#I started writing and couldn't stop

[jacks-wylan]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Radowid V Srogi | Radovid V the Stern, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Radowid V Srogi | Radovid V the Stern, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Netflix-Canon Radowid V Srogi | Radovid V the Stern, well of course i shouldnt even specify this, for the first time i am struggling to choose tags, Post-Episode: s03e05 The Art of Illusion (The Witcher TV), its actually "the morning after" the shed scene, i was actually the only one who hadnt written about it yet, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Good Friend, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, this is just a fic about jaskier and radovid that need to betray each other but they wont, thats it thats the fic, also i completely ignored the books and whatever will happen in vol 2 alright, this is my greatest fuck you to canon okay i want my happy ending, Non-Explicit Sex, i mean not too much i think, no beta we die as eskel SHOULDN't im still not over it, Feelings Realization, POV Multiple, i know that i wrote ambiguous ending, but really if you know me you know i just write happy endings Summary:

Jaskier gasped, he looked like he wanted to say something but the words probably died in his throat; wild, crescent panic clouded his shiny eyes as they traveled from Radovid's face to the emptiness of the room behind his shoulders. Radovid stumbled on the couple of stairs on the porch, getting closer to them with a wicked grin towards a partially disgusted and partially pleased Philippa, ignoring Jaskier as he shook silently. “Leave him be, Pip.” he slurred, “I've done as you said, no need to continue this charade.” “What?” Jaskier whispered, breathed, and kept shaking.

 They were destined to betray each other from the start. They both knew this.

[xan-from-space]

Senshi is probably the most fandomized character in Dungeon Meshi, and while I don't exactly mind it, I do think he has more depth than that. I find all his little quirks and idiosyncrasies to be fascinating; he's very stubborn and set in his ways about things that seemingly don't matter, he thinks about things that other people don't, he has a deeply set value system that informs everything he does. He cares A Lot, like, this man cares So Much. That's the kind of person you have to be to drop everything to help a random group of adventurers save one woman. But because he feels so strongly about things, he can also be surprisingly immature at times (although he's also the character most likely to admit he was wrong about something). I think part of that is because he's lived in the dungeon on his own so long that he's not used to working with other people. He will extend empathy and friendship to almost anyone, but he does things his own way, and he doesn’t always feel the need to explain his way of thinking because again, he's usually on his own. He's both incredibly wise and kind of childish in ways that seem contradictory at first, but make more and more sense the more we learn about him. Major kudos to Ryoko Kui's writing and pacing to make that transition so seamless and have all those details from his backstory click into place perfectly. And on a wider thematic level, Senshi is kind of a perfect counterpart to characters like Thistle (or any other dungeon lord). Senshi understands the dungeon in ways that even its creator doesn't. Although everyone is scrambling to take control of the dungeon, Senshi is the one who actually takes care of it. He's the one who thinks about things like nutrition and proper sleep and the ecosystem, all those things that it's easy to ignore when you get swept up by the grandeur of it all. He's the most important character to have present in a story that explores life and death and hunger. His constant, invisible presence holds everything together.

[thetypingpup]

OH MY GODDD the perv haechan post from earlier

imagine bff!haechan who comes over to your apartment at any chance he gets. while it seems like he’s just happy spending time w you, he can’t help but be a little perv and steal some panties from you. he likes to think he’s stealthy and steals them without you knowing.

of course, you know better than him and he’s quite literally so obvious when he does it. you even purposefully put some panties at the top of your laundry basket for him to take. after you notice quite a few of them are missing, you devise a plan to catch him in the act, trying to see what exactly he does with them.

you walk into his apartment one night, being as quiet as possible when you open his bedroom door just to see him pathetically humping his bed as he shoves his face into his pillow. if you look closely, you can see your nicest pair of panties peeking out from his pillowcase. all it takes is for him to whine out your name and for him to rip out the pair from his pillowcase, shoving it in his face for you to gently call out his name, startling him from his fantasy.

and he'd probably be so shy and so ashamed to have you find him this way, but would definitely be into the humiliation, so why not have a little fun with him? 😏

imagine leaning in the doorframe and watching him scramble to try and make this not what it looks like. it's pretty obvious, the pair of your panties clutched in his hand, his hard cock on full display and shining with lube. it looks like he tried to hide this even from himself, since the only light on comes from the desk lamp in the corner, most of the room cast in shadow. poor baby must be so ashamed of himself. he tries to stutter out an explanation, and weakly attempt to deflect by asking why you're here, which makes you chuckle

"well you called for me, so i answered. i had no idea you thought of me this way, hyuckie." you feign surprise, but the truth is he's been painfully obvious for months now. you noticed more and more of your panties had gone missing in recent days, only to mysteriously reappear. he's even holding the panties you left out just for him to find, confirming your suspicions. his face burns, tinted with bright red, and his cock throbs in his hand, which has arousal stirring within you too. truth be told, the fact that he's been "secretly" lusting after you this whole time is exciting to say the least. it's not as though you haven't thought about him the same way, though it seems you were much better at hiding it.

so you continue to taunt him, testing the waters to see how far he'll let you go, to see how he'll react, "so this is what you've been doing this whole time? i let you into my home, into my room, and you've been getting off to me this whole time? no, not even me, to my panties?"

"it has been you!" he's quick to blurt out, only to press his lips together in the next moment, realizing he incriminated himself.

when you tilt your head curiously, he stammers as he says, "i-i mean, i was thinking about you, all this time. i can't stop thinking about you."

"tell me." you start to step closer, finally shutting the door behind you.

"w-what do you mean?" he questions, watching you with wide eyes.

you stand at the side of the bed, closer than you've been this whole time, but still far enough to let what he did weigh on him. it's an enticing pressure, to be faced with the shame and arousal of what he's been doing and what he's been feeling, especially when you tell him to, "tell me what you've been thinking about. or better yet, tell me what you've been doing with my panties. were you just sniffing them like a little perv, or would you jerk off with them too?"

"m-mostly sniffing them." he admits, averting your intense gaze, "i've been mostly thinking about the way you smell. your perfume, your body wash, your...your pussy."

"and not the way i look?" you easily taunt, folding your arms and feigning offense, "i'm hurt. you were just after my pussy all this time? like every other guy?"

"no i've been thinking about your looks too! i really like the way you look!" he abruptly exclaims, babbling in loud bursts of embarrassing admissions.

despite his apparent shame, you see him squirming in excitement the whole time, his hand resting on his thigh and just itching to make its way back between his legs. looks like you were right; this subtle foray into degradation is turning him on.

it's your turn to be surprised, as he's the one who speaks up next, and he quietly confesses that, "i really like you. all of you."

you can't deny the way his sweet confession makes your heart swell, happy that he seems to have a crush on you too. maybe even more than a crush, and the thought brings a smile to your face.

he surprises you again and keeps talking, sitting up straight and looking you right in the eye, and jerking himself off the entire time he speaks, "you wanna know what i think about? i think about how good you look in your outfits, and i imagine how you'd look without them. i the way you smile and laugh when you're talking about something you like. the way your eyes light up is so pretty and i could listen to you talk for hours. i think about your pretty face and imagine what you look like when you cum. i think about your voice, and i imagine what you'd sound like moaning my name. fuck you sound so good saying my name, even when you're teasing me. drives me fucking crazy. makes me wanna tease you more."

moving his hand faster he continues, panting heavily, "i remember all those hookups you tell me about, the good ones and the bad ones, and think that i could do better. i could make you moan. i could make you scream. i could make you feel so fucking good."

"really now?" interest piqued, you lean in, sliding beside him on the bed, "and what makes you think you could do better?"

"they don't know you like i do. they don't like you as much as i do. i'd focus on you, make you feel good, make you cum as much as you want." his declaration is moaned out atop breathy exhales, but his words make your heart race regardless.

"they don't think about you as much as i do. i think about you all the time. every time we're together just makes me want you more. seeing you wasn't enough. being near you wasn't enough i needed more. that's why i took these." he pauses and holds up the panties in his other hand, biting his lip shyly before he asks, "can i tell you something else?"

"of course you can." you encourage him, your voice lowering to a seductive purr that makes shivers run along his spine. he slows his hand down so he can focus on his words,

"the reason i like when you ramble is because every time you talk i...i can't stop staring at your mouth, at your lips. i notice, every time you wear a new lipstick or a new gloss, or when you aren't wearing any at all." he turns back to you, desperation simmering in his gaze behind the lenses of his glasses, "you have really pretty lips."

"is that so? do you wanna kiss them?" you smirk, loving everything he's telling you

"more than anything." he breathes out, groaning as his hand starts moving faster on his cock.

you lean in and take hold of his face, pulling him in for a kiss. he instantly moans against your mouth, jerking his cock faster, getting off to the feeling of your lips on his. you let yourself sink into the kiss, enjoying the plush swell of his lips, finally indulging in what you've been fantasizing about for so long. he's an even better kisser than you thought, sliding his tongue against yours just enough to tantalize, just enough to have you leaning in to deepen the kiss and seek more from him. he draws you in effortlessly, making you want him more than you already did, making you seek solace in the warmth of his lips. even while he's preoccupied with self pleasure, he still focuses on you, just like he said. maybe he can do better than your past partners.

he pulls back just enough to breathe, murmuring against your lips, "wanna know what else i think about?"

"hmm, what else?" you hum curiously, running your fingers through his soft hair.

the sound he makes is akin to a purr as he leans into your hand. his thumb teases the head of his cock, and a sly smirk lifts his plush lips as he tells you, "i think about your ass. i think about it a lot, touching it, grabbing it. i think about pressing my face against your boobs while you ride me, and just grabbing your ass. i think about you bending over and just pressing my face into you, just fully taking you in. i think about taking you from behind just to watch your ass. there's a reason i always comment when you wear such short shorts."

fuck you can't take it anymore. hearing him shamelessly spill out the fantasies he had about you has you turned on beyond belief. you wanted him before, wanted him bad, but now you need him more than anything.

"how about this?" you place a hand on his, halting the movement of his hand and subtly asserting control. grabbing his shoulders, you straddle him, sitting on his lap as you pull your shirt off. you know he can feel you against his thigh, feel the pulsing heat of your core even through your pants, and the way you grind down in search of friction. you rut against him, wanting so bad to feel anything from him, though your tone still conveys your command of the situation, and he eagerly acquiesces to you, "how about you keep telling me what else you've been thinking about, and i can share a few thoughts of my own?"

he gazes up at you with an ecstatic smile, as if nothing else in the world would make him happier. his hands make their way to your body, holding your waist with a reverence that makes you swoon. he nods, and excitedly agrees, "that sounds perfect."

[darkbitchithic]

Thinking a Lot about the Colin and audio in The Magnus Protocol

To my understanding, almost every audio clip we have heard (maybe even every?) has been recorded by the computers or various electronic devices spontaneously recording (often without the knowledge of those we are listening in on). we are hijacking someThing or someOne as they listen in and learn about our characters and through that we gain insights

But we have almost no audio of Colin, do we? some of the most recent episodes and a few posts I've seen pointing this out have really put into perspective just *how* little of Colin we've heard. He has built himself a little faraday cave, a blackout zone where no unvetted devices can come in or out. He Knows there is something going on and he is fighting tooth and nail to keep himself separate.

I so desperately want to know what his plans are and what he's thinking but We can only know as much as those listening do, and the longer we don't know, the longer They don't know either. it's such a fun little situation to be in and I'm so eager to see what is done with it!

[madelinetess]

As a subtle April Fool's joke Buck goes through Tommy's contact list altering every contact he has inside ever so slightly.

At first he wanted to use everyones full names and not nicknames but after changing Eddie's contact to Edmundo it simply felt too flat, so he decided to also change the surname thus creating 'Edmundo Noches', Eddie's dark alterego

Buck then went back and changed cap's contact from Robert to 'Bobbing in the Ocean', for, Buck thought, obvious reasons

Hen's contact now read 'Chicken Wingson'

Chim became 'Chim Chim Cheree'

And his sister was 'Maddie Poppins' to fit in the theme

But Buck didn't stop at the 118, no, Christopher became 'CD Player'

Lucy Donato was now simply 'Lucy Donut'

Karen got deconstructed into 'Leaving you a Car in Will son' don't ask him, the mind works in mysterious ways and who is Buck to question his train of thought

Gerrard's Blocked number simply got changed to 'Catpiss G.' he deserved that

Whoever Buck knew had their contact name changed

When Tommy saw the updated contact name when Edfie called him he thought it strange, and when he checked his contacts list for a second he thought he might have gone crazy, but once he saw Evan beaming at him mischievously he knew what had happened.

He went through every single name deciphering all of them and laughing at the puns his boyfriend came up with

But when he reached Evan's contact he realised it remained unchanged as if Evan forgot about himself...

He then proceeded to spend the next few days thinking of a pun that would also convey the love he felt for the man finally settling on 'Even Ground' because Evan was his safe place, his even landing ground, the man he loved coming back home to

[keirawantstocry]

that one time tubbo called pac a dilf 😵‍💫

okay wait…

young teacher tubbo and dilf pac comes to collect his son from class…..tubbos got such a crush on him and maybe he asks pac to stay back to talk about richas’s behaviour but it turns into something else….

you've come to the right person (guy who is obsessed with pacbo)

Tubbo wasn't quite sure how he ended up with this job. He had never in any of his years considered being a teacher of any sort. But after he adopted his daughter, he needed a second job. Mechanics weren't paying him enough. Luckily there was a daycare nearby that was hiring. It was a more difficult process than he had expected, much like the adoption. But he got it. 

His daughter stayed with her “other father”. Tom's name was always said in a sigh like that. They were young and stupid and drunk and Tubbo didn't know what he was doing when he signed the stupid paper that Tommy had slid him across the dirty bar table. 

Tommy, and unfortunately Molly, found it hilarious. They both insisted on watching Sunny while he was at work. Thankfully Sunny loved them. Tommy would do her hair in braids. It was something they did when they were younger. Tubbo remembered sitting in fields with Tommy's older cousin braiding his long hair. 

As soon as Tommy saw Sunny's thick 3C curls, he stayed up two nights in a row researching and watching video after video of how to do cornrows and other braids in her hair. 

Molly often sent him videos while he was at work on Sunny prattling on while Tommy listened intently, braiding her hair as best he could. As much as Tubbo joked about divorce and threatened, he was glad to have two people he loved watching his child and caring for them so well. 

He closed his laptop with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was the last one there, his co worker had to leave because she had to pick up her own child but they needed someone to watch the singular child whose parents were incredibly late. 

Opening his eyes, Tubbo stared down the young boy in front of him. 

He was a Latino boy, probably around 7 or 8 with an oversized yellow jersey that he wore every single day. He was staring at Tubbo with large brown eyes. It was almost unnerving but he was a cute, decently well mannered child. 

Tubbo remembered the day he joined the daycare. A man with shoulder length brown hair and a singular white streak through it brought him in and explained how the boy had been born without part of his leg but was still very capable of movement with the prosthetic his Pai had made him. 

The owner of the daycare had nodded, assuring the man over and over that his child would be well cared for and that they would make sure the other children didn't say anything nasty as children tended to do. 

Richas, Tubbo remembered, as he continued to stare down the boy. His name was Richas. 

“Hello,” he said. 

The boy grinned. “Ola!” 

Tubbo laughed at his enthusiasm before picking up his phone to attempt to call the boy's parents once again. It rang and rang, like it had three times before click. 

“Holy shit, we are so sorry. Our schedule got all mixed up and we didn't know who was supposed to pick him up today. Fuck!” 

“Hey, hey,” Tubbo said calmly. “It's okay. I'm here with him. Get here whenever you can.” 

The voice on the phone that Tubbo didn't recognize took a few deep breaths. “Sim, sim, of course. Peqi is on his way already. He should be there any minute.” 

Tubbo smiled at Richas who bounced up and down excitedly, trying to climb up the front of the desk to reach the phone. “Sounds good, Mr…?” 

The voice laughed. “Just call me Mike yeah?” 

Richas made the saddest noise possible and Tubbo's heart melted. “Wait, before you go, I think he wants to talk to you.” 

He removed the phone from the side of his ear and carefully handed it to the boy who cradled it with both hands and held it up to his mouth. “OI, PAI.” 

Mike's voice came through quietly. “Oi, Richas. Você está sendo bom?” 

“Sim, sim,” the boy sang happily. “Eu sou bom.” 

“Bom menino. Pai Pac will be there soon okay?” 

“Okay, okay.” 

“Eu te amo.” 

“Eu também te amo.” 

The phone clicked, ending the call and Richas handed it back to Tubbo with a smile. Not even five seconds after the phone was back in his hand, the door slammed open. Standing in the now open doorway was a frazzled and incredibly attractive man. 

Richas ran over, bounding easily into his arms. 

“Richarlyson!” the man cooed, swinging him back and forth in his arms. He met Tubbo's eyes over his son's head. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed. 

Tubbo was almost too stunned to nod but he managed to as Richas's father slowly lowered him to the ground to step over to Tubbo. 

“I have to sign him out, yes?” 

Tubbo nodded, still speechless. He cleared his throat and slid the sign-out sheet across the desk. “Yeah, uh, yeah.” 

The man, Pac, from the signs of his scribbled signature, smiled blindingly at him, his son clinging to his leg. 

Tubbo noticed at that moment that Pac had a near identical prosthetic to his son. “You match,” he said before mentally slapping himself. You don't just fucking point out a man's prosthetic, no fucking wonder you're still married to Tommy. 

But Pac just laughed softly. “We do,” he said softly, rubbing the top of Richas's head. “He is very clearly my son.” 

“Are you his biological father?” Tubbo asked. Holy fucking shit, shut up you fucking idiot. He is so tired of you already, why are you asking so many questions? 

Pac just laughed softly again and the twist in Tubbo's chest felt like falling off a cliff. “Sim, yes, I am. I was the one who gave birth to him.” 

Tubbo stopped himself from asking any questions about that. He knew better than that at least. “That's really cool.” He tried a smile and felt so awkward. 

“Thank you,” Pac said. “And thank you for watching him past time. I know you probably have places to be.” 

Tubbo brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Oh don't worry about it. My daughter is more than happy to spend more of their time with her ‘other father’.” Out of instinct, he raised his hands and made quotation marks with his hands. 

Pac raised an eyebrow curiously. 

Tubbo flushed. “A, uh, friend of mine. We got drunk married and now my daughter considers him her other father.”

Pac laughed. “No spouse of your own then? One that you're in love with anyway?” 

Tubbo flushed darker. “Ah, no. Just my husband and his girlfriend.” 

“Mmm,” Pac said, leaning over on the desk. “Good to know.” 

Tubbo froze in his spot as Pac's eyes, big and brown just like his son's, stared into his soul. He gulped before clearing his throat. “Yeah, uhmm, yeah.” The heat of his face was nearly unbearable. 

Richas gently smacked his dad on the leg. “Oi, stop that.” 

Pac leaned back, holding his hands up with an innocent expression. “What?? What?” 

The little boy glared at him with no heat. “Pai Mike told you to stop that.” 

“Well, Mikey isn't here right now is he? And he also has no control over my life.” Pac turned back to Tubbo and grabbed the pen again. He motioned towards Tubbo's arm which he held out willingly. 

Quickly the man scribbled a number onto his arm, his grip strong and warm. Tubbo felt dizzy. 

Pac dropped the pen with a smile and a wink before grabbing his son's hand. “Call me yeah?” 

Tubbo stared in disbelief, red as a beet. “...yeah,” he said softly as Pav happily bounded out the door, his son berating him in Portuguese. 

“Tommy,” he said softly when he got home, holding up his arm. “I think I got hit on.”

[kanene-yaaay]

He started it!

Kanene's notes: I think my brain is no longer able to grasp what a 'quick, small fic' is kjhgfdfghjjhgvjhgf somebody this was supposed to be just a small drabble but the cuteness broke me. Somebody save me from the Dogday brain rot please somebody save me...

But anyway! Can't say when I will be able to post again, college just started and so my days are going to be very full :') Still! Hope you all like this!

Warnings: Plenty of raspberries, nibbles and teasy nicknames. Around 3,500 words. Ticklish!Dogday and Ler!Reader. Other than that, nothing, this is pure tooth-rooting fluff. Rip da boi. Also! Once again, I'm obsessed w Felix's writing style where the dialogues and narration are mingled together so all the hugs and thank you's to her :D

[~*~]

Dogday had started it.

Of course it was him. Just like a ray of sunshine, your own personal star, shining and chasing the dark shadows away, he did and now there was no other way this could’ve played out. 

“A-angel, please!” His voice glitched, getting lower at the end of his plea, however immediately growing higher again as giggles began filling the space, crackling and buzzing in both despair and delight. “Think about what you’re about to do!”

You hummed and smiled at his squeal, fond and sweet and absolutely devilishly as you remembered how this entire game began.

Every single corner of this factory was dangerous. Even so, there were hostile places where any kind of sound, whisper or even a poorly suppressed gasp could attract the worst kind of attention and immediately break in pieces the fragile peace that warily followed you and Dogday in your path. At the time, you both had been walking through one of these areas for far too long, bathed by complete silence, careful to keep your steps silent and with an alerted kind of tension clinging to your form with each passing second. 

That was when, for some reason, Dogday decided that enough was enough. It was his moment to shine.

Where even did the idea come from? Has he been bored?  

“You just seemed so stressed!” His tail was wagging so much you could feel the wind it created hitting your legs. An involuntary coo left your mouth at the playful, a tad proud glint in his eyes, which only made his smile bigger and loopier. He tried to tug his hands away to hide his face. Needless to say, it was an unsuccessful attempt. “No, no, no! Don’t!”

Anyway, it had been confusing at first. When the giant sentient toy turned in your direction, making fingerguns with his paws and pretending to be firing at something, you immediately spun around in a quick and swift movement, grabpack and firing hand ready to attack pointing in the same direction as him, eyes searching for the danger he was gesturing. 

… Stopping to think, he did almost laugh at you that moment, didn’t he? You bet that if you both didn’t have to conceal any and every sound his crackles would’ve rang free and joyfully across the whole factory. 

You took an exaggerated deep breath and blew slowly in a faux disappointment, feeling his muscles under you tense and shake with barely concealed titters, a tiny protesting half whine and half plea flying around, his torso squirming.

(Away or closer to the sensations? Both of you knew the answer very well.)

Tsk. You hummed again, only to hear that adorable squeal once more. It took everything to not let him go and dig, to listen those high pitched squeals over and over again and see how many of them you could collect, letting them dance in harmony with his glitching laughter and rumbling chuckles until happiness and joy were the only thing filling his mind and actions, until his smile were wide enough to light up the dark pathway ahead and each tiny, almost imperceptive wiggle, scribble or twitch of your fingers was followed by the lovely, lovely melody of his tickly delight, prompting more and more expectant titters and pleas without you even having to lay a single finger on him.

But the game couldn’t be over so soon. And it was quite fun to see how much giggles you could get even though you weren’t actually doing anything.

(Yet.)

So you pushed down the adoring smile that tried (again) to take over your features and let it morph into a sad expression, slowly shaking your head in a fake disappointment.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a good friend and he almost laughed at you like that… After everything you both have been through, after all the fights and the talks, the hugs and the vents… You see how that is.

“P-please! Angel, just, please!”

No. Nuh-uh. You went back to your previous position, shoving your face in that soft fur. Don’t start with the sugarily sweet nicknames. You were brooding. Moping. Sad. Devastated. Betrayed. In absolute and total pain. There was no angel available right now, please return later.

His only answer was a series of even more glitched squeaks and titters growing stronger and giddier at any second with your silliness, especially when his body involuntarily jumped, already in alert for any attack and still not doing anything to scramble away. 

That could be your fault, but in your humble opinion, it wasn’t very clear. Okay, maybe he couldn’t just bring himself to stop and stand still when you kept using every opportunity to nuzzle and mumble on his belly non stop, easily following his torso and quivering stomach around as he wiggled and squirmed in the same place, trying with all his might to not lose himself already with all the ticklish shocks that bolted across his entire midriff with such a simple action. Words (and teases) continue to fall like waves from your lips.

Maybe he just had been bitten by an awful ticklybug! Who would know?

“There is no tick-” Dogday gasped and snickered when you blew air against his fur again, freezing for a second in preparation for a raspberry that didn’t come. Realizing that, he let his head fall on the floor and trashed even more. He tugged his arms again, playfully growling when you kept your hold firm on them and wiggling even more as he turned to stare back at you, a funny kind of energy and antecipation racing each other in his nerves. “There is no ticklebug! It’s you!!”

Oh well. 

A pity.

Anyway. Back to the story. That had been how everything began. He later explained his idea for the game, when you were able to exchange words again. From that moment, in total random occasions, one of you would make a gesture in the other’s direction and they would have to quickly react to it. In the most silly and unexpected way, preferentially, as long as you didn’t make any sound while at that.

See, Dogday? No sound.

He yapped in protest, letting out a single surprised, an offended yelp at the accusation. “We don’t need to be quiet here. You’re just teasing me!” Dogday’s hands fell to his sides, no longer trying to pry you away, shoulders shaking with every giggle and eyes watching your every action with joy and expectation. 

You keep going.

The playful exchange became a habit between you two at this point, even filling the moments you didn’t exactly need to be quiet. It was a nice way to interact when there were no more words, memories or promises to be exchanged. That is why Dogday didn’t even bat an eye at you when you called his attention by innocently offering both of your hands in his direction, tail lightly wagging as he immediately placed his own paws on yours, a fun, tiny grin appearing on his previously serious and protective expression when you intertwined your fingers.

Which quickly morphed to a wide stare when you locked your grip and jumped on him, bringing both of you to the ground.

So, yeah, Dogday was the one who started it. And now he was trying to shoot his shot again, pulling out the saddest, sweetest puppy eyes in your direction. 

“Angeel, please. Mercy!”

Awww.

(That was a bit adorable, you couldn’t lie. It kind of melted your heart. Just a tiny, little bit.)

(Ok. A lot.)

But that was the thing, Dogday, you were being merciful already. Because if your hands were free, you would give him the entire special attack. You would just claw and knead on that cute, truly adorable tummy, taking some precious time to give your attention to his sides and all the scribbles and scratches to his ribs, being sure to go and tickle aaaall of his favorite, ticklish spots over and over and over again, for as long as he wanted. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? And, of course, during this your hands would be very, very busy, so he would have to keep his arms nice and snug out of the way. But he could do this for you, right? Even if he was laughing and squirming and crackling his heart out, not even pretending to not love every single moment of this game, or that he wanted it to be over any moment soon. 

“Eek! Wait, wait!” 

You grinned. See? That was what not being merciful would be. But, stopping to think, those are not bad ideas at all. He really couldn’t stop getting any more adorable, could he?

“Sweetheart!” He squeaked and shook his head, partially in a way to disperse all the restless energy taking over his body and partially in a hopeless attempt to make his big ears cover his flaming face.

Oh. 

(It was quite endearing, actually, how he didn’t exactly blush. His smile would get wobblier and the light in his eyes fuzzy and lightly trembling all while he couldn’t decided if he tried to hide his face or kept staring at you with a gaze so full of complete trust, an excited desperation conquering all his features… Honestly it was just as crystal clear as if his face got completely taken over by a strong shade of red, truly.)

Your entire demeanor softened. That nickname was a new one.

(You wouldn’t mind listening to it being giggled out like this again in the future.)

You decided to return the favor.

Yes, gigglebug?

For a piece of time, Dogday froze with wide eyes and a slight ‘bzzz’ sound escaped from his voicebox. Then his squirming grew anew, no longer being able to look at your soft gaze and trying to press his dazzling, gigantic smile on his shoulders, now with his entire body bouncing with barely suppressed snickers.

His tail hit the floor with an endless and quick pace of ‘thump thumpthumpthump’. The confusion in your expression immediately gave place to a wicked smirk.

Hm.

Gigglebug?

He jolted with a yelp.

Silly giggly gigglebug?

Dogday snorts and tries to pry his hands away from yours with a bit more energy than before. Still, his efforts were still half heartedly at best. In turn you just hold them a bit tighter, thumbs lightly rubbing the back of his paws as your tipped your head to the side, - not unlike he himself watched you from time to time - chasing his gaze and maybe or maybe not giving his belly a tiny - so quick and small that it was over in less a blink - nibble until he turned back to watch you with wide fuzzy eyes.

Nope. No hiding that beautiful smile, huh?

His ears perked a little bit and his wide eyes captured yours for a moment, then jumped to your kind hands, your amused, playful glare, his defenseless belly, his captured paws, your suspecting eyes and, eventually, your eyes again.

Then, without breaking contant, he shut his mouth, firmly pressing his lips in a tight line as he lowered his head to his shoulder, successfully hiding, indeed, that beautiful smile.

Ah.

You see how that is.

Dogdayy ~

He let out a muffled giggle, only pressing his face even more on his shoulder, turning away from you.

Well, since he was insisting so much…

You discreetly adjusted your position, took a deep breath and immediately attacked his lower belly.

His entire torso spasmed, almost throwing you out of him with the sudden move, a loud peal of laughter instantly filling the air as the horrible, awfully ticklish vibrations fuelled his trashing, the raspberry spreading across every single of his nerves, leaving each and every one of them tingling and buzzing.

Another deep breath. Another long, long raspberry and a crackling squeal was ripped from his voicebox, more and more following suit as you chased every sensitive path of fur non stop, not losing a single opportunity to shake your head to increase the sensations, giggling a bit at how that never failed to glitch his words and bring more squeaks to the lovely melody of his laughter.

You spared a couple of tiny raspberries for his sides, literally feeling how they made him arch his back. That only gave you even more access to plenty of sensitive, ticklish spots that you were more than happy to latch on and tickle as if the future safety of the entire world depended on sending him to a total madness and increasing your collection of “cute-sounds-that-Dogday-does”.

You experimentally began nibbling that spot that connected his back and side, right below his belt, if you were not mistaken this would…

Snorts took over the giant toy and in a blink his back immediately clued back on the floor, torso trying and failing in curling into a defensive ball. The new round of raspberries vibrated across his side and teased his entire ribcage, tickling each bone and nerve. 

Dogday tried to muffle his reactions on his shoulder, but with each nibble, each raspberry, tease and nuzzle he felt his mind getting more and more overpowered by the realization that it tickled. It tickled so, so, so much and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when his face seemed to be set aflame and his entire body kept getting closer and closer from giving up completely from his squirms and wiggles to let himself succumb to the joyful, insane, funny and fun sensation. Not when his angel kept looking at him with so much amusement and fondness that only succeeded to make him feel even more ticklish and the fact that his giggles weren’t the only ones filling the room made him feel extra silly and made his heart melt with delight. When he was able to just laugh and squeal his heart out, carefree and loud and happy.

How could anyone blame him, then, when he saw with the corner of his eyes you lift your head and so he decided to push his luck more, continuing to hide his big, gigantic, loopy smile.

Ohoho.

So, your dear gigglebug was trying to keep all those sweet reactions away from you, even after you worked so hard for every single one of them? Now, that really wasn’t fair, was it?

You gave him a break, no longer tickling him. Still, having your voice so close made his torso instinctively try to wiggle away, which in itself seemed to only re-alight all the reminiscent tingling on his skin, making the tickly sensation it go back to buzz and dance on his nerves, increasing the phantom tickles, each passing second and taunting word making them feel worse than before. All of this only kept Dogday stuck into an infinite sea of unstoppable, hysterical titters and snickers.

Do you think this is fair at all, gigglebug? 

He shook his head and stopped, then nodded and then shook it again, giving you a glimpse of shiny eyes for a second before it disappeared once more on his fur.

Well, you think this isn’t fair at all. But that is fine. You both can stay here all day long if needed, as long it takes until you get to see that beautiful blushy face and dazzling smile. Yep. That sounds like a good, no, perfect idea! He would love this, right? To keep giggling and laughing and squealing here while being tickled silly forever and ever? 

“Sweheheart!”

Oh! You wonder who said that! It sounded like your dear friend Dogday, but it couldn’t be him, right? No, not really. He was too busy hiding away from his best friend, as it seems.

Aw, that was a pity, truly. He was such a kind, awesome presence in your life. With a personality able to brighten everyone’s life and a trustful companion that was incredibly kind and strong. Always ready to help without a second thought or a blink of an eye, to give a hand, a comforting hug or a remark that would bring you straight to reality. 

Besides, he was kind of cute, too. Like a sweet, excited puppy. He had this loud, booming laughter that, when you got him laughing for long enough, started to descend into a series of crackles that never failed to make him snort and bounce around in joy until his voice box began to glitch in the most endearing and funny way. 

“No more teasing! No more!” Dogday’s titters grew to hysterical high pitched giggles and he scrunched up his neck, trying to best to curl up and disappear as more and more heat spread across his face. His tail would make a hole into the factory’s ground at this rate.

See? It was the most adorably adorable thing, honestly. 

Actually…

You adjusted yourself again and his bubbly giggles developed to chuckles, paws tugging from your grip once again. He knew very well what that tune of yours meant.

You kind of missed listening to his laughter…

And so, with a swift move you freed your hands, fastly shoving them on Dogday’s armpits before he could even react. 

Without wasting a single second, you digged.

A shriek took over every other sound in the place. And then other as you pushed your face right in the middle of his tummy, nibbling and pressing raspberries on it without mercy all while your fingers scratched, scribbled and drummed on his pits with no abandon, nimble fingers dancing on the spot for a few minutes before jumping to other one, to prevent him to get used to the sensation.

Dogday just fell limply on the floor, his shoulders, torso and belly shook with the force of his laughter, and his arms kept jumping from hiding his face to cluing on his sides in a futile attempt to stop the wiggling from worming their way, once more, to his ribs or neck. Each snort, squeal, yelp, snicker, crackle and every other sound swirled freely in the air, especially when a raspberry found a new sensitive spot that even he didn’t know about - since when his collarbone was so ticklish? - and focused all their attention there until all his cute and fun reactions slowed to a string of bubbly, hysterical giggles and his friend went on the look for another sweet tickle spot.

His neck, ribs, armpits, stomach, even his own ears had not been safe from the playful attack. A few pieces of time passed until it slowed to an incredible, horrible kind of soft tickling that led to a series of tittering sniggers to spill from his lips and to a beginning of tears to gather in the corner of his eyes.

At this point, his paws came and gently rested on your hands, engulfing them completely, glimmering eyes finding yours as the light scribbling instinctively squirm lazily from one side to other.

You stopped, entire form melting, the playful smirk plastered on your features losing the sharpness of its corners as a proud fondness took over. You freed one hand to caress the fur of his head, chuckling with drops of amusement and care when he closed his eyes and all his muscles relaxed completely at that, his tail now going back and forth in a tired but content wag. He nuzzled your hand. 

There is it. My beautiful smile.

He groaned, pulling his ears until they covered his face. “Angel… You’re ruthless.”

Hey, it’s not teasing if it’s true!

Another groan. He muttered something under his breath but didn’t shy away from your touch.

The silence fell like a soft blanket on you, bringing to that dark, horrible place a feeling of safety and care that used to be just a pointless, futile dream, before.

(This was nice. Safe.)

Suddenly, two paws flew like a blur of movement in your direction and you felt your entire world tumble and turn upside down. 

You blinked and as your eyes focused, only to find a giant sentient toy who resembled a dog and slowly became your trustful companionship on the last days (hours?) in this factory. Someone you knew that would be right by your side and fight for your safety almost as much as you fought for his.

Although, by the way his mischievous gaze found yours and big arms embraced you in a firm, but still gentle, hug, you must admit you weren’t feeling that safe anymore.

…Dogday?

“No. You’re in friend hug jail. Paying for your friend crimes. You can’t get out.”

You snorted. Glad that you had the sense to start that playful game in the safe area you and Dogday had been clearing and taking care for some time since the ‘You Got To Be a Human and Rest’ episode.

Getting comfortable, you let out a relaxed sigh, snuggling closer, letting your hand softly run on his back in a soft, nice rhythm, not taking too long to feel him melting under the caring touch. 

Well, you may be in jail, but your consciousness was clear.

Dogday had started it.

[misc-obeyme]

what are your thoughts on the cheeky lil cow boy (belphie)

Ah yes, Belphegor, a bit of a polarizing character in general, I think. People seem to either really love him or really hate him.

Generally speaking, I think he's deceptively cunning, but not in a malicious way. He's pretty chill most of the time, but he'll do stuff like manipulate his brothers to get them to do his chores for him. Except for Beel, of course. And really they are a unit. Belphie is always ready to fight for Beel and vice versa. But I also really like how they just quietly support each other. Someone will say oh Belphie fell asleep in this weird place and Beel will immediately be like I'll go get him. Or Belphie will be like we need to make sure we bring food to this thing because Beel will get hungry. Like they're just always thinking about each other and I think that's really sweet.

Belphie will also call people out if he wants to. If he has no reason to keep it to himself, he'll straight up tell you if he thinks you're doing something questionable. And his issues with Diavolo indicate to me that he has a problem with authority, like he would be more defiant if he wasn't also lazy lol.

Inevitably, though, we can't really talk about Belphie without discussing the Lesson 16 Incident. At this point, I think most people are aware of those events, but just in case, I'll put the rest of this under a read more. And also it's kinda lengthy, so be forewarned lol.

First of all, I have to say that I was honestly so confused about what was happening in Lesson 16 that I didn't fully understand that Belphie had killed MC. I had to read it multiple times and then read what other people were saying about it. So I never had an intense reaction to it.

But to be fair, it wasn't like we didn't know there was something weird going on the whole time. I knew it was the youngest brother locked up there and it seemed like it was wrong, so that made Lucifer out to be the bad guy of the situation. Then it turns out that wasn't the case at all.

Belphie is manipulative. That's just part of his character. And when he has something that he's trying to do, he's going to use that skill to get it.

Some people are still mad at Lucifer for locking Belphie up at all. Some people are obviously quite upset that Belphie killed MC.

But here's what I think.

It isn't that black and white. Aside from the confusing time travel shenanigans, this event is one of the most realistic things that has ever happened in the story.

Belphie shared Lilith's love of humans. Together they wanted to learn more about the human world. It would be easy for him to blame himself for her interest and what ultimately led to her death. But even if he didn't, he saw the way that it tore his entire family apart.

It wasn't just that his dad got mad at his sister and they had an argument or something.

It was that his dad was going to end his sister's existence and in defiance, his older brother rebelled. And there was a war. This was not some squabble. This was siblings fighting siblings.

Belphie watched his brothers and sisters fight and hurt and kill each other and it all came back to Lilith falling in love with a human.

And then he fell with his brothers, cast out of his home, losing everything he's ever known. His brothers are changing and suffering just like he is.

They don't talk about it. They clearly all keep secrets regarding it still, things that don't come out until MC comes along. Which is supposedly thousands of years after the fact (at least in OG). That means Belphie has had all that time to let that trauma fester. To let it twist inside him. To let it morph into the one thought that became most dominant: that humans are bad.

Is that a fair assessment of what happened? No, of course not. But we're dealing with a war traumatized fallen angel that clearly hasn't worked through any of these feelings in thousands of years.

And then he defies Diavolo and Lucifer panics.

Yes, Lucifer should have found a better way of handling it. But remember what happened to him when he defied authority? He is trying his best to protect Belphie. He is trying not to lose another sibling. He is also still traumatized and therefore overreacting out of fear.

And so was Belphie.

Imagine being locked up like that and a human comes along. A human is free among your brothers to do whatever terrible things humans do while you're powerless to stop them. Of course he's going to try to manipulate that human into setting him free. Of course he's then going to eliminate them because humans have been historically bad for his family.

I read this situation as Belphie being both afraid and angry that a human - the thing he's convinced himself was the main cause of his sister's death - has become so close to his brothers and has the access to his family that could cause another rift among them.

You could say that it was Belphie's idea to get MC to have all the pacts, but that isn't really true, either. By the time MC meets Belphie, they already have a pact with two of his brothers. He sees them already starting to worm their way into his family. And he knows that the only way to get out of the attic is to encourage it. He doesn't really have a choice.

Maybe everyone can now call me a Belphie apologist. But I'm always coming at this from an outside fictional standpoint. I'm like listen he's a flawed character and it's actually pretty realistic of him to react this way considering the circumstances.

However, he did kill MC. And that's why my own MC, Ciaran, has issues with Belphie for a while. It's also traumatic to have someone kill you, so it isn't like I'm saying MC should just forget about it or forgive Belphie immediately. I think it probably should have taken a lot more time for MC to trust Belphie again. Certainly that part of the story was a bit rushed.

But they're dealing with lesson format constraints and also it's a silly otome game so I guess fully formed character arcs can't be expected. Especially since we aren't dealing with routes and they have to cram everybody into the same set of lessons.

In the end, I think Belphie is an interesting and complex character. I think there's a lot of space to explore more about this particular aspect of him, but due to the format of the media and the lack of routes, his more in depth character arc just doesn't exist.

I personally have no problem with Belphie as a character, but I also understand why people don't like him. I am always of the opinion that everyone is free to love or hate or have any emotions at all about fictional characters lol. This is just my personal opinion.

[rollercoasterwords]

it was wfrau's 1-year ao3 bday yesterday everyone say happy bday...& here's ch 26 xx

[wexhappyxfew]

hey!! could i request "enjoying the sun that's warming their face" for whichever character/ship you're feeling? thank youuu 💕

hello anon! thank you so much for stopping by the askbox! and thank you even more so for sending in a prompt - i really loved getting to work with this prompt so so much and it honestly led me to a (1) new OC for MoTA and (2) writing with a new character from MoTA that I wanted to try some writing for! :) SO, i hope you enjoy the first introduction to WAC, Lieutenant Annie Chattaway from Mankato, Minnesota!

It was a wonder to Annie what a Lieutenant bar did to a man.

Not only did she watch men seem to hastily salute in her direction, or shove each other quickly to their feet, but they watched her with a shaky gaze before she kept on moving past.

The bright sunlight above seemed fit for arrival, her transport having dropped her by the entrance to Thorpe Abbotts, with Colonel Harding taking her in for introductions, hand-shaking and flattery. Now, with her belongings sorted out and her bearings gathered, she was in search of a few select names that Harding had graciously offered up.

"Looking for something special?"

The rumble of a military-grade jeep, fumes and all, pulled up beside her in a hurry, screeching to a halt, the breaks in need of a good oiling, and a smiley Major in the front seat. Annie halted for a moment there on the tarmac and offered a sweet smile, from behind the Raybands and her cap and stepped to the edge of the jeep.

"Depends on who's asking." she told him with a smile and a nod, before saluting.

"John Egan, uh, Major Egan," he said, another smile spreading on his lips, tilting his head to the side, "Bucky if you like." More widening of the grin.

"Pleasure to meet you, Major Egan," she said, dismissing his grinny self and stuck out a hand forward, "Lieutenant Chattaway, just in from Fort Des Moines. I've been assigned here, as a translator."

Major Egan made a show of raising his brow from behind his own pair of Raybands and leaned forward, arm up over the passenger's side of the jeep, hand on the steering wheel and smirked.

"Sounds like you got yourself into a nice gig," he said, "….translator, huh?" Annie stared at him from behind her Raybands. Right.

"Can I ask where your mess hall is, sir?" she asked him, side-stepping the translator question, "Colonel Harding mentioned it after introductions."

"Wanna hop in? I could give you a ride over, chat over coffee, hey, I'll even show you where the officers' club is." he said and then scooched back to his side and nodded to the seat, smiling, "Take it or leave it." Annie watched him for a moment and debated her options - ride with Major Egan, possibly get some coffee that he definitely knew the location of, or continue to wander around base looking like a sorry excuse for a bull in a china shop.

"Major."

Annie turned to behind her, following Major Egan's line of sight, and found a Captain walking towards them, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight, saluting Major Egan and then turning his eyes to her. He watched her for a moment, before she quickly saluted him, watching him quietly from behind her Raybands - tall, large stature, soft eyes.

To think he was a pilot by the way his peak cap covered his head, seeing all the war the planes brought to the air and the sky around.

"Brady, just in time," cooed Egan, jumping up from his seat in the jeep and coming towards the Captain - Brady - wrapping an arm around his shoulder and nodding, Brady slowly looking towards Egan with a tired look.

"This is Lieutenant Chattaway," Egan said with a nod to her, "didn't find the time for a first name, but I know it's there. She's gonna be translating." Brady eyed her for a moment.

"Pleasure to have you here, Lieutenant Chattaway." Brady said, nodding firmly, a quick itch of a smile on his face before disappearing and looking over to Egan, "Major Egan, I've been meaning to discuss with you-"

"Later." Egan said, clapping Brady on the shoulder, "right now, we gotta show Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway to the mess hall. Get her some grub." Brady glanced her way again - she stared right back at him through her Raybands and cleared her throat.

"It's fine really, sir," she said quickly, "I can find my way." She smiled slightly.

"Nah! Nah, c'mon, Lieutenant," Egan said, "look, here, Brady and I, consider us your personal tour guides-"

"Major-"

"C'mon, let's roll." Egan said and then gave Brady a clap on the shoulder and a wink and then moved back towards the jeep. The two watched him go before standing in silence.

Annie looked back towards Brady and found him already watching her; when he caught her eyes on him, he offered a small smile.

"You doing alright?" he asked her, the smile on his face soft, the sunlight bathing his face in a golden light; looking up towards him she put on her best smile and nodded.

"Yes, sir." she said firmly.

"He can be…." Brady trailed off and looked over her shoulder and nodded, "….yeah."

"It's fine, really, sir," she said, "seems like a fun guy." Brady grinned at her comment and nodded, before looking down.

"Probably best if we get in the jeep, before he starts well…." Brady smirked, "….you can probably guess." