#I could write a long winded explanation as to why I think this would be something that they do

[polybiusplayer]

Anxious habit.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ CHALKBOARD AND NAILS

tw. noncon, yandere, dumbification, objectification, daddy kink, some degradation, some praise, threats, brief mention of murder and blood, hair pulling, forced oral wordcount. 4.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @totalleelee ♡♡♡ here you are my loVE!!! happy late birthday to your friend as well, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I always like getting to write new characters and Nanami was definitely a fun one. I had to make the fic longer bc I wanted moreEeeeee but yea i just really really hope you enjoy it, and thank you again a miLLIOn for commIng me iM so sO HONOUREDDD

nanami kento x fem!reader

You should think about what you’re doing. Lying upside down off the couch with your eyes big and long, distracting lashes and your hair hanging; casting playful shadows on the floor when you move. His couch. He’d like to believe you’re doing it on purpose -hell, most people would probably be inclined to- when you’ve got that coy, little smile on your face and your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin above your pants.

He would assume if you had ever dared to come onto him in any way. But you haven’t, and so he can’t, not when you remain the perfectly sweet, kind, respectful graduate they hired only a few years ago— and it makes him too aware of you.

Nanami’s not the prim and proper bootlicker Gojo jokes he looks like; so among the other sorcerers, it isn’t even too illogical that you would cling to him a little. A kouhai dumped on his doorstep when the higher-ups decided to employ them fresh out of school. If it were anyone else, he would’ve complained until the choice was overruled. But you’re not anyone else. He can’t even lie about the fact that he’s grown quite the attachment to you.

Your bubbly, engaged energy and blueberry scented shampoo and cheap coffee in styrofoam cups that you always, always forget to throw away at the end of the day. Your chattering that rings through his brain before he goes to sleep and the way you talk and talk and talk when he won’t. You’re the exact opposite of an enigma, because that would require that you left him with some mysteries, and you don’t have the ability to keep your mouth shut. He hates how easy you wind him around your little finger, and he hates that he hates it.

Nanami’s not a dependant guy- and it seems to be your goal to prove him so fucking wrong.

“Why wouldn’t that be possible? I mean, it’d be hard if suddenly a curse shows up and you’re called up in the middle of the night and have to rush to work, and our rates of serious injury are pretty high. But I think I could make it work! Y’know, communication is key and all that.” Your pretty lips shine as you ramble on. You prop your head onto one arm, and turn over so your leg is basically straddling his furniture. “Have you ever dated a non-sorcerer while you’ve been a grade one, Nanamin?”

He lets out a slow exhale, and shifts his gaze back from the lines of your throat to his book so you don’t catch him looking. “No.”

“Not once? In like twelve years?” You raise a brow like you’ve suddenly discovered he’s some ancient fossil dug up from the canal.

“I prefer not to leave my partners for weeks on end with no explanation because the sorcerer world forbids it— so no. And I didn’t graduate twelve years ago, brat.” With the spine of the book he taps your nose, before getting up from the chair to join you on the couch. The few drinks have been abandoned as you finally let the blood back out of your head and wobble like a deer, blinking too slowly. Even now, you’re pretty. Prettier than he wants you to be, taking in the soft slope of your nose and the pillowy lips and your stupid flush on your face. Brat is right.

“I think I’ll do it,” you declare after a few seconds, and rest your head back into the couch with a pout. “I get lonely. And most sorcerers have giant egos.” He’s not sure if it takes him aback -can’t place the emotion that washes over him a few inches at a time- but he finds himself watching the side of your face a little too tightly. The cogs turn in his head and send some uncomfortable cold to gather in the pit of his stomach. Your lashes flutter and some wetness lines your waterline, and he can tell that you mean it. It isn’t the alcohol, he knows you better than enough.

When you look up at him, your faces are only a few inches apart— soft breaths filling the narrow space between. Has he ever told you he loves you? He’s not a man of too many words, that’s always been more your style than his— so probably not. But he does. So much it carves a gaping hole in his chest upon impact. He doesn’t have to say anything to see the way your eyes flutter shyly with the near perfect closeness. As your silence hangs as the room disappears, his hand twitching on his thigh. Aren’t you partly his like he’s yours? That’s how it should work. It’s the only logical course of action, and so he can’t help but lean in.

You’re just too shy to say anything- right? You wouldn’t hang out with him so much if you didn’t, wouldn’t trust and touch him, or confide in him so much if you didn’t. His heart burns in his chest the closer you seem to get. But before he can finish up the gap, you giggle and back away. “Wow! Hey, we almost kissed.” Your voice is a higher pitch than normal, but still rambly. Fuck. “I didn’t expect you to be so close when I looked up,” your nose and cheeks are burning hot, “you scared me, Nanamin~”

You stand from the couch instead, and lean towards him with that little smile that drives him crazy at night. “Senpai, it’s clearly time for me to go home. I’m getting sloppy.” You are. And as much as he wants to use that as an excuse to grab you by your waist and pull you into his lap, it wouldn’t do any good. Not when you’re too busy running your mouth to understand the consequences. He loves you, but you’re one infuriating little runt. You run your hand through his hair like it’s an intrusive thought, spilling loose locks onto his forehead, and then you smack your lips. “Will you see me to the door at least?”

For not the first time, he blames your loose lips for making it so hard for him.

+

You’re entirely different outside the four walls of his apartment.

It’s a coincidence that he finds himself across the street as he spots you walking under the streetlights with a little jump in your step. You look a different sort of formidable— clinging to the arm of some plain fucking loser that is so very clearly drooling all over you. It’s almost pathetic how easily swayed the guy is, as you bat your lashes and smile at him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, it rings a little familiar, but common sense and logic get pushed down a little under the feeling of anger that he feels bubbling up in him.

Not at you— though he told you he didn’t think it a good idea, you’ve always been a bit dense. In need of protection. It isn’t an option, and Nanami’s responsible for you. He looks out for you. This fucking loser though, is oblivious about anything but the skin your dress is showing off. In the brief few moments he gets to spot you walking off towards your street, that much becomes clear. You love making it hard for him. You’re basically magnetic, dragging him along from whatever chore he was doing to follow behind patiently, getting more and more agitated.

See, Nanami has thought quite often about what he is, and isn’t. You forced him to think it over whenever he found his mind wandering back to you each time it had the chance, squeezing around his cock and whining out your dramatics into his mouth. In his imagination, he’s easy to wrap up into a neat bow. With a begrudgingly growing interest each time you landed on his couch, or trailed behind him like a puppy at work. It’s because of all that introspection that he decided he isn’t a good do-er. He does good, and he is perfectly adequate at doing it too. But he doesn’t do it for the praise of it.

Nanami isn’t a hero. He isn’t a vigilante.

He’s a simple guy with simple wants: you. So there’s only one reason that crystalizes in his mind as he finds himself walking a good distance behind this fucking loser that you’re blinking stars up at. It isn’t a noble one. Just that every fiber in him aches to grab the guy by the back of his neck and kick his head like a soccer ball. You wouldn’t like that much, but he still wants to do it.

You’re beaming and chattering along like you do at such a pace that you don’t even notice that he’s started to follow behind. Hell, you barely even acknowledge a passerby to move out of the way. You’re totally zoned in to your doe-eyed, little fantasies— even as the distance gets closer and closer, and he’s walking down the now familiar streets towards your apartment. And as much as he wants to blame you, he can't. Not really. It’s not like he didn’t know what a sweet little cheerleader you were when you were prancing around his office with the shortest skirts known to man and a coquettish blink of your long lashes. But it’s different when it’s some two-bit, middle aged non-sorcerer with a five o’clock shadow.

It’s different when it isn’t him. Even you must know that. You must feel it.

The sky’s darkening as your conversation goes from enthusiastic to clearly flirty, letting your giggle ring out down the lane— as he makes up the last bit of distance. The guy’s probably musty breath reaching you as he swings his arm over your shoulder, as he pulls you close. As he fills your head with all kinds of promises that he definitely won’t actually meet as soon as he gets your pretty hands around his cock. He knows it, and he knows that even your innocent, sweet personality would take a hit if that happened. You wouldn’t be able to perform well at work, and maybe even your relationship with Nanami would suffer if you got your heart broken.

There’s a very clear path before him that ends right where you’re walking up the steps towards your door, and those pretty lips form words he can’t focus on. He walks up to the door, and only now do you glance behind you and your pretty eyes go curiously wide at him. “Nanami?” You’re so fucking cute. But that stupid fucking arm around your shoulders is in his way. It blocks you from view, and ruins the sight. It’s a bother. There’s only the faintest hints of  jealousy and rage left in his veins - when he gives you a quick nod, then turns towards the guy who’s now got an awfully dumb expression on his face. It reminds him a little of a curse, blank and narrowed and disturbed. He feels eerily calm, really. It’s a simple problem with a simple solution, isn’t it.

“What are you doing here-” you start to say, before you stumble back.

Blood splatters all over, and with an awfully easy motion that stupid head rolls and drops to the floor. It’s quick, and there’s a few seconds where he waits for the resistance. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt. But it doesn’t come—

Until your shaky hand clutches almost painfully onto his shirt, pinching him. “H- Nanamin. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What did you-” You gasp, breaking off into a choked cry when your eyes take in the sight before you, before squeezing your eyes shut entirely and starting to shake harder. “What’s- why?! What did you do? Why did you do that?! I can’t- I can’t even- what- why?!”

You shove him aside, and his foot lands in the mess as you fumble sticking the key into the lock— too shaky to control your own extremities well. But your mouth still hasn’t stopped running. “Stay away! Go away! You’re- I- hick- I don’t wanna look!” You finally manage to get the key turned by the time the tears are making your cheeks entirely shiny, snot running and lip wobbly like a five year old— and sink down into a crouch to start sobbing it out into your arm. “You just killed a-an-” You can’t even make it halfway through without breaking out into another squeak. “F-for no reason. I invited him here- seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Your face doesn’t come up again for breath until he grabs you by the arm to help you up, and you shove at him again, almost yelling this time. “No, no, no no no! Leave me alone!” This little scene you’re making is gonna attract attention, you know. “Leave me alone, I want to go in!” Before the situation can get out of hand, he pushes your door open enough to toss you inside, and the body after you. There’s a muffled little whimper from you when it lands with a thump on your floor. But as soon as he closes the door, the surge of adrenaline calms.

He just has to explain it to you, give him a minute.

“I don’t wanna- I don’t-”

For some reason, the entire situation winded him, and his beating heart bangs loudly in his chest. He drops his weapon aside and kicks off his shoes, and goes to you— where you’re cocooned in your own arms, knees to your chest. “Hey, it’s-”

“Leave me alone!” you squeak, knocking his hands away from you, only briefly looking up. “Go. Hck- go away!” You’re crying so much that your eyes are red and your cheeks puffy. But he still grabs you by your arms and hauls you up into his chest, ignoring the way you make yourself dead weight. Brat. He wants to say it, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy to hear it at this very moment. It’s not like he blames you. He’s always tried to shield you from the more gruesome parts of the occupation as much as possible. Of course you’d be upset. “Nanamin~” you whine.

“Shhh, just calm down. It’s all good now.” His heart still beats so loud. Maybe he was angrier than he first imagined. He carries you -much to your dismay, if your sniveling cries are anything to go off- out of the hall and into your bedroom. Where it smells of perfume and girly body lotion, and so overwhelmingly like you it takes him aback a little. You’re still crying, and still talking- but he does his best to drown it out in favor of explaining. See, he’s always been such a sucker for you. Swallowing down the slight rasp in his voice, he allows you to drop back into your bed, and looks down at you. You’re still pretty even with your eyes clenched closed, and crying like a baby. “There, ‘s okay.”

He runs his thumb along your eyes, then settles down next to you on the plush mattress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen-”

“How can I -hck- listen?!” You’re quick to turn your face away from him, and wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter— probably unaware of the distracting way you push up your tits that way in that little implication of a dress. Really, Nanami swallows, you can obviously do much better than that loser that’s probably staining your carpet at the entrance. Your lip wobbles again, before you suck it into your mouth. “I don’t know what- or how- but that isn’t okay, Nanamin. I just-”

So again, he tries to get your attention, this time by grabbing your arm. “Just listen. I did it for you- if this was anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pressed.” It’s true. No one is a priority like you are. “I had to.”

“What are you talking about? How- is killing someone- oh god, there’s a dead guy in my house, Nanamin! I don’t k- what am I gonna do? Why would you-”

“I’m trying to tell you something.” His voice is lower and sharper this time, and your eyes finally shoot open to look at him. But it isn't that adoring little look you normally have, and somehow that pisses him off too. You really need to have everything spelled out for you, huh. He loves you though, really, he genuinely, genuinely does. As more than just an equal— if he could, he’d give you everything. He just doesn’t know how to say it, staring back at the wobbly tears on your face. “I love you,” is what ends up coming out, and then a breath.

And he’d say more if you weren’t such a talker.

Your face goes a little distant for a few seconds, before you shake your head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I will tell you, if you just-”

“I can’t accept that, senpai! You can’t just go around and kill-”

“I was protecting you!”

“From what?!” Before you even give him a chance, a real one, you start righting yourself on the bed and run a hand under your nose. And you stare at him with such disbelief and broken trust that it makes him feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t know exactly how he imagined himself spilling his guts, but it wasn’t like this. “You need to leave. And I need to contact someone from the higher ups to- take care of- I don’t even know,” you sob, “I don’t know how any of this goes. That’s so messed up, Kento.” That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his first name. Scolding him for a choice he made purely for you. He did this for you. “You need to-”

He can’t let the first time end this way.

