#i hope its good enough for you to enjoy ^^

[sabanakurou]

★ Leona x Gn!Reader, Reader is Yuu here! Mentions of Grim too but like, BARELY. A little over 1k words!

★ SYNOPSIS: In short, you made realizations about your relationship with Leona that you probably should've had... months ago.

★ A little warning for possible OOC, bad writing, and grammar mistakes, hehe! Regardless, I hope you enjoy :D

Being sure of yourself was something that you took pride in. That was the case back on Earth and especially the case now that you were thrown into Twisted Wonderland— a place so unfamiliar that you might as well have been considered an alien.

Maybe you already were? You were magicless with a strange fire-hazard for a cat-raccoon thing. Even now as you walked towards the botanical garden, you were carrying Grim. It wasn't hard at that point to take into account the way the other students looked at you. With their scrutinizing eyes and avoidance, you figured that your guess isn't so far off from the general opinion of the public.

You didn't care, though! You're CONFIDENT that you've experienced enough to have already met the worst jerks that this “d!$ney-knockoff house of villains-ahh” college had to offer.

Well,

that is…

…until you met Leona Kingscholar.

The most prickly jerk you ever came to know. A man so VILE that you're on your way to meet up with him in the garden for your regularly scheduled naps.

Honest to whatever God your current world had, as much as you wanted to moan about how long the stick in Leona’s mud of a butt is, he's nooooot… the worst guy ever. Actually, deny it as you might, the prince of the Afterglow Savannah was more of a friend than a jerk to you.

Still a jerk though.

One heck of a comfortable one, at that (much to your dismay). In fact, in recent times, he's quite the substitute for a pillow, if you could say so yourself. And you do! You even insisted on meeting today just to nap because you sleep better when Leona is your pillow.

"Huh?"

You suddenly stop walking, hit with the reality and weight of your own thoughts.

You use... Leona as… a pillow?

You… you use Leona as a pillow…???

You… huh…????

????

‘I DO WHAT NOW???’ You suddenly drop Grim onto the floor in the middle of the hallway, hands flying to your head as a slow, slow, quiet crisis takes over you. It was as if you gained sentience the moment you thought too deeply about your relationship with him.

No, but seriously!? Now that you put more of a conscious effort to evaluate your actions, you realized that you've been so affectionate with Leona! Using him as a pillow, resting on his side, napping with him in the garden and in his bed…!?!? In his bed for goodness’ sake!

How come no one has told you that you do these things!? (Ace and Deuce have mentioned it before.)

Why has no one mentioned how weird it is for you to act that way with Leona!? (Many have mentioned it: Namely the Heartslabyul folks, the first years, and even Grim.)

Is this even legal!? (It is but you were not being rational at that moment.)

“OH MY GOD!?”

So much for being sure of yourself!

Thinking back to your entire relationship, you wouldn't be able to say when it all started. When did the frightening lion of a beastman stop being so… frightening?

Was it after the Octavinelle fiasco when the subtle touches— lingering and often leaving an explicable amount of warmth in an otherwise tepid patch of skin— started to come about? You never would've thought that you'd say this but forced-proximity does wonders with communication and you did stay in his room for a good while (but you still don't advocate for it…).

Or was it after VDC when the softness held behind each of your gazes when you come across one another reared its worrying head?

Worrying to the point that the once untouchable prince became within reach of your hands, of your heart, and of your mind to be consumed with him, him, and only him.

When did the two of you stop being hesitant but oh so very careful as to avoid any alarm?

When exactly did the sands of your friendship break down into something so… different yet all the same? Like a sandcastle broken by the heavy tides. The foundation may have been broken and yet the material was still, irrevocably, sand.

Who knew a crisis driven by cuddles could induce metaphors?

And metaphors aside, you like the beach, and the sand, and the waves. Very much. It was always so warm to the touch, just like h— Oh.

When did—

“Oi, Herbivore, eyes on me.”

Leona's voice snaps you out of your overactive mind in an instant, as if your entire being knew that its main focus should be the person right in front of you. The person that had your left cheek cupped in his hand that could easily cover your entire face up if he wanted to do so.

But he won't. Especially when you haven't flinched away when you both knew how keen you were with keeping to yourself.

He would've backed off the moment you showed any reluctance. After all, your comfort is his priority. But you haven't shown him the slightest bit of discomfort and he was willing to take the chance to assume that perhaps he wasn't just seeing things when he thought you looked at him in a way no way else had before.

And by the Sevens were the two of you so compatible as similarly, your brain had decided to grow blank with only one thought to entertain it with.

No beastman should ever look that soft.

And yet, he does.

Because of me.

What the hell were you thinking? You weren't even fully conscious when you dragged your body to find his after your little crisis half an hour ago.

You supposed that that was simply another thing you aren't sure of.

“Herbivore, c'mon. Look at me. You can't possibly ignore me when you were the one who insisted on meeting up.” He almost whispers and you could've sworn that your heart had melted faster than anything under the scorching sun.

You almost felt like defying him just to see how far he'll go.

But you look at him anyways— eyes peering right into his viridescent ones that shined so ethereally under the setting sun.

You met this vile, vile man's gaze, growing worried as the sound of birds chirping could've beaten the quiet volume your voice had taken. Still, you spoke, albeit without any thinking,

“Oh, God, I like you.”

And at this point? That was apparently the one thing you were sure of.

★ END NOTE: hiiii, I REALLY like Leona and SHORT YAP!! I always felt like he'll be the kind of love where you'll suddenly realize that you love him one day. Maybe the realization gets prompted because of how comforting he is, idk 👉👈 anyways!! header by me and stuff :D!

[runnning-outof-time]

Not At All | Tommy Shelby x Reader

PART 3 of A Series of Interactions at The Garrison - but can also be read as its own story

Request: yes by @brummiereader - sent in as a blurb request

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Things between Tommy and (Y/N) come to a head after a different kind of interaction happens at The Garrison.

Warnings: language, smoking, mention of drinking (it takes place at a bar, y’all)

Word Count: 2308

A/N: I’m so happy that everyone’s enjoying this unexpected journey so far — I hope this next part doesn’t disappoint! I’m sorry it’s taken a little longer than would’ve been expected for me to put it out….I hope y’all are still interested in it. I’m really proud of how it came out. The prompt I used is bolded in the story. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THE STORY!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

Things were different at The Garrison today. Not many people had been through the Small Heath watering hole, and it finally gave (Y/N) a chance to breathe behind the bar. No one was yelling rudely for another drink, no one was arguing on who arrived at the bar first, and there were no terrible messes that needed to be cleaned up.

There was this one man though.

His name was Daniel. He was unlike the majority of patrons that frequented the pub. Instead of being demanding, he sat and waited for his order to be filled, tipped (Y/N) way over the normal amount, and struck up a normal conversation with her….one that didn’t make her feel inferior or like she was in harm’s way.

It was a welcome scenario that she was thankful for on a day that was going slower than usual.

