#(even tho it did spark arguments)

[geodesick]

[ID: a drawing of pye from outer wilds, standing with her writing staff. she's wearing an orange nomai space suit without the helmet, and she has a light brown face with curly darker brown fur. end ID]

figuring out how i want to draw the nomai, so here's a pye since i am obsessed with her !!!

[thebuttsmcgee]

so. um. 👉👈

hi guysies.

Ig I should just say like. Hi

I haven't been posting here as much cause. Idk. Might be depression? I keep thinking its cause I've been so busy, which also wouldn't be not untrue, but these past, like, 3 weeks I think so far? I've had some free time but I haven't cause. I dunno, then again, I haven't been doing too much in general? I gues, besides very mandatory things, hell I've even been lacking in my regular skyrim hours of playing.

That, and as said, I get super melancholic when I remember just how sad and bittersweet it is that t0h is. Actually legit over. The show and experience, that is.

Oh all that and also becuz my headphones broke! Fuck! That's like number 2 in my bare necessities for when I post, do almost anything really! It's seriously been painful this past month going without headphones holy shit. Dude I've been scratching at the bit for some relief for headphones, I NEED music legitimately. Even right now, as I'm typing this on my phone, my music is on low levels.

But yerp. Its been. Rough. Really rough. I really do appreciate yall, everyone of yall. Have a sweet week everyone, ✌️!

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice is heavier. He sighs, “I know.” Then pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted of bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. Wrinkles carve his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, you press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[zebuie]

#♡BOYS WILL BE BUGS♡#

❝𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒❞; bbf!ellie x reader

❁ཻུ۪۪ ⋅ READ THIS. # DAILY CLICK ➹

❝𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒❞; After a breakup, your brother's best friend offers guidance through guitar lessons, but the connection between you deepens, crossing the lines of friendship.

❝𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒❞; 1.7k words, reader had a bf, swearing, this is actually pretty fluffy,✂️✂️✂️, fingering (r receiving, nipple sucking (r receiving, Ellie calls u princess like once, i honestly don’t knowwww😔

↳𝐀/𝐍; Ellie being bbf is mentioned like once……✊🏽 it’s the thought that counts tho right !! i whipped this up in honor of pride month when I was work.happey bride month❤️❤️ be whooo u areeee 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩✂️

It was a crisp morning, the sun just peeking over the horizon when your boyfriend shattered your heart in the most cowardly way possible - through a simple text message. 

I mean- how shittier can he get?!

You found yourself unable to leave the comfort of your bed for three whole days as you grappled with the depth of betrayal. Just when you thought you were alone, your brother's best friend, Ellie, entered your room with a gentle knock on the door.

"She sat gingerly on the edge of your bed, her eyes filled with concern and empathy. Softly, she spoke, her voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart. "Hey," she began, her gaze never leaving your face, "I know this is tough, but you can't keep hiding in here forever."

Ellie's hand reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. 

Her touch was soft, almost reverent, as if she was handling something fragile and precious. 

Her fingers lingered on your cheek for a moment, tracing a soothing pattern against your skin.

She continued to stroke your hair, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just thought...maybe you'd want some company.” You stayed silent.

Ellie paused for a moment, her eyes glinting mischievously as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Wait right here," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. She rose from the edge of the bed and disappeared out of sight.

"I think this'll cheer you up," she said, her fingers dancing over the strings, producing a soft, melodic tune. The guitar hummed under her touch, the notes weaving a soothing, gentle melody that filled the air. (and of course she’s playing take on me by a-ha.)

Ellie began to sing, her voice soft and sweet as it matched the melody of the guitar. 

The words she sang were familiar, the chorus of a song you knew well. 

Despite the pain you were feeling, you couldn't help but be comforted by her presence, the sound of her voice, and the gentle strums of her guitar.

Her eyes never left your face as she sang, the words seeming almost like a comforting anthem aimed at lifting your spirits. 

The room was bathed in a warm, golden light as she continued to play, the notes hanging in the air like silent promises of better days ahead.

As the last note faded away, Ellie set the guitar down, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. 

"How was that?" she asked, still peering intently into your face, searching for signs of improvement. "Did it help even a little bit?"

You found yourself nodding slightly, a small spark of hope flickering within you. 

The music, combined with her gentle care, had managed to break through the cloud of despair that had surrounded you for days. 

Her eyes lit up at your response, her smile widening into a full-blown grin.

You found yourself suddenly sitting up a little straighter, the spark of curiosity igniting within you. "Could you..." you began, your voice hesitant, 

"teach me how to play?"

Ellie's eyes widened slightly, surprise flitting across her features before being replaced by a soft smile. 

"Of course," she replied, her voice tinged with excitement. "I'd love to teach you."

Ellie's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she shifted on the bed, moving behind you. 

"Alright," she said, her voice a soft whisper against your ear. "Here, let me show you how to hold the guitar properly.

Her hands gently guided yours as she positioned the guitar across your lap, her fingers delicately adjusting the placement of your hands. "Just like this..." she murmured, her voice soft and patient. 

Her body was close, her chest almost touching your back, as she leaned forward, her chin resting on your shoulder.

Her breath was warm against your skin, the tips of her fingers tracing lightly over your knuckles. "Now, place your fingers here, on the strings," she instructed, her voice a soothing murmur. "Yep, just like that.

Her hand enveloped your own, guiding your fingers into the correct position on the fretboard. "Now, press down firmly, but not too hard," she instructed, her voice steady and soothing. 

As you pressed down, a soft chord echoed through the room, the sound surprisingly sweet.

Ellie let out a soft laugh, her breath tickling your ear. "Not bad for a beginner," she said, her tone filled with pride. "Now, try strumming the strings gently.

You took a deep breath, positioning your fingers properly as you stroked them over the strings, producing another soft sound. 

Ellie nodded her head in approval, a smile in her voice as she spoke. "Perfect. You're catching on quickly."

She moved to wrap her arms around you, her body pressing closer against your back. 

Her chin was still perched on your shoulder as she watched you intently, her breath warm against your skin. 

"Try strumming a little faster now," she encouraged, her voice rich with patience.

You obeyed, your fingers moving a bit faster over the strings, producing a slightly faster, more melodious sound. 

Your heart was pounding, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through you. 

Ellie chuckled, the sound rumbling softly through her chest. "See? You're a natural."

Her chin moved from your shoulder to your ear, her lips hovering dangerously close as she spoke. 

"Now try and do it without looking at the strings. Trust your fingers to find the right frets..." her voice low and gentle.

Your breath caught in your throat at the nearness of her face, but you pushed the sensation away and focused on the strings beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, you began to strum, trying to remember the placement of your fingers without looking. It was a bit more challenging, but the sound was still clear and sweet. 

"Good..." Ellie whispered, her voice filled with encouragement.

Her breath was warm on your neck now, the proximity of her body making goose bumps erupt on your skin.

 "Keep going like that," she murmured, her hands still guiding your own on the guitar. "You're doing great."

The heat of her body was intoxicating, the closeness almost overwhelming. 

Your fingers moved over the strings, each stroke producing a clear, sweet sound that filled the room. Her breath was warm against your ear, her chest rising and falling in time with your own. 

"That's it," she whispered, her voice a soothing murmur. "You're a fast learner.”

You couldn't help yourself anymore. 

The tension in the room was palpable, and the proximity of her body to yours was driving you wild. Turning around abruptly, you captured her lips in a swift, impulsive kiss.

Ellie's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but quickly softened as she melted into the kiss. 

Her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified. The guitar fell to the side, forgotten, as your lips moved together hungrily.

The moment your lips meet Ellie's, the world around you fades away. The guitar, the lesson, the fact that she was teaching you how to play guitar minutes ago—none of it matters as you lose yourselves in the kiss. 

Ellie's fingers dig into your hips as she pulls you flush against her body; her tongue dancing with yours in a passionate tango.

Finally breaking apart for air, Ellie's cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire. "Fuck," she breathes hoarsely. 

She looks up to you as a way of asking for permission and eagerly you nod, she lows herself down and pulls down your shorts.

 She licks her lips before leaning in to press a kiss to the fabric. "So pretty." Her fingers hook into the elastic, pulling the material aside as she gives your bare sex a long, admiring look. 

