behind his shoulder, nodding you over. “C’mon, pipsqueak. What’re you waitin’ out there for? Need your help puttin’ away all the groceries. What do you say, will you lend me a hand?”

Walking in, you quickly get to work, humming nonchalantly. “Ah, I suppose I can.” You rotate the items of his purchase in hand and smile appreciatively, tucking them away neatly- all the while, your eyes dart to his profile as he rearranges the contents of your refridgerator without prompting. He throws you a glance in between though, violet eyes soft with mirth, his lips drawn in an easy smile, to thank you. “What would I do without you?” He teases.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you repress a grin, shrugging with nonchalance as you squeeze between his broad shoulder to slip a carton of apple juice in the fridge, “But I will say I’m thankful for the loot. This is enough to feed a family of five.”

“And you for a week,” he comments lightly with an innocuous pinch to your cheek on your exit, “which is all that matters.” You grimace and swat his hand away- long fingers, ever tactile, dropping to instead poke at your side- rubbing your face dramatically, and Caleb chuckles. Genuine and warm.

“Guess you can’t live without me either.”

He says, awfully pleased with the fact, and then you watch from your periphery, still pouting for the theatric value, as his face turns into a severe blur, his hand casting out to latch around your wrist.

Unthinking, you pause. With a hard blink, you feel yourself get spun around and then he’s right there, in your face, dwarfing you completely as he brings your little hand to his side and peers down at you, thick brows furrowed steadily.

“What?” You go.

Almost hesitantly- like he’s fearing the worst- he leans forward, dips his chin down, the tip of his nose grazing your shoulder in a way that has you bracing for impact, or something else- and breathes the scent of you in.

Floral, soft, tinged with your lavender detergent. Pleasant on the senses; Caleb’s never outright admitted that your smell is like a balm to his nervous system, mild and soothing, but he can make that confession in his heart when it takes all of five seconds to pin the anomaly marring it.

It’s faint, but there. Another man’s cologne— a little minty, a little earthy, about as aromatic as a wet dog let in from the rain as Caleb snuffles at your neck and scowls.

“Who is that?” He asks. More of a demand, really- his long, slim digits giving yours an unwitting but growingly hard squeeze in his. You immediately blanche, and you inwardly pray he can’t see the bob of your throat as you swallow or hear the heavy thumps of your heart in your chest as his invasive words- and touch- spurs it into unease.

You try to steel yourself. “W-What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he chastises without so much as a doubt of your apparent wrong. Despite his icy, intense stare, his touch betrays it, his grip firm but his thumb rubbing gentle, fast circles over the back of your hand as he keeps it in his. “I can smell somethin’ on you. Someone. You… Pipsqueak, you haven’t been gettin’ up to no good while I was at the DAA, have you?”

It’s rare to hear his voice lower like it is now, friendly, playful charm replaced by an almost cold, foreign edge as his eyes- no longer so warm- narrow into an accusing glare. They flit across the bridge of your nose down to your parted lips, and then to the wings of your collarbone as his lashes slowly flutter.

Contemplative. You almost wonder what it is he’s thinking before you bar yourself off from that curiosity, reasonable as it is. You’ve seen, from your younger years, just how far he’ll go to protect you- whether that be from punks down the street or guys at school who shove love letters in your locker on Valentine’s day- and you’re not so sure you want to re-experience the vivid footage of that which is very likely replaying through his head right now.

You get it, okay, you do. You grew up together and as your bestfriend- really, your singular stronghold- he’ll do his very best to shield you from the world and all the creeping men in it. But your boyfriend does not fall under that same umbrella. Your boyfriend genuinely cares for you and wants the best for you, but you doubt Caleb will take any of his real affection into consideration.

It’s why you plant ten toes into the ground and look him dead in the eye when you say,

“No. ‘Course not,” and you give a short giggle for good measure, gently weaseling your hand free from his own (albeit, it takes a considerable amount of effort, his grasp not quite willing to part with you). “C’mon, you know I work with all sorts of people at the Hunter’s Administration. And I didn’t shower yet. What, do I smell bad?”

“No,” he ripostes, still louring into your eyes like they’re a gateway to the most abstruse corners of your soul, waiting for them to offer up your secrets. “You could never smell bad,” he clarifies, “but the same can’t be said for whatever’s on you right now.”

“I see and interact with tons of people each day, Caleb. It’s nothing, really.” A gentle but firm, if not marginally amused reminder from your end- although your stomach is absolutely churning under his scrutiny which only seems to deepen and not let up.

He looks uncertain with himself, his own mini emotional outburst, as his jaw opens and closes. His indigo gaze, still smouldering but somewhat assuaged, flits across your clavicle before he looks up and slowly says,

“You’re not… keeping things from me, are you? If someone started seeing you, you’d tell me, rrright?”

“‘Course,” you snicker after a beat, and at the small lump of bitterness in you, you can’t help but tack on- “Not that you’d let anyone see me, anyway...”

Missing its sardonic edge, Caleb heaves a small laugh at your not-joke and gives a half nod. “Yeah,” he agrees without an iota of shame, “but it’s for your own good.” Reluctantly, he releases your hand and lets you apply a number of steps between you, still eyeing you as you resolutely continue unpacking his groceries. “‘Member what I told you, back when we were kids? Guys only ever want one thing from girls, and I don’t wanna see some peabrained jerk break your heart, Pipsqueak. He wouldn’t deserve you anyway.”

“I think,” He starts, laughing to himself, but now it’s your turn to miss the punchline, “I think I’d actually see red.”

Before you can so much as formulate a response in your head, your friend takes it upon himself to stop your busying hands and say in a gentle voice, “Hey, I got the groceries, okay? Why don’t you… go get cleaned up? So you’ll be all nice and comfy durin’ the movie.” Caleb flashes you a winning smile as a bonus, peering into you with less agitation than before and more calculated softness. You can tell, for both of your sakes, he’s still trying to calm himself from that little boyfriend scare.

As another incentive- perhaps the most tempting- he adds, “I’ll even make the popcorn while you’re in there!”

You don’t acknowledge the cause behind his words- what really pushed him to voice that suggestion- and instead nod diplomatically.

“Alright, if ya say so,” you murmur easily. “But you’d better put lots of butter on it.”

“Oh, you be careful what you wish for, Pipsqueak. Especially when you’ll end up throwin’ it all on the floor at the slightest jumpscare,” he teases. “I’ll be scrubbing the carpet for hours.”

With a pout, you give him a playful shove and dismiss him completely, not bothering to reply to that. You abandon your post behind the pantry with barely-concealed relief and sigh once you reach the bathroom, locking the door and typing out a quick text to your boyfriend as a temporary olive branch. You don’t want him to be mad. In any case, you don’t think he will be, considering he’s far more understanding than Caleb in some regards- but if you want to maintain good terms in this blossoming relationship, it’ll have to be far from your friend’s controlling- but well meaning- hand.

Caleb’s… just making a big deal out of this. Per usual.

If anything, despite the niggling sense of guilt that makes you feel awful to even look him in the eye, you just feel even more compelled to keep this from him.

He really might blow his fuse, otherwise.

When you exit the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders, Caleb pushes a bowl of popcorn into your hands like he’s trying to placate you.

He smiles, giving you a once-over. “See? Nice n’ clean.”

You’re not entirely sure what the point made is, but you deign a nod anyway, gleefully accepting the bowl.

Extra butter, just as he promised.

✿✿✿

You’ve loved Linkon for as long as you can remember.

It’s held you, welcomed you in when you were just a tatterdamelion girl fresh from a facility that you don’t really remember, but still carry somewhere deep within you all the same. This city supplied you with a roof over your head, a loving grandmother, and an opportunity to lead a normal life— it’d be more difficult to not fall in love with it.

You think Caleb’s presence, warm and comforting, has a lot to do with your pleasant feelings surrounding it. He was both your bestfriend all throughout childhood and your safeguard; wherever you went, he happily trailed, and with the two of you- and Gran- things were simple and tranquil.

This is your hometown.

You’d thought you’d experienced most if not all of what it had to offer, fondly memorized each route and cornerstore- but over a candlelit dinner at a restaurant you’ve never been, your boyfriend smiles as the waitress brings out your entrées.

Hestiantly awaiting him to dig in first, your fork hovers uncertainly over a dish you’ve never seen before- but it makes your mouth water all the same. With a warm chuckle, he instructs you to eat and you do, gushing at least a million times about how good it tastes.

Between bites, you carry on easy conversation (mostly your rambling- about hunter work and then that cute cat you saw the other day- and his happily lending an ear) and your date is moving splendidly. Midway through your meal, the table falls silent for a moment while you take an indulgent sip from your fruity, non-alcoholic drink, and your boyfriend perks up as if remembering something.

“Ah,” he says, setting his own glass down with the hint of a cheeky grin, “You know, I have something to tell you.”

You lift an eyebrow, recuperating from your long chatter which, you realize with a dollop of bashfulness, was one-sided. You were just so excited to speak with him- and can you really be blamed? He’s perfect, sweet, understanding… He doesn’t get mad at you for not allocating your whole time to him, your schedule hardly allowing for it- although you’d be happy if it did- and he doesn’t drop so much as one cautionary piece of advice at the somewhat short dress you’re wearing tonight- just for him. His opening word was a warm compliment of ‘you’re stunning’ paired with a quick embrace, and you felt like he really meant it.