They kept their conversation going, only stopping when (Y/N) needed to tend to a customer or restock the bar. It switched topics frequently, their discussions ranging from the goings on around the city to what Daniel did for work: he was a writer for the newspaper, and the boy did the stories he share make (Y/N) laugh.

“So this one time I was assigned to what my boss called a festival that was way too far outside of the city limits for my liking, but the pay was good so I agreed to it,” he started up on another story, resting both of his elbows on the bar so that he could lean in on them for effect, his grin growing as he continued, “turns out he wanted me to report on this sheep herding event that some local farmers were doing…you wouldn’t believe the size of the bloody crowd that this thing attracted!”

��Miss can I get another round of shots?” a patron interjected a request into the story, effectively pausing it and making (Y/N) go about filling the correct amount of glasses he was wanting.

“You’re going to need to make two trips for them,” she told the man as she placed the bottle of liquor back in its position on the shelf.

“Nah, I’ll be able to take ‘em,” the man disregarded her statement, then going about grabbing as many of the glasses that he was able to hold. He managed to get a grip on all but one of the glasses. “Put that one on top of this one here, will ya?” he then asked (Y/N) to assist him.

“I can bring it over to your table if you’d like,” she suggested another plan.

“I said put it on top of this glass,” the man insisted, his patience now clearly wearing thin.

(Y/N) pursed her lips into a fine line, obviously not wanting to follow through with what the man was suggesting. But she obliged, managing to get the last glass to balance on of the glasses he was already gripping in between his fingers so that she could avoid his temper rising any higher.

All was well until the man began to lift the cluster of drinks off of the bar top. Sure enough, the glass that she had balanced wobbled and fell back to its previous place, making the liquid it held splatter everywhere as it did.

“Fuck,” (Y/N) sighed under her breath, quickly grabbing a towel so that she could stop the spread of the spilled drink’s contents. She then shot a look to the man who was standing with the rest of the drinks in his hands. “Take those to your table and I will bring the last one over,” she said to him, the tone she spoke with telling him that her plan was not up for debate.

The man nodded and followed through with it, leaving the bar for his table.

“I’m sorry, give me a moment,” (Y/N) sent an apologetic smile in Daniel’s direction.

“No worries at all. Do your job,” he smiled back at her.

She then went about the motions of completely cleaning up the remnants of the spill on the counter before she refilled the glass and brought it to the table of awaiting men. They thanked her and she smiled at them before returning back to her spot behind the bar.

“Never a dull moment here,” she commented to Daniel, laughing softly as he smiled at her. “I’m sorry again for interrupting your story.”

“Love like I said, it’s no worries. You were doing your job,” he grinned at her. He then gently reached out and used his thumb to wipe what (Y/N) quickly realized was a wet spot on her right cheek. “Though it seems you missed a spot in your hasty clean up,” he grinned at her, his thumb lingering against her skin for a moment longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered her thanks, feeling her skin heating up where his finger brushed. She subconsciously leaned his touch, quite liking the feeling of his smooth skin touching hers.

“Oi, out!”

Another voice entered the conversation. (Y/N) knew exactly who it was without even looking. The commanding nature of it was a dead giveaway.

Daniel jumped back from the bar top and turned to face the gangster that called the city ‘his’, the smile he was previously wearing now nowhere to be found. “Mr. Shelby, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, I…”

“Out. Now,” Tommy didn’t want to hear any of what he had to say. His steely gaze was honed in on the man he was going to get out of his pub by any means necessary, if it came down to it.

Daniel didn’t try to continue with his rebuttal. He knew that continuing talking would get him nowhere in this situation. Everyone in Small Heath knew who Tommy Shelby was…they knew that what he says is what happens, regardless of what anyone else thought. He lowered his eyes from the intimidating man and turned to look at (Y/N) again, sending her a look that said “I’m sorry”.

(Y/N) didn’t quite know what he was sorry for. She was flabbergasted by what was occurring and couldn’t even think of anything to say in response to it.

Tommy’s eyes stayed trained on the man he was kicking out, watching intently as he stood from the stool and began walking to the door. Pleased with the outcome of the establishment’s door shutting, he made his way to the snug, leaving the situation without further comment.

(Y/N) had to blink a few times to make sure that what had just happened in front of her was actually real. There’s no way he came in here and kicked that man out for no reason, she thought to herself. The more she thought about what had occurred, the more she began to feel angry at Tommy for how he handled it.

A scowl formed on her face as she made a beeline to the snug’s closed door. Upon opening the door she found Tommy sitting in his usual spot, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette as if what had just gone down hadn’t happened at all.

“What was that out there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level as the anger continued to bubble up inside of her. She motioned her hand in the direction of the bar to accentuate her point as she spoke.

“What?” he asked for clarification even though he knew full well what she was referring to.

“Why did you treat that man like that?” she happily gave him the clarification he was looking for.

“I didn’t like how he was acting,” he responded with a shrug, taking a long drag of his cigarette after he finished speaking.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together in an incredulous expression. “What do you mean you didn’t like how he was acting? What could he have possibly been doing wrong?” she fired off more questions.

“Who’s at the bar now?” he tried to veer their conversation off of its course.

“Harry’s got it covered, now answer me,” she wasn’t falling for it. She put him right back in the hot seat before adding: “if anything he was doing everything right. He has been the highlight of my day.”

Tommy’s expression changed the second he heard what she had to say about the man he’d just kicked out. His lips pursed into a fine line, his eyes narrowing as he stared straight ahead.

It was slight and quick, but (Y/N) noticed it. Her lips twinged upwards as she realized why he was acting the way he was. “I think I know why you’re acting this way,” she began, her statement making his eyes snap to her. “I think you didn’t like the attention that man was giving me…I think you didn’t like the fact that it was good attention.”

In the weeks that had passed since she patched him up after his late night…altercation, both Tommy and (Y/N) had been dancing around the fact that there could very well be some deeper feelings at play between them. Feelings that go beyond the ones that a boss would show to his employee, and an employee to her boss. They kept toeing that line, neither wanting to cross it.

But now it was apparent…Tommy had entered The Garrison and found (Y/N) in a position with another man that she should have been in with him, and he hated it.

He wasn’t going to admit that outright though. Silence hung in the room as he leaned forward in his seat. The smoke from his ciagarette wafted around him as he looked up at her. “You think I’m jealous, eh?” he asked her, his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

“I think there’s got to be some reason behind you throwing that guy out just for being nice to me,” she countered, her expression staying stoic although she was secretly loving the fact that he’d admitted to exactly what she was thinking.

A soft scoff left his lips when he heard her response. He shook his head as he spoke: “you’ve got it wrong, love.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong, Tommy,” she wasted no time in turning his statement right back on him, “you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

(Y/N)’s blunt statement was met with silence. She huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting intently to see what he would say in response. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and it was now almost like they were having a silent challenge; seeing who would crack first.