“Stop talking.”

“Stop talking?” You echo back to him, and glare, also getting up off the bed and farther away from him— and he can’t help but follow. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I wasn’t going to say anything?” As he gets up with you, you walk back a step, and your eyes flick back and forth between him and the door a few times. But he chases, and you jump in surprise when your back meets the wall, effectively trapping you between the wall and him. “I- Nanami-”

“Kento.”

You barely blink as you take a sharp intake of air, and then hold your hands up to his chest to keep some space between you two. “Look- just- we can talk about this, but I can’t just ignore that there’s a dead body in my house, Kento.” He’s really sick of you talking. You’re lucky he loves your voice so much, because if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t stand for it. Whatever you see in his expression must have you worried, because that slight defiance that remains gets awfully feeble when he reaches for you this time. “You’re scaring me. Please, just- hck- just back up. Let me process this, and then we can talk.”

“No, all your talking just gets in the way.” Your eyes go wide and a wave of heat washes over your features, making you look even more attractive. If he can’t tell you, he’ll just show you. You’ve got it all fucking wrong. What he feels for you is true love. Before you can go on another mad ramble, he grabs you and drags you back to bed, as gently as he can while having his hand screwed tight around your wrist. He wouldn’t ever actually hurt you. As you land on the bed, he holds you down— watching as you open your mouth to talk. But you can’t, because he’s already shoved two fingers between your lips and feels the way your hot, wet tongue squirms as he pushes them down your throat. “There, that’s better.”

Still you’re trying to talk, it’s almost funny. You whine around his fingers and gag when you can’t, breathing his name into an uncomfortable moan that just turns him on. You try to pull your head away, but you can’t. “You’re a lot sweeter when you’re not running your mouth sometimes, baby.” He can’t help it, it just comes out. He likes you so much, and you just look so cute gagging on his fingers and grabbing his sleeve like you’re not sure whether or not to pull or push. Tears start welling up along your waterline when he runs his fingertips over your soft, pink tongue. And his cock twitches in his pants.

That’s the good part, see. Even with all this fighting, you two still get along so well. You make him a better man when he’s around you. At least, in theory. He’s not crazy, he knows that holding you down and making you choke on his fingers isn’t really the best course of action -but you left him no choice- and he’s better off finishing what he started. “If you shut up,” he draws his fingers out of your mouth to start unzipping his pants, “I’ll let you breathe. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you won’t want to talk again.” It’s all up to you, pretty girl. Simple cause and effect. You take one sharp breath as you try to get out from under his weight, but there’s really nowhere you can go.

So you do what you do best, and whine. “Nanami~” It’s a baby-ish little whimper that makes him name sound so fucking good. But still. He grabs your face to squish your cheeks, and stares down at you with such intensity that you keep your cries in.

“It’s Kento.” His voice is a low, soft rumble. He wonder if it gives away the way his body feels right now, standing above you while his cock strains against his pants. They’re getting too tight to be comfortable. “Or daddy- you like that better? Say it.” You shake your head into his grip -but your ears start glowing another color brighter, almost like he’s caught you in a lie. Of course you do. You and him are made to be together. You let out another little squeak before he lets go of you to start undoing his pants. 

That apparently seems to be too much, because suddenly you’re trying to get up as you speak. “No, no, I’m not-” You’re trapped when he forces you back down and now yanks your head back by your hair, making you cry again. “Ow, please senpai— I like you, I really do- but I can’t- I- hang on.” The heat crawls up his neck to his ears watching your eyes go big as the belt falls and his pants go down his thighs. You really do look good on your fucking knees.

“I told you to stop yapping, didn’t I?” He asks in return, and finishes sliding his boxers down, kicking them aside. Then he pulls your face towards his cock and watches as you whine. “Open up for daddy. There’s only one thing your mouth’s good for.” You’re so easy to hold in place, and it sends unimaginable gratification through his body when your little tongue comes out for him. You’re really such a brat, making everything so fucking hard for him. 

You open your mouth enough for him to start pushing inside at just the slightest yank of your hair, making you whine and whimper as you shuffle around between his legs. Your hands come to rest on his thighs, but that doesn’t hold him from sliding the hot head of his cock as far as he can into your mouth right away. You look amazing drooling all over his cock, choking when he starts to move with the most patient moves he can manage. It’s not easy to do much of anything except rock himself on your soft tongue and feel your whining go down his shaft and balls. “There, now you’re making yourself useful. That’s what you do best, hm, fucking brat?”

“Agh, fuck- that’s- such a soft little mouth.” You make him feel heavenly, and by the way you’re shifting down there on the floor -trying and failing to get the friction you want- you’re also feeling it. He can tell by the way you blink up at him so slow, swallowing around him and letting that pretty voice out in the cutest, little moans. Just for him. Only ever for him. “You’re so lucky you’re this fucking cute,” he ends up rasping out, before letting you finally pull back to breathe when you start jittering. “Say something smart again, brat.”

“Agh, daddy,” you sob, drool spilling down your chin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can tell you are. Your big eyes glossy and cheeks hot, you try to get up from the floor, and he yanks you up to turn you over instead. Your little dress rides up too easily, giving the rest of the way when he shoves it up your back. It’s almost embarrassing to see how wet you are, lacy panties soaked all the way through and peeled too easily aside to reveal that needy pussy. And you don’t even deny it, just shiver when he runs his finger up and down your slicked up cunt. “Please.”

He’s such a sucker for you, fuck. It’s almost like you know it. “My little cock slut, look at that. You’re dripping down your thighs, brat.” He spits on your center once before lining up and sliding in, and watching as your little pussy stretches around his cock with some effort— as you let out a lewd, almost desperate whine. “Fuck.” And Nanami hoists himself over you to start fucking into you, hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out, as you open your legs further to let him in. Your back half hangs pathetically over the end of the bed as he fucks into your tight, hot -so fucking hot and wet and beaming- pussy and his balls clap against you. You feel so good it’s hard to hear anything over his own heartbeat hammering wildly against his ribs.

“Daddy feel good inside?”

“Mhm, agh-yea.”

You too, baby. Nothing in the world feels as good as letting your pussy swallow and suck him in deeper, like you’re trying to hold him in that impossibly hot, blissful clutch forever. He can’t even hear much of your whining and moaning and pitiful struggle, but you probably haven’t stopped. You don’t even have the energy to close your mouth, trying to push back to meet his thrusts more even as he bumps against the end of your pussy— and his one hand is squeezed around your neck. But you look pretty this way. You look useful.

“Tell me how much you like me.”“So~ much, so much, fuck. I’m gonna cum, Kento. Daddy.” Your mouth’s still running when he snakes his hand underneath you to start rubbing at your puffy clit, and feels the way his own body starts to tighten when your walls clench wildly around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I want you to cum too, want to feel it- I wanna have you deep inside me forever, ah, ah. Oh, you feel so good, fuck.” It’s almost ironic when he thinks about it. How much he likes you running your mouth like this, begging for more. It’s poetic.

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[oceantornadoo]

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

--

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

[librarygarten]

Isekai!Reader Meets Dink

It has been A Week and I needed to write something less serious. Reader meets Dink and roasts him.

It was a stupid idea, really, but it was all you had left. The entity in front of you was running circles around the group. One moment, it was a Lizalfos, jumping away from any attack. Then, it was Darknut, taking every hit as if it was nothing. It would blend into the darkness of the night before leaping out somewhere new.

Dodge. Parry. Dodge. Breathe in. Breathe out. It took everything in you to avoid the weapon the thing before you was wielding. Nobody wanted a repeat of what happened to Twilight. But the fight was going on for too long. Hyrule was running out of magic. You could hear Sky struggling to breathe behind you. It raised its weapon towards Time. He wasn’t going to be able to dodge in time.

So, you did the only thing you could think of. You grabbed your sword. You jumped up. And you smacked the thing on the head. You heard something crack, and the beast fell.

The shadows melted under you, reforming and reshaping. Whatever it was, you had dazed it. The chain surrounded the writing mass of darkness, swords and shields ready for whatever it would become next.

The form solidified. An arm. A head. Legs. It was kneeling, clutching its head with one hand. It turned its face to you, glaring. You recognized this new form.

“DINK???” You exclaimed. The shadow winced, it’s head still throbbing from when you had hit it. Time paled. He recognized this enemy, too.

“What did you just call me?” The shadow growled, but there was no threat. He was too weak from the fight.

“Uhh. Dink?” You shrugged, the grip on your sword loosening somewhat. “It’s what the fans have taken to calling you. Dark. Link. Dink.” Wind snickered at your explanation, and Dink turned to glare at the boy. Wind took a step back, raising his sword to defend against the shadow’s gaze.

“Do NOT call me that.” He stood, and you realized he wasn’t even an adult shadow. It was the same form he took in the Water Temple. Seventeen. Lanky. A threat, for sure, but also…

“What? Dink?” You smiled, making sure to stay out of his range. “Why not?”

“I am the shadows. I am darkness. I am everything the heroes of light are not.” He wobbled on his feet. Had you concussed him? “I am the dark reflect-”

“Uh huh.” You interrupted his speech, rolling your eyes. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Time to stall. “Sure, Dinky. Shadows and darkness and all that emo stuff.” You nodded. Twilight pressed his lips together, trying not to burst out laughing as you mocked the entity. Warriors looked at you like you had grown a second head.

“I am not… Dinky.” Dink took a threatening step towards you. You calmly stepped away from him.

“I dunno, man.” You smiled. “You’re acting pretty annoying, with all the portals and what not. You gotta be compensating for something.” Behind you, Legend wheezed, trying to keep a straight face and failing. Dink stared at you for a moment before the shadows near his cheeks darkened. Was he… blushing?

“You…” He looked around. He was surrounded. There was no getting out of this. He turned to face you again, taking in your relaxed expression. “What is WRONG with you! You’re supposed to fear me!”

“Why?” You made a show of checking your nails, picking the dirt out from under them.

“I am everything the hero stands against!” Dink shouted. “I am the darkness within him!”

“Well, good thing I’m not the hero.” You wink. “The greatest darkness I need to face is working up the courage to call the pizza place for dinner.”

Dink blinked at you. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe you were just insane. Whatever the case, he had no idea what to say. Usually, the person he was fighting would be shaking with fear at this point.

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, the light filtering through the leaves of the forest. Dink hissed as it hit him, his body disappearing where the sunlight hit him directly. He looked sort of like a very evil (or very moldy) slice of swiss cheese. He looked towards the sunrise, shielding his eyes and wincing.

“I’ll be back.” He glared at you. Then, he sunk down into the ground, disappearing into the shadows still left. The chain watched him disappear.

Time was the first to break the silence. His laughter echoed through the now quiet morning. The others followed suit, some even clutching their stomachs or falling over.

“Y/N, that was bloody brilliant.” Wild gasped in between fits of giggles.

“Well, we weren’t going to win fighting normally.” You blinked. You hadn’t expected this reaction.

“So you chose to use psychological warfare instead?” Hyrule wiped a tear away from his eye.

“Ye.”

[prismatoxic]

okay, shipping brainrot from my last post aside, i'm still thinking about the shapeshifter arc. the other sites i use don't have inline posting or do but it's clunky, so i guess i'm theorizing here. some of this may seem obvious; bear with me, i'm not trying to be patronizing, just working through things. this will probably be long.

(edit: i've since learned there's canon explanations for all of this. regrettably i don't like them. enjoy my ideas of what would be better maybe? but keep in mind i wrote this before i knew it had been explained anywhere else.)