Honest to God you think you love him.

“Y-Yeah?” You smile tentatively, nudging him to continue. You’re not quite sure what he has to say, but you want to listen. “What is it?”

He takes a beat to laugh softly. You wrinkle your forehead and laugh back, curtly reaching over the table to give his hand a little squeeze. “What is it?” You press with amusement, his eyes glittering under the dim, lemony light the fixture overhead casts.

“Nothing to worry about, just-“ His grin only intensifies as he begins to elaborate, but yours slowly fizzles out, your lashes fluttering thoughtfully, “I think you’ve got a secret admirer or something, babe. The other day, someone hit me up with a text to piss off. And I was confused at first, you know-?”

The pleasant sound of his unaffected chuckle does little to soothe your nerves as they build in your gut, the gears in your head turning for an answer- some explanation for the inexplicable dread clutching your chest. “Like, who is this asshole? But then I remembered that blond guy from your work and-“

No. No.

You startle without thinking, darting forward to offer out a trembling hand, “Hey- can I see that text?” With perfect, singleminded focus, you watch his face of humor warp into one of slight unease, but he gives a belated shrug and fishes it from his pocket. “Uh, sure. Here you go, babe-“

Slumping back down into your booth, you dial out his password and scroll through his contact list with your lower lip caught in your teeth. You don’t want to believe the worst- God forbid this awful suspicion end up being true- but there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of your head that speaks with strange clarity and you can’t will yourself to ignore it, not after that interaction you’d had with your friend last week.

Your thumb stops in its tracks to hover over a singular, unlabeled profile picture. With a thick swallow, mucus feeling thick as mollasses in your throat, you tap on the message and it fills his phone screen.

Hey guy, look, i’m sure you’re a cool dude and all but stay away from y/n. I won’t tell you again :)

A quavering breath filters in through your glossed lips.

Surely not.

A- A prank. It must be a prank on his end, right?

But you know Caleb. You know him from anywhere, you know him like a fucking mirror- or a platonic soulmate, you’re so close. He’s been your bestfriend all throughout childhood and you’d be damned if you couldn’t recognize him in text, even over a small number of words on someone else’s phone screen.

The world sears around you, darkening in your periphery. Your surroundings- blurred with the coming of a very angered, indignant emotion- and the concerned visage of your boyfriend- wither away like ash.

All you can see is how small- how helpless- Caleb has made you feel, the color red, terrible and pigmented, stinging your sclera.

W- Why can’t he just fucking see that you’re fine-? You don’t need him to protect you, and—

The better part of your rationale fades, tears wetting your eyes and the mascara that’d clumped on your lashes, balling your fingers with an iron grip in fear of your carefully-applied makeup waterfalling all over your cheeks. Dammit! You’re so upset right now you can’t even think.

The chair screeches from under you, alerting the fellow restaurant-goers who perk upright around you, but you can’t find it in you to care about them- or your sweet, gawking boyfriend as you throw him a feeble, too-tight smile and march for the nearest exit.

“Uh- b-babe-? Wait-“

It’s long overdue that you grow up, yes, but you realize this- the little stunts pulled to keep you in the house, more notably the attic, as a teen, and now the blatant threats made to your present partner through ominous texts- is childish, and Caleb is pushing the envelope, too.

You’re starting to fucking wonder if he even wants to grow up, or keep you and him trapped in his fantastical, little imaginary world forever.

✿✿✿

To your singular surprise, he’s already there when you arrive, emerging from the living room of your apartment with the ease of someone who owns the place.

He doesn’t own the place. You worked taxing hours, both physical and otherwise, at your job and counted up the pennies to afford the rent here- your flat falls under your name and it’s yours. Not his. Not everything is Caleb’s- not everything can he just assert his hands all over and take.

This is your life! What you’re trying to make of it!

You’re so angry you can hardly look at him without glaring daggers, crossing your arms across your chest just to keep them from shaking at your sides as you halt by the threshold and find your bearings.

“Caleb,” you grit out. He’s stupidly self-assured as he folds his own arms and props himself against the wall, dipping his chin slightly to appraise you. A low-cut, silky dress that leaves little to the imagination, lipstick that makes your lips almost glitter and mascara that threatens to run— you wonder just what that squint in his eye means as he takes it all in.

When he lets out a breathless, angered sort of scoff, you think you’ve grasped the fundamentals of it. He doesn’t like it. And of course he doesn’t, right-? Because you look grown up, like a confident, take-no-bullshit woman- a country mile from the little fumbling girl he grew up with and constantly had to monitor.

You haven’t seen him in a week, and even now you realize this unannounced visit is earlier than his general schedule, but a lot has changed in that short amount of time.

“Hm. What’s got you so worked up, Pipsqueak?”

Infuriating.

“You-!” You unclench your jaw just enough to speak. “You know what you did!”

“Sorry. I’m gonna need you to be a lil more specific,” he teases with a hint of a cruel smile, “Help me understand what you’re sayin’ here.”

You’re almost impressed with how steady the words come out; you’re half expecting to break down in furious sobs right then and there, but you more or less manage to save face. “You’re threatening my boyfriend now?”

There’s nothing to be leisured on here- so you’ll just cut to the point because the quicker he understands the line you’re drawing, the sooner he’ll leave and you can be done with this. Your lovely date has been ruined for the night, you’re all kinds of humiliated and you’ll have a whole plethora of apologetic texts to type out for your boyfriend— who you’ve inwardly decided will have to become privy to the little dilemma with your overprotective friend. You wanted to keep it off the books, but Caleb has made that all but impossible.

A little muscle in his face twitches. Some of the mirth, contrived as it was, fading at your accosting. “And you’re keeping things from me now?” He accuses back.

He hardly gave you any other choice, did he? Caleb’s no different than a guard dog wherever you’re involved, and your poor boyfriend wouldn’t stand much of a chance if your closest friend thought you to be in some kind of danger and blindly rushed in. But he’s— that’s just where Caleb doesn’t understand, does he? That you’re fine on your own, truly, that you’re safe and you feel loved in his arms. It’s so so maddening but you try your damnedest to hold onto the trace of dignity you still have left after the last hour.

“I’m allowed to fall in love, you know! Go out and- and start a life separate from you and our childhood!”

A sharp intake of air on his end. The arms folded over his chest stiffen, fingertips bluntly digging into the crooks of his elbows.

“And what about me?” He asks slowly. “You think I’ll just… be content to be left in your dust while you go and- and give yourself up to the first guy who looks at you?”

A wounded sound disguised as a laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, is that what you think of me? Think I’m just some insecure little school girl who’s got a crush and doesn’t know how to act?”

With a coolness that masks the true turmoil inside him, Caleb pushes himself off the wall and approaches you. Whether it’s the stirrings of fear that keep you grounded in place- the unexpected but startling realization that right now, you feel afraid of him- or the determination steeling your nerves, you don’t know, but you hold your ground even when he’s no more than a foot away.

“Honestly?” He starts, “you’re lookin’ the part right now, Pipsqueak.”

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes. Your fingers mirror the brunet’s, curling up together and stabbing the fleshy plane of your palm. You refuse to cry in front of him. It’s different from when you were kids, like if you were to burst into tears now, he’d use it as more of an example as to why you’re not steady on your own; the warm memories of being tucked in his embrace seem sugar-coated now, like you were missing the bigger picture all along.

Perhaps it was naivety- wishful thinking- believing that the spot under his arm or at his breast was the safest in the world.

This Caleb is one you don’t even recognize, let alone want to cuddle up to.

Your nostrils flare, your tone beaten, small, but it reaches its mark. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best to get out of your shadow.”

Seemingly, he ignores you, simply saying, “You can do… so much better than him.

“Hah, oh really? And what’s better, Caleb? Since you’re soooo enlightened,” you throw back, bravely (or stupidly) stepping closer to sneer in his face until yours is just meager inches from his. He makes no move to reapply that distance, small as it was, indigo eyes regarding you with a slight narrow as he looks down his nose at you and frowns.

You don’t care if you’re being reckless. You deserve an answer after all his awful antics. Maybe you’ve been going around his back with your boyfriend, but it’s not like he was owed that knowledge to begin with, and he’s done you an even greater disservice by running behind yours to tamper with your relationships.

You press, “What’s better, Caleb! TELL ME!”

“Me,” Caleb murmurs, but you take it clear as a bell. You slacken, anger loosening from the tight lines in your visage, but you watch- unseeingly- as a mite of joy blinks across his face. Light as quicksilver. “Caleb is better.”

Without a word, you push past him, leaving him alone in your apartment. It’d be a losing battle to kick him out your door, and you were tired of fighting.

Tired of him, really.

✿✿✿

You don’t know how fast you’re going, or for how far you drive. Just that it’s barely below the speed limit, you guess, and it’s within Linkon’s outskirts. It’s a handful of hours that pass when you realize you’re going in circles. You’re not so sure where to land.

It’s after dark when you swerve your car into some empty parking lot- a park, you think- and get out to sit yourself on a wooden bench. It’s a starry night, a beautiful clear sky overhead- but you can’t find it in you to admire the view as frustration and sorrow, the feelings you’d been burying all throughout the seemingly endless drive, bubble to the surface.