Tommy’s voice broke the silence: “I have the right to kick whoever I want out of me pub whenever I see it fit.” His comment came from way out in left field, and it was one that pushed (Y/N) to her limit. The manner that he said it in irked her even more. He was so apathetic with it, breaking their staring contest to snuff out his cigarette as he spoke.

“Yeah, well your pub now has one less employee…” she snarked back at him, “I’m not going to continue to work here if this is how things are going to be.” She waited for a moment before making a move to the door, watching to see if anything changed in his demeanor. He stayed stoic. She turned to the door of the snug. “I’m done. Flowers aren’t going to get you out of this one, Tommy,” she made sure to get the last dig in, her hand reaching for the door.

“Stop.”

Even though she had every intention of leaving, his voice still stopped her in her tracks. Tommy Shelby just had that power over her…he had that power over every situation; over everything.

(Y/N) just about jumped when she turned around to see what more he had to say. Tommy was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Now he was standing right in front of her. “What?” she questioned him, her brows raised.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead his hands found her cheeks and he pressed his lips firmly to hers. His kiss told her everything she needed to know; told her the real reason behind him kicking Daniel out of the pub; told her that those feelings they’d been dancing around for weeks were real. And she made sure that she kissed him back in a way that told him those very same things.

The kiss left them both breathless, and when they pulled away (Y/N) took immediate note of how Tommy’s thumb felt as it gently brushed her cheek. It was much more rough and calloused compared to Daniel’s smooth skin, and she was instantly convinced that she preferred the former feeling to that latter.

“It’s taken you long enough to do that,” she was the one who broke the silence this time.

Tommy tried to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her statement, but he failed miserably. “Would you mind if I did it again?” he asked her, his voice just above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she grinned, closing the space between them to match her lips with his once more. They shared another kiss before she spoke again: “oh, Tommy…” she paused, moving back far enough so that she could look at him, much to his dismay.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze flitting down to her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them again.

“Maybe flowers can get you out of this one,” she said with a grin, harking back to her previous statement.

“Oh I can give you a whole lot more than flowers, love,” he grinned, hearing her giggle as he closed the space between them to kiss her again.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @littlepeakydevil @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee

@dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @everythingelseisextra

@little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[camficdiner]

can i get 1.1, 2.16, 3.3, and 4.3 if i did this right

jack hughes finds your fan account (you writing rough smut for him) and fucks you the exact way you wrote it🙂‍↕️

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 054

🍒Thank you to the smutty, filthy angel who left this request, love, you're as delulu as me hoping that one day Jack will magically find the blog, its served piping hot and spicy

Enjoy your meal love

your favorite server

💬 "His Good Girl Would Never"

✨ Description and prompts:

character: Jack Hughes

prompt: Jack finds your anonymous fan blog where you write rough smut about him… and fucks you exactly how you wrote it

word count: ~1.3k+

Extra: Quinn Hughes

🛼🧁✨🍒

You were Jack Hughes’ girlfriend.

Sweet. Quiet. Predictable.

You kissed him in public like you were born for his jersey. Smiled for his photos. Wore his hoodie to practice and sat in the WAG section like a good little girlfriend should. And you didn’t lie — you loved him. Really, truly, fully.

But you were starving.

Jack kissed you like you’d break. Touched you like he wasn’t allowed to leave marks. His idea of rough was gripping your hips a little tighter. The sex was… fine. Safe. Nice.

But it wasn’t what you thought about late at night, when he fell asleep next to you and you crept into the bathroom with your phone.

That’s what the blog was for.

It was a private blog. Anonymous. False name. No links to your IP or social media. You used a VPN, cleared cookies, never wrote about “you” — just third-person filth, detached and dirty. Just fantasies.

You had maybe a thousand followers. Enough for comments, anons, thirst. But not enough for discovery.

Until he found it.

Until Jack found it.

You never knew how. You never even thought he’d read fanfiction — let alone the kind you posted.

But that night, you were out with friends. Phone in your purse. And he’d just wanted to scroll Spotify on your iPad. Just that.

What he saw was the Tumblr app still open.

What he saw was the draft page still loaded.

What he saw was this:

🟪 “Jack pins her against the wall first — doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait. He knows she can take it. He’s watched her take it before, mouth open, begging. Tonight, she’s already dripping when he presses the purple egg between her thighs, not even turning it on yet. Just letting her feel the shape. The threat. The fact that he could destroy her with it if he wanted to.

He kisses her once — not sweet. Not soft. Then he slips the vibrator in and clicks it to medium. She gasps. Squirms. But he holds her still.

“Quinn,” he says over his shoulder, without looking. “You ready?”

She doesn’t even register the footsteps until it’s too late. Quinn’s hands wrap around her waist. His mouth is right at her neck, whispering filth.

“She’s soaked already. Fucking hell.”

The egg buzzes harder. Jack doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just watches her squirm. Watches her fall apart with both their hands on her. Watches his older brother touch her like it’s normal — like she was made for it.

“How many times you think she can come like this?” Quinn asks, dragging his fingers over her soaked folds.

Jack doesn’t answer. He presses his palm against her mouth, eyes dark and wicked.

“Let’s find out.””

He didn’t breathe while reading it.

Didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop the iPad.

But his hand — the same hand that always brushed your hair back, the same one that rested light on your waist when he pulled you closer — it tightened. Fist clenched around the frame. Jaw locked.

Because his good girl would never say those things.

Would never beg like that.

Would never want him to ruin her.

Would never fantasize about him and his brother using her like a toy.

Would she?

-----

He didn’t sleep on the plane.

While you texted him goodnight — “sleep tight, love you always 💛” — he was wide awake, scrolling your blog with one hand around his phone and the other wrapped tight around his cock under the blanket.

He read everything.

Not just the fic about him and Quinn — but every single filthy word you’d ever written. Every reblog, every ask answered with shy sarcasm, every tag that said #i’d let him ruin me like you weren’t already letting him every night in bed.

Except you weren’t.

Not really.

Not the way you wanted to.

You’d been so careful. New username. Stock profile pic. No clues to your real name, your real team, your real face. Not even your voice.

But he knew you.

He knew your writing.

He knew what your fantasies tasted like now — and he was going to make them real.

He didn’t tell you. Not right away. You didn’t suspect a thing.

While you were home — painting your nails, packing your gym bag, wearing his hoodie with no panties underneath — Jack was sitting on the bus beside Luke, staring out the window with his earbuds in, obsessing.

Over your words. Over the way you described him when he was mean.

When he used you. When he told you to shut up and take it. When Quinn watched.

You’d written that one two months ago.

Your birthday was coming up next week.

He didn’t want to just ruin you.

He wanted to give you what you’d never say out loud.

“You busy?”

Quinn’s voice on the other end of the call was tired. It was late in Vancouver — time zone math Jack had memorized without even realizing it.

“Just got back from the rink,” Quinn replied. “Why?”

Jack’s fingers drummed against the hotel desk. The room was quiet. Dark. He didn’t know how to say it.

“You remember her birthday’s next week?” he asked carefully.

There was a pause.

“Yeah…?”

“She… wants something.”

Another pause.

“Jack, are you gonna make me guess what this is about or—”

Jack inhaled sharply. Then said it.

“She has a blog.”

Quinn blinked on the other side of the line. “What kind of blog?”

Jack didn’t answer right away.

He just opened the link he’d saved.

Scrolled to the fic.

And read it.

Out loud.

His voice was flat. Low. Controlled.

He didn’t even breathe until the end — the part where Quinn grips your throat and Jack fucks you so hard you cry, and the egg vibrates until you beg them to stop and neither of them does.

The phone was silent when he finished.

Then, finally:

“…Holy shit.”

Jack’s voice was dry. “Yeah.”

Quinn cleared his throat. “She wrote that?”

“Every word.”

A silence stretched between them.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t told her I saw it.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“No. And I’m not mad. I’m just—” He cut himself off. Swallowed. “I want to give it to her.”

“The… whole thing?”

Jack nodded, like Quinn could see him.

“She wants this. All of it. She just doesn’t know I can give it to her.”

There was another pause.

Then Quinn spoke, voice a little lower. A little darker.

“Then let’s do it right.”

----

The evening had gone perfectly.

You weren’t used to birthdays being soft. Quiet. Safe. In the past, they’d meant drunken bar tabs and blurry selfies and trying to pretend that maybe you didn’t care that no one actually showed up with a gift or a plan. But Jack did.

Jack always did.

He’d rented out the rooftop bar above your favorite New Jersey bistro — low lighting, paper lanterns glowing soft pink and gold, the scent of Prosecco and vanilla cupcakes floating in the air. You were in your favorite little dress, lilac with soft mesh sleeves, just short enough that Jack hadn’t stopped touching the hem all night.

His hand sat warm on the small of your back. His lips pressed at your temple every time someone toasted. Every single time.

Quinn had come too — quiet as ever, wearing a slate button-down and jeans, hair a little messy like he hadn’t wanted to overdress. He’d smiled as Jack kissed your cheek again and again.

“Can I crash at your place?” Quinn asked later, once dessert was served. “I flew in from Van this morning, hotel’s overbooked. I’ll take the guest room.”

Jack didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, of course. Stay as long as you want.”

You smiled at Quinn, and he nodded once in return. His expression unreadable.

Later, the three of you returned to Jack’s place. Jack unlocked the door while you kicked your heels off, giggling over how many cupcakes you’d smuggled into your purse. Quinn disappeared down the hall with a towel thrown over his shoulder.

Jack stood behind you quietly, arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You really have no idea,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “You have no idea what tonight is really about.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jack turned you in his arms. His smile was soft, almost sad. “You trust me, right?”

Your heart kicked. “Of course.”

He kissed your lips once. Twice. And then leaned in close to your ear.

“Then let me give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

Before you could even reply, he took your hand and led you to the bedroom.

—

There was something strange in the air. Anticipation, yes, but something deeper. Like Jack had decided something long ago, and tonight was the night he was going to let it happen.

Your cheeks flushed as he sat you down on the edge of the bed. The purple toy — the one from your fic, the one you thought no one would ever read — sat waiting on the sheets.

“I know everything,” he said simply. No teasing, no smile. Just raw, honest hunger. “The blog. The way you beg for more in your stories. The one with me. The one with Quinn.” His voice dropped. “The one where we both fuck you like you’re ours.”

Your mouth parted. Shame prickled at your skin like static. Your knees pressed together, eyes flicking down. “I—Jack, I didn’t—”

“Shh.” He dropped to his knees, kissed your bare thigh. “You don’t have to be scared. Not tonight.”

He pressed the toy into your palm. “We’re going to start slow. But not for long.”

—

Jack undressed you carefully. Every inch revealed felt like a confession. Like you weren’t just showing skin — you were revealing every filthy word you’d written with shaking fingers at 2 a.m. He kissed your stomach, your hips, your inner thighs. Then he looked up, eyes so dark you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re going to come on this toy first,” he said, voice low, “because I want you begging for my cock when I finally give it to you.”

And then he did it — slid the small, pulsing egg inside you, kissed the inside of your thigh as he turned it on. The vibrations were gentle at first, teasing. You bit your lip, hands gripping the sheets.

“That’s it, good girl,” Jack murmured, watching your legs shake. “Didn’t think I’d ever find that blog, huh? Didn’t think I’d want to ruin you just like you wrote?”

You moaned, barely able to answer, the toy building inside you like a secret.

And then—

Jack reached for his phone.

“Come in,” he said simply, eyes never leaving yours.

The door creaked. You looked up, breath catching in your throat.

Quinn.

Leaning in the doorway, silent.

Watching.

You whimpered. Jack’s hand curled under your jaw, tilting your face back toward him. “You wanted this,” he whispered. “You begged for this in your little story, didn’t you? Say it.”

Your voice cracked. “I—I wanted it.”

Quinn stepped forward slowly. “She’s even prettier up close,” he said, gaze sweeping over your bare body. His voice was low. Controlled. “Can I touch her?”

Jack nodded once. “Only if she says yes.”

He turned to you again. “Sweetheart?”

You hesitated — not because you didn’t want it, but because the shame had turned into something else. Something darker. Need. You felt wetness pool between your thighs as the toy kept vibrating inside you.

“Please,” you whispered. “Yes.”

Quinn knelt beside Jack, brushing hair from your face before kissing you deeply — nothing like Jack’s kisses. Slower. Heavier. His hand replaced Jack’s on the toy, holding it in place, pressing it deeper. Jack moved behind you, lifting you up into his lap, your back pressed to his chest, his cock hard against your ass.

“Now,” Jack said, voice gravel, “we take turns.”

—

What followed was nothing short of ruin.

Jack fucked you first, hard and deep, hand over your mouth while Quinn kissed the tears from your cheeks. He held your thighs apart while Quinn slid fingers inside you next, testing your limits. They whispered praise, filth, challenge — until you didn’t know whose voice you were answering, just that you needed more.

“You think you can take both of us?” Quinn growled, dragging his mouth down your neck.

“She can,” Jack said, thumb on your clit now, making you cry out again. “She begged for it. She wrote it.”

You came until your body shook. Until you were gasping, voice hoarse, tears running down your cheeks from overstimulation, from need, from how full you felt.

Quinn kissed your temple. Jack kissed your spine.

You weren’t just ruined.

You were theirs.

----

Your body is trembling, the sheets damp with sweat, the air thick with the ghosts of everything that just happened. You can barely catch your breath, muscles slack, bones soft, lips swollen from too many kisses — too much everything.

And then you feel it — Jack’s hand. Gentle on your cheek. Sweeping away tears you didn’t even know were still there.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, leaning in. “Breathe for me, okay? You’re okay. We’re right here.”

You nod, barely, still dazed. Your limbs are jelly, your mind a blur of sensation and relief.

Jack presses a kiss to your temple, brushing your hair back. “You did so fucking good, baby. So good for us. You’re not dreaming, and I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s no tension in his voice. No edge. Just warmth. Certainty. Love.

He wraps you in his arms, pulling the blanket over you, tucking it around your body like muscle memory — like he’s done it a hundred times before, and will again.

And then, on your other side, Quinn shifts closer. Not invasive, not possessive — just there. A silent presence that feels almost impossibly safe.

“You still with us?” he asks quietly, voice soft, hand resting on your waist.

You manage to hum, eyes fluttering open enough to see him — his lashes low, his expression warm.

“I can grab water,” he offers, already halfway up, but Jack stops him gently.

“I got it,” Jack says. “Stay with her.”

Quinn hesitates — just for a second — then settles back down beside you, fingers brushing your shoulder lightly, like he’s asking permission to stay close. Like he’s still unsure, even after everything.

You turn your head, pressing your cheek into Jack’s chest. “This doesn’t change anything, right?”

Jack kisses your forehead. “No. Not unless you want it to.”

You feel your heart clench at the honesty in his voice. No pressure. No possessiveness. Just Jack. Always Jack.

“You’re still mine,” he adds, voice low. “I still love you.”

And from your other side, Quinn chimes in quietly — not stepping on Jack’s words, not challenging them. Just adding his own.

“And I’m still your friend. Nothing more unless you ask for it. What happened tonight… it was for you.”

You close your eyes.

Between the two of them — steady hands, whispered reassurances, no guilt, no shame — you feel safer than you ever have.

You feel held.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re asking too much.

You just feel… loved.

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before. 

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant. 

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. 

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you. 

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.” 

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t. 

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.” 

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window. 

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same. 

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do? 

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation. 

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly. 

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even “dude”. 

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words. 

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop. 

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter. 

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift. 

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up. 

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone. 

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel. 

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.” 

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration. 

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III. 

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely? 

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now. 

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself? 

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor? 

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest. 

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.  

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away. 

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.” 

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door. 

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door. 

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth. 

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands. 

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write: 

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face." 

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.  

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately. 

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.” 

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.” 

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.” 

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.” 

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him. 

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm. 

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room. 

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off. 

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar. 

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it. 

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel. 

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-” 

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words. 

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face. 

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.  

Once. Twice. A third time. 

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks. 

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs. 

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go. 

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts. 

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types: 

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.” 

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He calls again. 

Two rings, then voicemail. 

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…” 

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found. 

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door. 

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest. 

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak. 

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind. 

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping. 

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.” 

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him. 

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-” 

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you. 

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.” 

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration. 

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.” 

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.” 

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again. 

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer. 

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw. 

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you. 

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.” 

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.” 

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form. 

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. 

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass. 

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak. 

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined. 

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night. 

“Always.” 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

[michaelnordeman]

Hi there! I wanted to ask you, if it's alright, how you usually go about finding such beautiful nature to photograph?

For example, do you travel to specific locations to find specific wildlife? How long do you usually have to wait and search before finding these critters?

I've been trying to learn more about animal photography, doing it myself for a few years now, but I always wonder if I'm doing it right--thoughts like "do other photographers sit quietly crouched in the bushes for an hour waiting for that one bird to land again, or is it just me?" often pop in to my head 🤣

I'm blessed with large untouched fields bursting with life around my home, so I'd like to learn how to utilize this to the fullest extent and capture that beauty in my photos!

I apologize for writing so much, I truly appreciate your time reading all this. Please know that you're such an inspiration to me, and I always look forward to admiring what you share next!

Wishing you a wonderful day ☺️💗

Hi!

And thank you so much for your kind words – they truly mean a lot! And no need to apologise for writing “so much” – I loved reading your message.

Your questions really resonate with me, and to answer the most important one first: no, it’s definitely not just you crouching in the bushes waiting for that one bird to return! I do that too – a lot.😄Sometimes it pays off, sometimes it doesn’t. But either way, I still get to spend time in nature, which is always rewarding in itself.

Like you, I’m lucky to live surrounded by nature – forests, meadows, lakes. Over the years, I’ve got to know my local area very well. I know where the deer tend to pass, where the snakes (my beloved grass snakes/snokar!) like to bask in the sun, what kind of bush a certain bird might choose for its nest, or where to sit quietly if I want to spot a vole. Knowing the habits of wildlife really helps – so my biggest piece of advice is: learn your subjects. If you know what they eat, how they behave, and what habitats they prefer, you’ll start to get a sense of where (and when!) to look.

Time of day matters too – early morning is usually your best bet. It’s when many animals are most active, and the light is often beautiful. But I’m sure you already knew that. Hopefully, you’re a morning person – I’m definitely not! But hey, the things we do for the things we love, right? 😉

Patience is key. I don’t always hide, although that can help sometimes. Often I just sit still and let the animals get used to me. Many birds will tolerate your presence if you move slowly and show you’re not a threat. That said, a good zoom lens helps – but don’t worry too much about getting close-ups. Photos that show an animal in its environment can be just as striking as tight shots.

And one more thing that can’t be said enough: never disturb the animals, especially during nesting season. No photo is worth that cost.

I’m not an expert – just a happy amateur who happens to live for nature. But I hope some of these thoughts are helpful. Enjoy your photography – but most of all, enjoy the beauty that’s already right outside your door. Sounds like you're in a wonderful place to do just that.💛

Wishing you many quiet, wild, and magical moments to come!

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! Thanks for your writing! I requested the Eldritch Delight Ragnor meeting Alec fic, which of course meant I had to reread the entire series for the umpteenth time. :) In doing so, I realized/ remembered THEY'RE ENGAGED! So, for my request this week - could I please have some Eldritch Delight wedding planning 'cause I think it would be the most unhinged thing ever! (Poor Jace, Mirai, Ragnor, Andrew & anyone else they come in contact with regularly - except maybe Cat as she seems like she's having the time of her life.)

As always, thank you so much!!

SFW/NSFW your choice.

<3 hi you're welcome and yes! they are engaged and they are wanting to get married as soon as possible. this kind of veered sideways but its specifically all about wedding planning stuff! sort of... it makes sense in context.

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

this eldritch delight

“You cannot be serious.”

Alec feels as if that’s one of Jace’s favorite things to say.  It certainly comes up far more often than it should, considering that no matter how many time Jace says it, Alec has always been and remains, serious.

“It’s my wedding.” Alec never thought he’d feel such devastating delight or feel the the agony of enduring each day that keeps him from marrying Magnus. “If I can’t marry Magnus in the moonlight of a hollow volcano used for necromatic rituals, then I’m going to have my lilies.”

“Lilies? Those aren’t lilies, Alec. Those are blood sucking monsters designed to look like gorgeous flowers who specifically devour nephilim blood! Over half of your guests will be nephilim.”

Alec frowns and Jace steps back and further into the sun but too bad for him, Magnus gave Alec a miniature parasol that expands upon contact with the sun.

Jace scowls a muttered, ‘unfair’ under his breathe and before he can run, a vine has crept up and thoughtfully tangled with his foot.

“What do you mean over half of the guests will be nephilim?”

“Oh Raziel, why are you like this?”

“I’ve always been like this. Why do you continually expect differently?”

Jace apparently — and for once — has nothing to say to that and so Alec steps closer and politely doesn’t shade Jace’s face from the sun, even if Jace is squinting as if the sun is blinding him.  Alec is sure he’s enjoying it like the strange being he is.

“So, as I was asking. What do you mean more than half would be nephilim? Magnus knows more people simply by virtue of being alive longer. We’ve already decided that no more than one fifth of the guests will be nephilim.  So the lilies are fine and your numbers are wrong.”

“This is going to be a political nightmare. Alec, please do you really think they’re going to be fine with the Commander and Head of New York Institute having that few nephilim guests? At his own wedding?”

Alec really thinks that Jace just likes being dramatic, because it’s clear his brother has overlooked some — what Alec considers — fairly obvious problems.

“Jace.”

And Jace stops talking and with a sigh, brings his hand up to shade his eyes — why Alec isn’t sure why since he likes the sun — and tries to meet Alec’s gaze.  It’s slightly off, which is good because Jace’s eyes are boring, they start to twitch and flicker away after only meeting Alec’s for a few seconds.

“Jace!”

That’s a strangely familiar yet unfamiliar voice and Alec turns to see a small red-head and suddenly remembers the promise he’d fulfilled with Jace.

“Oh no.” Jace doesn’t seem to realize he’s said it, his eyes focused with the intensity of a hawk on the redhead. Alec wonders if Jace thinks of her like he does his bunnies.

Well, she looks healthy enough and considering that she’s clearly escaped containment — Jace seems unduly worried at seeing her — Alec decides it’s only fair he helps. After all, maybe it will endear Jace into helping him.

—

Jace can only stare in fascinated horror as Clary hits the ground, unconscious even before her body drops and Alec watches her fall with an almost disappointed frown.  The black lace parasol keeping Alicante’s bright sun off his skin twirls as he tips Clary’s body over with his toe.

Like he’s touching something poisonous. 

Actually no. 

Alec would be thrilled to touch something poisonous.  He’s acting like Clary is some kind of mundane atrocity.

“Where you hoping she’d run?” Jace can’t help but ask, even as he steps forward — the vine having let him go — and helpfully picks Clary up, relieving Alec from the burden and saving Clary any further damage.

Jace makes a note to dose her with an antidote as soon as they’re done.

“She had an interesting look to her eyes. It might have been interesting.” Alec grins and Jace swallows back the instinctive bile as Alec’s maw widens.

“Look, Alec. Please, I know you dislike them but even you need to engage in politics for some things.”

“Jace this isn’t about politics. How many nephilim do you think will want to come to a Trueblood wedding? And how many do you think will come back from one?”

The thing is, it’s not a threat.

Alec seems exasperated and suddenly Jace feels ridiculous, because once again, he let the Council talk him into something ridiculous.  In fact, he’s going to quote Alec word for word because he’s right. Despite the Clave wanting a significant presence at this wedding, almost no one will show up when they realize it’s a Trueblood wedding.  They might, if it was Maryse remarrying.  However there are very few nephilim who will be willing to come for Alec’s and even fewer who would both be willing, and be able to survive.”

“I see your point. It’s a very good point and I think I’m even going to ensure it’s followed.” Because if anyone insists after Jace reminds them of Alec’s very crucial point, Jace will just kill them and let his grandmother ground him.

“Hey Jace.”

“Yeah buddy?” Jace turns and sees Alec stepping up to where a portal shouldn’t be able to form but is. Alec smirks and Jace’s spine tingles as Alec tilts his parasol just enough to let his eyes glint with the promise of a threat.

“You are going to be at my wedding and if you don’t survive, I’ll turn your bunnies into a stew for Magnus.”

Jace would have rather Alec had just said he’d be disappointed in him.  But after one time when it made him cry, Alec had decided to find different ways to threaten him… despite the fact that they still sometimes make Jace cry.

Alec's kind of awfully sweet and terrible at it too.

“Don’t lie, they’re not poisonous enough for you to turn them into stew and you like how soft they are. You’d probably just steal them and somehow accidentally turn them into carnivorous lethal bunnies and honestly, I think that’s worse. So I promise I will both attend and stay alive.”

AN:

jace's eyes are boring because jace is controlling his reactions

alec is trying to be polite and not be like: hi jace, you're being dumb. can you please name more than a dozen nephilim who would even want to come? and more than five who would survive?

jace is going to show up to the clave's meeting and be like: who was the idiot who tried to have mostly nephilim be at the trueblood wedding?

*some important member* 'how dare'

"A TRUEBLOOD WEDDING!!! HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THAT ENTAILS?"

Maryse gliding in sipping what is clearly something poisonous from the fumes coming from the glass alone.

"I don't see why everyone wouldn't want to come. However the seats will be limited, after all, there will be a blood harvest and I've decided to bring out the old trueblood chalices. Perhaps we'll even do a hunt. There's still a few circle members left."

the clave: ... so how many seats do we have to fill? like what is the minimum? like we could take it from 1/5 of the guests to 1/10

[venusmage]

since you're playing tes games again how would you rank them

Oh god this is the most subjective question ever. Elder Scrolls is a series over 30 years old. Arena came out 2 years before I was even born. I first played one of the games in 2009 after my uncle gave me his old PC and copies of Oblivion and Morrowind (the latter complete with his own personal selection of mods burned on a CD that I desperately wish I still had). This blog exists at all because I was a 15 year old wanting a place to stash all my TES RP art. And, obviously, the story I’ve told before where I met my spouse through this stuff lol.

I think many fans in the series tend to have a preference for their first game. Mine was Oblivion, chosen purely because I thought the symbol on the box was cool. In terms of warm fuzzy nostalgia, it’s probably always going to win in that department. Though after replaying I don’t think it’s my favorite overall anymore (though Skyblivion might change that when jt comes out!) In reality though it’s going to depend on what you’re looking after in each game and which one speaks to you the most. TES has also always had an active modding community, so your preferences there will matter, too.

Generally, my list goes like this:

1. Morrowind. I know the joke is that people don’t shut up about how Morrowind is the best game but. It is. Even I have to admit it by now. The setting is fascinating, the characters are fascinating (and the best written imo), I LOVE its main quest: how it feels like such an odyssey. There’s so much to it. And I think it has a lot of interesting things to say. Your final conversation with Dagoth Ur might be one of the best convos in game history in my opinion. The fact it’s not even clear if you really are the incarnate or if you only followed the beats JUST enough to effectively achieve the same thing. The game asks if that even really matters. While I’m a sucker for reincarnation stories (and as a Buddhist I love how Morrowind pulls from a lot of eastern spirituality and philosophy) I LOVE every ‘kind’ of Nerevarine there can be. You cement the tone of the game in that final convo with Ur. Also the modding scene is great. I’m playing OpenMW total overhaul right now and it feels SO good. It’s art direction is also my favorite by far. Only challenged by Shivering Isles.

2. Oblivion. I actually wonder if it SHOULD be lower or if my nostalgia is overriding it. However I still really enjoy its MQ, too, and enjoy all of its faction questlines as well. Narratively it really isn’t nearly as strong as Morrowind (or Daggerfall when it Gets Going), but seeing the end of the 3rd era is extremely cool, and Martin pulls a LOT of weight. Aside from Morrowind, I think Martin, Baurus, and Shivering Isles’ version of Sheogorath specifically are some of the best written characters in the series. Though I do have to deduct points bc there’s straight up No Women in the MQ that matter in any way (unless you play one). Even Morrowind and Skyrim have…one or two. If they’re written with respect is another story, but they’re at least THERE. I do think it has the best soundtrack in the series though. And I love Cyrodiil so much. I still stand by my statement that SI is one of the greatest game expansions ever made.

3. Daggerfall. Purely because it has the Warp in the West and puts us directly, intentionally in the shoes of someone doing the emperor’s dirty work. I think Daggerfall has the best reasoning to DO its main quest, where the other games just kind of hope you decide to go along with it without any real external pressure. When I play Daggerfall I feel compelled to do the MQ because of who I’m playing: an agent of the empire. Uriel’s most loyal blade. I admit I don’t seek this one out to play often. I’ve gotten pretty far into it a few times but always fall off. It’s one of my favorite narratives in the series though and if I could wish a true remake of any game into existence it would be Daggerfall. I’d love to see a version of the game with TES’ now more fleshed out art direction, lore, quality of life improvements etc. Walk-Brass is my favorite little lore tidbit of the series and getting to directly interact with something regarding it makes me SO happy (It’s another thing I love about Morrowind, too, with Anumidium’s reveal in red mountain).

4. Skyrim. It’s iconic, has great music and art direction. Conceptually I think the dragons/dragonborn is very interesting. However it’s easily the worst written out of the “main three” because it seems so bored with its own plotlines. Unlike Oblivion I don’t think I like ANY of the faction questlines for this one. It has the MOST insane modding scene, at least, and it’s really cool seeing how creative the community is. Its expansions are alright. I wish we had more time with Miraak because he’s a lot more interesting than Alduin. I think Skyrim has the most wrong with it in ways that are hard to dig in and fix without subjecting it to a total rewrite. My hopes are LOW for the writing quality of the next game (if one ever happens).

5. Arena. Nothing against it but it’s just the game that’s least interesting to me overall. It’s the start of the series and that’s cool! However its story doesn’t compel me and the series didn’t start to develop memorable lore until Daggerfall and Morrowind.

I’m not counting spinoff games in this list because I’ve played basically none of them, including ESO.

[mxtantrights]

whatever, I'll think of you forever

a/n: final part because I can't put you through angst again and honestly I like fluff for this series way too much. thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy it! (if you ever wanna see more from this series my inbox is always open)

The view from the outside of the building was crazy. You knew that but somehow being on the inside is even crazier. All the fancy equipment and the new tech.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever made you this speechless." Johnny says from your side.

You chuckle and nudge him in the side.

"Johnny this is like crazy cool."

"Crazy cool that I snuck you in here after hours to give you the tour and I'm a good boyfriend or crazy cool like you're not gonna hear a word I say with all this science stuff around?" he asks.

You turn to him with a bashful smile. Quickly you throw your arms around his neck and pull him down towards you. Your lips meet his. Its not quick though, or at all appropriate. But you guess that's why there is no one else around at this time of night.

Johnny deepens the kiss and pulls you in by your waist. The sounds of your lips smacking against each other is all you can hear. It makes you a bit nervous that someone might actually be around to catch you. You haven't told Johnny that you read romance books just like this.

You pull away first, to his demise, he groans and rests his head on your forehead.

"You're my boyfriend?" you ask.

He smiles, "I kinda got ahead of myself there. I was gonna ask after the tour."

"Okay."

"Huh?"

"Okay, you're my boyfriend."

He smiles even wider. You reach up and pinch his cheeks, which are a twinge red. You like it when he gets like this. You didn't think you would have this affect on him.

"Wanna test some stuff on me, Specs?" he asks.

Your eyes widen as you laugh, "You freak!"

"I'm your freak. Please, use me. Do whatever." he jokes.

"Johnny!" you hit him over the shoulder.

-

You're in the middle of browsing some of the high tech binoculars when you hear Johnny coming your way. Even if you hadn't heard him you would know he was coming. You have this weird Johnny sense now.

He opens the door a bit wider and peak his head inside.

"You wanna see something cool?" he asks.

You nod your head vigorously. He runs into the room and grabs your hand without another word. Then the two of you are traveling the halls in a fit of giggles and sneakers squeaking against polished floors.

He brings you to a room with some suits. He lets go of your hand for a moment to grab one of them. Johnny brings it over to you and tells you to put it on over your clothes. You do so, wondering why he wants you to put on a flame repellent suit.

it doesn't hit you really until he turns his flames on. The only time you've been this close when he was using his powers was when you were in trouble. But you hadn't used a suit then, why now?

He holds out his flame engulfed hand. You reach for it without a second thought. Then you feel it. The flames.

The other time when he held you while using his powers you couldn't feel the flames. It was almost as if he wasn't on fire. But this, this is so much more different. You can feel the flames on his arm. You move you arm up and up and sure enough you can feel the flames too. The differences in warmth and the feeling of each flame is like a snowflake. Unique.

"Johnny this is..." you trail off.

"Reed made it a while ago when we first came back." he says.

"Why?" you ask.

He shrugs, "To help me I guess. I thought I would hurt you. But I really wanted to see you."

You look up at him. Even though he's on fire, he looks like himself. You look in his eyes and watch as his smile spreads. He holds out both of his arms. It's one step to be chest to chest with him. He wraps his arms around you.

[solplease]

SPOILERS FOR DAY 4 OF 14DWY!!

i was actually losing my mind when i played day 4 lmao, so.... redraw time!!

i hope i drew it well enough haha

[noxious-fennec]

3 years and I'm STILL IN THE FUCKING BUILDING... unbelievable... anyway happy re-bday to my pathetic cringefail politician

Alt ver. under the cut

***Massive disclaimer: i do not support the cc this is strictly about the fictional character

[faunandfloraas]

See on the one hand lee knows been riding hard for gucci for nearly 2 years so im like Go on boy get em, gucci give him the fuckin deal already you dogs but on the other hand I've found a solid 75% of all his gucci fits questionable to ugly so like. UHHHHHHHHH naur?

[crescentfool]

happy mochizuki monday!!!

[clumsypuppy]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I’m the anon who sent you that ask about Sonic and Shadow’s relationship in the Chronic Sonic au. If your post saying you ignore long asks was directed at me, can you please just… post the latest version without answering? I would prefer to save it to my likes and maybe have other fans read my thoughts.

thank you

Well no, it wasn’t just directed at you, there are a couple long asks in my inbox (some of which are positive and very beloved and i cherish, Dopambles I’m looking at you <3). But you’ve sent your ask twice now and this one too so I’ll answer this one. I don’t really want to make this a big long thing, but I also don’t really wanna leave ya hanging when this seems so important to you so lets do this (everyone else can ignore this if ya want I’m going long-winded through everything.)

So, reasons i don’t like to respond to or even post long asks sometimes lets do this [cracks knuckles]

1. I don’t like posting things onto my blog that I haven’t checked over first. I struggle a lot in reading and comprehending long asks. I don’t know why, it’s weird, okay. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not gonna blindly post walls of texts to my blog without checking them over first, because I want to make sure I’m filtering asks so nothing harmful gets posted to my blog. You’d be surprised at how whack a lot of anons can get. Not to say your ask was whack, but I also am struggling to read it so it’s hard to say for sure! It’s not due to the nature of your ask, it is simply because my brain be like dat.

2. Sometimes, I just don’t like having to scroll through walls of texts that aren’t my own to get to my latest posts. I get a lot of asks as it is. I do love answering them, but when they get long, the amount of time it takes to scroll through em makes it hard to refer back to my previous posts and is just is not intuitive or fun when interacting with my own blog, which leads me to my next point

3. This is my space. My blog is by me for me. I choose to post and share to interact and have fun with other people but at the end of the day this blog is my space. I did not create it for anyone other than me. I welcome the people who find joy in my stories here, but this remains my space. If i was being paid for this it’d be different, I’d absolutely curate and change things to make it a better and easier experience for those that i charged to be here, but like… I’m not being paid for this? And to ask me to do what you want in my space so that you can have the experience you want is… i dunno it sounds a little entitled. (I’m not saying that you ARE entitled, only that it sounds like it to me personally.) Contacting me even after I expressed my difficulty in answering asks to try and convince me to post it for your sake is a little rude. I’m not a professional creator, I’m not a person with fans, I’m just a random dude trying to have a good time with other people on a dumpster-fire website. I’m not a creator trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time. This is what i do in my free time to relax and—

4. —being a moderator for other peoples hc’s and conversations is not personally relaxing to me. My blog is not a public confessions blog and I am not a public message board. I am honoured when people share their personal stories and how what I doodle has helped them feel seen and that things will be okay, but I’m not a place for other people to come say what they want to each other, I’m a person, not a message board. How other people use Tumblr is up to them, however, I am not going to change how I use tumblr so that you can have a better experience when it will make the experience worse for me.

5. If i answer asks, I don’t draw. And I like drawing. If I’m posting asks (even without answering them) and stressing about being the middle man in conversations that I will have to regulate to make sure conversations stay kind, that takes a lot of time and energy and I got so incredibly burnt out when i tried to do that. So i stopped. And I will not be starting up again simply so you can have a good time, because I will have a bad one. And this is my space to not have a bad time. If something stresses me out, I will not do it here, it is as simple as that. I have my whole irl to be stressed about.

These are some of the reasons I don’t like to post long asks. I have notified you that I struggle to read, I don’t understand why you continue pushing. I have amazing anon’s who send wonderful long asks who have been kind and considerate with me about my struggles reading and processing. They continue to send their wonderful asks and have assured me it’s okay if I never post them. I am confused as to why you cannot seem to respect my decision as well.

The final reason regarding my hesitance in posting your ask in particular is simply that your hc was not accurate to how I was aiming to portray the characters in the current timeline. You are more than welcome to hc and speculate, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I cannot simply post it without answering it like you suggest because I would need to clarify that it’s not true. When I used to do that, people would start to misinterpret my au’s and it stressed me out. It takes hours for me to write up responses to things sometimes because I want to make sure I’m being kind and thoughtful and accurate. I am honoured that you shared something personal but what you wrote is simply not where the characters are at right now. It could be them in the future, but it is still early in the au so that kind of resentment hasn’t set in yet. Shadow is hurting because he’s taking the brunt of Sonic’s negativity but he is resigned to it because for him nothing else matters as long as Sonic stays alive, even if he has to be the person Sonic hates in all this and that is heavy. He’s angry at him when he does not take care of himself, but he is not resentful. Sonic struggles with being a burden on all of his friends, not just Shadow. The way you described the relationship was closer to how Tails and Sonic interact than Shadow and Sonic and even then, there’s more going on that I just don’t have the time or energy to really walk through. And besides, I want to save that energy to draw out things later.

As i shared with another commenter who asked something similar, I can absolutely DM you your ask back if you want to save it. However I don’t understand why you need me to post it to save it your likes if you simply want to save it. You have your own blog you can post it to. Why does it need to be on my blog? Why do I have to do extra work so you can have an easier time to do what you want? I am very grateful for your interaction and love of my comic, and I understand it’s frustrating when people make things harder for you to have a good time, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me by asking me to change how I use tumblr to suit your wants instead of what is easiest for me. I am not a public service you pay for. I am a person, a full time student with family issues, struggling siblings that I’m trying to help, a person who is struggling myself. I have a limited amount of energy in a day, I get tired quickly. If i want to continue to find joy in drawing I have to set boundaries. You may not always know why someone does something, I guarantee there is more here that I will not share because it is personal. Sometimes you just have to be okay with not knowing, you have to be okay not understanding, and you have to be okay without an explanation that makes sense to you. All you need to do is understand that often times there is a reason people behave the way they do. It’s not a reflection on you or their opinion of you, it is simply many other factors at play that lead to such an outcome.

I sincerely hope this did not offend you, I am not angry with you, nor do I wish for any of this to be taken as scolding or upset you. If it has come across that way, I apologize. I am sorry I am not in a state to give you what you want, and I’m thankful for your patience with me in reading through this and I hope it is enough to at least paint a little bit of a picture as to why I will not be posting your ask. It’s unfortunate that I ended up spending hours addressing this anyway both to you and to another commenter—the very thing I wanted to avoid—but I value you as a person and did not want to leave you feeling negatively if I could change that. I hope this does not affect your enjoyment or experience with how you were having fun with my au, and if it does I am deeply regretful. However, I do have to set boundaries and make sure I’m doing okay or there would be no AU at all. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you have a day as kind as you are.

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: Ingo learns about some Pokemon and gets a snack.

silly time again! it's silly time again!

[ezr4styley781]

Maaaaybe

İ can contuie ;3

(I'm thinking of making a pilot episode but I'm not sure so I can't make any promises.😭)

Animation by me

Characters by me

Story by me

İf i contuie

Maybe i can add voice's ;)

Bye for nowwww😈