(edit again: i've done a 180 and come fully around on the canon explanations! i have a lot of thoughts about them but this isn't the post for that. anyway i'm disabling reblogs, sorry. you can still look at this if you want)

laios reveals what he knows of shapeshifters, and that they function on memory:

no one ever really suggests in chapters 39 or 40 who thought of which fake except in the case of which ones laios must have thought of, but i want to posit who i think each one came from, and what it means narratively if i'm right. so, mostly a thought experiment/character study that i could be wrong about or that was never meant to be clearly defined in the first place. but maybe fun to think about? (i'm sure other people have done this before too, but i think it'll be fun to write up.)

from the outset, i think it's worth mentioning that chilchuck knows all three laios fakes are, in fact, fakes. two chilchucks say this, but the one on the right is the real one. senshi and marcille immediately corroborate this, though we can't tell which of them it is except that it's not any of the really obvious fakes.

what i think this suggests is that, brought to the surface, the warped perceptions of the rest of the party that chilchuck, senshi, and marcille have can be easily discerned when compared with the real thing. each of these laioses is from one of them, but they immediately figure out none of them are right with the real laios right there in the room. this is important.

as for who's who...

i think it's fair to assume that giant laios is from chilchuck. laios is the tallest member of their party, at six feet; while chilchuck sees marcille and senshi as their correct heights, laios is a giant to him, and his bulky armor doesn't help. that's why, even if this is his perception, it's glaringly obvious that it's wrong as soon as it's made physical. it's the only big one, and easily falls into the camp of "doesn't seem to know much about monsters" that the others also do.

stupid laios is, i think, from marcille. because the giant one is so likely chilchuck's and i don't think senshi sees laios as someone who stupidly wants to eat everything (even if senshi's opinion of him isn't stellar right now, "i have to eat it" wouldn't be paired with being an idiot to senshi), it tracks that marcille would be the one to remember him this way. to someone who doesn't appreciate their monster eating and otherwise thinks he's an idiot just as much as the others do, dumbly muttering about eating things seems like a reasonable portrayal of laios.

feminine laios, then, is from senshi. i think his physical perception of the other party members is the most off-base; this is likely because he's known them for the least amount of time, and his idea of what they look like is based more on their races than anything else. i think the resemblance to falin might not be intentional--someone suggested to me the other day that the dwarf perception of tall-men is probably more feminine in contrast to how Macho dwarfs are. i think that makes sense (if it ever comes up canonically, i haven't seen it yet). laios and falin do just... look like gender-swapped versions of each other, also. so if senshi sees laios as a feminine person, well... that just winds up looking like falin.

so this leaves us with only the real laios. confronted with their perceptions of him, his friends can immediately tell all three are incorrect.

moving on, we eliminate the three most obvious fakes from the rest of the party, starting with marcille:

if we take into account what i just said about senshi, i think this is his. racial stereotypes about elves being what they are, him not knowing the party as well as the other members do... she stands out, and that's why.

now this is where things start to get interesting.

the next two fakes to be eliminated aren't so blatantly incorrect that they can be struck right out at a glance, but it's not hard to notice the flaws when you look closer, and chilchucks A and B are the ones to point it out. chilchuck is naturally observant; most of his fakes seem to emulate this. (the one who addresses the fakes is A, the real one, but B is proving himself able to pick up on the things A notices. this is important.)

notably, chilchuck and senshi assume these must be laios's versions of them.

we can assume this is correct, if we want to. we can take the framing of this as being an intentional reflection of the truth.

or... or... we can look a little deeper. we can wonder if, perhaps, this isn't a reflection of laios, but a reflection of his friends and what they think of him. laios may not immediately notice the problems, but i don't think it's because he doesn't remember these details. i don't think laios sees much of anything in vague terms; he's observant in his own right, but in ways he doesn't really recognize, nor does anyone else. i think he was so focused on their faces and mannerisms that he didn't notice the bigger picture, glossing over something because so many other factors are at play.

senshi and chilchuck think laios doesn't take notice of things, but the vast majority of the shapeshifter arc is about them and marcille not trusting laios's judgement as it is, given how things went recently. is it possible there's more to their assumptions here than what the text explicitly says? i think so!

so then who do these two belong to? marcille, i think.

if we assume dumb laios is hers, then we can also assume her perceptions of the others are kind of broad and vague. she doesn't think poorly of them, necessarily (at least not in as obvious a way as she does with laios, who, i'll remind you, she's currently upset with), but she doesn't commit unimportant details to memory, like chilchuck's neck band or the damage to senshi's helmet.

we've got three more "obvious" fakes to get through, and laios offers another lore tidbit on how the shapeshifters work:

anyway, the first of the next round is marcille again, setting the stage for how these three next fakes are eliminated.

marcille changes her hairstyle all the time, so this isn't a surprise. the last one pictured here winds up being our next fake, as indicated by her grimoire:

so the fake marcille in this section is the one with the most visibly different hair texture (who even draws attention to this), and the spellbook that's woefully incompetent. i think she's from chilchuck.

he's observant, as i said before; even if he didn't commit her hair to memory, he did remember the stuff she's said about how important hair is to magic. maybe that's why the texture is so striking. more importantly, chilchuck isn't wary of magic quite the way senshi is, but he also doesn't understand it. the general tone of the low-quality grimoire also just... sounds like the way he'd frame something like that. (plus, the "how to turn back time" bit is a thing he specifically called her on when she suggested it a few chapters ago.)

so the next fake chilchuck and senshi are revealed via their tools:

i think the chubby-cheeked chilchuck with the simple lockpicks is from senshi, and i think the ordinary-looking senshi with the simple cookware is from chilchuck. the former speaks for itself--senshi sees chilchuck as a child, and knows absolutely nothing about picking locks. as for the fake senshi, chilchuck has a decent mental image of him but knows nothing about cookware.

so now we're down to the final three fakes, and there's only one person left who they could be from: laios. nobody thinks this, not even laios himself, but i want to explore the concept because i think it has extreme merit. the three remaining fakes have some key similarities between them, namely in that they're all close enough interpretations that making a distinction is difficult. they look a tiny bit different, but both the real people and their fakes make plausible cases for why they're the actual person. i want to talk about why i think laios is the one who made that so, and what that means about him.

chapter 39 ends with all his companions--real and fake--doubting his skills. seeing a pattern?

chapter 40 opens with laios determined to regain his friends' trust in him...

...while his friends (and their fakes) talk about how he's liable to like the fakes more, because they're monsters.

this is a needlessly cruel interpretation of laios, but after how things went post-falin-rescue, it's not a surprise. they see him as reckless and single-minded, more interested in the things he's weird about than in the people around him.

laios is really bad at talking about what he's thinking--not because he's hiding it, but because it doesn't occur to him that it's important. meeting the lunatic magician in the paintings is a prime example of this, but he does it a lot. they likely have no idea why he told toshiro about falin and the black magic; to them, laios was being flippant with sensitive information, not worrying about their safety. to laios? he was trying to get help. he trusted toshiro, and his perception of their friendship made him think the information would help them gain an ally who cared about falin as much as they do. he wasn't trying to put falin or marcille in danger--far from it, in fact. but he didn't tell his friends about his thought process. he didn't think it was important to share.

(he's autistic but we all know this. moving on)

so, we have laios's plan: the pairs cook together, while he watches for behavioral differences to discern who's who. it doesn't occur to him, or anyone else, that the people he's watching for mistakes are his own perceptions of his friends. and now we get into the meat of why i wanted to write this post.

assuming i'm correct... let's talk about laios's view of his friends, and how he challenges those perceptions.

starting with my favorite, chilchuck:

chilchuck A, of course, is in fact the real one. this is a pretty significant character moment for him too, in my opinion; we know he has difficulty expressing his emotions, and that a lot of his conflicts so far have stemmed from that. the fact that "chilchuck B asked for help with a menial task" is a gotcha moment to him is... telling. not only because it's so obvious to him, but because it's not obvious to any of his companions. he thinks they know this about him, but he's never openly expressed anything to make them think this is an issue he'd have, in addition to having sought help in the past.

his "convictions and pride and all that" seems to them like someone trying to convince them of something, not someone reminding them of facts he assumes they know.

anyway, back to laios. if we accept that chilchuck B is made from his memories, this suggests several things. first of all, chilchuck B is, despite his softer eyes and willingness to ask for help, still a fairly accurate portrayal of chilchuck. he's easily annoyed and he's observant, two traits chilchuck is known for. i think the reason chilchuck B has the kinder eyes and the more gentle disposition is because to laios, those things are indicative of someone being a good person, and he very much thinks chilchuck is a good person.

we know laios isn't especially good at reading people in general. thus, his idea of who his friends are is skewed in broad strokes, but not in the ways they think. he knows who chilchuck is, but he also associates chilchuck with his own ideas of what makes someone "good", which results in a chilchuck who's less rough around the edges. confronted with this--the real chilchuck asking him if he can tell--laios compares the two and thinks, reasonably speaking, the nicer one who trusts him has to be the friend he respects so much.

senshi and marcille also want to accept this chilchuck, likely for similar reasons. they also respect and care for him; they've seen him go through a lot. laios's ideal of him is just that, ideal. in a roundabout way, it's only their deep fondness for who chilchuck really is that makes them want to see him this way.

next up, we have marcille.

the fake, marcille A, is a radical departure from what makes chilchuck B a fake. laios notes that the real marcille is exactly the same as she always is. the reason, then, that marcille A confuses him--and the others--is that after everything they've been through, their perception of her has changed radically.

if we look back to senshi and chilchuck's marcilles, it's readily apparent when they're eliminated that both interpretations hinge on the knowledge that she performs black magic. senshi's tries to use it to prove herself; chilchuck's has a grimoire loudly proclaiming it's what she does. contrast this to marcille A: she doesn't mention black magic at all, and her grimoire looks strikingly similar to the real one.

that's because laios doesn't think her performing black magic changes anything about who she is. her doing so proved her to be just as dedicated to falin as he himself is, and the knowledge that her goals involve it doesn't faze him. (additionally, marcille has been teaching him magic, and falin had tried in the past. though his image of a grimoire is flawed to someone experienced, to anyone else it looks fine.) thus, marcille A isn't a flagrant black magic wielder; she's someone who's been fundamentally changed by what they--and falin--went through.

let's go back to chapter 27:

chilchuck and senshi are appalled, and will continue to be. while they ultimately don't prevent marcille from doing this, and care enough about both her and laios (and in chilchuck's case, falin as well) to be in tentative support, this changes their view of her in a negative way. she's dangerous now, in a way she wasn't before, but she's still marcille--goofy and a little reckless. thus, their views of her, and the illusions that result.

laios's opinion of her changes for the better.

she is, all at once, both competent and loyally dedicated. she will stop at nothing to help falin. whatever goofiness she exhibited before now is gone, replaced by the cold demeanor of someone who is doing something extremely dangerous for reasons that are inherently selfish, but ultimately too important to reject.

thus, we return to marcille A: cold, sharp, dedicated. not reckless or goofy, but methodical and haunted. she may have returned to "normal" since they left the castle town, but laios's opinion of her, and understanding of her love for falin, has been forever changed.

so faced with the real marcille--still silly, still whining, still frequently annoyed with him--he's confused, because that's deeply familiar, but it doesn't line up with what he knows about her now.

the truth, of course, is nuanced--these things are true about marcille, but only under duress; it's similar to how laios becomes a competent leader when the going gets tough. she has this within her, but it's not her default state of being. still, the shapeshifter picks up on the strongest memories laios has of her, this new interpretation of someone he thought he knew.

now then--onto senshi, the punchline of this particular joke about the differences between the copies. i still think it says a lot.

i think this one speaks for itself, though i find chilchuck's agreement interesting. senshi is the newest member of the team; little is known about him. laios happily notes that senshi "always looks cool" while chilchuck says he looks normal (and chilchuck B insults the real one). laios sees senshi this way because he thinks senshi is cool as hell, and this manifests in an idealized version of a face he's not as familiar with as he is with chilchuck and marcille.

this is clearly comedy, but it also speaks to the same desire to see the best in the rest of the party. marcille is the only one who notices likely because her opinion of senshi isn't so romanticized. chilchuck's senshi, of note, wasn't a perfect replica: we don't see much of him after the obvious fakes are hauled off, but he's a little squashed (he's the top one):

which indicates that chilchuck's visual memory of senshi is already flawed. if we compare this to giant laios and the marcille with the unique hair texture, it tells us chilchuck's attention to detail is more specific than the others'; he can remember the hole in the helmet, the importance of hair, but he doesn't quite see the bigger picture. giant laios is also surprisingly... rugged? which i imagine has to do with chilchuck's perception of him as a tall-man. (or maybe how he clearly has trouble seeing laios's face half the time, lmao...)

anyway. laios thinks senshi is super cool and chilchuck has an imperfect idea of what senshi look like as it is. (i wonder if chilchuck is some degree of faceblind? not enough to not recognize someone at all, but can't pinpoint specifics.)

and so, we arrive at the moment of truth.

so let's go over what i'm theorizing here... all the remaining fakes are illusions based on how laios sees his friends. the illusions manage to make mistakes that reveal the truth to him, but i think the reason for that harkens back to what laios said earlier... the illusions are being updated over time.

laios isn't considering any of the things that give the fakes away until this moment. if it had taken a little longer to resolve things, maybe they'd have started course-correcting, but they aren't given the chance. laios makes sure they aren't--he acts very quickly. even as he presents the three pairs with his findings, he's aware that everything will fall apart as soon as he does... and he's banking on that. while the shapeshifter illusions defend themselves from being killed, he gets right to the heart of the matter in the only way he knows how: confronting the actual monster involved.

when all's said and done, laios reveals how he figured it out:

potentially of note, all of these details happened before the red dragon fight. chilchuck fighting a mimic and revealing his history with them, senshi gushing about the dungeon's ecosystem, and marcille being attacked by the undine weren't super recent memories. when laios brought them forth in his mind, he had a delay before the shapeshifter updated its illusions.

well... except with marcille. marcille A actually didn't show her hand so easily; it was the real marcille's carelessness that proved her identity.

but what this suggests is that, when confronted with the realities of marcille versus his idealized version of her, laios had to make a choice: did it make more sense for her to have been radically changed by the revival and subsequent loss of falin, or was the presence of a marcille he knew so well proof of an illusion? she was the one who was the most different, and as such, the contrast was the same one that eliminated all three laioses at the start: with the real thing in the room, the fake became apparent.

so, to reach a conclusion: one again, laios has proven he's not as scatterbrained as his companions think, but this time he did so on a more personal level than usual. to them, he reveals that he knows their quirks enough to define them by such when they're otherwise faced with convincing copies. to us, the readers, if we accept what i've suggested here... he's revealed a lot more. he respects, admires, and idolizes his friends, all out of fondness: he wants to see them in an ideal way, whatever that means for each of them as individuals.

anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (IX)

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Hi! Here is another chapter! Saoirse is back, and our babies are making some evil plans…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1798

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Lilies

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful

as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face

of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

So, this was Pr. Hozier- Byrne…

H-B, or Hozier like everyone on campus seemed keen to call him. Saoirse understood the hype around the man though.