You hang your head between your hands and cry.

Something is wrong with Caleb. He’s like a dog with a bone; you’re more than horrified to realize that in the grand scheme of things, you are the chewtoy. He’ll nip at the hands that get too close, your boyfriend’s most of all.

If tonight taught you one thing, it’s that he cant be reasoned with. Fine. You don’t need him anyway. If he’s just gonna see you as some pitiful little object he can put a leash on at his own whims, then you don’t think you want to be friends anymore- the decade of knowing him, relying on him, be damned.

(But you suppose he doesn’t want to be ‘friends’ either, huh?)

When he’d said he wanted to be a pilot, you didn’t stop him. No, you clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug and told him you’d support him every step of the way, that you were proud.

Evidently, he doesn’t give a shit about you or how you feel or what you want— he’s bigheaded and selfish. Does he seriously think he can just say what he said tonight without any consequence?

Me. Caleb is better.

You scoff, fingernails denting your palm as you clench your fists. It’s all you can do to stop them from shaking or punching the air.

For a moment you almost contemplate picking yourself up, giving your partner a ring or climbing back into your vehicle to steer it towards home… B-But you don’t think you want to go back, not when it means facing him, not right now—

Between the gap of your wrists as you cradle your temples, headlights pour over the concrete below. The rumbling hum of an engine gets louder and then tires crunch over pebbled road as a car pulls in. Your shoulders stiffen. You risk a wary glance up and feel a mixture of relief and confusion when you clock it as your boyfriend’s.

…What? What’s he doing here?

You prepare to stand, but a figure throws a long leg out of the front and the silhouette that appears, tall and broad, approaching with measured ease, makes you freeze.

His face shines under a singular lamp post and you’re embittered all over again at the sight of Caleb.

Wiping your tears away before he can fully see them, you practically leap off the bench when he’s still a couple yards from reaching you, but your heart lurches to your throat when something- an invisible force- throws you back onto the seat.

“Sit,” his voice, leaving little room for negotiation, rings.

Gobsmacked, you jerk your head up. He’s a few feet away now, swiftly trimming that space until he’s stood right before you and slipping his hand under your chin to hold your gaze, wide with shock, on him.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Your dreadful expression hardens into one of calm anger. “What, am I your prisoner now? You’re really gonna- fucking hold me hostage on this stupid bench?” You sniffle.

For a certain window of time, the familiar car behind him slotted by yours is completely forgotten, your attention wholly fixed on the man (your should-be bestfriend) towering over you.

Dimly lit, you watch as his eyes narrow, sweeping over you with thought- albeit, just what exactly is running through his mind, you don’t know if you want to find out. Right now, though, you think you hate him, and you have waning faith that he’ll choose the right option here- that is, to piss off to wherever he came from and get his nose out of your relationships.

“…Did you hear anything I said?” He asks pointedly.

The sharpness of it silences you, your jaw fluttering shut above his palm, his touch betraying a gentleness that flummoxes you. He shifts it to thumb away at your silvery tears.

You struggle for an answer, for an appropriate way to even respond to all this. “Caleb-“

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” He lets out a little laugh, then, but the hurt is clear as day on the half of his face that the dim, lemony light glows on. He shakes his head, “After what I said, you just… left? You’ve become quite the heartbreaker, huh, Pipsqueak?”

His eyes glitter. You get the vague feeling that there’s something you’re not grasping here, like another nonsensical joke you don’t understand yet as a tinge of amusement pinches his lips.

“Hm.”

Finally, you break from his inscrutable gaze and heave a sigh. “Caleb, look, I-I just want to forget tonight and—“

“I’m gonna say a few things,” he cooly interupts. You gawk. “Caleb-“

“-And you’re gonna listen.”

You’re stunned into a clumsy sort of quietude, mouth quavering shut as you spare a frenetic glance down to your wrists, bound by invisible restraits to your side, straight as a ramrod. You can’t move them. Every second spent is tense, and wraught with the anticipation that he’ll shortly let go and tell you this is some prank- definitely his sickest yet- but you’re sorely mistaken.

“I love you, Y/n,” he starts, with an expression so sober that it steals the breath from your lungs, dark violet eyes rippling with intensity. The swing set somewhere behind you offers a groan as a breeze whisks its chains aside. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest; perhaps the one thing he can’t paralyze into silence.

Time drags to a screeching stop at his words- not because you’ve never heard them before: years ago, during stormful, scary nights you’d cling onto him and press your ear to his chest, the steady thrum of his heart and those three words lulling you into peaceful sleep- but because you’ve never heard them in that way.

Not even from your boyfriend.

A second passes and you’re… frightened. Unmistakably, horribly frightened.

You get the feeling he’s wounded, however, face warping with some deepseated, double-edged conviction, as he stares.

He lifts a hand, his free one, and splays it over his broad chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt as his brow furrows, “I love you so fucking much it actually hurts sometimes. And it was… fine, for a while, pretending all I felt for you was friendly. But—“ and this is when his face, and the kicked puppy sort of look, darkens, his nostrils flaring as he drops his hand to his side.

“But then you started running from me,”

“I- I never tried to run, Caleb-!?”

Smoothly, he continues. “Decided I wasn’t good enough for you. But haven’t I always protected you? When it was thundering, when the neighborhood bullies came knocking on the door- I was there to hold you. To fight off your bad dreams,” He breaks off with a breathy laugh that sends a cold chill down your spine. Franky, no amount of humor, no matter how small, feels appropriate right now. “Remember? Even when Gran said to eat your veggies, it was me who cleaned your plate for you. It was always me, Pipsqueak.”

You blink. But every time you open your eyes, you think it’s someone new standing before you. It’s all surreal, like you can’t trust your own sight.

“And now…” he moves impossibly closer, sandwiching you against the back of the bench, hunching over. You give your wrists, trembling from resistance, another harsh tug but they don’t move.

“We finally get to be together again, just to find out you’ve been tryin’ to seek that out in another guy? Pipsqueak- you know nobody will love you like I have, right…?”

Distantly, as the tip of his nose nears yours and you spot a fleck of something on his cheekbone, smeared and red, you wonder just whose car you’ll be escorted home in.

Yours, or your boyfriend’s.

[o-craven-canto]

Even in a purely, coldly utilitarian moral system, there are three questions to ask before accepting harmful or destructive Means because they ostensibly lead to a better End:

Do the Means lead to some other negative End, in addition to the intended one? The classical example of the naïve utilitarian doctor who kills a patient in order to harvest their organs and save five patients, in practice, if accepted, leads to general loss of trust in doctors and hospitals and therefore to much greater loss of life; hence, doctors should follow a hard rule of not killing patients to harvest their organs, even if this might save more lives in the shortest term.

Are the Means necessary in order to achieve the End? The negative utility of atrocious Means still ends up in the final account along with the supposed positive utility of the End (and without the penalty for uncertainty that the latter should arguably be given). The Means are as much part of the final state as the End.

Do the Means, in fact, lead to the End? Any consequentialist justification for an atrocity-for-the-greater-good automatically fails if the atrocity does not plausibly bring out the greater good, even before any other consideration is taken. It's all well and good to say that you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, but (ignoring for the moment that people are arguably owed more consideration than eggs) a large chunk of the 20th century was a sustained and furious festival of egg-crushing and egg-trampling that resulted in precisely zero omelettes.

[milkoomi]

curating your signature scent. ᥫ᭡

one of my favorite compliments that i receive is, “you smell so good!” i strive to be that person who walks into a room and have people think, “oh my god, what are you wearing?” or “wow, you smell amazing!” and i’m sure a lot of you do too! smelling good is a big chunk of what makes me feel beautiful. having my signature scent just gives me that personal, little touch about myself that makes me feel so gorgeous, stunning, and ethereal. it’s taken me some time to perfect my signature scent, so i want to share some quick tips on how you can achieve that for yourself too!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — what’s your favorite scent(s)?

there’s so many scents out there, but ask yourself this: what scent, or combination of scents do you lean towards?

let’s talk a little about a few different scent categories!

florals ; jasmine, rose, lily / soft & powdery

— floral scents give, in my opinion, very feminine but sophisticated vibes. it’s a wonderful fragrance that can make you feel fresh and give that romantic spring aura around yourself.

fruity ; strawberry, citrus, tropical / fresh & juicy / playful & sweet

— fruitier scents have this summer freshness to them! they’re also perfect for layering with other scents, which makes this specific scent category very versatile!

gourmand ; vanilla, caramel, chocolate / sweet, decadent & delicious

— gourmand scents are perfect for anyone who wants to smell delectable and rich! this is another one of those scents that can layer nicely with other scents. it’s perfect as a stand-alone thanks to those richer and more decadent smells, but it could also be great as an underlying scent amongst another main fragrance!

amber ; warm, rich, exotic, vanilla / hints of wood, musk, & spice

— amber scents can provide comforting fragrances along with a feeling of luxury laced within it. this scent offers a more mature vibe to whoever wears! i think it’s that perfect gender-neutral scent while still offering more feminine or masculine-leaning options!

there are a plethora of different scents out there including clean and fresh scents, more woodsy scents, and even scents that remind you of the ocean!

the key takeaway in this section is just to figure out which scents you feel more drawn to, which scents make you feel beautiful, which scents make you feel like that girl; what scents do you love?

୨ৎ — experimenting

when i’m curating my signature scent, i always ask myself these two questions: 1) how does this scent make me feel? and 2) how are others reacting to this scent?

i always strive to boost my own confidence, and having a scent that makes me feel like an absolute angel helps! also, taking into consideration how the scent(s) i’m wearing gets other people around me reacting also gives me an extra confidence boost. and who doesn’t love being told they smell good?

the experimental stage is my favorite part! it’s just all about playing around with different fragrance combinations and seeing which ones just make you think “oh my god, this is everything!”

fragrance layering — essential to your signature scent

having one cohesive scent is amazing, and maybe that’s what some people want! but think about it: wouldn’t it be more likely for other people to have that same singular scent as you if you stick to one type of fragrance? this is exactly why i believe layering different scents is absolutely essential in creating your signature scent!

when you layer scents, you’re actively creating a scent combination of your very own! chances are, when you layer scents, no one else is going to smell like you. other people may have similar fragrance notes, but they aren’t going to have the exact combination that you have!

some good scents to layer…

gourmand + fruity scents

floral + fruity scents

amber + gourmand scents

fresh & clean + fruity scents

citrus + florals

my current scent layers…

Burberry Goddess — scent type: gourmand + amber

Orabella Blooming Fire — scent type: warm floral

EOS Body Lotion Strawberry Dream — scent type: fruity + soft gourmand

you want to make sure that the scents you’re layering combine well together. you can see that the scents i’m layering have similar scent types, but there’s still a nice difference between all of them to still provide that “signature scent” feeling!

**tina’s tip: if you’re at the store and trying out different scents, use the little tester strips and hold them together and take a whiff! it’s a real easy way to see what scents you like together and what scents should probably keep a distance from each other!

consider your body chemistry

keep in mind, how the fragrance smells from the bottle can change when it’s applied onto your body! all of us are different, so some scents are going to smell differently on our person. i wore billie eilish’s perfume (the gold bottle) a lot in the winter, and my coworker loved how it smelled on me and i convinced her to get it for herself, but she ended up hating how it smelled on her and she even told me she had to return it because it didn’t smell like how it did on me.

if you’re really leaning towards a couple scents at the store, don’t be afraid to try it on yourself! spray a little on your wrist, let it dry down, and then give your wrist a sniff. see how you like it! see if there’s any differences you notice! you might be obsessed with how something smells in the bottle, but there might be a chance you might hate how it smells on you.

keep tabs — which scent is getting the most attention?

i’m not saying you have a keep a journal and make tally marks on which scents are getting the most compliments, but i just mean make mental notes for yourself!

like i said earlier, who doesn’t love being told they smell good? so when i’m finding my signature scent i like to make mental notes to myself of which perfume(s) are getting the most compliments!

as a little disclaimer: i know i’ve talked a lot about not caring about what other people think, and i will always stand by those statements i’ve made about that, but when i talk about not valuing other people’s opinions i mean that i don’t want to give any value to other people’s opinions of myself; of me as a person, how i live my life, and how i view myself. and that same thought process goes out to you lovely angels! i wouldn’t want you guys to put any value into what anyone has to say about you and your life, but when it comes to something as small as how i smell, well, it doesn’t hold as much importance to me versus how someone thinks about me as an individual, you know what i mean? now, back to the blog post!

see which scents are making people go “you smell so good!” or “what are you wearing? it smells amazing!” but keep in mind of how that scent makes you feel. maybe other people absolutely love the perfumes you wear, but maybe you’re not the biggest fan of the scents, so maybe you want to find different fragrances of the same or similar scent types of the ones that other people are complimenting and find ones that you really love!

having a non-official “vote” of which scents get you the most compliments can actually help you find scents that give you your own personal confidence boost while still getting to hear that beloved “you smell so good!” comment!

୨ৎ — seasonal scents

another fun way of finding your signature scent is by also having a designated scent for each season! i personally have a spring/summer scent and a fall/winter scent!

you can associate florals & fruit with spring/summer and warm vanilla & amber/gourmand with fall/winter, but it’s all up to you! think of the vibe you want to give off during the different seasons. maybe in the spring & summer you want something more fresh, playful, and juicy and maybe in the fall & winter you want something warm, cozy, and sweet!

i’m all about associating smells with memories and vibes, so my biggest piece of advice for seasonal signature scents is to pick fragrances that go along with the energy you want to give!

final notes —

curating your signature scent doesn’t have to be a stress-inducing endeavor! make it fun for yourself and take time to experiment with different smells! when you find that scent or combination of scents that you feel like really embodies you and your energy, really own it. it’s your signature scent, it’s the scent that’s going to make people remember you by, it’s the scent that makes you feel like that girl!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[everythingspokenfor]

Casually thinking about older!Bakugou . As usual, all characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Older!Bakugou who is still in his early 30s, being pestered by his mother to at least get a girlfriend (and eventually settle down). She is afraid she'll never be able to meet her grandkids if this continues.

Older!Bakugou who has attended weddings of his friends, co-workers and even few of the people he had rescued. Although, had no intention of settling down anytime soon, wanting to focus on hero work because it gave him a drive, something to look forward too.

Older!Bakugou who was never really interested in any women that threw themselves at him, always keeping to himself, mellowed out with age. His friends no longer setting him up on blind dates because it was all in vain.

Older!Bakugou who hires a new support tech, because he was impressed by the work. Who meets the newbie in the hallway of the building, screaming at a rookie prohero.

"this is my resume", you shoved an open file into the rookie's face,"on page 12 it list all the things I was hired for", you pause pulling the folder, skimming through the pages to open page 12, he assumes. "Here, now read carefully, does it say 'write reports for rookies because they are apparently incapable of writing it' huh?", you slam the folder shut on the table. " Don't ever expect to do your work, rookie."

You turned around and left the hallway, not really noticing that you almost ran into Pro-hero: Dynamight.

Older!Bakugou who observes you working around the lab, fierce support tech that minds her business and prefers talking to her projects over actual people. Diligent with her work, getting her job done.

Older!Bakugou who enters the lab one day because his gauntlet need to repaired.

"they are too chunky." You don't really have a filter, already working on dismantling the whole thing, not sparing Bakugou a glance.

"You should focus on your work, kid." He was already staring at you.

"What do you think I am doing, Dynamight? This chunk isn't going to fix itself."

He is glad that your words remains same, irrespective of who you are talking to. Always stating the obvious.

"watch it, kid." He walked out of the lab.

Older!Bakugou who is surprised when the new tech remodels his gauntlets but also repairs the old ones, showing him the perks of new ones while still repairing the old ones just in case he doesn't like the new ones.

Older!Bakugou who, at 32, finds himself horrified by the idea that he might be interested, in someone, someone who is younger than him. You are 24, barely am adult in his eyes. You are smart, snarky and considerate.

You explain things to people, help around the lab, yet you are still sharp can take a joke, can make a joke.

Older!Bakugou that is nervous, prospect of asking out a girl making him sweat. He stands at the entrance of your lab, clear door doing nothing to hide his hulking frame, you are still working on something, hunched over a table with a chunky metal in hand.

"you know, I can see you, right?"

He lets out a breath, a small smile breaking onto his face, he moves into the lab. You notice he is wearing casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying take-out boxes in his hand.

"I was getting dinner, thought I'd get you some too." He is already setting up on the 'not work table' in the room, already aware of what would happen if he put food on your 'work table'.

"What did you do, boss?" You voiced suspiciously, already moving to wash your hands.

"Can't even get people dinner in this economy"

"People", faux disbelief evident in your voice,"I wouldn't call me people, boss" you pulled the chair out and sat in front of him.

"Why not, tech?" He teased, handing you pair of chopsticks.

You look at him with mischief in your eyes, you lean over and play your hand around you mouth, almost as if sharing a secret,"Because you don't practice asking 'people' out, Suki."

His eyes widened,"You heard that? I thought the glass door was fucking sound proof." He let out a sigh, hours of practising and he doesn't even get a chance to say it.

"They are soundproof. From the inside tho." You looked over to him, before placing your hand over his," And I'll go on that date, also we should totally check the sound proofing of the lab tonight."

── ⋅ ⋅ ��─ ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[knockoffheart]

marketing manager for Victoria Neuman

warnings: smut, reader has female genitalia & is referred to as a girl, oral & fingering (r receiving), power imbalance — just incase (boss x employee), semi-public (almost caught but not really), Vic uses powers (reader is not aware), panty raid (aka Vic keeps your underwear), NO BODILY HARM, 18+ also.. i only kind of proof read this, schwoopsie.

->

You’ve been working for Victoria since the start of the campaign. She’s always been good with the public, her work with the FBSA ensured that — but a little more media outreach never hurt anyone. Your affair with the vice-president elect started only a few weeks ago. A few too many late nights with a few too many glasses of wine spurred on this new ‘relationship’. You aren’t sure what to call it, you’d like to think it’s more than sex, this type of relationship doesn’t easily lend itself to something more.

You’re first to arrive to the building, you click on the lights and make your way to your office. You open your laptop and look through your calendar, Victoria has claimed a considerable chunk of your morning for a meeting. You raise an eyebrow at this newly formed block in your schedule, your meetings normally take thirty minutes. You click through emails trying to see if you missed something from earlier. Your scouring leads you nowhere. You tap your nails against the desk impatiently. A knock at the door makes your head shoot up.