"so wet already," she notes with a smile. With that, she plunges two fingers inside you, feeling you clench around the intrusion.

Ellie gently rocks her fingers inside you, curving them to stroke that magical spot. You moan softly, your hips undulating against her hand as she explores your sensitive depths. "Relax, princess," she coos. 

"jus let me take care of you." Her thumb rubs slow circles over your clit as her fingers continue their tender thrusts. 

You feel your pleasure building under her ministrations; your body trembling and your breath growing short.

As you near the edge, Ellie slows her movements, pulling her fingers out of you slowly as she gently pulls off your shirt.

she kisses you again, soft and sweet; her tongue flicking across your lips as she holds you close. When she finally pulls away, she leaves a trail of gentle kisses down your neck. "I want to see all of you," she whispers, snapping open your bra with deft fingers. 

She guides it off, letting your breasts fall free. "So beautiful," she breathes, taking one of your nipples into her mouth for a tender suck.

Ellie laves your breast, lapping at the nipple with her tongue before nipping it gently. 

She worships your chest with slow, reverent kisses as her hands roam over your skin, rediscovering every curve and dip. When she finally looks up at you again, her eyes are dark with need.

 "Please," she whispers, "I need to feel you against me." With that, she guides you down onto the couch, settling between your legs as she lines herself up with your entrance. Slowly, she sinks inside you—both of you moaning at the sensation of their joining.

The kiss breaks, and Ellie rests her forehead against yours; her body buried inside you to the hilt. "Holy shit..” she breathes. "so good." She begins to move, slowly at first, rolling her hips as she searches for the perfect angle. When she finds it, she doesn't hesitate, pounding into you with all the passion she's been holding back. 

The bed creaks in protest as you're slammed against it—Ellie's nails digging into your hips as she claims you.

You cling to Ellie as she rides you hard, your fingers twisted in her hair as your bodies slam together again and again. The sound of skin on skin fills the room; mingling with your ragged breathing and Ellie's throaty moans. 

She slams her hips down, burying herself to the hilt inside you as she grinds against your clit with every thrust, “my fucking god-“ she gasps. "I'm gonna...fuck, I'm gonna cum." With that, she buries her face in your neck, biting the sensitive skin as she convulses above you; her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

[cambion-companion]

Here’s ya girl who has gone completely feral over astarion. He’s the babiest baby. Okay, here’s the prompt. My characterisation could be a bit (or a lot lol) off bc I haven’t played the game Y E T so feel free to change the things that seem OOC.

Established relationship, but the beginnings of it, on a mission to find a way for astarion to be in the sun again. Reader has given astarion time to work on his sexual trauma so they haven’t been having sex for some time. Reader is 100% ok w that. But they have a big argument over something (not related to sex) and astarion doesn’t know how to resolve the situation other than reverting back to his seductive artifice and using sex as a way to ensure his safety (in this case, emotional safety). Reader figures it out because they (or she) are not dumb. They reassure astarion and he lets himself be vulnerable but also, it turns out that astarion wants that sexual intimacy. But reader decides this will be all about astarion and making him feel good and loved. Body worship, astarion’s praise kink, just everything focused on astarion’s pleasure in a way he has never experienced and that makes him completely unravel once he comes. Not a subby reader, tho. You know me, I don’t do subby.

If this is too long of a prompt, just the sexy part will be ok. Thank you so much, i have such astarion brainrot DDDD:

I Want to Live

word count: 1700

gn!reader x Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic | 18+ only

"I don't think we should use the tadpoles for anything, Astarion." You put your hands on your hips, glaring at the sulky Elf in front of you.

This tense conversation between the two of you had gone on far longer than you'd have liked. Astarion seemed insistent on using whatever advantage the Illithids had unintentionally given your party. Despite not yet knowing the implications of doing so.

Astarion's silver hair glinted in the firelight that warmed your back, his eyes shone like droplets of blood. "You might as well leave me alone, spoilsport." He waved an imperious hand in your direction, sneering at you in the way he knew would hurt you most. "Since you insist on being boring and unimaginative."

You ground your teeth. "I'm trying to keep us safe."

"And a fine job you're doing, my sweet." His lilting voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you ask Arabella how her parents are doing?" He paused, then feigned surprise. "Oh wait..."

Your eyes widened as a jolt of genuine pain lanced through your heart at his callous words. Astarion was aiming to do damage and, like always, he knew how to push your buttons.

Magic sparked at the end of your fingertips as you fought to control your rage. It was the lack of verbal response that alerted Astarion to the fact he might have pushed a little too far with you. His face almost looked regretful for a moment, or perhaps it was a trick of the firelight casting shadows across his features. You didn't gain much insight because of the tears blurring your vision as you quickly turned away and strode as far away from the vampire spawn as you could.

Shadowheart, who always seemed to overhear everything, cast a worried glance your direction before leveling a glare on Astarion who still watched after you with a blank look.

You sat yourself upon your bedroll before the campfire and listened to Volo squeakily tune his lute. Wyll and Gale were over by their tents chatting and Lae'zel sat on a boulder by the river sharpening her sword.

You had thought Astarion would understand and perhaps even agree with you, and the rest of the camp for that matter, that the parasites should not be utilized to gain control of other beings. It was convenient and downright useful, yes...but not worth an unknown cost.

You had thought...since that night when the two of you had become intimate...that he'd maybe come to care for you. But that jab about Arabella's parents, who you'd failed to save, only confirmed that the vampire did not have your best interests at heart.

Sighing, you moved your bedroll away from its usual place beside Astarion's and arranged it next to where Karlach slept. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching you move about but you didn't much care at the moment.

Karlach gave you a curious and concerned look as she came over and got comfortable for the night. "Are you alright? I could hear you and Astarion going at it...and not in the fun way."

You grunted and moved your body to the side so you could scrape out a rock that had been digging into your back. "It's fine. He's just an ass." You said these words loud enough for him to hear.

Karlach shrugged and nodded as if this were common knowledge. She gave you a jolting pat on the back before getting comfortable in her own bedroll.

As the breathing patterns of your companions slowly deepened in slumber, you could not find any rest. You tossed and turned as best you could in such primitive sleeping arrangements. You missed your bed back in Baldur's Gate above the taproom of the Shadowcat Claw, the familiar bustle of voices and a mug of ale in your belly lulling you to sleep. Out in this wilderness, with the thought of your argument with Astarion tugging at your thoughts...you had to get up.

As quietly as you could, you slid out of your bedroll and got to your feet. A quick observation of your companions told you they were all in a deep sleep. All except Lae'zel who sat on the boulder still, keeping silent watch. She nodded at you curtly as you passed and didn't ask any questions, for which you were grateful.

You crept through the foliage down to the place in the forest by the river where you and Astarion had had your midnight tryst. You could still feel his moonlight hair running through your fingers, his fangs on your neck as you arched it just for him. The trust...you thought you had at least earned a little bit of his trust.

"I thought I'd find you here." His voice was velvet, it shivered straight through your defenses to your heart.

"I wanted to be alone, Astarion." You tried to keep your own voice cool and collected, but you ached to hold him in your arms again.

Astarion had followed you from the campsite into the woods. He'd been fully aware of your restlessness, of course he had. He entered your line of sight now, looking very much like a cat stalking its prey. His ruby eyes were dark and trained on your face. "Come now, you're far too obvious for all this bluster. Do you not want to feel me again?" He gave you a crooked smile, showing his teeth. "A second taste, perhaps?"

You felt the hollowness of his words and saw the carefully arranged expression he wore like a mask. Beneath the facade you could make out the telltale twitch of a facial muscle, the tenseness of his eyes, indicating anxiety.

You sighed. "I thought we were passed these games."

"Games?" Astarion's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Games are all part of the fun, my dear. So good at getting the blood pumping."

You folded your arms. "I want an apology."

This tripped him up. For a moment the facade slipped, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. "Apologize?" Then he was back to his usual bluster. "Me? Apologize for what?"

"For having a go at me today. Bringing up Arabella's parents when you know how upset I am about it." Astarion made a noise as if to speak but you cut across him. "That was cruel, Astarion, and I deserve better from you."

"I didn't..." Astarion sighs heavily, his eyes glancing down to the ground then back at your face. "I apologize." The words seemed to pain him in some way. "I wanted to get a rise out of you, that's all. Now let's forget about that and have some fun."

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, simply watching his face lit in the silver moonlight. His unconvincing grin slowly slipped off his face, a troubled frown replacing it. The two of you looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, you spoke.

"You're testing how much I care for you, aren't you?" Your voice was soft, almost inaudible over the rippling stream.

Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback, he seemed to consider taking shelter once more behind his mask of pompous indifference. But then his shoulder's slumped slightly, the fists at his sides loosened. That was all the answer you needed.

You stepped forward and placed your hands around his, tugging him closer. He did not resist, his footfalls light as ever as he drew near. Close enough to feel his breath warm your lips.

"I care about you, Astarion." Your voice was still soft amidst the rustling leaves and sparkling water. "I discourage you from using the tadpole's powers because I couldn't bear to see your will overtaken by yet another monster."

Astarion was silent for a long time, his scarlet eyes turned silver as a moonbeam fell across his pallid face. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "What if it's too late for me? To be anything other than a monster? My only choice is which one." He laughs forcefully, bitterness twisting his mouth.

"I won't let that happen." You encircled him tenderly in a hug, pulling him to rest flush against your body. "We're in this...together."

"Together." The word was echoed back to you, his voice framing the syllables as if it were a foreign tongue.

You turned your face into him and kissed his neck softly, feeling his body tense in your arms and then slowly relax. You kept your lips against his skin, over where Cazador had sunk his fangs all those centuries ago.

Astarion's hands slowly slid up your hips to rest against your lower back as he held you close. Your lips caressed his neck, throat and trailed up to his jaw until you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you." You murmured.

You felt him tense again, not pushing you away, but his hands tightened on your back. "I..." Astarion hesitated. "I'm not quite ready to say those words back to you, my dear."

"I know." You felt no anger, no hurt. You accepted him however he wished to come to you, grateful for this rare moment of vulnerability beneath the stars.

You pushed him back gently until his back made contact with the base of a large sycamore tree. A huff of air left his lungs, quickly claimed by your mouth as you kissed him hungrily this time. Your hands made quick work of his clothing and Astarion became eager to help the process along.

"Vixen." He murmured and you laughed against his lips, your tongues teasing each other.

"You're beautiful, Astarion." You held his face in your hands and kissed his mouth lightly, not allowing him to turn away even as the compliment made his eyes search yours for hints of disingenuity. "I want nothing from you in return." You said firmly, reading his emotional turmoil through your shared Illithid connection. "This is just for you." You kissed his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. "To keep."

Astarion's head fell back to rest against the tree trunk as you continued lavishing affection upon him. He moaned your name softly to the night sky as you slowly sunk to your knees before him, the dirt and rocks digging unheeded against your knees. His fingers twisted in your hair and guided you to where he wanted you most.

"Good, my love." You praised him, your words causing his body to shake with increasing pleasure. "Show me."

The night was long and full of bliss. A genuine exchange of pleasure, without the previous facades and plays at affection. You felt the change as surely as he did, and when the others awoke in the morning it was to find your bedroll pulled back right next to where Astarion lay curled against you.

~

"You owe me five gold, Shadowheart." Gale mumbled.

[eph3merall]

https://www.tumblr.com/eph3merall/757482194719621120/toxicchris

Please make a part 2 😭😭😭😭😭😭

didnt know how to make a pt 2 to this tho bc i had like NO ideas so hopefully this can suffice 🙁

. . . ( pt 1 )

maybe chris was going just slightly crazy. the second you walked out that door he felt part of his heart get dragged along with you, he just didn't realize it. because you were just another girl, right? there wasn't anything particularly special about you.

maybe he chose to actively ignore the way you were always so thoughtful and sweet and patient. god, patience definitely did not run thin with you, how you always kept waiting and waiting with hope that chris would like you back. that he would magically just admit how much you meant to him, even after shaking his head with a chuckle and teling you the same things over and over again. 'y'aren't anything special, sorry babe. don't go gettin' upset since i don't like you back, okay? remember, 'cus— 'cus i told you you're jus' another girl.'

it was hard to just forget you. how could he, with the lego set you guys built together sitting proudly on his shelf? how could he just forget, with some of your things still littering his room even after he tried cleaning just so he didn't find any of your hair ties or tubes of lip gloss.

chris' heart felt heavy in his chest. he couldn't just linger on the thought of you forever though, which is why he found himself at a party. another party, which means another girl that would probably end up in his bed for the night, and another girl who would probably end up crying over the fact chris wanted nothing serious.

the pretty blonde that perches on his thigh currently is running manicured nails up his chest, purring in his ear and pressing glossy lips to his jawline that was littered with a light stubble. despite the grin adorning his face and the way his cock twitched in his jeans at the sight of the girl, she wasn't you.

no one compared to you. he still had the beaded bracelet you gifted him sitting heavy on his right wrist, the current hand fisting the blonde's hair to arch her back. chris forced himself to focus on the moment, to stop thinking about you and to focus on how nice the girl's pussy gripped his dick.

the night ended with chris showering and laying on his bed with a joint in his hand. he used to share a smoke with you at times, when things got a little too rough and the high was a nice escape from reality. his chest felt heavy, and he wasn't even sure why. was it so hard to admit that he missed you? there was nothing particularly special about you at all, you were just another girl that happened to get caught in chris' web.

in the middle of blowing out a ring of smoke, his phone chimed on his nightstand. for a second his heart jumped, maybe you reached out to him. maybe you apologized and would finally realize that he wasn't the bad guy here. that you were already on your way over. unlocking his phone proved to be a disappointment however, the notification coming from a random girl's number he didn't even remember adding.

chris hasn't blocked your number yet. he isn't sure if you deleted his, but he could assume you probably did with how upset you were when you left. that didn't stop him from sending you a text. his thumb was hitting the 'send' button before realizing what he was doing.

you didn't expect to get a text tonight. cuddled up in bed with a bunch of blankets and some snacks, laptop flipped open to netflix to binge a show you were currently interested in. when you reached for your phone, your face twisted into one of confusion, surprise, and then annoyance at the contact name you renamed 'don't answer'.

"i told you we're over, chris. i don't get why you want to talk things out— no, no you made it clear i was just another girl, right? you didn't give a fuck about that promise—" an argument sparked up and you were yelling into the speaker of your phone not long after, tears burning your eyes out of anger.

and even then chris was asking matt for a quick ride, holding his phone away from him as he told his brother that he'd make things right. he really just wanted to get rid of that stupid feeling in his chest though, which is why chris finds himself standing outside your front door.

he's hanging up and knocking, knowing you're pissed off and might slam the door in his face the second you catch a glimpse of his hair or face. and you do almost shut him out, obviously annoyed and shaken up with how fucking foolish he was—but chris is shoving inside and forcing your body into a tight hug.

because he missed you. he isn't admitting it, not now and not ever, but he ignores your screaming and just asks you to listen for a second. he isn't sure what he craves to achieve right now, but all he knows is that he has a little chance to make things better right now.

"i know, i know i was stupid baby. 'm sorry, okay? okay? i— i'm sorry, and i'll make things right, y'hear? if i can jus' stay the night we can go through my phone together n' delete all those girls' numbers, i promise."

and then he's holding his pinkie out to you, vulnerability and a bit of amusement written across his face as the reality of what he's doing finally set in.

was this good.. i like had no idea how to continue w this but anon i hope u enjoyed 😞 not proofread !!! is it js me who cant STAND to reread something youve written over again?? like i will for fics but like. idk.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[moonlight-tmd]

Crack au! Bumblebee and Longarm, when together will occasionally go spelunking. They have caused numerous spark attacks with them randomly popping out of nowhere in random cave systems. Bee actually caused Megatron to faint once.

IDK, just these two being feral little shits together.

Oh hell yes-

tbh i forgot crack au existed but yes it is all just shits and giggles on cocaine.

Longarm and Bee are classified troublemakers with Longarm being the secret troublemaker that no one suspects is at fault in anything, and he abuses the fuck out of it.

Bee is suspicious of the amount of stuff Longarm knows about Decepticons but he never questions it cuz it gives them countless opportunities to cause mischief.

One time they went ot Decepticon base cuz Longarm "heard rumors about giant robots hiding there". They stayed hidden and played so many "little inconveniece/confusion" pranks. Long made sure Bee didn't accidentally stumble into some important section.

There were so many petty arguments between Blitzwing and Lugnut that they overheard and so much stupid wrestling matched caused in few of low-ranking Decepticons there. It was hilarious.

But not as hilarious as when they came back a week later and prepared a "haunted house" experience for them. Fake cobwebs, cheesy decor, fake blood and pop-up monsters EVERYWHERE.

They had a very hard time keeping their laughter at minimal volume so the big guys don't spot them. The best one was when Megatron himself entered and tried to deal with the mess cuz none of his idiotic henchmen wanted to go back in.

He didn't really get scared of the things, they were worried that it's over for the fun... but then Longarm came up with the genius plan.

He dressed Bee up as a undead mech- it was surprisingly realistic for the few resources they had and short time. Then they set up the ambience and horror-like noises as Megatron walked down their chosen hallway.

It wasn't the typical horror vibe, it was worse, the type of psychological horror Shockwave knew Megs would fall for. They waited for the right moment, watching Megatron shift and walk more cautiously the further he went. They placed a fake monster to scare him with and it worked. The warlord whipped around clearly on edge and relaxed as he saw the fake thing that seemingly make all the noise...

Then he turned back and a dead mech dangled right in front of his faceplate with the most ear-shattering screech ever.

There was nothing, Bee just locked optics with Megatron for the longest time ever... but then Megatron tipped backwards and fell with an obnoxious thud on the floor, optics flashing off as he did.

Longarm lowered him to the ground and they both just looked at each other before laughing their asses off without holding back.

At some point Megatron woke up from his brief "nap" and they both barely managed to lose him in the tunnels and avoid his wrath.

No one knew it was them as both Bee and Longarm were disguised to blend in. Even tho they can't repeat it cuz of Megatron rising security levels, it was a good time.

[shadowscommand]

uhhmm drabble about ghost and mace after soap's death. ao3 link 857 words. here it is on Tumblr tho

Ghost is notorious for changing phone numbers. This wasn't the case originally, when his mother was still alive and needed a way to contact her son easily. That was years ago. Now, Mace keeps the same number, and about once a month he receives a text from Unknown asking if he's too busy to talk. He’s always honest, either ignoring if he is busy or sitting with his phone in hand teasing Ghost for a second before calling.

Today, he gets the text in the middle of the day while he's eating lunch. Mace texts back once, “I'm eating.” Ghost doesn't wait for a back and forth before calling him.

“Oi,” he says as a greeting. He sounds gruff, but he always sounds gruff.

“Hey.”

Mace listens as he inhales and exhales what he can only assume is cigarette smoke. “What're you eating?”

“Rice and lamb.” Mace continues before Ghost can give more than a soft grunt in reply, teeming with need to pick at Ghost for a moment. “You're not too busy with that new guy to talk?”

"He died.” Ghost says. Blunt, even, said like he's eager to get this discussion over with already.

"Oh.”

"Mh.”

"I'm, um,” Mace struggles a bit. He looks at the phone out of the corner of his eyes, keenly aware this conversation could spark an argument quickly. “I'm sorry"

"S'okay, it's not your fault. It's Price's." Ghost sighs, almost immediately. Mace can hear a light clunk as the phone is set beside him. It's silent for a bit before there's a softer sound, and Ghost sounds further away when he speaks again. "I don't mean that."

"Yea," Mace agrees. He knows.

"I was there, too. It's just as much my fault."

Mace can hear it now, the haggard edge to his voice. He's been awake too long, probably, if Mace knows him right. He forgoes reassuring him, instead replies with his tone gentle, "what happened?”

"Just… It was quick. Price was grabbed, Soap was trying to help, he got shot. It did help, but," Ghost pauses. Mace can picture Simon, looking left and right at nothing, eyes unfocused.

"He didn't make it," Mace provides.

The phone is picked back up. Mace can hear as Ghost exhales against the microphone, his voice tense from the latest drag of his cigarette. "Right through his temple."

"Mh," Mace nods though Ghost can't see.

"Quick, at least."

"Did you go to the funeral? Has he had one yet?”

Ghost scoffs. "In my mask?"

"You could take it off,” Mace replies, tone still gentle, still trying to urge him out of this shell of his.

"Fuck. You." Mace can tell he'd brought the phone closer to his mouth. He pulls away again "Gaz and Price went. Gaz said it was nice. They took a bit of his ashes– well, his mom insisted they take some."

"Mh.”

"Had his urn."

"You saw it?"

"We spread them."

"So you did go to his funeral.”

There's a pause and Mace can see Ghost’s eyes rolling in his mind's eye. "Yeah, sure, our own funeral."

“That's nice. That's good,” Mace is genuine, glad Ghost is allowing himself closure this time.

“Sure.”

“It is,” Mace reiterates.

“I literally agreed with you,” he snaps back, already tired of this.

“Okay” Mace says, even and neutral. He stays quiet and Ghost follows suit, passively holding the phone in his hand while he smokes.

“M’still in Scotland.”

“I'm still in Urzikstan.”

“Shame,” Ghost replies.

“Yeah,” Mace agrees. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a night,” Ghost says as he rummages for something. It's all muted to Mace, Ghost’s cheap phone having a cheap microphone. Mace knows he'd say the same for his, so he keeps his phone to his ear, tucked between his head and his shoulder with no complaint.

Ghost stays quiet, huffing and messing with either wrappers or papers in his vicinity. Something plastic. Mace eats his food, only a little too cool now. Neither one of them hangs up, or wants to, despite the stretch of silence going on long enough for Mace to finish the plate, take it and the phone down to the kitchen sink, and go sit outside himself.

“Are you in a room?” he decides to ask, finally.

“Car,” Ghost sounds distant again. Mace can imagine he's set the phone on the dashboard.

“You spend the night there?”

“Yea.”

Bad for your back, Mace thinks fleetingly.

“Don't fuckin’ say anything,” Ghost says, seemingly hearing his thoughts.

“I didn't.”

“Good.”

“I didn't,” Mace laughs, soft and under his breath. “No need.”

Ghost snorts. He fidgets with the phone again before slamming a door and starting the car. Mace can hear the phone get set into a cupholder. “Wanna hang up?” he asks.

“Why? Are you goin’ somewhere?”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m just drivin’ back. I’ve got a fuckin’ stand to put my phone in; you’re not hangin’ up.”

“Oh,” Mace replies. Not a cupholder. “You want company while you drive?”

“If it won’t kill you.” Ghost huffs out air.

“Nah, baby,” Mace reassures him, deftly ignoring the bite in his voice. “I’ll be here.”

[wifetomanyfictionalmen]

Could you maybe write a buggy x wife reader where they've been married for many years and have gone through thick and thin like they're all lovey dovey

Could you make it angst tho like maybe an argument between the two of them where buggy screams and shouts mean things at her idk and moves his hand up to maybe scratch his head and the reader flinches

Oooo so I’m not sure if you want live action or anime? Imma assume it’s live action but if not you could always send another ask and I’ll do anime buggy to!

Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse

Buggy X f!wife!reader

“I promise I’ll do better”

You and buggy had been through thick and thin together. You’d been friends since childhood and you always followed Buggy, he never brought any harm to you so you stuck with him. That and his witty charm. When he set off to become a pirate himself you returned home and were forced into an arranged marriage.

Said man you were marrying was..far from kind. He always beat you if you did anything wrong or said something out of place in his eyes. That only lasted two years, her village was raised by strange looking pirates who kept shouting about their flashy captain. You could only hope that it was the same flashy clown you were thinking of. While the pirates were busy you rushed to the port and saw a large ship, and the large Jolly Roger with a big red nose put a huge grin on your face.

You rushed over and yelled his name, the one you had wanted to marry. The one you’d wanted to stay with forever. “Buggy!? Buggy it’s me!” You yelled, the blue haired flashy fool looked over and his eyes widened seeing you. You were skinner, and paler than when he’d last seen you. Only two years and you’d changed so much. He jumped down and landed infront of you, a hesitant hand held your face and you leaned in.

Since that day you traveled the ocean with him gaining your own bounty and wanted poster. It had only been a year since he saved you when he proposed. Of course you said yes, you love this flashy fool you’d die before you left him. He was upfront and admitted he ate the chop chop fruit, and that’s why he could split himself up. You were fascinated by it and would often ask him questions.

You had been married for quite a few years, always having each others backs whenever you fought, or he’d let you light a buggy ball if he was feeling extra nice. You rarely fought, but soon after Luffy humiliated him and got away, he swore vengeance. You thought it was bad already with him despising shanks, but now Luffy to? The boy just seems playful and immature. Nothing different from buggy. And this sparked an argument.

“I don’t understand Buggy, you hate shanks, and now you hate the child he helped raise? It was low of you to even put the kid in the tank in the first place!” You were pacing the circus floor wringing your hands together. You turned to him as he began yelling about vengeance and how could she betray him in such a way.

“You don’t understand! You weren’t the one bullied all your life! You had a nice simple life after I left! You married a marine if I’m not mistaken” He yelled and raised a hand to make a point, but his face was one of confusion when you flinched back and covered your face.

“I promise I’ll do better”

The words had slipped out before you knew what you were saying. Buggy’s eyes widened and he lowered his hand gently. Did that marine bastard…no… “What did they do to you?” You looked up tearfully and before you could even begin to talk buggy pulled you in for a hug and hid his own tears. He didn’t care if any of his crew walked in. You were his damned flashy wife, and he blamed himself for not coming to the village sooner, hell he blamed himself for not taking you with him originally.

“I love you…my flashy little wife” he whispered in your ear and you smiled through the tears. You placed a kiss on his jaw “I love you to my flashy fool.”

[tigertofu]

ok i've been chipping away at this Thing for a long time and i think it's finally ready to be vomitted out into the internet. without further ado, here is my

Stupid-Long List of Trevor Headcanons

divided into chronological sections !

((the NSFW shit is hiding at the bottom))

CW's for: mentions of drugs/alcohol, addiction, cannibalism, violence, gross sex stuff. typical Trevor things

and heres a gif of him cuz ig thats the tumblr thing to do idk i never made one of these lists b4 :x

the past

• he's a scorpio and the reason he has a scorpion tat on his hand is bc he's like. very mildly into horoscopes. he was born some time in november

• he doesn't have a middle name cuz his mom didn't give enough of a shit to give him one

• despite playing hockey and golf as a kid, he was never really that into the sports themselves. he only did hockey because he saw it as a way to beat up other children and not get reprimanded for it, and he did both in the hopes of being good enough at something to earn his mother's praise for once (it did not work :()

• hates his dad bc of how he treated his mom and is glad he abandoned him at that shopping mall when he was a kid

• he (w/ Brad's help) would play "pranks" on (aka BULLY) poor Lester during the north yankton days. some fav pastimes included (but were not limited to): pantsing him, hiding his walking cane, and replacing his asthma medication with laughing gas

• was highkey jealous of how easy Michael could get girls during the north yankton days. when he actually was able to convince a girl to come back home with him, he would make sure to be loud as hell about it so that Mike would know he wasn't the only one getting chicks

• all of his hand tats and a lot of his other tats were done in prison, even tho he was only in for like 6 months

• prison was a mixed bag for him. on one hand, anal. on the other, having to restrain himself from arguments and physical altercations so he could get out early on good behavior

• went thru a breakdancing phase in the 90's (i THINK this one might be canon. idk. could've sworn i've heard him try to tell Lamar this in an attempt to impress him. pls feel free to prove me wrong or right)

• one of the scars on his eyebrows is actually the result of getting a fresh eyebrow piercing ripped tf out during a barfight in the 00's. prob for the best that it was cuz we all know that shit wouldve ended up getting infected and rejecting out of his face anyways

• he moved to Sandy Shores not just because it's nice and isolated, but because it was the place most opposite of north yankton he could think of. never any snow. he absolutely fucking hates cold weather and snow because it reminds him of a certain bank heist that happened in '04

• between Ron, Chef, and Wade, Chef was the first one he met after moving to Sandy Shores. they used to cook meth together in a trailer out in the desert (another one that i THINK is canon but im not sure idk. it all blurs together, idk whats canon and whats not anymore, my brain is too rotted from spinning Trevor around in it like the world's most dried out little shriveled husk of a rotisserie chicken for the past three years, the fog is coming, yk how it is)

• he acquired Liquor Ace the same way he "acquired" the Vanilla Unicorn. the previous owner just mysteriously disappeared one day. nobody in Sandy Shores cared tho once word got around that the new owner was gonna start cooking crystal in the upstairs and selling it

• yk how in the game he said that his heart momentarily stopped once cuz he put an axe thru a power cable? he did that cuz the power had gone out in the middle of him watching an Impotent Rage episode he hadn't seen yet. for some reason (was prob very high and very angry) he thought that he could bring the power back by hitting the sparking wire with an axe. it didnt work. he smelled like overcooked bacon for a week afterwards. he enjoyed that part tho

the present

• he makes Ron cut his hair with a pair of rusty kitchen scissors when he needs a trim. he used to go to the nice barber lady in Sandy Shores but got banned after loudly moaning about how good her nails felt on his scalp once

• once smoked an entire cigarette in one long inhale. Wade witnessed this and found it extremely impressive

• he'll eat pretty much anything but he especially likes foods with strong flavors. salty, sour, super sweet, spicy, etc cuz his taste buds are SHOT from the years of smoking/drug abuse. he abuses condiments, especially hot sauce

• thinks that any restaurant that doesn't have a drive-thru is a "fancy" restaurant

• LOVES candy cuz the meth has given him a major sweet tooth, but prefers anything with chocolate over fruity/gummy candies

• has a weird fascination with eating raw meat.....of any kind. except for sushi. he thinks sushi is "fancy prissy city people food"

• also has a weird fascination with making stews/soups similar to the eyelid one that he tries to feed Michael in that one cutscene. it's the only type of food he knows how to cook. may be a comfort thing for him because microwaving a bowl of canned soup was the most effort his mother ever put into making a meal for him when he was a kid. and she did it like, twice, maybe. he for sure remembers both times very clearly tho and considers them to be some of his fondest memories

• will go for days without eating anything solid before finally sitting down and consuming enough food to feed a family of 5. sometimes he just like. forgets that eating is necessary for survival

• can open beer bottles with his teeth. between that and the meth habit, its an absolute miracle he still has all his teeth

• go-to pizza order is a large meat lover's. he tries to make vaguely sexual passes about "loving large meat" at the poor pizza delivery guys every time he orders delivery. does not tip, but will say shit like "hey, if you come inside i've got a little tip for ya" while the delivery guy quickly vacates the premises

• honestly? i think there is a good 50/50 chance on whether or not he is ACTUALLY a cannibal. maybe he posters as one cuz he likes the reactions it incites, maybe he genuinely enjoys the psychosexual intimacy of consuming the flesh of another human being........ who knows !! not knowing is half the fun :)

• ok ok hear me out u know that stupid tiktok sound that was going around a couple years ago that goes "hi my name is carmen winstead -- HAAAAAHHHGGCHH" ??? look it up if u don't cuz that's what his snoring sounds like. the fucking "HAAAAAHHHGGCHH"

• once he's asleep he is out like a fucking light. guy could sleep thru nuclear war

• is not opposed to drinking hand sanitizer when out of other sources of alcohol. it tastes just like the shitty moonshine Ron makes in his backyard anyways and gets him even drunker so why not !

• hates horror films bc they make him angry. at least, any of the ones where somebody survives at the end. thinks the murderers in them are stupid. starts yelling shit at the TV like "HE'S GETTING AWAY YOU STUPID FUCK,, WHAT ARE YOU DOING !!!!"

• believes baby pink and orange are "his colors"

• will sit on his sofa or bed and try to shoot any cockroaches scurrying around his place with a pistol for funsies when bored sometimes

• enjoys playing darts at the Yellow Jack with anyone who'll play him but absolutely fucking sucks at it cuz of his shaky hands. accidentally threw a dart into another bar patron's head once. will rage and insist his opponent cheated when he loses. will then get physical if anyone tries to tell him its impossible to cheat at darts. is much less of a sore loser when playing with Mike, Frank, or Lamar tho he will still grumble about losing for up to hours on end afterwards

• is an illegal immigrant bc he never became a US citizen. does not own an actual ID, but has several fakes lying around, all with fake birth dates and fake names that are wildly varying levels of believable

• will absolutely flip his fucking lid if Wade comes around him while wearing Juggalo face paint

• speaking of Wade. yk how he has a shitty tattoo of his own name on his arm? (at least i think he does. i tried looking to see if he does and i couldnt tell so now im unsure if thats just yet another detail that my brain completely made up or smth that i actually saw). ANYWAYS, Trevor gave it to him (stick n poke. it was a longggg process but Wade didnt mind too much cuz he was high at the time and consented to it beforehands anyways) when Trevor first "took him in" cuz he kept forgetting his name and got tired of referring to him as "Hey, you" (which Wade did not respond to most of the time anyways)

• is an ugly crier. like, a butt-ugly crier. snot, drooling, wailing, red face, the whole nine yards and he is loud as hell about it too

• loves back rubs cuz ofc he does he's an old man. often makes Ron or Wade give him massages

• his boomer-ass super-zoomed-in LifeInvader profile pic was taken by Ron. it took them a dozen tries before they got it

nsfw

• he sucks at eating out.........kinda? but what he lacks in precision and consistency he makes up for with sheer (sloppy. slobbery) passion. and endurance. can stay down there (and will, if you let him) for hours

• is not much better at blowing. "accidentally" uses too much teeth every time

• ~4 inches. MAYBE 4.5. good girth tho. not cut

• has a thing for chubby/thicc ppl

• is a biter and won't ask before biting so uhh watch out ! part of the reason for the above is bc there's more to bite

• loooooves loves loves to suck on things. fingers, necks, tits, dicks, anything. also looooooves having it reciprocated. particularly likes shoving his fingers in your mouth

• loves to involve mouths as much as possible. spitting/being spat on, the aforementioned biting as well as being bitten, eating food off of your body or having food eaten off of him, the type of makeout sessions that involve shoving each other's tongues down each other's throats.. anything that involves mouths and/or the motions of eating drives him fucking wild

• will beg you even when not explicitly told to when he's not feeling dominant. will beg and beg and beg and beg and it's hot but can also quickly become incredibly annoying

• but he LOVES to be annoying on purpose too. via the begging, or by teasing/edging, mocking, etc. loves to get a rise out of you and loves the attention (even if negative.. ESPECIALLY if negative) it gets him

• occasionally cries after sex. will expect you to hold him while he does. will start to angry cry and say you don't actually love him if you refuse

• now ik this one is nothing groundbreaking and seems to already be the general consensus amongst the Trevor enjoyers but im gonna say it anyways. he def has a thing for public/semi-public sex. be careful about sitting next to him while in any public space. he WILL try to touch on you and it WILL be in a way that makes it obvious to everyone in the immediate vicinity what's going on. does he do it on purpose as an exhibition thing? maybe...... does he genuinely think he's being slick about it? also maybe. if ur with him, expect to be banned from multiple establishments

• lowkey has a breeding kink in the sense that he loves to finish inside (not just bc it feels nice but also bc of the intimacy of it) and thinks that pregnant women are hot as hell

• is most likely infertile due to the years of meth use tho

• loves to both overstimulate and be overstimulated. just bc you've both climaxed doesnt mean he wont keep going for god-knows-how-long

..................andd that's all she (i) wrote. ty for reading !! i've got more shit to say about Trevor cuz ofc i do but this is already like 2k words so if u wanna hear my headcanons on anything specific at all,, pls do throw it in my ask box ! <33

[gingerpeachtea]

tell me about mr burning suns fic NEOW!!!!! (if u want to!)

(wip list game!!!!)

YAAAYAYYAYSYYAYSYSYYAYAYY feeling HIGH after talking about siye SO LETS GO!!!!!!

siye is my FUCKING BABY but this is like. my moulin rouge baby

it is so incredibly laurel ocd fic in terms of projection not telling u which illness tho u gotta guess like it’s hangman. it’s like an if u know u know situation. u know?

cannot give u a snippet i fear because i have genuinely posted half the fic at this point and i’m not exaggerating LMAODKWD i just love this fic so much i want to SHARE IT!!!! but it’s not DONE!!!

it’s the only moulin rouge fic i’m anywhere close to finishing. it took me a WHILE to know where i wanted to start it, if i wanted to write the Before It Gets Bad and create a buildup, or if i wanted to start right in the thick of it. you’ll see which i chose when i post it i guess LMAO. actually no bc i ❤️ talking. i chose to start kind of right in the thick of it after providing wider context for the point the characters are at post-canon, SPECIFICALLY because i was struggling with creating more tension and buildup to The Big Moment in siye and i spent so much time struggling to figure that out that i went IM SICK OF THIS SHIT!!!!! and just put y’all right in the middle. (or the end. of the show. bohemian rhapsody. (……kind of. you’ll see. it’s kind of like if u took bohemian rhapsody and like. did an interpretive dance* of it instead of doing the show that we’re shown in the show (“the show” being moulin rouge of course. because i have explained this so logically))

(*and by “did an interpretative dance of” i do of course mean forgot absolutely everything and started making shit up. because i forgot that the plot of bohemian rhapsody is just. the fucking plot of moulin rouge)

i rly wanted to post it when i saw mr for the second (…third???? consult my intermission fics on ao3 idk) time on july 26th but i was busy with my stupid gay (actually wonderful and very enjoyable) job and like. being at broadway con. so. that didn’t happen. and then i Continued being busy with my stupid gay actually wonderful and very enjoyable job and then SCHOOL. and then i got my ASS BEAT. and i just got done getting my ass beat (am finally on break) so i WANT to finish it so bad before i go back but i do unforchies have to prioritize finishing a mike fic by jan 12th for his birthday sooooooo who knows!!!

SOMETNING IVE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT WITH THIS FIC FOR SO FUCKING LONG. somebody said at some point in time SOMEWHERE (probably on tumblr IF YES AND ONE OF U KNOWS THE POST SEND PLS!!) that christian starts off the musical as an optimist and ends as a pessimist and satine starts off as a pessimist and ends as an optimist. prob phrased differently than that but ARARARAIAIUARARRAIAUZUSHGAGHH YES!!!!!!!!!!!! YES BITCH YEAAYYAAGHHHHHH U GET IT!!!!!! fuck ill vomimit i lvoe them so much FUCKMTLIGFE okay back to being coherent

WAIT IT MIGHTVE BEEN BEA THAT SAID RHAT??? bea if ur reading this did u say that???? anyways

that is SOOOOOOOO something i wanted to let influence their characterization in this fic!!!! this shift in perspective/outlook for the two of them is essentially the spark that lights their argument. you can see christian’s inclination towards pessimism in this snippet (which i’ve already shared at some point so🫡 sharing it again):

LIKE BITCH….. christian not being able to trust that she would be honest with him about her residual (#CHRONIQUE) illness…… AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN…… SATINE KNOWING BETTER AND TRUSTING CHRISTIAN…… JESUS FUCK!!!!!

analyzing the fic before i even post it 😭😭 very me behavior unfortunately. like yeah i would dissect a single exchange of dialogue for like an entire paragraph instead of actually writing the fic

anyways turns out when i run out of snippets to share i just start talking. where is pitbull hope wveryone enjoyed that lemme find it

[lesbianwyllravengard]

2, 4, 6 and 8 for whoever you’re rotating the most/sparks the biggest answer!

Thank you!!! <3 here's the ask game

I'll put it under read more so I'm not annoying

2. What is one consistent fight they have with their partners? - Marian never fights with her three wives (Anders, Isabela, and Merrill) so I'll do Freydis and Josephine. They are both equally terrible at taking care of themselves so anytime one of them chastises the other about not taking care of themselves they get into an argument about hypocrisy, and ultimately miss the fact that they should both be in therapy. but their fights never last longer than like 5 minutes before they both give in and apologise and kiss and whatever

4. Have they ever been forced apart due to circumstance? How did they handle the distance? - When Marian went to Skyhold to help the Inquisition with Corypheus was the longest she and Anders had ever been apart. Isabela had taken Merrill to explore the seas so they were all used to be long distance, but Marian had been on the run with Anders for years so they literally haven't had a moment apart since the end of da2 and they're both doing terribly when she's at Skyhold. I've said this before but they have mad codependency. they probably kept in contact via letters but it wasn't enough for either of them. Marian's return home was a category 5 gay people moment (and Anders is FURIOUS when he finds out Marian even suggested leaving her behind in the fade to stop the fear demon. like he'd be so upset over that that's the only thing they'd ever fight about)

6. Have they ever ended their relationship and come back together after some time? - no lol if Josie had ever ended things with Freydis she'd kill herself /hj . no but uh, I could see Marian and Merrill separating briefly just because Merrill has some things to work out with her identity and the loss of her clan and feels like she can't spread herself out like that. Marian understands and when Merrill returns about a year later they are still in love <3

And I answered number 8 here for Marian and Freydis, so I'll answer that one for Inquisitor Chantry Bomber Anders even tho he's not my OC because it's funny. 8. What is one sweet gesture that they do for one another on a regular basis? - Anders brings Dorian every book he finds because he heard One Time that Dorian likes to read. He's also snuck a copy of his manifesto into Dorian's library but Dorian recognised it instantly but he still pretended he had no idea and complimented it thoroughly. and then I think Dorian would find ways to get new clothes for Anders or alter the ones he already has to look nicer bc Anders has been on the run and dresses like it. it's just that Dorian can't be seen with someone who dresses so poorly, that's all, not because he enjoys the idea of Anders wearing something he chose

[werewolfsonpage211]

i just have to write through my feelings about predathos rn cause WOW i was truly leaning heavily in oryms direction of we dont know what that shit do youd have to be stupid to even try. like i was feeling okay with the prospect of them releasing predathos cause it is objectivly the most interesting choice you could make, narratively, from a doylist perspective etc etc, but i wasnt feeling it yknow. and i gotta be honest a big part of that was because i do sympathise with the gods some more than others like on a fundamental level i feel theyve got just as much a right to exist as every other living being in the world, theyre people to me and i simply dont like the idea of them dying/having to flee. and yes okay melora is my blorbo out of them and i hate thinking about her being forced to leave exandria leave nature leave everything she loves and has become and is. i was way more hoping for the resolution of bh not releasing predathos and instead remembering RQs hint that they could strike a deal with the gods as a reward for saving their asses.

and then 114 happened. and i fear it changed me irrevokably. matt did something horrible. he gave me hope. like i already had a sliver of hope that if the gods left maybe vax would be free and alive but also maybe hed just be dead or just gone and anyway he wouldnt want to be saved in exchange for such a sacrifice (not that the people making the choice would be anyone he knew...) but but BUT then matt rq gave him a night. vox machina was given a night. and all of a sudden i cant imagine going back to the way things were. if the gods are saved the world may still be changed forever, but not for vax. he only has a night. then he goes back to her. but. if the gods leave, it can't stay the same, not even for him. im not even sure, despite the hope that matt/rq gave me, that he would be freed if rq left. maybe he is kept by her divine power. maybe he would die, or disappear forever (who knows what happens after death when there are no gods?). or maybe he, given a night of life, would simply feel her grip on his string loosen and fade away, leaving him as he is right now, where he is right now, as the raven queen's last parting gift. either way, death or life, it would be change. either he would get a chance to keep living, or keyleth would get a better chance to move on. and that spark of hope for change killed whatever part of me that still could tolerate him being in her service in perpetuum. i cant stand it anymore. i dont accept it.

despite my deep and complicated feelings regarding this rn i am also remembering that it is all a work of fiction and i am fascinated by the way my opinion on the predathos conundrum could be swayed so quickly and, dare i say, decidedly, by new emotions being stirred in me. and i am examining how even tho i was backing up my opinion with (what i see as) logical and objective arguments, i was still being affected by my sympathies for different fictional characters the whole time - from melora (and the pcs i associate her with) to vax and vm. going though it has taught me something about how people can be swayed on much more serious, real life matters. i truely dont know if ive ever changed my mind so dramatically (regarding both strenght and character of the opinion as well as swiftness of the change) in my life before. before i watched c3e114 i was hesitant at best to the releasing predathos idea, now im rooting for it to happen. and dont get me wrong, i still think orym's argument is the most sane and safe one and if i myself had to live in exandria i would most surely be on his side of the debate. but i dont, im the audience of a fictional story and right now i would love to know just what the fuck that shit do.

[kavnich]

KAVNICH RAMBLES!! Finally.

Finally put on my thinking cap for Kaveh x Kinich. I've considered a possibility they can meet, somehow. I'm not a writer, these are... mindless rambles; but rarepairs are rarepairs! (Unreliable source of rarepairs)

Mischaracterizations might occur! I have yet to finish/view all of Kinich's quests, appearances, please bear with me. (As for Kaveh... I am trying my best to keep him in character, probably failing tho.)

BAH! Does it matter? The end goal is to have them... uhh... Interact! Yeah...

Kavnich Meeting Idea : 'Who does he think he is?'

Kinich visits Sumeru for commissions, as usual. By chance, he got hired by Kaveh's contractors to negotiate materials unknowingly alongside Kaveh.

They'd cross paths at a supplier, a meet cute, if you will.

"Ah, are you gathering supplies for a construction project, too?" Small talk from Kaveh.

"Hm, yes. I was commissioned to procure a list of materials." Kinich spares him a glance.

"You... don't look like you're in our field..? Wait, did [Contractor] hire you?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Aha, what a coincidence! I was hired by them too..."

Kinich chooses by price and functionality, while Kaveh defends the need for aesthetics. (Politely, of course. For now, at least.) Kinich considers Kaveh's argument, but then asks what the client would prefer.

Kaveh began to get riled up by that point. The client doesn't know a thing about design, he does- but he doesn't know how to word this at that moment without sounding rude, so he shoves it down and just tells Kinich to trust him, he's the architect.

Kinich looks unimpressed by the statement, but doesn't argue. He's not one to argue with a professional at their own field, but he will interject if the price goes over the optimal budget.

Kaveh, while thankful someone is around to assist him with work, is already confident in his own ability to choose a supplier and procure materials. He finds himself asking why the contractor decided to hire extra help in the first place when he himself knows that he can just do fine by himself. Do they doubt his monetary skills? Have they found out about his insolvency? Oh no...

So it became a one sided duel, with Kaveh trying to best Kinich's ability to allocate their budget with his own. Aaand.. he loses, because his choices always went overbudget to also ensure aesthetics— in expense of his own mora, of course. If the budget wouldn't allow it, he'll have to reach down his own pockets to ensure that the design is flawless.

(I don't know enough abt ts kill me).

Within this encounter, Kinich bluntly breaks down Kaveh's mora habits, even though they'd just met. In other words, he kind of scolds him in his usual calm and collected manner... (I'm trying my best not to compare him to Alhaitham right now and failing miserably 😭😭😭.)

By the end of it, they successfully bought materials befitting the project with the most optimal price negotiated by Kinich. Kaveh, despite his earlier doubts (and probably envy?), was impressed by his negotiation skills. His mood softens, and then he does what he usually does: invite his new acquaintance to a drink in celebration for a task well done. (Yes, even though he has no money. Funny.)

Just who does this man think he is, scolding me about my monetary habits? Kaveh finds himself asking. [If he felt a romantic spark, maybe he'd let it slide *shrug*. But let's be realistic here, he'd more or less likely be pissed for being talked down like that. He'll suppress it though, keep up the good act.]

Kinich politely declines the invite, staring at Kaveh with those- as Kaveh would like to describe them -soulless, unfeeling eyes.

So Kinich, though he dislikes alcohol and loathes alcoholics, accepts the invite. (It's not that he never drinks. He drinks if 1. If the situation calls for it; 2. Paid to; 3. If Ajaw doesn't shut up about it. In this case, the 3rd applies.) And then they get to know each other at a surface level, exchange contacts and the rest will be history.

Ajaw takes this moment to appear once and for all, mocking Kinich for being a lightweight, unable to handle his alcohol, and 'being a coward.' Naturally, Kinich tells him to shut up.

Kaveh looks bewildered ('What is that?')  Blablabla Ajaw introduces himself, mocks Kinich more before getting muted and hidden away again- but not without conveniently telling Kaveh that Kinich WILL go have a drink with him 'cause, quote 'The Almighty Dragonlord demands alcohol!!'

The rest can wait... it's just important for them to, y'know, actually meet first... Then, they can witness the contrast of each others' viewpoints and personalities once they get to know each other more.

Kaveh, (slightly) prideful in his own right, guilt-driven and willing to help anyone due to it. Kinich, who works to survive- and sees mora as a way of survival (in a general sense.) The way these two perceive mora is just interesting to me...

[jittyjames]

first wip wed in a while bc i hate my job and needed to step off the floor before i lost my mind 🫡 so preview time for my next fic!!! (some of you have already seen these. roger i’m looking at you)

three snippets tho! same fic! vibes!

The fights between her mother and father weren't always about the big things. Sure, there was no denying that she heard them screaming over money, over infidelity, over her... But that's not always what it was about. Sometimes, it was just about the tiniest, most minuscule things. It could be as simple as her father not liking the type of food her mother made or him not wanting to watch what she had on the television. It was the most diminutive things escalating to something that felt bigger than her. It was a drop of rain turning into a tsunami.

That's what Judas and her arguments put her in mind of sometimes.

~~~

He pushed Jesus’ hands off him, backing away like a cornered, vicious animal. He was all but baring his teeth, hackles raised. Jesus let his hands drop from him obediently, raising them in surrender instead. It was hard to make out what they were saying in the silver light from the buildings, their lips blurred from the distance and the drizzling rain. Yet Mary knew it couldn’t be good. She had seen it first, after all. There was a dark pit growing in her stomach, gnawing and aching. She hadn't felt like this since she was a kid. She hadn't seen someone look the way Judas did since she was a kid.

He looked so much like her mother.

Judas shoved away from Judas, nearly slipping on the wet pavement in his haste. He was shaking his head.

Jesus was left standing helplessly, staring after him. His shoulders slouched, expression confused and worried. Mary felt her feet moving before she realized what she was doing. It almost felt like a death march. A painfully familiar death march.

"What's going on?" Mary asked hollowly.

How many times had she asked her mother the same question, in the same fashion as dread pooled in her stomach? She would always find herself at the doorway, at the foot of her mother's bed when she could feel the tension piling higher and higher. It was always an indication that it was getting ready to boil over and burn them all.

Jesus gave an exhausted sigh, shaking his head as he warmed his hands near the fire. "I don't know. He won't say. I don't think he's going to either."

~~~

His hands were shaking too much. She never in her life thought she would feel sadness tug at her soul while looking at Judas Iscariot, of all people. Yet here they were. He continued to thumb at his lighter, over and over again. Nothing ever came to fruition. She sighed reaching into the pocket of her coat.

Mary flicked her own lighter once she fished it out, the flame igniting in a spark. It reflected in Judas' shining eyes even if there was no hint of his own glow in them at the moment. Her soul sank when he flinched. It was hard, surprised— and his usually cold eyes were so wet and fearful it reminded her of her mother all over again. Tragic and eyeliner smeared. A cataclysm. A disaster ran through by a man who couldn't find it in himself to love the person given to him, the person who needed his affection more than anything, but instead received the polar opposite. It made her jolt a bit to see such a familiar sight on the man she had once had nothing but scorn for. It was making her heart want to snap. It made her suck her lip between her teeth, her lipstick sure to stain them. What a mess the two of them made. She was sure they were textbook for scornful anguish, bitter and used up. She sighed, her expression turning soft, even if she swore when they first met that Judas would never receive any gentleness from her. He didn't deserve it. He didn't need it.

But today, she discovered that maybe he did.

[sapphic-courtship-for-dummies]

ok ok ok so. i'm in a very complicated situation rn. lemme start from the beginning: -so i'm best friends with this girl for years -our friend group talks abt sexualities, me + other girl come to conclusion that we're bisexual, the best friend thinks she *might* be too -realize i'm in love with her -confess to her later -she doesn't like me that way

-i don't think she's straight????? -time passes -we're both in a religion btw -she asks me one day abt our religion's views on homosexuality -i tell her one of the views, that it's alright -she says ok -she's still questioning btw -i think she might be bi/pan leaning towards guys

-i move to a different country -i leave the religion, not out yet to anyone tho -but we still text -she sends me a post one day abt homosexuality -it's that other view, that homosexuality is wrong -she believes in that view and is trying to persuade me to undo my bisexuality in some way or ignore it -getting strong indoctrination and internalized homophobia vibes here -she thinks i'm still in the religion and is trying to convince me on her views on homosexuality -i try to argue back carefully since i can't let her know i've left -anyway we fight -and apologize a few days later -and she suggests we don't talk abt religious stuff because we always fight abt it

-i say ok -i do flood my insta story (that she sees) with lgbt posts out of passive aggressiveness -i know i know, but i couldnt help it because i have very liberal views and i feel very strongly abt religious homophobia and sexuality -i sort of wanted to punish and test her -'this is me, this sexuality is a part of me, not a test by god, and i'm gonna show it and make it obvious, and you have to choose between remaining with me despite it or not.'

-we don't speak for three months.

-our only interaction is viewing each others' stories -she texts me with something random a few days later -we're talking again -i've forgiven her at this point -after all, before i left, i was just like her, i believed the same things she did -i want to believe that just like me, she'll come around and see things for what they truly are. -idk what to do till then

-i'm still in love with her -i still feel elated whenever she texts -i still feel that spark when i hear her name

-i want to get over her, over it -but still remain her best friend -it's hard because a huge part of getting over someone is to cut them off completely -and for those three months i did not think of her, so it worked a little -but when she texted it all came flooding back.

-i'm so, so, so fucked. what do i do?

Hello dear anon. I am so, so sorry about your situation, and even more sorry I wasn't able to respond until now. I know it's been quite some time, but in the case that you are still struggling with this or that anyone else can benefit from hearing your story and my two cents about it, here's my answer.

It can be really complicated navigating relationships with people who do not share the same values or outlooks as you do, and not everyone has the ability or desire to cut ties with those people. My best friend growing up was one of those people who was very indoctrinated in her religious upbringing and beliefs, which led to the two of us having more frequent arguments as we got older, and eventually ended in a painful split and end in our friendship. I don't regret our separation, looking back I think it was for the best because we just valued, believed, and wanted different things in life. I still wish her the best, but if what allows us both to live our happiest lives is being apart, then so be it.

I understand your pain, and your conflict, however I know that I personally cannot tolerate any kind of...well, intolerance, like that in the people I associate with. I just don't have the energy. Ultimately it's up to you whether you believe your lives will be happier together or apart. That also includes whether you decide to move on from her romantically or not. I can attest that--at least in my own experience--it's not impossible to get over being in love with someone while still interacting with them or being friends with them. That's my track record so far anyway, having two exes that are still friends of mine and even speak to regularly. That isn't to say that it isn't still hard sometimes, or that it doesn't take a certain type of strength or maturity to be able to maintain these relationships and let go of the expectations and hopes you once had for what they could have been, but it is certainly possible and even worthwhile if you can stomach it.

I don't have a straight answer for you, as easy as I wish it could be. I see three main potential roads that you could go down, those being: continuing to wait and see if she'll ever come around to your side of things, letting go of your romantic expectations and moving on while trying to maintain the friendship, or just letting go. I don't know how much things may have changed or not since you sent this ask, but if you're still at a crossroads then there's a chance that you had a gut feeling reading those options. Only you know what you really need, and sometimes you don't know until you get it, or you start walking down that path. All I know is that you have to do what's best for you, as painful or difficult as that may be.

Change is possible in all people, you're living proof of that, but sometimes it takes people lifetimes to open their hearts and minds to learn or unlearn what they need to. Whatever you decide, I hope you are able to prioritize your own happiness in this short life that you have now. You deserve to live proudly as your most authentic self, to love freely surrounded by people who accept you for who and what you are--all of you. Time is precious, your time here is precious, so use it wisely. Use it to do right by yourself, your heart, and your values, to live the life that you truly want.

So, my friend, I leave you with a final question to ponder:

In the long run, what do you truly want?

I hope that this can be of some help or comfort, my DMs are still open if you ever need a friend. <3

All my love and best wishes always,

Your friend,

Sappho 💓