His voice was soft and lulling, his explanations clear, his love for his work evident. He seemed nice, answered all the questions, had something a little shy about him that seemed to quieten when he was teaching. He exuded confidence then, on the contrary, and despite the softness in his tone, it was impossible not to listen to him babbling away about Yeats. The fact that he was handsome was also a strong argument in his favour, Saoirse couldn’t deny it. Ridiculously tall, curls falling over his shoulders, trimmed beard and glasses over green eyes… She sighed as she stared at him, sporting a grey tweed suit, turning to write something over on the board. And that deep voice… damn…

She shook herself, focused on the lecture again, took note of the date her teacher was writing on the white board. The first class was an introduction to Yeats’ life and work, the study of his texts would start next week. For now, Saoirse was carefully writing down dates and historical events and the name of the woman he would spend most of his life pinning over. And she wondered if Hozier was pinning over a woman too, if he was married, if he longed for love, if that was why he seemed to love poetry so much, because he saw his own longing in other people’s words…

She shook herself again, wrote down something about Lady Gregory and the Abbey Theatre. She was projecting her own feelings over that tall stranger, she reckoned. A dangerous activity, if there ever had been one.

Apparently, more students had chosen the class about science-fiction, but Saoirse had definitely no regrets. If the topic seemed more complicated, her teacher was determined to pass on his love for poetry. She was grateful to Gabi for convincing her to choose this class, was already happy to have chosen his lesson about modernism for the second half of the year.

Indeed, she could see that Gabi had done well in recruiting for this class. Most of the students Saoirse had seen with Gabi during orientation week were now listening to H-B explaining the use of theatre to create a common Irish identity that worked hand in hand with the growing anger that would lead to revolution. And indeed, Sean and Donald were there too. If Donald had settled a couple of rows behind her, Sean was sitting next to her, actually. He had recognised her as soon as he had entered the room, had headed straight towards her and asked if he could sit next to her. And Saoirse was happy to have someone she knew in this class too, even if they had spoken but a few hours during orientation week. She hoped they could become friends, she felt a little lonely in this new adult world.

 The lecture went on and was over too soon, a feeling Saoirse had not been expecting for any of her lectures. As she packed up her things, she noticed that Gabi was at the door, eyeing the students inside, and she gave Saoirse a wave when their gazes met. Sean and Saoirse hurried out of the room.

“Hey! How are my wee students doing?” Gabi asked with a grin.

“Doing okay, so far!” Saoirse answered with a smile. “Didn’t even get lost this morning!”

“What an achievement!” Gabi laughed good-heartedly. “Saw that you were having a class with H-B this morning, my next lecture starts in fifteen minutes, just down the hall. Thought I’d come see you all, check on you.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sean nodded with a smile.

Donald joined them as well, and they chatted happily for a couple of minutes.

“There’s a party planned at the end of the week, to celebrate the beginning of the year. You should come!”

“Huh… sure! Sounds good.”

If Saoirse was feeling a little shy, Donald was already asking questions about the drinks and the music.

Gabi was about to answer him when she was distracted by someone walking behind Saoirse and Sean, and she immediately grinned.

“Good morning, professor!”

The younger students turned around and politely smiled at their teacher, while he beamed at Gabi.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t our favourite troublemaker…” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How are you doing, Gabi? How was your summer?”

“It was good! Busy, lots of things to plan to make sure I can turn all our new recruits into proper menaces!”

Andrew laughed, shaking his head playfully.

“Oh, I bet you have tons of ideas for that… but don’t scare our students away too soon, alright?”

He quickly checked his watch.

“Gotta run, but it was nice seeing you. Will I see you on Thursday then?”

“You know me… how could I say no to a class about protest poetry?”

Andrew’s smile brightened even more.

“Grand. I’m glad to have you as a student again this year.”

He excused himself then, bidding all four students a nice day, and they stared as he walked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the classroom and the exit of the building in mere seconds.

“He’s so nice!” Saoirse sighed. “Thanks for recommending this class to us.”

“He is. And Christ… he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

They all laughed at that, and went on to chat for a while longer, until Gabi had to head to her own class.

Saoirse could feel it, it would be a good year.

Andrew hurried back to your office, knowing that you were waiting for him. And indeed, when he arrived, you had already taken your sandwich out of your bag and were focused on your computer screen.

You greeted him with a smile when he quickly stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ran into a student I know well. Okay… what are our options?”

Andrew took off his vest, took out of his bag his own sandwich and his water bottle, before pushing his chair next to yours so he could look at your screen as well.

Frank was asking for advices about flower arrangements, for the wedding but also for a party they wanted to organise a few weeks before the wedding, some kind of huge get-together with family and friends to celebrate their engagement. Sam and Frank seemed to treat the event as some kind of rehearsal for their big day, and wanted to decorate the place in a similar way they would use for the ceremony.

A perfect occasion to raise chaos and mayhem…

“Frank has already narrowed down our choices… meaning that he took out anything with carnations or calla lilies, he doesn’t like those. I’ve tried to probe to know Sam’s taste, but he seems clueless.”

“Are we surprised by that?” Andrew mumbled under his breath, something bitter in his tone. “Sam’s favourite flowers are white lilies, and she hates pink and yellow roses.”

“Okay, so… can we find any pink and yellow roses in those…”

Andrew chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re kind of terrifying, Machiavelli…”

“One of my favourite books is about getting stuck in hell and watching people being tortured,” you reminded him, making Andrew laugh and glimpse over at the picture you had hung on the wall.

“Right… my bad. I shouldn’t underestimate your evil nature, clearly.”

“Unless you’re ready to face the consequences…” you added with false threat in your voice, while you were clearly struggling to hold back your laughter.

“Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural.”

You froze, turned to him.

“Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?” you asked with utter surprise evident on your features.

“Obviously,” Andrew smiled, something cheeky and cute at the same time, clearly pleased with himself.

“God… I love the Lord of the Rings!”

“Who doesn’t?!”

“Frank.”

Andrew huffed, but said nothing. He thought the words all the same… what a tasteless gobshite…

“Why am I not surprised?” was his answer instead, and you chuckled at his words.

“Yeah… he does have a few red flags,” you conceded.

“Hmm… but the fact that we’re plotting together against our exes is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? A scarlet one if I’ve ever seen one…”

“Is it worse than not liking the Lord of the Rings?”

Andrew couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“Nah, we’re good,” he joked, making you laugh.

And he liked the sound. Almost three weeks had passed since Sam and Frank had announced their engagement and Andrew and you were spending more and more time together. You had planned some things to get to talk to your exes, or just as you were doing today, to mess up with their wedding. Which meant seeing you outside the university, eating his lunch with you, talking over the phone sometimes…

And Andrew liked it. He liked that your dynamic was back on a friendly rhythm instead of something merely professional. You were nice, and hilarious, and so fucking smart. He hoped you would remain friends after all this. He hoped you would become good friends, with a bit of time.

“Oh, this one is so ugly…” you giggled at the picture on your screen, something pink and over the top, with a lot of roses…

“Oh, yeah… that’s the one. Send him this one.”

“Frank asked me for a favour by the way… he wanted me to go fishing for information about Sam’s tastes in flowers.”

“You mean… asking me about it?”

You nodded, and Andrew let out a wry laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask you today as our classes would keep us busy. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to play the perfect boyfriend and come to the rescue, and offer to use her favourite flowers.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course!”

You both laughed, eating your sandwiches. And then the conversation drifted away from Sam and Frank, settled on your classes, on work, on the movie he had watched on Sunday, on the walk you had taken with Siobhán and how much you would miss her when she would be gone.

And Andrew still felt a hole in his chest, the weight of something hollow, of a piece missing, because of Samantha. But when he was with you, the grief didn’t seem so heavy, the pain so aching. The emptiness in his heart seemed a little less empty when you were around. God knew he missed Samantha, that he wanted her back. But at least, you made him feel human again. He reckoned you were the only one to make him properly laugh these days.

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part II

A floral mystery in three parts, featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

Word count: 1,996 (twas a good year, jk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like petals in the wind. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Thank you for all the wonderful comments and reblogs on Part I. You make my world a brighter place!

Part I | Part III | Masterlist

Maria’s question had you second guessing everything you thought you knew. Her tone held a hint of something in her voice, like she knew more than she let on. Could the mystery flower giver really be Joel?

You tried to picture it, his broad form bent over the pots in the greenhouse late at night, large hands clipping the perfect flower to pair with a riddle. Or him hunched over the table, tongue poking out between his pouty lips as he concentrated on writing romantic riddles The vision elicited a giggle. It just didn’t track. A nice dream, but it couldn’t possibly be real. It had to be someone else, right?

No flower waited for you when you returned home from your shift yesterday and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Did the mystery person plan on leaving you more clues or was that it? The four flowers and riddles were not nearly enough information to figure it all out, despite thinking about it constantly. So, you hoped for more.

If nothing else, you thought, knowing someone in town cared enough about you to share in your passion for the unique love language of flowers warmed your heart. You wanted to bask in that for as long as possible.

You wouldn’t dare say your life in Jackson was boring – really, it was anything but that – rather, this mystery was a variety of excitement and intellectual stimulation that you hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Shame that you sucked at riddles, though. The grand effort was almost wasted on you.

These thoughts occupied your mind all morning as you readied yourself for another day spent in the greenhouses. At first, you couldn’t figure out why you were hyper fixating on it all. It hit you suddenly, the reason you enjoyed the notion of this secret admirer. You were lonely and longed for something… more.

A hint of movement on the porch, spotted from the corner of your eye as you sipped a cup of coffee, drew your attention. Your body moved for the front door before your mind kicked into action and wrenched the door open to find a flustered Ellie staring wide-eyed up at you. Bent over with her hand on another flower left on your porch, it appeared you caught her in the middle of something.

“Good morning, kiddo,” you greeted with a curious smile. “You’re up and about early this morning.”

Standing up straight, Ellie rubbed her hands on her jeans and stepped up to stand next to you. “Uh, yeah. I was, um, coming to see you. Wanted to know if you needed help in the greenhouses today.” Gesturing to the flower, she added, “This just caught my attention before I could knock.”

The explanation sounded reasonable to you, and you had no reason to distrust the sweet teenager. Bending down, you scooped the flower up. “Sure, that would be great. Why don’t you swing by after lunch. I have a few things you could help with.

“Great!” she exclaimed, an octave too high, before clearing her throat and going for a more subdued response. “Sounds good. So, um, looks like you have a secret admirer, huh?”

You laughed. “That seems to be the word on the street. I keep getting lovely flowers, but I have no idea who’s sending them.”

“You can tell me all about it this afternoon. Maybe we can figure out who the mystery man – or woman – is.” Ellie raised her eyebrows a few times in quick succession, drawing more laughter out of you.

“Alright, kiddo. Get outta here. I’ll see you later.”

Once Ellie jogged away, you turned your attention to the flower in your hand – a large blossom, with creamy white petals. A magnolia, the very symbol of perfection. As always, you held it up to your nose, breathing in the floral fragrance that held a spicy punch underscored by a hint of musk.

The note, written in that same nondescript print that you were beginning to love, read:

Moments with you, the answer rings true.

“I’m not doing it again, Joel!” Ellie shouted, barreling through the front door breathlessly. “She almost caught my ass this morning!”

Seated on the couch, enjoying a moment of peace with a cup of coffee on a rare day off from patrol, Joel jumped as the door slammed against the wall, no doubt leaving a dent in the drywall for him to fix. Hot liquid sloshed in the cup, and he winced as a few drops spilled over onto his hand. “What happened?”

“Your little girlfriend opened her door just after I placed this morning’s flower on her porch.” Joel frowned, fearing the jig was up, but Ellie waved him off. “Don’t worry, your cover hasn’t been blown. Yet. I made it seem like I was coming by to talk to her and just found the flower.”

Impressed, he asked, “Do you think she bought it?”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie glared at him. “Of course she did. You doubting my acting skills, asshole? I’m stuck helping her in the greenhouse this afternoon because I couldn’t come up with anything else quick enough, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over Joel. He wanted to see this plan through, to show you there was more to him than meets the eye, that there was depth to his character and he’s capable of being romantic and thoughtful. “Cry me a river, kid. A little hard work’ll do ya good.”

Ellie huffed, turning to head through the house to her backyard apartment, but not without a parting shot. “Yeah, well, it’d do you good to grow a fucking pair of balls and just ask her out already!”

“Is that so? Have you asked Dina out yet” Joel shouted back, not letting her have the last word. He smirked as the back door slammed closed.

The pattern continued over the next few days before it suddenly stopped. And no matter how hard you tried, you could never catch the culprit in the act, leaving you as clueless as ever to their identity.

On Tuesday morning, you received a beautiful iris, a particular favorite of yours with the classic fleur-de-lis shape. In your eyes, the answer lies, the note read.

Tuesday evening, a vibrant red lily waited for you as you returned from the greenhouses. The soft, subtle scent a marked contrast to the fiery petals. The note especially fitting for such a flower: Lost in your beauty, the answer is a duty.

A small bouquet of pink lilacs awaited you on Wednesday morning, their relaxing fragrance wafting through the kitchen as you placed them amongst the others. Longing for your touch, the answer means so much.

No flower arrived on Wednesday evening, but a eucalyptus greeted you as you left for work Thursday morning. It was an odd choice, you thought. And you had no idea where it might have come from – you didn’t have any in the greenhouse. The note didn’t make much sense to you either, but it fit the pattern of the others. Evergreen thoughts of you, the answer is in the dew.

The final flower waited for you Thursday evening. You ran a little later than usual, getting caught up in planting some of the flowers you received that you didn’t have among the existing greenhouse collection. As you worked, you found yourself questioning when someone would have snatched some of the flowers gifted to you. The mystery person had a gentle hand, none of the plants were damaged and blossoms were taken from clean cuts. Whoever it was, they respected the flowers and you enough to be careful as well as stealthy.

After completing an inspection of the flowered plants in the greenhouse, you knew which one would find that evening, having spotted the evidence of recent trimming. A salmon-colored rose, the hue a lovely shade of pink, with the softest petals. When you arrived home, your fingers gently rubbed a petal of the rose, savoring the silky texture, as you read the accompanying note. Remember my love for you, the answer is in you.

Something told you the rose was the culmination of the floral adventure, that no more flowers would be placed on your doorstep. On Friday, you moved the flowers and the corresponding riddles to the dining table, arranged in the order you received them. Writing the most relevant meanings for each new flower on the accompanying note, you hoped and searched for some defining clue with each new flower, but still nothing.

You needed help.

“Should I be worried that she hasn’t figured it out yet?” Seated at the bar in the Tipsy Bison with Tommy, Joel began to worry that his plan wasn’t working out as he, well, planned. His biggest fear being that you didn’t return his feelings, he hadn’t accounted for you not putting the puzzle pieces together.

“Nah, we came up with awesome clues, brother. She just needs to put it all together,” Tommy replied, taking a large pull from his drink. Swiping the back of his hand over his mustache, he added, “Maria’s over there now, nudging her in the right direction.”

Joel nodded, sipping at his own whiskey.

“The bigger question, I think, is what are you going to do once she’s figured it out? Please tell me you have a date planned after all this pining.”

“I have somethin’ in mind,” Joel said. “I think she’ll like it.”

“Oh yeah? Ya gonna tell me or is that a big secret too?”

“I’m gonna take her to the ol’ botanical gardens we found – the ones where I got some of those flowers. It’ll blow her mind.” Joel smiled at the thought of you seeing the gardens for the first time. It was a long ride, and the gardens were an overgrown mess, but you’d still be in awe of the plethora of flowers.

Tommy stared at him, amazed at both the lovesick look in his brother’s eyes and the romantic nature of the date. He’d never seen Joel like this, never knew him to have a romantic bone in his body, but it looked good on him.

“You sure are gettin’ sappy in your old age,” Tommy teased, unable to help himself.

On Friday night, determined to solve the mystery, you and Maria combed through the clues over a bottle of wine.

“Ok, let’s just start from the beginning and go over every detail for each flower,” Maria suggested. She arrived with a legal pad and pen in hand, remnants of her old life as a prosecutor. Adamant that the answer had to be right in front of you, she took notes as you reiterated each flower, its meaning, and associated clue.

You cracked open a second bottle of wine as you stared at the information on Maria’s notepad.

Jasmine – love, romance – Joyful moments shared, the answer lies in the air.

Orchid – love, thoughtfulness, charm – Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

Eustoma – appreciation, admiration – Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Lavender – devotion, serenity – Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

Magnolia (white) – perfection – Moments with you, the answer rings true.

Iris – hope, trust – In your eyes, the answer lies.

Lily (red) – love, passion – Lost in your beauty, the answer is a duty.

Lilac (pink) – intense love – Longing for your touch, the answer means so much.

Eucalyptus – strength – Evergreen thoughts of you, the answer is in the dew.

Rose (salmon) – desire, excitement – Remember my love for you, the answer is in you.

Reading it over and over until the words blended together, rearranging themselves until it the answer made itself clear.

“Holy shit! I got it!” you declared excitedly; eyes still focused on the clues as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Fucking finally,” Maria mumbled under her breath, but you didn’t catch it. A little louder, she said, “Ok, show me what you got.”

tbc

Smut in the next part, I promise!

[ttttobistuff]

HII I saw your post and I was wondering if you would be able to write an aged up (like 16-17) Dipper x gn reader where the reader is kind of jealous of Pacifica because she’s like a walking beauty and the reader just thinks that dipper likes her and at one point they start arguing about it and it turns into this angry love confession??

“Your star”

( AgedUp! Dipper x GenderNeutral! Reader )

TW: Curse words (is that a valid TW?)

A/N: Hello! I deeply apologize for taking so long, it has been a tiring week. But , here it is! Also, I know that the Big Dipper isn’t truly a constellation, but for the sake of romance, I will ignore that.

—————

You asked the universe for an explanation, mainly on why the Pacifica Northwest decided to hang out with Dipper every day for the past two weeks…why? It made relatively little sense, because Dipper had told you he despised her, but it didn’t look that way.

For the past fourteen hellish days, you’ve been missing the sweet touch of that boy. Not once has he hung out with you, not a single hour spent with you. Your heart aches, of course, but you had no courage to tell him. Tell him everything.

You were a coward, and she was simply too good. There was no humane way to compete against that blonde beauty, not with her smooth skin and luscious eyes.

Why would he ever notice you, when in front of him, a bewitching girl stands? Accepting the failure and impossibility of your feelings being reciprocated, you settled for seeing him.

Nothing ignited such a fierce fire within your chest like he did, nobody could compare. Neither could anybody comprehend what you were experiencing. You tried talking to Mabel, to Wendy, or any woman whatsoever about the situation, but neither was too helpful. You didn’t tell them it was Dipper, clearly.

It was truly noticeable, and everyone around was aware, except for Dipper himself. He was too blind, too stupid…too perfect. Unfortunately, hating him was an unsuccessful plan. The toll he had on you was undoubtedly strong.

Just like how you wished to cling on to him, wrap your arms around his body and never let him go. Never let him see each other with those eyes except you. But, his warmth was apparently appreciated somewhere else too. And even if it tore your insides, slowly and painfully, you held in every horrid cry.

He was your constellation, and you only wished to admire him for hours unend. During daytime, you would daydream about him, and during nighttime, you would study the Big Dipper.

One of the easiest to identify, with seven bright stars that shine through the darkness. During those conflicting nights, where darkness also surrounded your mind and not just your body, you found comfort in his beaming presence. The northern half of the sky was always your home.

Yet, nothing could distract you from your mind. Your wild thoughts of jealousy, hatred, envy. Sadness strikes you too.

One afternoon, while setting up your equipment to properly gaze at the constellation, a couple of laughs took you by surprise. In these parts of town, no one usually came around. It was typically quiet, and no disturbances could be heard.

Though, when you peeked out from your small spot, something made you regret looking. That blonde hair of hers, her painted eyes, and delicate hands. But also, there was his brown hair, flowing with the soft sunset wind. It seemed to hit you harder than any other time before.

You knew well he was with Pacifica, but at that moment, you could not help but wonder why once more. Why would he ever do that? Why would he leave you for her—except, that’s not actually a question worth asking. Such an obvious reply is merely a waste of time.

You kept on looking. Pacifica chuckled, while slightly putting her hand on his shoulder. He would keep on laughing, no blush, yet you noticed he was different. Something signalled to you that, whatever was happening, it was not normal. Dipper was acting rather strangely.

They stopped their conversation, and her blonde hair caught my attention. In a split of a second, I saw Dipper’s eyes follow it too. She positioned herself before him, and brought him closer. Your heart stopped its beating for a moment, yet kept on going when she simply hugged him.

It still hurt, and it still tore your insides apart, but you once more bled within. And, when she walked away, a thought popped inside your mind.

Talk to him, your brain said, confront him. It was outrageous, but it was time.

As you walked your way to him, he gasped when he took a glimpse of you. A drop of sweat slid down. His curls decorated the side of his reddish face. He was beautiful, too, like Pacifica. You were not, and feeling jealous was selfish, but you could handle it no longer.

“Do you like her?” You spat out, without a single doubt.

Dipper stared back, with awe and a half-open mouth. His lips remained soft, and his body still emanated that same warmth you craved so badly. Despite everything, he was still your burning star.

“W-what?” He stuttered. You took this as a reply, and he perceived a small hint of sadness.

You became defensive, and before opening your heart, you preferred to open your mouth. Your voice raised, and you frowned unconsciously.

“Just tell me, god!” You spoke angrily, but deep down, you were simply hurt. “We haven’t seen each other in—fourteen days!”

“I did nothing wrong. Why should I explain myself, huh?” Dipper replied with the sameness, and it broke your heart into a thousand pieces. Into thousands of spilled words and daydreams.

“No, don’t explain to me any fucking thing.” He decided to turn around, your eyes began watering. One can only keep feelings inside for so long.

“Wasn't planning on either way,” you could not see his lips twisting in displeasure any longer, “you always make things up!”

He looked down, piercing through the floor with his eyes. You quietly sobbed.

“Your dumb brain always makes you believe dumb things, but I don’t like her!” Before you could reply, he kept on babbling nonsensical things.

“Those dumb eyes of yours which always distract me, your dumb face that always appears in my dreams, your dumb lips I would die to kiss—” he stopped himself suddenly, “Oh, god.”

The place was dead silent, and with a sunset behind him, he looked like a dream.

“I—I am so terribly sorry, I understand if you—” interrupted by your ‘dumb’ lips, he melted at your touch.

His skin was as you had imagined, not perfect but it drove you mad. His breath became uneven, like you had fantasised about. His curls were tangled, but taken care of (most likely by Mabel). His entire being panicked, and his hands were held up in surprise. He was everything you had imagined.

Taking off his hat, you pushed yourself forward. Without hesitation, your lips took what they had been wanting for the longest of times.

“You—me and you—your lips!” Dipper sloppily exclaimed, and it made you laugh. He truly was your brightest couple of stars.

“We certainly did…” you replied, still slightly ashamed.

“What do we do now?” Yet, you didn’t know what to answer. It worried you, but then a moment of clarity came by.

“How about we keep kissing?” With that, no other word was said.

All night long, silent confessions of love were whispered, and the wind blew them away. Only for you both to ever hear, over and over again, tasting those sweet lips under the stars’ light.

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

The Hat Stays On

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels X F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+

Warnings: the cowboy hat rule (explained in the fic), fluffy goodness, reader is a virgin, smutty times in the Bronco, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, playful goodness, p in v sex, this is honestly so cute

Word Count: 2.3k

Author's Notes: I just wanted to start with saying a massive THANK YOU for all the support on Kinktober this year!!! I love you all so so much!! I’ve been wanting to write this fic for a very long time and it finally happened. I hope you all enjoy it and massive thanks for @clint-aww-no-barton​ as always!

ao3 link

  The feeling you had in that moment could only be described as pure bliss. The sun was just starting to make its way down but its rays still gave plenty of light. The heat from it mixed wonderfully with the breeze of the day, making for perfect weather. Your hair blew in the wind as you rode, your hand out of the window making waves in the air and a smile was almost splitting your face. The top was off the Bronco and your best friend, Jack sat in the driver seat.

He had called you about an hour ago asking if you wanted to go for a ride and you had, of course, agreed. You glanced over at him, looking his profile over as he drove. One hand on the steering wheel the other drumming on the door just outside. He sung softly to the music that could still barley be heard. He wore his usual white shirt, jean jacket, blue jeans and boots to top it off. His cowboy hat now sat between the two of you.

  He must have felt your eyes because he glanced over at you and smiled. He slowed down to calm the wind and turned the radio down altogether.

  “What is it?” He asked with a smirk.

  “Nothing. I can’t look at my best friend?” You chuckled.

  “Absolutely not you know the rules,” Jack joked letting out a laugh and you followed.

  You glanced down at his cowboy hat and smirked before picking it up and putting it on. Jack’s face completely changed and his eyes widened in shock.

  “Whoa there darlin’ take that off!” Jack reached over quickly, taking the hat and putting it back between you on the seat.

  “What’s wrong?” You asked in shock at his reaction.

  “There is a rule when it comes to a man’s cowboy hat darlin’.” Jack let out a chuckle shaking his head.

  “And what rule is that?”

  “You wear the cowboy hat, you ride the cowboy.”

  You sat there, frozen, staring at him for a moment.

  “Wait, what?” You felt something stir in you, the tradition didn’t seem like a bad idea in that moment, but you wanted further explanation.

  “It’s a rule to keep the ladies from stealing cowboy’s hats. You wear the cowboy hat, then you ride the cowboy.”

  You smirked, picked the hat back up and placed it on your head.

  “What’s to say I’m not ready to follow that rule?”

  Jack pulled over, on the empty country road you had been traveling on.

  “Are you serious about this darlin’? Once we go there…”

  “There is no going back, I know. I don’t think I would want to go back. I’ve wanted this for a long time Jack. I’m ready if you are.”

  You had’t planned on ever really telling Jack how you felt. You had seen the other women he had taken home, or flirted with, and you never saw yourself in the same category. But since he picked you up today something had been stirring in your stomach and your heart. It was time to confess and just pray he felt the same way.

  “I don’t want to go back either. I think I’ve wanted you for as long as I could remember. I’m ready.”

  You unbuckled and so did Jack. He reached for you and pulled you to him, before crashing his lips against yours roughly. He smoothly kept his lips on yours as he moved the seat back and pulled you fully onto his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you laced your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. You reluctantly pulled away panting.

  “So your place or mine?” You smirked.

  “Why not right here?”

  “Jack! Someone could see!”

  “I just meant in the Bronco darlin’. I have a place we can go,” he smirked as he kissed you again deeply, but quickly.

  You kissed him back before moving to the passenger seat and buckling back up.

  “Now don’t let my hat fly off darlin’,” Jack winked before he took off back down the road.

    Your stomach turned in knots as Jack drove further out of town. It had nothing to do with the roads he drove or even the place you knew he was taking you, The Point, a familiar hook up spot. It was because you were still a virgin, and even with him being your best friend Jack didn’t know. The idea of it being him made the butterflies dance in your stomach but the whole thing was suddenly making you nervous. You kept trying to push the nerves away, so Jack wouldn’t notice the change in your mood and change his mind.

  He pulled up to a clearing with a lookout that could take anyone’s breath away. Luckily you were the only ones up here. Jack parked and turned the truck off as you turned to look at him. His eyes had become slightly more blown, and he licked his lips, as they trailed over you. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he pushed the seat back. You watched him, suddenly breathless. Your eyes connected with his and after a moment you were moving. He reached for you as you climbed into his lap, straddling him and crashing your lips to his.

  This kiss held so much more hunger than the last. Jack silently asked permission to take it further and you allowed him, melting completely into his body. You reached up and went to pull the cowboy hat off but Jack quickly caught your wrist.

  “That stays on,” his voice was low and had the slightest demanding edge to it.

  You simply nodded your head, panting and wetting your lips. You had no idea you were trembling until concern laced Jack’s face.

  “What’s wrong? Is this okay?” Jack said, suddenly very serious.

  You couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from your lips.

  “This is all perfect Jack it’s just…,”you paused wondering if you should really fess up. “I’m a virgin.”

  The sentence came out in a low voice and you looked down at his chest. Jack’s fingers brushed at your chin, directing your eyes to his.

  “First, there’s nothing wrong with that. And second I need to make this more romantic for you. I brought you to the most average place and you deserve this to be special. Go on buckle up and we will…”

  “Jack stop,” you let out a laugh. “I don’t care where it happens, as long as it’s with you.”

  His eyes softened and his lips fell back to yours but this time there was something different, softer, and once again you found yourself melting into him.

  “Well, let’s at least move this to the back so we have more room.”

  “Do you think anyone will come up here and see us?”

  “I doubt it darlin’. You don’t worry yourself with that.”

  A kiss to the forehead and Jack opened his door. He carefully helped you out and then climbed out himself. He made quick work of putting the top back on the bronco and then spreading a blanket in the back. You climbed up and he pulled you to him. He laid you down and his lips found yours once again. This time he allowed you to remove the cowboy hat and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers digging into his hair.

  You kept your eyes closed as his lips ventured down your neck and to the top of your chest. Jack’s hands snaked up your stomach and soon you were sitting up for him to remove your shirt and skillfully take off your bra. You lay back down and your eyes fluttered open to find Jack gazing at your exposed chest.

  “So beautiful,” he breathed and then he was dipping his head to your breast.

  His lips kissed around them first before he pulled a nipple into his mouth. He flicked the already hard bud with his tongue, pulling a moan from you. Your fingers threaded into his hair again, mouth agape as your head went back. He suckled both of your breasts, as you moaned and shivered, feeling yourself growing wetter by the second.

  “Jack please,” you panted with a whine, desperate for him to just touch you where you really wanted him.

  You were not completely innocent and knew your body well. You needed more from him. He smirked, a chuckle falling from him, as his lips trailed down. Your heavy lidded eyes opened and watched him. He kissed down your stomach and across the top of your pants before slowly undoing them and pulling them down, right along with your underwear. You were now fully exposed to him and he once again took a moment to take you in. He situated himself between your legs, hooking his arms under them and keeping you spread open for him. He glanced up at you and you gave him a simple nod as he dug in.

  You felt a jolt of pure pleasure run through you and you grabbed at the blanket under you as you moaned. Your head flew back and you back arched. You had never had anyone do this and it was making your head spin. One of your hands flew into his hair and he kept going, never letting up. Then you felt two of his fingers slip inside and you shivered letting out another loud moan, pulling at his hair.

  “Jack,” you moaned his name and then you snapped.

  Your body shook and you almost screamed at the intense orgasm that washed over you. Jack worked you through it, and then was up and over you in seconds, his lips crashing against yours. You moaned against them at the taste of yourself. Your hands quickly started to move to remove his clothes.

  “Are you okay?” Jack panted after the two of you parted for air.

  “I’m perfect Jack,” you gave him a small smile.

  Jack finally helped you remove the last of his clothes and you glanced down licking your lips at the sight of him hard for you. Jack sat back and reached in his jeans pulling out his wallet and then a condom. You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped from you.

  “What?” He asked with a bit of a chuckle of his own.

  “You are such a guy,” your head flew back as you laughed harder.

  “Hey we always have to be prepared you know…if a pretty lady steals our cowboy hat,” he gave you a wink and you laughed again rolling your eyes playfully at him.

  He laughed with you before he tore the packet and worked the condom on himself. You gulped softly knowing that this had been everything you had ever wanted for so long, and it was finally happening.

  “What is it? Having second thoughts?” Jack asked as he hovered over you again.

  “The opposite. I just…I’ve wanted this and…”

  “It’s finally happening? Tell me about it.”

  Your eyebrows flew up and you sat up on your elbows.

  “Wait what?”

  “Did you not think I’ve thought of this moment for forever too? You may be my best friend but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes for you darlin’. I just hope you’ll keep having me after this. You know take you on a real date, do this the right way.”

  “Jack I would want nothing more,” your face split into a wide smile and his mirrored yours.

  “You ready?” His voice hushed and gentle as you gave him a simple nod.

  He moved so slowly and gently, being so patient as he slipped inside of you. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, and you slumped into the blanket under you. Your mind reeled more from the fact this was all happening, rather than the slight pain you could feel.

  “Move,” you breathed and Jack obliged.

  He was slow and easy, his hands and lips making gentle marks on the rest of you. You could tell he wanted so badly to let go but he kept moving just as you asked. You could feel that familiar feeling growing in your belly, and you needed more.

  “Jack more please,” you begged as your eyes fluttered opened and you looked up at him.

  He kissed you deeply as he started to snap his hips a little harder but much faster. Your head flew back and a moan fell from your lips. You wrapped your legs around him, pushing him deeper and both of you let out moans of pure pleasure. He kept going not letting up once.

  “Jack I’m..”

  “Let go darlin’ I’m right there with you,” and his lips were falling back to yours.

  You’re wrapped yourself completely around him keeping him as close as you possibly could, as you snapped. Your body once again shook and you moaned as his forehead rested on yours. He thrust once hard and stopped letting out a grunt and then a moan as he came apart himself. The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, before Jack finally pulled from you.

  “Are you okay?” He asked in a rush as he started to look around for something to clean you up.

  “Jack stop worrying so much I’m fine,” you gave him a smile but let out a small laugh.

  He found some napkins and even with them not being ideal, he cleaned the two of you up before you both dressed.

  “I don’t want to rush away from the moment but I would much rather take you home and hold you in my arms in a bed. Maybe even…have round two a little later.”

  “Take me home Jack, and when we do round two later we will do it properly, following the rules,” you slid into the passenger seat as he held the door open for you.

  You had taken his cowboy hat back with you and when he slid in the drivers side, you already had it on your head again. Jack let out a laugh and shook his head.

  “And next time the hat stays on.”

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @audreyshepbvrn​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @kaqua​ @novemberrain221​

[drdemonprince]

hi devon! just saw the post you reblogged about non-autistics preferring less explanation. I was fired from a job a few months ago for “overwhelming” my supervisor with my unavailability, I think it’s because I over-explained my unavailability by telling them exactly why I was unavailable. they had told me when they hired me that they could work with my schedule.

do you think there are jobs out there where I can over-explain myself without negative consequences or is this something that I would need to work on to be employable? I am SUPER prone to over explaining in pretty much every situation.

In tech and related fields people show a tiny bit more patience with what they perceive as a person being "pedantic" or "long-winded," but even there there is discrimination against you for it if you are a woman, a person of color, read as "angry" in some way because of your appearance, or if you're low status and your supposed long-windedness drains the time and energy of the higher status. I would say that I have not heard of a field of employment yet where Autistic people do not face discrimination for how we communicate. It happens virtually everywhere, and sadly, firings for things like "writing too long of an email" or "giving too much information" or "sharing personal information or opinions" are infuriatingly common.

I would recommend learning to curtail how much you share at work -- especially information about yourself or your thoughts about things. You can't trust them. I'm sorry.

[sae-rins]

Your Dear Academic Rival

Reo Mikage, Rin Itoshi x Reader (separated)

genre : fluff

Reo Mikage

Upon arriving to school, you sat in your typical location. You take your textbooks and begin reading right away. That is, until you identified Reo Mikage attempting to take a seat next to you. That was the person seated next to you. Your ultimate rival at school.

Then you asked him after giving him a puzzled expression. Why are you seated next to me? I'm not interested in dealing with your obnoxious girlfriends. He took a very long time to respond, but he eventually said. Our teacher teamed us up for a performance task, did you not read her message at the class group chat?

You then apologized and said. I didn’t have time to open my phone, my apologies.

You and your partner went to the library to discuss the assignment as soon as the teacher ended her discussion. You each took the books you needed for the assignment and sat next to one another once more.

While exchanging concepts, you two stared at one another. Reo continued his unending explanations as you started writing them down. The moment you realized Reo had stopped talking and was instead just gazing at you, you came to a stop.

What? You asked him with such an curious expression. Immediately afterward, he said. Nothing. You are really lovely.

Reo, your academic opponent, had just called you "lovely," and you were surprised to hear those words. You cannot, however, pretend that you did not also believe Reo to be incredibly attractive and wealthy. Although being aware of your crush on him, you decided to keep it a secret.

You thought you were way out of Reo's league, and there were plenty of girls who idolized him who were far better compared to you.

But you weren't expecting him to compliment you on your beauty. Was it merely a compliment, or does he have feelings for you? Right now, your head is spinning with ideas.

You didn't even realize you were looking directly at Reo, but he was staring back. He then took hold of your hand. And it jolted you awake. He went on to say.

Please give me a chance. I understand that it may appear that I despise you because we are academic rivals. But deep down, I've always admired you; you're both smart and beautiful. I've been watching you for a long time. I like you, so please accept my recognition.

You were surprised to learn that he liked you. There was no longer any reason to suppress your emotions. You then said, Reo, I may be rude to you at times, but I adore you; I've always admired you, but I assumed I was out of your league. I genuinely like you, Reo.

Itoshi Rin

The wind was cold, blazing through The windows of the school. Your hair sways within the breeze, You did not have a Jacket, Nor did you have any Gloves to protect you from this Cold Weather.

Being Beleaguered, You continue your walk to Your House. Bushes and trees rustling throughout Your Circumjacent.

Focused on your journey home, you did not notice Rin beside you.

Rin has always infuriated you. He's been your academic rival for ages, but because you're neighbors, you often see one another when you're on your way home. It's always awkward, but you try to strike up a conversation all the time.

Hey Rin.

Yeah?

Why are you so hostile toward me? You stare at me like I'm some hideous creature.

I don't hate you; I just appear to be like that.

Oh.

Rin was simply breathtaking. If looks could kill, he would have killed you long ago; you think he's charming but wouldn't allow yourself to admit it because the manner in which he stares at you as if you're a creature prevents you from confessing to him. You were afraid of being rejected by him.

Rin began to notice your hands shivering a bunch. Because your jacket was too short to reach your hands, you began to rub and blow on them in an attempt to warm them up.

Rin grabbed your hand and held it. He wasn’t looking at you but you were looking at him. He was blushing, you could see he tried to look at the other side to hide his face but you could notice the blush on his ears.

You didn’t wanna hold back your feelings anymore so you decided to tell Rin.

Rin I like you.

I like you to you lukewarm creature

Maybe you shouldn't have told him you liked him since he had simply labeled you a lukewarm creature.

[accio-sriracha]

Fight me - Part Two!!

A drarry microfic, you can find the first part here: <3

Written at the special request of @plus-tax !!

(Sorry it took so long, I was on sleep medication and fell asleep halfway through writing this lmaoo, hope you enjoy!)

~~~♤~~~

He let the doors slam shut behind him, his legs carrying him forward in Potter's footsteps without a second thought.

"You shouldn't have come after me." Potter's voice was cold. Draco huffed as he came to a stop halfway down the corridor from him,

"Don't act surprised. You knew I'd follow you." He shot back.

The long silence that stretched between them was different now, lighter without the weight of all of their peers.

"You're right, I did." Potter conceded.

"You don't usually give in this easy." Draco worried for a split moment it was happening again. He worried Potter was going to retreat into himself, numb to the outside world, refusing to stick up for himself even out of self preservation.

"There's no point in lying to you, Malfoy." Potter turned to face him and Draco was thrilled to see his eyes were still very much alive.

"Then tell me the truth."

Potter stared at him, those eyes that were so full of the fire Draco always admired studied his face,

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me?" He asked instead, "Why did you need to see a reaction so badly?"

"You know why." He repeated.

Potter didn't relent, still scanning his expression, searching for something. Draco wondered what he would find there.

"Humor me." He whispered.

"Because you're you." Draco replied immediatley.

And it was obvious, wasn't it? Why shouldn't Draco care about what happens to Potter?

After everything that was said and done between them, after everything that wasn't said or done... was it that hard to believe Draco would worry about him?

He felt that intensity spark between them again, the one he'd spent half his life running from, fearing more than anything else. This wasn't a way one should feel about their enemies. But then... they were never really on opposing sides were they?

"Meaning?" Potter asked when he'd given up on waiting for further explanation.

Draco sighed and turned away from him to continue down the corridor.

It gave way to a bridge with beautiful archways overlooking the hills beneath them. He leaned over the stone, resting his elbows on the frame and letting the slight wind cool his face,

"You're not someone anyone can forget about, Potter. What you've done for the world... what you've done for me-" He broke off, shaking his head, "I can't just sit by and watch you destroy yourself. You let everyone talk down to you. You let them speak your name like it leaves a bad taste in their mouth. Like you owe them and not the other way around."

"I care about you because the Potter I know would have never given up. He would have never stopped helping those who needed it or proving that it's okay to just be normal sometimes. I care because no matter how tired you got of all of the fighting and the running and the war: you never stopped laughing and having hope and being alive either. You were famous, yeah, but even then you were always still just... you."

Potter stayed silent, watching him with that same intensity. Draco gathered every bit of courage he had left and took a step forward to close the distance between them,

"I care about you, Potter. What that changes is your decision. Just know the option's out there, yeah?"

Potter made a quiet humming sound and leaned forward, his hand holding the stone for support.

Draco wasn't sure how to feel about their closeness; about the knowledge that he could reach out and touch Potter's face if he wanted to.

He was surprised, however, by the realization that maybe he did want to.

"Do you think it's weird that I care about you too?" Potter asked softly. His breath was warm in the cool winter air, the feeling of it fanning out across Draco's skin gave him shivers that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Draco felt his lips twitch into a smile, "Stranger things have happened." He replied simply.

"None stranger than this." Potter gestured between them, a challenge to the arch in his eyebrow.

"Are you honestly telling me you didn't see this coming?" Draco couldn't keep the amusement out of his tone.

Potter considered that for a moment, than gave a small smile of his own, "I can't say I never expected it." He paused as he took in Draco's smug expression and jumped to defend himself, "Well it doesn't help when you say things like 'You know why' whenever I ask why you care so much."

Draco laughed again, the sound that echoed back to him was something he almost didn't recognize, it was so... free.

"You do know though, don't you?" Draco asked. The echo this time carried a hint of hopefulness. He wasn't sure it went by unnoticed,

"I do." Potter agreed after a long moment. His voice so quiet it barely picked up over the wind.

The feeling that settled netween them now was anything but light.

"I believe a customary 'I told you so' is in order, then." Draco smiled, trying to eae the mood. Potter gave a reluctant sigh,

"Yes, yes, whatever. You're acting far too superior for a guy who just had my wand pressed to his throat in front of the entire school." But he was laughing too, the sound was equally freeing and made Draco's chest tighten in a way it never had before.

"Maybe I feel superior because out of everyone else in that hall..." He hesitated, "It's me you're standing out here with."

Potter watched him, and there was something behind the fire in his eyes now, a different kind of passion Draco couldn't place,

"Maybe I prefer it this way too." He whispered back, "Maybe there's nobody else in there I'd rather be standing with."

Draco wasn't sure when they started whispering, or when his heart had started slamming in his chest. He blamed it on the running he did earlier to catch up to Potter, but he could tell from the way it spiked with every glance Potter took towards his lips that wasn't entirely true.

"We should probably go back, they must think we've killed each other by now or something."

Potter nodded, "Yeah, we probably should."

Neither of them moved, Potter's eyes never left Draco's face.

"So when you say you... care about me...?" Draco started after they had been staring at each other for a little longer than he'd care to admit.

Potter nodded for him to go on but he couldn't find the right words. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to ask. Potter spared him, clearing his throat and glancing out into the beautiful view expanding out as far as either of them could see.

Draco couldn't seem to bring himself to care for it, his eyes glued to Potter's face, to the lively expressions he'd missed so dearly. He was still gaunt, the dark circles beneath his eyes and sunken cheeks still prominent. But his eyes... they gave him life.

"I think you're the only one who ever really sees me. I think you're the only one who knows just what to say to me to snap me out of whatever I'm going through. I think you're exactly who you always were, and not like anything anyone ever expects you to be."

"How do you mean?" Draco whispered.

"People think you're cold, unfazed, this... this untouchable son of a Death Eater." He shook his head, turning back now to meet Draco's eyes, "But you're not. You're not any of those things. You're one of the smartest, most ambitious people I've ever met. Even withdrawn you're full of poise and manners, you've got more restraint in a single interaction than I've ever managed in a lifetime. You're full of warmth, and you care, you really care about everyone close to you. I've seen how you are with Parkindon, she's like a sister to you. I can see how much you love her. You have this mask but I can tell you're not really unaffected. I mean, you reached out to me today, didn't you? Clearly this bothered you- worried you- enough. You're good, Malfoy. I know you are. You've saved me on more than one occasion, even though it could have cost you your life."

"And as for untouchable?" Draco pressed. Potter rolled his eyes at the coy smile easing its way onto his lips,

"Well... you're not entirely untouchable either." He muttered.

"Oh, is that what you think?" Draco asked, tilting his head to the side and regarding Potter in this new, playful light. The banter between them came easily, as it always has, a second nature that eased the ache of tension threatening to tear them apart.

"Yes, it is."

"Prove it." He whispered.

He waited, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. Every muscle in his body frozen, waiting for Potter's response.

His eyes fell to Draco's lips, he licked his own in a swift, almost subconscious movement, "Maybe I will." He mumbled.

It only took a single breath longer before they were kissing.

Draco's arms lifted up to wrap around his shoulders immediatley, the release of pressure so great he worried he was going to faint from relief.

Potter held him, his own arm wrapped securely around Draco's waist, his other hand moving from the stone to tangle in his hair.

And in that moment, Draco knew that nothing would ever be the same between them.

"I hope you know I still think you're an arse for causing such a big scene earlier." Potter whispered when he broke the kiss.

"Of course you do." Draco shook his head fondly. Potter smiled,

"Git."

"Scarhead."

And they stood there, beaming at each other for a short while longer. Just long enough for Draco to take in the sight of how much better Potter looked when he was truly happy, before he pulled them into another long kiss.

And nothing would ever be the same. Well... almost nothing.

[king-midas-fortnite]

Journal Entry: 00

This entry is a prequel of sorts to everything that's happened. Midas writes about one of his first nights after escaping the Underworld, and a new ability he discovers.

I have been home on the Marigold for all of about a week. While I am overjoyed to be back in the company of my crew, my family, something inexplicably terrible happened tonight. Something I’m struggling to make sense of.

I am far from free of Hades and his torment. I hear his taunts and the haunting voices of all the souls he allowed to goad me constantly. I feel their hands on me while I try to rest, gripping at my arms and throat like they are trying to drag me back every time I feel sleep finally come to me. When it does come, it’s less than an hour before I’m waking myself from dreams of everything I endured in my imprisonment. Horrific memories of the visions the shades plagued me with, along with the ever present memories of my daughter.

Even with all of this, I thought at least that I was physically free. I got out. I’m back. I’m alive and surrounded by people I care for, and who I know now without a doubt return the sentiment. But…I was wrong. I am out, but the underworld has not left me. It’s left behind a rot in my soul that I doubt I’ll ever be able to shake.

Earlier this evening, I surrendered my attempts to sleep and poured myself a few drinks. I’ve been doing that a lot more recently. I’m not proud of it, but there’s not much else I can do. Sometimes if I have enough, it blocks everything out just enough for a brief bit of rest. Anyway, I’d taken a bottle to my office, and had been sitting at my desk for who knows how long. I tried to get some work done, finish remaking files lost to the flood, but I couldn’t. The aforementioned voices of souls dammed to Hades’ domain were louder than usual. Instead of drowning them out, they got worse the more I drank.

The things they say to me…I don’t particularly want to write them down. Maybe someday I’ll be able to forget them. If I’m fortunate enough for that to happen, I don’t want a record to remind myself here. They’re horrific. I think that should be sufficient enough an explanation.

I’m sure—I KNOW, they are just hallucinations and these episodes will pass, but tonight was a nightmare. Usually sounding like a passing whisper or like they are speaking from another room, tonight they were far more corporeal. I could feel breath on my skin while they spoke to me. And again, their hands were all over me. It felt like they were trying to pull me out of my own body. I sat in my chair, holding my head and trying to fight against every instinct to flee where I was for so long as their whispering grew to screaming. If I didn’t know death would only mean returning to that place, it would’ve been a tempting option.

It all grew so loud, so intense and overwhelming that I finally screamed back for them to stop. At the same moment, I’d felt it. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was still. The cold chill of death settled quickly deep in my bones. I’d opened my eyes and shot up from my desk, knocking my chair back behind me while the gold skin of my hands turned the same sickly green of the Styx waters. I didn’t even have time to panic and wonder how I’d died again before I was falling down, passing through the floor underneath me as if it weren’t there at all. I opened my eyes again when my body struck the hard wood of the level beneath my office, completely knocking the wind from me.

When I’d reoriented myself and looked back to my hands, they were normal. My body was intact, gold and living flesh again. I’d stayed on the floor for a little while, staring up at the ceiling I had just phased through as I caught my breath. Eventually I stood and came back up here, confused…frightened. I stood at the doorway to my office a long while, staring at my desk. I don’t know why, or what could possibly possess me to try and recreate that feeling, but I needed to know if I could. Once I started hearing the whispers again, I latched on instead of trying to ignore them. I allowed them to start screaming, and I allowed the dread and cold of the dead to wash over me again.

I saw that wispy green enshroud the edges of my vision, and I stepped forward. Next thing I knew, I was across my office. I’d passed through my desk, and nearly hit the wall on the other side of the room before I was collapsing to my knees and sucking in breath like I’d been drowning. That’s what it had felt like. All over again it felt like being dead. My heart beat like a drum in my chest as it regained its rhythm, and air burned into my lungs as I felt heat return to my limbs.

After a moment I pulled myself up off the floor, fixed my chair, and sat back down where I am now. I have been up all evening, writing as the sun comes up just to try and get a handle on what’s happened. Whatever this new “power” is, I will not use it flippantly. I feel as though it has taken something from me already. If nothing else, a part of my sanity. I will never be free of Hades. Not completely, it seems. If that is the case, so be it. I’ll try to make use of this ability when it’s needed.

I just hope it never is.

Reminder: these are not "public" to other Tumblrverse characters. Okay to reblog, but please do not roleplay on journal entries!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Director's Cut of "Good Rich Earth" please?

"Good Rich Earth" is one of the easiest writing experiences I've ever hand. This one just flowed. No hesitation. No laboring over words. I don't know if I've ever had a story come this easily.

I had zero intentions of writing a retelling of "The Secret Garden". Then you mentioned the potential for a fantasy retelling, and I instantly started wondering how such a thing could be done.

You taught me that a proper Secret Garden retelling has to center around childhood emotional neglect, so it quickly turned to sci-fi, because the first line that came to me was, "Raised practically by robots, the poor thing!"

With that, I had my premise. Mary was raised on a military space station by parents who left her in the care of robot nannies. She'd never been on a planet. (I've long wanted to write a story involving space-raised children who have culture shock when they come to a planet, and this fit perfectly.) The story would involve her coming to appreciate the wonders of nature.

Then I just started writing. Instantly. (This was much more appealing than the Chesterton Challenge idea I had originally sat down to write).

When writing about the bleak landscape of Mary's new home, I decided that this would be a ruined post-apocalyptic Earth, to make the landscape seem bleaker and more hateful to the newly-arrived Mary, and the Secret Garden seem more wondrous by comparison. I sometimes wonder if that was the right choice, because I put zero thought into what kind of apocalypse it was, beyond giving it the appallingly generic label of "The Disasters", and this layer might interfere too much with the rest of the story. But it does tie in with the original's themes of recovering from neglect and learning to care for others--the entire planet has been neglected and needs care to come back to life.

I just love how that paragraph about Mary hating everything about Earth allowed me to provide so much worldbuilding and characterization so easily.

I share Ben's disdain for hydroponics.

(Once I finished the draft, I skimmed it in search of ideas for titles. I was surprised to find that Ben's rant contained the perfect one--he's talking about dirt and gardening, but it also works in reference to Mary coming to appreciate the goodness of the planet Earth.)

It's interesting how I was able to keep the story and exposition flowing by just bringing in character voices (like Martha's explanation about the garden) without giving them actual scenes. It's something I didn't even think about--it just happened, and I don't know how, since it's not my usual style. It probably only works because this is a fanfic one-shot where you're expected to know the characters already.

And then I just kind of dither along, stretching out a story with Mary doing nothing but walking outside. I probably leaned too much on the robin finding things. After describing the way the door appears, I have a tough time believing Mary didn't find it on her own--why does a robin's wing set it off and not Mary walking around the wall?

You can probably see me flailing to find ways to make this sci-fi, making up tech on the fly. I mostly justified it, I think--the hologram roof's a bit of a stretch. Maybe the door, too. But that seems like something that would be good to have if you could pull it off (though I really hope there are safety features that keep people from being locked inside without a key). I do love that Mary's space station experience gives her the knowledge to open the Secret Garden's door.

I do like that description of the Secret Garden. I tried not to draw too much from any previous description/depiction of it, and I was careful not to use plant names, because Mary wouldn't know any of them. I think it managed to show the garden without getting too long-winded/flowery.

Of course I had to end by describing the garden as magical.

[chr0macide]

Encounter

more magdalena stuff, this happens soon after she flees the villain base

debated whether I should post this or not because its edgier than what i usually write, she runs into Larry and bad stuff happens

TW graphic descriptions of pain and injury

this is ~2400 words divided into 2 chapters. the second one is tiny but i thought i ought to include it, because I feel like Larry came off as more of an asshole in chapter 1 than I intend for him to be oops

Chapter I – Found You

The forest floor squelched under the Engineer’s boots as she meandered through the trees. The rainstorm had passed, though not before turning the ground into a slurry of soil and soggy leaves. Her toolbox felt heavier in her hand every second, but she didn’t reduce her brisk pace. She’d deemed it too dangerous to walk along the road or any of the main hiking trails. Who knows who might have been skulking around there. She wasn’t the only one who had fled the criminal hideout after Miss Gearwise’s defeat.

She came to a sudden halt and let her crowbar fall to the ground, clutching a spot on her abdomen instead. It felt like something sharp and jagged was slicing her from the inside. The Engineer’s eyes were screwed shut against the pain, but the discomfort was mercifully brief. She’d already felt something like that once before. The only explanation was the wind-up key affixed to her back. She knew complications might arise when she’d implored the Warden to use it on her, but this was starting to worry her. Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do about it now. She picked her crowbar up and carried on.

The girl had some idea of which way the inner city was in when she’d set out, but every part of the woods looked the same, not to mention how impossible it was to see through the thick morning fog. She was starting to lose her bearings as she searched for one of the lesser-known trails. Hopefully she wasn’t walking in a circle.

She breathed a sigh of relief. There it was: a dirt path in the grass, worn in by years of footsteps. She walked in the direction that she believed was correct. It wasn’t too long before she glimpsed something luminous through the mist, but her ashen skin prickled with unease. The edges of the woods were still a fair distance away, and this didn’t seem like the glow of a campfire or cabin.

The Engineer’s stomach dropped. She understood what she was looking at when the pair of lights shifted. The automaton’s hinges creaked as he tilted his head curiously. The girl dropped her toolbox, too petrified to think of running away while she still could.

“Mr. Clockturn?” she squeaked.

She trembled even more than usual as Larry’s towering figure emerged from the haze. The Engineer clutched her crowbar close to her body. Her fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around it until her nails broke skin and left red notches in her palms. Her mouth was dry. The machine came to a halt in front of her… then chuckled at her apparent dread.

“Why do you look so afraid?” he asked.

Why did she look so afraid? Anyone with two brain cells to rub together was afraid of Larry Clockturn, and the Engineer had slighted him personally. Fortunately for her, it didn’t appear that he realized who she was with her mask on and lab coat missing. She didn’t want to respond to his question—he might have recognized her voice—but it would have been suspicious if she remained mute.

“I-I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here,” she stuttered, but she relaxed just a little bit. Larry’s hold on his crowbar was visibly lax. He wasn’t brandishing it at her. He hadn’t come out here searching for potential victims.

A hint of confusion intruded upon Larry’s amused smirk. “Neither was I.” Had he met this girl before? His eyes caught a flash of tarnished metal on the girl’s back as she turned and looked around nervously. He stepped around her for a better view. “You have a prototype key.”

The girl jumped when he spoke again. Larry was staring at her like he expected her to explain. “Y-Yes. I… um…” the Engineer trailed off as she debated how much she should tell him. “I had the Warden insert it for me. Though I don’t believe it’s working as it should be,” she confessed.

That was obvious. Her clothes hung loose from her gaunt frame. Her eyes were bloodshot and what little of her skin that Larry could see was pallid and waxy. “Well, you ought to brace yourself. The transmutation isn’t pleasant,” the automaton laughed coldly, gesturing at his own metallic exterior as he walked behind her, “and I doubt this thing’s defects will make it any easier on you.”

He ran a finger over her key as he spoke. The Engineer shivered and cringed away from the touch. Larry’s smile faded again. She was so familiar. Her identity was on the tip of his tongue. Larry stepped in front of her again, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m an indentured servant a-at the base,” the girl stammered, reluctant to divulge her name. “I-I mean, I was. I left during the infighting-”

Larry reached out and brushed her dark hair away from the left side of her mask.

Roses.

“Magdalena.”

She recoiled from his hand, but the automaton wrapped his fingers around her neck and hurled her into the mud before she had a chance to bolt. The impact knocked her mask askew. It slipped off of her face and onto the ground as the girl scrambled to stand up, but she didn’t even make it onto her hands and knees before Larry was upon her again, trapping her under his crushing weight.

“She made me do it!” Magdalena cried as she tried to wriggle out from underneath the automaton. “I never wanted any part of her experiments!”

Larry grabbed the back of her head in his enormous hand and shoved her face into the filth as he straddled her. “Is that so?” he hissed in her ear, all traces of pleasantry gone, replaced with malice and promises of pain. The disgraced crime lord remembered each and every one of his minutes in Mary’s laboratories all too well. He remembered the serrated edges of her tools as she cleaved him open, remembered the feeling of her cold hands on his coils and cogwheels and valves, remembered the scalding heat of the welding torch when she haphazardly repaired the wounds she’d wrought in him. And he remembered Magdalena standing next to her all the while with that same maddeningly vacant expression. It was so different from the way her haggard features were contorted with terror now. Larry liked that.

Magdalena’s squirming ceased when she felt Larry’s gloved hand close around her wind-up key. Nobody had tried to turn it before—she hadn’t had it for long—but she knew it wouldn’t induce any sort of enjoyable feeling. “Please don’t,” she whimpered.

Larry didn’t wrench her key around, but his jaws were parted slightly in morbid anticipation. The girl could feel the scorching heat seeping out of him. He wanted this to last. He adjusted his grip and turned it agonizingly slowly. Little by little.

Magdalena screamed.

Now she was thrashing even harder than before. She could feel the key’s roots twitching in dissent. It was like every nerve ending in her body was being torn out of her at once, but she could hardly even struggle with the automaton on top of her. “Please stop! I’m sorry! It hurts!”

Larry grinned.

Music to his ears.

“Oh, there’s no need to tell me that. I know what it feels like,” Larry snarled as he continued to wind her key towards the first checkpoint, but it wasn’t even midway there. His laughter dissipated after a moment, however. The automaton leaned in close. “On second thought… describe it to me,” he whispered, his voice thick with markedly false sympathy.

Describe it? Magdalena could scarcely think, let alone form words through her cries.

“Unless you’d rather die here,” Larry added when she didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on the back of her skull and pushed her face a little further into the mud.

Tears streamed down Magdalena’s face, mixing in with the murky rainwater, but fear compelled her to speak. “It feels like”—she had to scream again—“like my skin i-is being flayed,” she sobbed.

Larry had forced her key halfway around now. Magdalena convulsed. A few gears had already shown up embedded in her tissues since she’d left the base. It had been uncomfortable before, but now it was infinitely more excruciating as the toothed wheels unwillingly rotated backwards and carved bloody fissures along her innards.

Larry’s robotic eyes dilated appreciatively at her words. “Go on.”

“It—m-my-”

Her utterances dissolved into hysterical shrieks and supplications. Larry’s jaw clanked shut in annoyance. He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head away from the grime, drinking in the suffering on her face as he turned Magdalena’s key further still, but he released it right before it reached the point of no return. It snapped back to its original position. The way she writhed in agony beneath him was one of the most delightful sensations he’d felt in a long time, but his fun was over if the girl wasn’t going to contribute.

The automaton stood. Magdalena did not, still shuddering and gasping for air in the waterlogged dirt. Her lungs burned with every breath. There was a coppery taste in her mouth. Larry glared down at her, a disgusted sneer on his face.

“You sicken me,” he spat, delivering a kick to Magdalena’s side with his steel-toed shoe. She choked out a cry of pain. He didn’t put that much force into it, but after what she’d just gone through, it felt like someone was driving a blunted knife between her ribs.

Larry scoffed at the girl’s deplorable state and walked away without another word. She did not deserve an end to her misery, nor would it have been worth his effort.

Magdalena couldn’t move her head to look at him, but she heard his footsteps fading away. She tried shifting just a little bit, but her muscles howled at her in protest, so she simply lay there and listened to the leaves rustling above her gently. The girl let her eyelids close, thinking through her muddled ruminations that it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here forever. She lost track of how long she remained on the cold, indifferent earth. It might have been hours or mere minutes before she felt movement underneath her coat.

One of her diminutive mechanical insectoids squeezed out from under her. Magdalena was surprised it wasn’t crushed when Larry threw her to the ground. Then again, she had hardly any mass to crush it with, she thought as the bot crept over her. It paused behind her neck and scuttled over the side of her face.

Magdalena didn’t react.

It scratched at her skin with its pointy forelegs until she produced signs of life.

Magdalena groaned in weariness and irritation, but the sound came out as more of a croak. “That’s enough. I’m getting up,” she mumbled.

The android tumbled into the leaves as the Engineer hauled herself onto all fours. Every little motion sent another twinge of soreness through her limbs, but she had to get up. What if Larry wasn’t the only one lurking nearby? Magdalena clutched at the felled tree trunk next to her for leverage as she gingerly rose to her feet and slipped her coat off her shoulders to wring some of the water out.

Her insectoid’s legs flailed in the air for a few seconds before it righted itself. It crawled up her pants and into her overcoat as she put it back on. Magdalena staggered to where her mask had fallen. She didn’t have the energy to wipe the grime away before placing it back on her face. She grabbed the handle of her toolbox and picked it up, along with her crowbar. They felt even heavier than before.

Magdalena set her eyes on the dirt path and carried on.

Chapter II – Found Me…?

Larry took a small detour on his way back to the safehouse. He wasn’t quite ready to see the others again yet.

He nearly flung the rotting wooden door off its eroded hinges as he entered one of the abandoned homestead’s utility rooms. The bloodstained sheets and old clothing hanging from the shelves looked like silhouetted figures in the dark. The automaton’s eyes darted around frenetically. He kept thinking he’d seen movement at the edges of his vision, even though he knew he was alone. Alone.

The sound of his own gears whirring and rattling within him seemed so deafening all of a sudden. His footsteps thundered in his ears. His engine roared. Everything in this empty place was so loud, yet none of it did anything to drown out his feverish thoughts. He lifted his head and stared into the mirror at his rigid, unyielding faceplates. Smoky, acrid exhaust jetted from his vents, permeating the cramped space.

Cathartic.

She was only trying to survive. Mary would have turned her into another one of her projects.

So? Why would the life of a quivering pile of jaundiced flesh matter more than mine?

I know what it feels like. There was no need for that.

That bitch deserved it.

Didn’t she?

Of course she did. I should have kept going.

I—I-

Larry smashed his head against the mirror to silence his mind’s ramblings. The wall quaked. The glass shattered. The shards hit the floorboards noisily.

He kept his forehead against the remains of the looking glass for a moment, staring at the ground. A hundred glowing golden pinpricks watched him knowingly from the broken fragments. Larry tore himself away from the wall abruptly, staggering back as he shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands. His claws strained uselessly to dig into his impenetrable skin.

The automaton was as motionless as a statue for a few shallow breaths, but then he drew in a long breath of air and sighed. He removed his hat and brushed the slivers of broken glass away. His inner mechanisms decelerated. Larry laughed to himself as he looked down at the mess he’d made. Why had he gotten so worked up?

Larry redonned his hat. He stepped back into the frigid morning air and carried on.

[thediktatortot]

I'm writing out my overarching headcanon about VIncent's life and how Gaia and it's people looked pre-SOLDIER program because I want too:

I'm of the mind that in Vincent's era, there was a lot of growth like we have in our own day and age, much like the 50s-70s, Midgar would have been a work in progress. Maybe only one or two upper plates would be finished and livable, but a sizable undercity was already underway to growth.

I believe that this would be when the beginning of the science department of Shinra would truly begin, so Shinra would have been using the Turks as more of their heavy hitters as SOLDIER was still a small budding program being thought up by Shinra's defense department.

Seeing as the war between Wutai and Shinra didn't happen until 1985, I'm going to go under the assumption that they were in a cold war with each other ever since the power company began building reactors, so the Turks would be much more utilized than they are now.

I have the headcanon that Vincent and Veld were partners or at least worked with each other when they were in the Turks and their missions would have looked like those of spies and government agents (with different rankings and capabilities. Not everyone would have the same job just like a normal government job.)

I also love the idea of their world having similar clothing styles and music to ours during those years, so Vincent and Veld would have been young adults in the 60's and 70's.

I also think that with what happened to Vincent (getting shot and killed by Hojo), he did actually die physically (lurcrecia even talks about how she can't stop the decaying when talking about Vincent in the tank in DoC) so there would be a loss of memory that Vincent would have from actually dying and being dead for however long.

Like sure, his memory loss could have been slowed by the Mako and experiments, but there would be SOME memory loss. So I think that the man we know now is not the whole Vincent he would have been. The reason I say that is because a lot of the memories he does have are from times at Shinra Manor and nothing really else. It's mostly from Shelke's POV that we get the remaining memories about Vincent's past, and that is from Lucrecia's POV of how she saw Vincent. So my HC is that Vincent has a lot more to him than he remembers about himself.

Anyway long-winded explanation of why I think Vincent Valentine has more than meets the eye and I can justify my more fun version of him XD

Back to it. Here's where my headcanons come in heavy:

I think Vincent's mother is a Wutainese woman, Grimiore having met her in his early years of exploration as a scientist, before things with Shinra started to get more competitive. I believe that when Vincent was a teenager, his mother left for Wutai due to the simmering tensions between the two powers, unable to take him with her as he had no citizenship there and I do not see him wanting to leave his home.

Vincent and Grimiore don't get a long for a while because Vincent thinks his father should have convinced her to stay. He joins the Turks at a young age, having met Veld (who I think is at least a decade older than Vincent) who worked with his father, not really knowing about the ins and outs of what a cold war meant or even who was the aggressor in the conflict. He knew his father worked for Shinra and they were bringing progress to their city and home, wanting to help any way he could.