Victoria is leaned against the door frame, smiling. You tuck your hair behind your ear and smile back at her.

“I know I’m early, that okay?” Neuman asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Of course, Vic!”

She’s never been this early to a meeting before. You stare longingly at her perfectly painted lips, before snapping back up to her eyes. You catch a mischievous look on her face and unintentionally tilt your head.

Victoria has always been able to read you like an open book. It’s one of the many things she loves about you. She spends all day dealing with snobs who lie right through their teeth, coming back to you is like a breath of fresh air. She doesn’t think you could lie to her if you tried.

“You’ll have to forgive me for mixing business and pleasure,” Victoria saunters next to you and rests her hand against your cheek and you melt in her palm. She hums, “I just can’t get enough of you.”

She lends you a few seconds of sweetness before spinning your chair towards her. You place your hands on her waist and stare up at her. Neuman laughs at your blown out pupils and pets your hair. She loves the effect she has on you.

“You’d do anything for me, huh?” she teases. You nod and smile up at her. Victoria smirks and pushes you back into your desk chair. “Then, let me do this for you.”

She crouches down in front of you and pushes up your skirt, you gasp and reflexively grab her hands.

“V-Vic! Somebody’s gonna’ see…” you huff shakily and try to steady yourself in your chair. She rolls her eyes and positions herself under your desk, you don’t object as she slides your underwear off.

“Nobody will notice,” she kisses your thigh, “Besides, I’ve basically blocked out your whole day.”

She presses her mouth between your thighs. Her big brown eyes stare up at you as she tongues circles against your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut and run your fingers through her hair. She pulls her mouth away with a soft ‘pop’ and clicks her tongue.

“I didn’t say you could stop working did I?” she chides.

“Vi…” You raise your brows and stare down at her.

The look she gives you lets you know she’s serious. You let out a breathy sigh and remove your hands from her hair, placing them at your computer. Instantly, she’s back to toying with you.

She teases you at a fervent pace. You’re only able to open a tab before you drop your head down against your desk. Your thighs tremble together and you feel her force them apart. She spreads you open and laps up and down your cunt. You throw your head back and stare down at her, she leans away and the sight of her makes you whimper. What remains of her lipstick is smeared, her eyes are glossy and hungry, and there is a trail of wetness from her chin to your cunt.

Victoria lets out a breathy noise of satisfaction when she sees your face. She rubs messily at your clit. You choke back an exasperated cry and press your hand against your mouth. You whimper out a few pleas for gentleness as you squirm under her touch. She fakes a pout that instantly widens into a grin as she goes back to tonguing your core. You lean forward and try to focus on work, scared she might stop. You push back your hair and glare at your screen. Knock, Knock, Knock. A soft tapping at your door snaps you into reality, you try to wriggle out of Victoria’s grasp but she holds you down.

Your coworker, Hughie Campbell, enters.

“Hey! Got you a tea,” he places a to-go cup next to your computer, “Green, right?”.

“H-Hey! Yeah..” You shakily reach for the tea and take a swig.

“You seen Neuman around?” He stares back into the office, and holds up a small paper baggie, “Got her a breakfast sandwich thing—“

“Nope!” you blurt out, resting your head in your hand. It takes all your strength to maintain composure and force a smile.

“Weird. She’s normally like the first one her-“

“Hah- HA. Hahaha.” You play your moan off as a laugh and grit your teeth. “So unlike her! Crazy… Traffic probably..”

Your composure starts to fall apart, Victoria’s pace doesn’t slow. She sucks hard at your clit and starts to curl a finger inside of you.

Before Hughie speaks his next sentence, a small bit of blood dribbles out of his nose.

“Ah shit, great.” He grabs a napkin from the table and presses it to his nose, “If you see Neuman, give her the sandwich for me? Thanks!” He hurries out and shuts the door.

Victoria pumps in another finger and moans into your clit. She sucks and slides her tongue sloppily against you. Neuman’s neat, calculated demeanor disappears when she’s with you like this — she craves you, carnally.

“V-Vicky…” you cry and grip the arm rests on your chair. She pulls away with a pant and stares up at you.

“Go on, baby.” She bites her lip, “You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

She places her mouth back on your clit and quickens her pace. With that, you start to unravel. Your brows furrow and you feel your whole body trembling as you let go. You swear you black out and when you come to Victoria is placing kisses along your thighs. She pulls your skirt back down and slinks out from under your desk.

“Think I’ll keep these for now,” she dangles your panties in front of your face before tucking them in her pocket. Your face turns beet red, but you don’t protest.

She hands you your tea and sits on top of your desk, crossing her legs. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and takes a bite of the breakfast sandwich.

“This is the second best tasting thing I’ve had all morning.” She laughs and glances at your screen. All you managed to do was type ‘The’. She lets out an even bigger laugh and you smack her leg. “You’ve got to learn how to multitask.”

You sip your tea and roll your eyes, “Let’s see how great you are at it…” You tease.

“Oh, I’d love to.” She stands and kisses the top of your head before heading out, reapplying her lipstick in the hall’s mirror. She pokes her head back in to your room, “Check your schedule.”

You click open your calendar and see a new meeting.

Neuman’s Office, 1 on 1 Marketing Meeting @ 11am

| NEXT

authors note: woa!! thank you for reading & all the support!! — part 2 in the works!

[tip jar]

[boosandbirds]

Hey ches, I saw your post asking for prompts how about this:

Ship: dead on main (Jason Todd X Danny Fenton)

Prompt: Wing Au, Jason has only one wing left/one wing and a half left from the explosion even lazurus pit could not heal them, Danny's wings are unusable since the accident, only hanging down he can't even fold them to his back, as phantom he has only the skeleton of wings and can fly with them, how about a meet cute or one of them has a bad day (phantom pains) and the other helps them (with cuddles and such)

Thanks in advance

By the time Jason gets back from patrolling the Alley, it's long passed two in the morning.

Not the latest he's gotten back, not by a long shot, but he still feels the ache in his muscles and bruises refusing to be ignored. Jason swears his wings weight at least a ton, missing chunk and all, and he wants nothing more than to peel off his gear and sleep for a week.

But there's a wing thrown over the couch, and he catches a glimpse of another one on the floor. Jason's tired, but even during his worst days, he hadn’t been heartless.

If there's anyone that understands this kind of tiredness, it's Danny.

His boyfriend might not be a hero anymore -- hates the idea of it, really, and goes deathly pale at the mention of it -- but it's not something you forget. Jason doesn't think it's something anyone can forget. Being a vigilante does things to you, and there's no going back from it.

Jason will never back the missing parts of his right wing. In his human form, Danny can barely move his wings at all.

"Oh, Spaceboy," Jason sighs, stepping around the corner. "I've told you not to wait up for me."

Danny groans, propping himself up on his elbows. It can't be a comfortable position, wings sprawled out across the furniture, wood digging into feathers and not providing nearly enough support for how much they weigh. Danny’s wings aren't small, after all, not when you take his short stature into consideration, and this isn't the first time Jason has found him like this. Still, if it bothers him, Danny doesn't let it show on his face.

He smiles like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Yeah, well," Danny says, wearing a mock pout, "You’re not the boss of me."

Privately, Jason doesn't think anyone's the boss of him unless Danny let's them be. Danny might be looked down upon -- it's shitty for people to judge his broken wings, but Jason has long since learned not to make a big deal out of it -- but he's as free as can be. Doesn't give a shit what people tell him not to do, because if he thinks it's right, Danny will happily do it anyway. The only exceptions may be Jazz Fenton and Sam Manson.

Jason pushes the thoughts away with a quiet laugh. He closes the remaining distance between them, then carefully wraps his hands around Danny’s upper arms. "Up we go," Jason says, lightheartedly, and Danny laughs as he's helped to his feet. "The bed is big enough for both of us to stretch out."

And he's not exaggerating.

Perks of being one of Bruce's kids, Jason can afford the biggest bed on the market. He'd originally gotten to sprawl out after patrol, but after starting to date Danny, it truly became a luxurious thing. Two birds fit on it perfectly, and there were few things Jason more than wrapping his ghost up in his wings.

"I can't see the door from the bed, idiot," Danny mumbles, "I wanted to ask how your patrol went, but hypothetically, I fell asleep and forgot to change forms. So hypothetically, I might have gotten stuck on the couch."

"Hypothetically, of course," Jason says, smirking, "because the great Danny Fenton would never get stuck on a couch."

Danny glares at him playfully. "Fuck off," he says, "maybe I was waiting for my knight in dirty leather."

Jason grins, and just for that comment, he makes a show out of sweeping Danny into his arms. "Well, your Highness, your knight has arrived."

"Dick!"

"Wrong bat," Jason says, and he leans in to press a kiss to Danny’s lips. Then, careful that his wings aren't dragging, he starts walking towards the bedroom. "Now, I don't know about you, but unless Gotham’s about to explode, the rest of them can fuck off. I'm taking my ghost to bed, and not moving an inch until morning."

Danny pokes his face. "Sure," he says, "whatever you say, Zombie Boy. Whatever you say."

[theorist-fox]

Interlude (the aftermath)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Previous << || >> Next

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Simon grow apart, and then together. Only, something's different this time.

18+

CW: brief angst, emotional healing, the aftermath of the big angst.

This chapter is split into 2. Next part (longer) coming on Sunday. If you were here this Tuesday, you might have read this already. Apologies!!!

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

Day 1

You wake up with a headache and blurry memories. Simon on his knees and his apology. His tongue on you and how it had felt unwelcome for the first time.

Chunks of a puzzle roughly scattered on the table. You're not sure you want to finish it, piece it back together—knowing the big picture would leave an acrid taste on your tongue.

You turn in bed, helplessly flopping on your back. Mouth pasty and sticky lashes, the folds of your pillow printed on your cheek, itching with dried tears.

On your nightstand, a pack of Marlboro Reds you haven't bought and Simon’s favourite lighter.

Day 5

You miss him. 

Your skin longs for his touch, and you've gone as far as closing your eyes and clutching a hand at the base of your throat when you cum by yourself. It’s never satisfying, never satiates any hunger—you’ve been spoiled in that regard, and you acknowledge it even blinded by the fog of denial.

Truthfully, you wish it was only the strength of an orgasm that you miss. 

Sometimes, you cry, but it's okay. It's just the beginning and not the first time you've had to nurse a broken heart. It'll piece itself back together, as resilient as you are.

Still, there's something incredibly hopeless in your eyes when you dip your nose in the pillowcase where he used to rest, and it only smells of fabric softener.

Day 15

You play with the hashbrowns on your plate. Kyle sips on watered-down coffee. Johnny stuffs his mouth with a depressingly flat omelette. Price has his nose in the newspaper. All in all, life seems normal.

Yet something’s amiss.

Simon's seat is empty. He's still choosing his breakfast from the glass display in the canteen.

You see him point at a brownie and automatically your chin dips to your chest, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Sweet tooth.

He grabs it and the mug of good ol' Earl Grey from the girl behind the counter. Then, he walks to the table, balancing it all on a tray. Your heart thunders.

And cracks.

He walks past you all with a simple nod in greeting—and just like that, just as swiftly, he's out of the mess hall.

Day 34

You're forced to do desk work until you're fit for active duty again.

You barely see Simon, not even work seems to favor your meetings. If he has some paperwork to hand over to you, he simply delegates it to someone else. After all, he does have the rank to toss younger officers back and forth through the hallways.

And then the team is sent out for two weeks. Weeks you spend biting your nails and bouncing your leg.

When they come back, triumphant and safe, you feel like you can breathe again. You hug them all until their laughter turns into a wheeze, quickly sign off their reports, and invite them to your flat for drinks.

Simon turns the offer down gently, hand on your shoulder and kindness in his eyes.

Day 86

He's been impossibly understanding, which is not something you would have pegged to the likes of him.

He never reaches out unless it's job-adjacent or to check on your well-being. You asked for space and got a whole world of it around you.

In the very first days, he even skipped team nights out, only so you could enjoy them without the heaviness of his scrutiny.

He's been so considerate you've started to feel bad.

Though, deep down, you're just as grateful.

Because the more he keeps his distance, the more your tears seem to grow weary of being shed, and, at last, your heart and mind appear to have settled into a quiet, mutual truce.

It's as comforting as it's dreadful. But no healing process is ever gentle.

And you can endure pain; Lord knows you've had your fair share of it.

So long as it leads to happiness, someday.

Day 105

You're reinstated again—five months and some after the incident on the field.

You're ready and elated, signing the medical forms with a smile so wide your cheeks hurt. A young cadet has brought them to you alongside a cup of lukewarm tea and absolute horror in his eyes—the latter being a glaring hint of who sent him to your office.

The thought steals a chuckle from you.

Fifth signature, fifth page. You turn it around, dog-earing it as you fold it behind, and there you see it.

Your heartbeat spikes, kissing your chest.

Somewhat bashful, scared, yet as ready as it'll ever be.

Day 123

Simon wasn't lying when he said your training would start slow. He just about spotted you the first few days, ensuring you wouldn't collapse under the weights.

It wasn't until he felt you'd regained enough strength that he added in your routine some hand-to-hand combat training. Measured and awfully gentle, at first, letting you glide on the training mat like water in a creek.

Soap once assisted and told you it looked like you two were dancing.

But the truth is that even as time passed, your movements kept being smooth—your bodies attuned.

Like yours had never spent weeks in quietude, like his had never spent months apart from yours. 

A well-oiled machine, cogs whirring seamlessly, anticipating every move: on the training mat, on the field, out of it. No wonder you two were often paired on duty. 

No wonder you got closer than intended. 

You won't deny that you miss him, that you crave his touch even when you shouldn't.

But these new and old rituals are lovely. Familiar. 

And, in some ways, only yours.

Day 184

You and Simon have reached a silent, mutual agreement in the ways you behave around each other. 

He doesn't change his approach: he stays somewhat impassive, sharp, and unapproachable to most. Yet also levelled, understanding, and ready to make you bite your own tongue. Banter flows effortlessly again, and now he even sits at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He remains calm and professional, separating work from personal relationships. Feelings—if any are left at all—don't bleed into the ranks anymore.

He stays trustful and loyal, even when you're back on operations. Never opposes your reinstatement, never fights the orders imposed on him and you both.

He trusts your abilities again.

He trusts you.

Day 223

Simon tells you lots of things he never shared. Says names you never heard. Tiny dots you can only connect on your own, stories that end abruptly, like he doesn't have the heart to finish them at all. 

You hear Beth, you hear Tommy. His voice strangles and dies on his tongue when he says Joseph. 

He doesn't tell you of his father. Not in great detail, at least. However, he tells you lots about his mum—of her pies when she was lucid enough to bake, that he remembers her hands most, and the wrinkles of her smile, the dimple on her cheek.

You listen like you never did before, whether it's on a well-worn stool of a pub, or the hard concrete of the rooftop in base—where the world is silent, paying its respects to stories it has hosted, horrors it has witnessed. 

Inevitably, you see him under a different light. A soft one, suffused. Sometimes vibrant, too, when his voice rumbles in a laugh you've never heard before. Troubles of youth, friends he's never heard of again but he's sure are thriving—or at least, better off than how he left them.

You imagine a young, lanky boy cutting meat at the butcher's. Thick knife within long fingers and a passive smile offered to the ladies who want him to meet their granddaughters.

And he listens. Asks. Wonders. About you, your family, your life before you met him. You recount stories of when you scraped your knee falling off a bike, when you bathed under the moonlight with friends at the beach—British water cold like the ocean, not like the sea. 

You wonder what he imagines as he thinks of you—the younger and softer you. The one still lighter and hopeful. If he sees that child in your words as they grow lively, like you see a less buoyant one when you look in his eyes.

And now Simon offers a ciggie when you're stressed, a chat with a steaming cup of tea between your hands. Or, his spare sleeping pills when yours are out of stock in your drawer and you look too knackered for your own good.

A friendship slowly mending. Crumbs of affection scattered like specks of dust on the floor, impossible to sweep away. A seed rooted too deeply to ever be removed. Together, you've watered it again, and now it grows, and grows, and grows.

As easy as anything, normalcy starts to settle in, a slow descent into what once had been a daily routine. 

The difference now being that you know Simon like you never once did.

Day 300

Simon didn’t even flinch when you brought up dating. It was just a mindless chat between friends in the rec room, shared around a game of cards.

While the others kept their opinions to themselves—perhaps too aware of your history with Simon, despite how hard you’ve both tried to keep it quiet—their eyes sparkled with a kind of hope, a kind of pride.

On the other hand, Simon barely replied. His eyes crinkled, you don't know whether in thought or a hint of a smile. The rest of his face stayed hidden under the mask, soft cotton and no hard shell over it.

Then, his voice rumbled through the chatter.

“If they ever give ya any grief, you know who to call.”

That promise you keep tucked safely in a pocket. Revisit it often with the utmost care, recognizing it as the ultimate peace offering he is able to give.

Find love somewhere else, because he couldn't give it to you. Find it, and heal what he's wounded.

And, although hesitantly, you think you’ll try.

[fluffypotatey]

okay so:

the year is 2021. the month is june. the new season of hermitcraft, season 8, has just started, and everything is great! the hermits are all messing around, having fun, building insane things within the first week of the server being active, and generally having a good time. everyone's collected themselves into little factions, pranking each other, and it's all the fun, lighthearted, mostly-vanilla content hermitcraft is known for.

and then the split between minecraft versions 1.18 and 1.19 is announced. the delay of new terrain, and especially of new mobs like the warden, considerably disrupt several of the hermits' plans. but it's fine, they'll figure something out, they're professionals, and it mostly goes unnoticed.

about two weeks later, on november 9th, grian turns to mumbo jumbo in one of his episodes, and asks the famous question that would seal hermitcraft season 8's fate:

"mumbo, is the moon... big?"

suddenly, the fans panic. they search back through videos and streams, and realize that the moon had been abnormally large and stuck in a full-moon phase since october 30th. the Moon Big event has begun.

this is where the roleplay really starts. once the moon's size has been brought up, the hermits start a weird combination of scrambling to figure out why the moon's growing, and how to stop it- but also of ignoring it, hoping it won't be a problem, hoping someone else will deal with it. the moon keeps getting bigger, more hermits start realizing it's going on, and a creeping sense of dread starts to grow. but it's fine. it's fine, right? they do little plotlines like this all the time. they'll figure something out, the moon will go back to normal, and we'll laugh about it when this is all over. it's fine.

and then, blocks start flying away. just floating up out of the ground, and falling right back down! like for a moment, a square meter chunk of dirt has decided it's a ballerina and leaped out of the ground! but it's fine, right? the blocks are coming back. no lasting harm is done. they're going to fix it all... right?

the moon gets bigger. it's growing every day- local hermit weirdguy joe hills measures it every stream. the blocks start flying higher. gravity starts getting... weird, with players getting the slow falling effect at random, and being lifted off of the earth themselves. the players form cults and rituals and whatnot to try and appease the moon, convince it to leave them alone, making plans to escape. nothing works. things keep getting worse, and the moon keeps getting bigger. but it'll be fine. these storylines never leave lasting harm, or at least they never have before. they'll be fine.

and then the blocks stop coming back, just floating into the sky forever. the players have the slow falling effect more than they don't now. the moon is now so big it's visible even during the day, and fills the entire sky at night. they start planning their escapes in earnest, and say their goodbyes. some hermits jump into a void hole in the overworld (it was the centerpiece of their village). some flee to the End, some to the nether, some just fly with elytras and hope they can get far enough away in time. one brave hermit, tango, flies himself to the moon in a futile attempt to blow the whole thing up before it can crash.

but in the end, the moon crashes into the server, and everything they'd built was destroyed. and the whole time, there'd been nothing any of them could've done. season eight was over, a full six months before anyone had expected it to end, and season nine wouldn't start until about three months later. and im still not okay about it.

(here's a cool animatic of the moon's crash! honestly i dont think you need too much hermitcraft knowledge to get the gist)

(also the moon crash happened on the day before my birthday lmao.)

….

holy shit

[chenfleur]

dreamy nights

pairing. streamer!jake x y/n ⇝ ft twitch chat

genre. fluff, twitch streamer au

word count. 1.9k

released. 10.18.2023

author’s note. i don't know if this requires context but just in case: a subathon is a stream where each time the streamer gets a sub, it adds time to the length of the stream!

masterlist

"That's not how the game works, chat!"

Even with a door separating you, Jake's whines still manage to reach your ears. Pushing down a smile, you delicately knock your first against the cold wood before slowly pushing in.

The room is shrouded in darkness, with the only source of light being the two large monitor screens set up; they're terribly blinding, causing you to recoil ever so slightly.

Too invested in the game in front of him, your boyfriend doesn't notice you've entered the room. This realization dawns on you, and instead of making your way towards him like you'd originally planned, you lean your weight against his doorway, simply watching him.

A fond smile dances on your lips.

The subathon's something he's been planning for ages.

It's something he had promised to his viewers, promised to himself that he'd carry out at least once in his streaming career. He's taken practically everything into consideration—what games he'd play, what guests he'd bring onto his stream, what would serve as entertainment while he's asleep. At the end, a chunk of the proceeds would go towards your local children's charity.

"Why?" you'd asked when he initially introduced the idea months ago.

He'd brought it up over some late night takeout—the two of you sharing food with distant sounds of traffic and quiet, curious conversations woven in between.

The plastic bag rustled as Jake pulled it closer to him, reaching in and taking out two bubble teas. As he slid your drink over to you, he had replied softly:

"Because I don't remember a time where I haven't wanted to do this. I've been given the privilege to give back to all of the people who have made my dream come true. I want this."

Jake Sim never fails to amaze you. You can't fathom how someone has been crafted with so much raw kindness—much less that you had managed to land that someone as your better half.

ari_01: look behind you bozo

"Look behind you, bozo- huh?"

Jake hastily spins his chair around. His eyes search through the dark before landing on you, tucked away in the safety of his doorway.

The sight of you eliminates tension in his body that he didn't even realize existed. A soft smile finds its way onto his face at the way your figure is illuminated from the pale blue glow of his monitor screens.

"Hi, beautiful."

It's been years and he still manages to make you reel at the simplest of compliments.

"Hi," you whisper back.

Turning back towards his monitor, Jake pauses his game. "Alright chat, Y/N's here. She's still a bit camera shy, so no monkey business, okay? You'll scare her," he scolds. You have to press a hand to your mouth to contain your laughter.

milkbread: MONKEY BUSINESS?

user1993: jake get out we want y/n

mariluvr: OMG ITS THE PRETTY GIRL!!! HIHIHIIIIIII

Jake playfully rolls his eyes before beckoning for you to join him. You oblige, pulling out a chair from the side and taking a seat. Habitually your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining underneath the desk.

"Hi chat," you greet, a smile growing on your face as an influx of enthusiastic greeting messages appear on the screen.

A huff sounds from beside you. "Gosh, they're never this excited to see me."

"Don't dwell on it. I'm just naturally likeable," you tease, casting a brief glance off to the side. You expect a retort, yet it never comes.

Instead, you feel a squeeze of your hand. "How come you're up? It's late."

You purse your lips together, embarrassment filling your body at the thought of being in front of an audience of thousands of people.

"Go on," Jake presses.

"Just... missed you."

Jake swears his entire stream can see the way your words makes him melt into a puddle. He tries to—and fails spectacularly at—keeping his smile at bay.

"Yeah? Missed me?" he whispers. You nod, head lowered.

It's day four of what Jake had predicted to be an around week-long endeavour, but clearly he's underestimated how much his viewers love him (or hate him?) as the timer seems to see no end in sight. The only moments you've really gotten to spend with him over the course of the past few days are when he stumbles into bed late at night.

You've spent longer time periods apart, but you're still stirred by longing.

A small sigh leaves his lips. He runs his tongue over his teeth before lightly tugging you towards him.

"C'mere," he says, motioning towards his lap.

You look at him in bewilderment, reluctance etching itself into each of your facial features. "Jake, you're streaming-"

"Mmm," he hums, shaking his head childishly. "Don't care. They already know how far I'm gone. Besides, I need to prove them wrong—they keep calling me rizzless."

A laugh leaves your lips, but you still don't make any move towards him. Sensing your unwillingness, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to encourage you.

"It's okay," he cooes. "It's okay, I promise."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, as if challenging one another. His gaze is heavy on you, and eventually, you find yourself folding.

Carefully, you place yourself into his lap, the warmth emanating off of him instantly making you relax. His arms wrap around you loosely, resting on the curve of your hips.

"Stop subbing, chat. You're making my girlfriend miss me."

h3artz: i will literally gift 20 rn. do not start

minlmn: sounds like smth a PISSBABY would say

user0304: think about the children jake

"Think about the childr- Okay! Okay. Of course, for the kids," he laughs, rolling his eyes before redirecting his attention to you.

"Tired?" he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nod, sinking further into his embrace. "Are you gonna start up the mods segment soon?" you mumble into the soft fabric of his sweater.

Whenever it's time for him to go to bed, his moderators take over the stream for the night to ensure that there's always something going on—whether that's playing games or hosting a makeshift podcast.

"Yeah, soon. Via told me she wasn't available until midnight, so just a little longer. Then we can go to bed," he whispers, fingers gently tapping a rhythm on your lower back. When he feels you nod against him, he turns his attention back to his screen.

mi11: u guys r the reason why i believe in love

urmom123: BOOOOOOO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE LAME LIKE THE REST OF US #NOTMYSTREAMER

streetfighter: u literally played league for 8 hours yesterday... what am i doing wrong with my life...

"Chat, stop being annoying. You should be happy for me," Jake grumbles. "And hey, to any league players out there-" he points at his webcam. "This is a sign. Don't lose hope, soldiers."

You erupt into soft laughter, removing your face from the crook of his neck and slapping him on the shoulder.

"Shut the hell up," you groan, eliciting a loud laugh from him.

Eyes scanning the live chat, you point out a message. "Look, Jake. Someone said 'not my streamer'," you snort.

"I'm used to it. I think I was collectively disowned yesterday during Uno."

"I heard about that from Jay. You must really suck at Uno."

He grins, hands travelling up to your waist. "But you still love me right?"

You scoff incredulously. "I loved you when you wore highlighter clothing to school everyday. It's going to take more than sucking at Uno for me to stop loving you, idiot."

Jake affectionately pinches your sides, causing you to yelp. Scowling, you begin to berate your snickering boyfriend before the sound of a notification interrupts you.

Upon reading it, Jake groans. "Oh, lord. Thank you for the twenty gifted."

You watch as the timer instantly shoots up another two hours, making your boyfriend close his eyes in defeat, leaning his head back against the headrest of his chair. Smiling, you brush some hair out of his face.

"They keep subbing," he whines. "It's like they enjoy watching my suffering."

You chuckle. "I don't think you should be badmouthing them. They're the ones who fund your stupid financial decisions, like buying a cardboard cutout of Heeseung. Which, by the way, came in today."

"Oh. You weren't supposed to see that."

"What is that even for?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

The two of you spend some more time talking with chat. You share what you've been doing for the past few days since Jake's been preoccupied with the subathon, recounting the bowling night you did with Jay and Sunghoon the other day. It takes you physically shutting Jake up with your hand to make him stop whining.

Exhaustion finally fully catches up to you, making you yawn. Jake watches you fondly before turning towards his monitor and swiftly muting his microphone.

"Go to bed," he coaxes, a hand smoothing over your hair.

You nod drowsily, slowly peeling yourself up from his hold. "Okay. Bye, chat."

"Mic's muted, baby."

"Oh."

You settle for some waves towards the camera, watching as messages bidding you goodnight flood in with a small smile. You think that you're incredibly lucky to be so well-received by his chat.

Jake's hand lingers on the small of your back. "I'll come join you in a bit, okay? I love you."

"Love you too," you mumble.

You begin to step towards the exit when suddenly, you're jerked backwards. A yell would've escaped you if it weren't for the fact that in a fraction of a second, your lips are on Jake's.

One of his hands is at the back of your neck gently pulling you down towards him, while the other one comes up into your hair.

For a second, you completely forget that you're on camera. The feeling of his plush lips on yours overwhelms you—your mind can't help but go blank.

But when that second is over, your eyes immediately snap open. You push at his shoulders, quickly stepping away from him. A scowl overtakes your face as he snickers at your reaction.

You flush crimson. "Next time, if you're going do that, turn off your webcam," you hiss.

"Mhm. Whatever you say, angel."

When you stumble out the door and frantically close it behind you, Jake turns back towards his stream and unmutes his microphone.

user899: MY EYES

redskies: highway looking so comfy rn

plays101: mom and dad get a fucking ROOM challenge

user555: this guy's asking to be slammed with a ban LMAO

Leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk, Jake's hands rest behind his head.

"Relax, chat. I'm not going to get banned. You know-" he pauses, his bottom lip between his teeth as he fails to contain his smile for the hundredth time since you appeared.

Jake hears you turn on the sink in the bathroom, yet the ghost of your presence still lingers in the way his body is still warm from your touch—the way he can smell the citrusy undertones of your shampoo.

"...that's what love is. Makes you do all sorts of stupid shit."

[wetpussyju1ce]

how bear!John fell in love w the local scrawny werewolf girl (reader is skinny, hairy and could be read as a poc)

John is huge. absolutely massive. especially w being a bear shifter, it makes everything abt him even bigger. and he runs warm all year long. always hot as a furnace. he's heavy and his shoulders are massive. his muscles are covered in a heavy layer of fat. he may not be the fastest out of all the shifters. but he's sure as hell has lots of stamina. he's heavy and he's so strong.

so it comes as a surprise when the local scrawny werewolf catches his attention. he scents her in the air and she completely captures his attention from day 1.

the said werewolf was a naughty troublemaker according to the other shifters and villagers. unmated and seemingly free as the wind. she was tiny compared to other wolves her age, puberty wasn't as generous w her as others. in both human and wolf form she was skinnier and smaller. in human form she had big bouncy curly hair that just about reached her shoulders. was a little hairy all over, from her legs, to her back, to her armpits and between her legs. and it was a given, considering she was a furry animal shifter.

she was fast, faster than most but still considerably weaker given her stature. but she did have a vicious bite and the sharpest teeth John has seen on a werewolf. and most importantly of all, she scented good, really good, which meant that she was constantly being courted by shifters, or at least the ones that have yet to see her teeth in action.

John has seen her being dragged through the village by her mother by the scruff of the neck, mouth and neck sticky with blood while a shifter howled in pain at a big chunk of his neck missing. The tiny wolf looked proud of herself, smiling with blood stained sharp teeth.

She had a tendency to answer any insults or disrespect thrown at her with immediate violence and wrath. And he could see why, she was raised with lots of werewolves and can see how being the smallest in the litter made her easy target of being picked on, even if she was one of the older pups.

So John watched and waited for the right time to introduce himself. And he didn't have to wait long because on one sunny day, when John was on his boat, fishing in the river, sounds of splashes in the water caught his attention. He looked back and saw a wolf paddling towards his boat, he frowned in confusion at how far the wolf must've swam to get where John's boat was, there was no reason for them to be this far off land.

So he dipped his hand in the water, grabbed the wolf by the neck and lifted it onto his boat. John sat back down, watching the animal shake its fur in an effort to dry, and shifted to human form. John's breath caught in his throat when he realised he was face to face with the werewolf with the prettiest eyes and sharpest teeth.

She didn't say anything, blinking her thick and wet eyelashes at him behind her wet curls. She was naked, sitting casually in his boat, hands on the bench by her sides, staring at John openly, making no effort of hiding her private parts.

John tried not to look, he really did as he dug in his bags and retrieved a fleece blanket, he handed it to her, which she slowly accepted after sniffing the fabric once. John looked away as she stood up and wrapped the thing around her shoulders, finally covering her body.

"It's nice here...quiet." She said, looking at his fishing gear.

John stared at her with his mouth open, feeling a little dumb, then snapped out of it, "Why are you so far away from land?"

She shrugged, wiped her nose with the blanket, "Wolves were bothering me so I ran away."

"Which wolves?" He asked, leaning forward, and she leaned back, staring at him through her eyelashes and hair.

"Uhm, Graves and his friends, do you know them?" She said and John wanted to flip the boat because of course he knows who Graves is, that fucker used to steal John's catch with his minions.

"Guess you do know him," She said and John realised he was growling, feeling his clothes getting tighter and tighter on his skin. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down so he wouldn't rip his clothes to pieces shifting.

"What did he do to you?" John asked the wolf.

She bit her lower lip and squirmed in her seat, "I don't want to talk about it, but he didn't do anything because I ran away."

John started thinking of ways to end Graves pathetic life until she spoke again, "Can I fish with you?"

John stared at her, speechless.

Her shoulders slumped and she squeezed the blanket tighter around herself, burying her nose in the fabric, "Please?"

And how could John say no to that face?

[rainybyday]

I like to think Hatake's sees hair as a sort of sign of affection. Like, anything with hair is a sign of affection to them.

Head pats, fondness. Brushing hair, close relationship. Doing your hair, you are their closest person.

Like, they see playing or caring for your hair as a sign of affection through caring for you.

To touch your hair is like a cautious sign of fondness to see the person's reaction to the touch. If they are positive they keep doing it until they can card their fingers through your hair. If you respond negatively they would be slower and respectfully of your space and ask you if it's fine to pat your hair or hover a hand over your head before you lean into it.

Playing with one's hair means that they are putting trust in the person that they won't ruin it nor that you will damage it. A show of trust that Hatakes take to see if they have any form of malice or tension based on the person who is playing with their hair seems to care for them. If they pull or tug harshly and keep doing it then it means you don't care for their well being. But if you apologize and learn to be more gentle then it shows that you are being considerate of the person.

Styling or doing one's hair is like the ultimate show of claim a Hatake can make on a person, letting someone touch or do their hair is the second stage of trust before they do it themselves to the person they care for. Because then it shows that you are allowing them to care for you and love you in a personal way. To let a Hatake do your hair, whether that's brushing it or doing a complicated style is a show of a claim or sorts.

Of course, a Hatake will judge you by how well they care for your hair. The best hair care is usually shiny or silky, even fluffy or soft on the claimed, and a well-cared-for Hatake can be seen in the same way.

I just thought of this as Kakashi doing Sakumos hair a lot into a simple ponytail since that was the only style he learned to do correctly and Sakumo always loved it. But when the mission happened and Kakashi was coming home less, Sakumo's hair became loose and unkept which he took as a sign his pack didn't care for him nor trust him anymore.

I imagine Kakashi seeing Sakumos body with his silver hair spread all over the floor when Sakumo cut chunks of it off before killing himself. The person who found Kakashi and Sakumo saw Kakashi brushing out the tangles of the messily cut hair on his dads dead body.

Then I like to think of how Kakashi would pat his student's heads from time to time and I smile.

If we go the Hatake Tobirama and Hashirama route I like to think Hashirama always had his long soft and shiny hair due to Tobi brushing it daily. Even styles it for important events or for practices. Tobirama use to have long hair to but saw how much his brother struggled with it so he cut it short to help him with caring for it. Hashirama was devastated and felt guilty so he would work to make plant oils like rosemary lavender or coconut and almond oils to make his brothers hair shiny and smooth.

Anyways, hair care! Hair care the love language.

[luthqrs]

doctor who novelisations (2005-2023)

i just spent a considerable chunk of time sourcing as many nuwho novelisations as i could get my hands on and in the spirit of sharing i have some free gifts for the tumblr dot com population

also up for grabs: doctor who audios (x) and torchwood audios (x) (all big finish)

a list of what's there + how to open below the cut x

things you'll find here

rose

dalek

the christmas invasion

fires of pompeii

planet of the ood

waters of mars

the crimson horror

day of the doctor

zygon invasion

twice upon a time

kerblam!

the witchfinder

the star beast

wild blue yonder

the giggle

the legends of river song

the angel's kiss: a melody malone mystery

the ruby's curse

the missy chronicles

the wintertime paradox

i am the master: legends of the renegade time lord

the wonderful doctor of oz

and how to access them

do this for every book you think you’ll want to read, even if you don’t have time to read it now. don’t rely on this link always being available.

ios: tap the 3 dots -> open with -> apple books*

android: tap 3 dots -> open with -> google play books*

mac: download and open in books

or: download and put the file into an epub reader

* or any epub reader app

want something you can't have?

if there's a particular book you wanted to read that i don't have listed yet, send me an ask or pop it in the comments x

happy reading! x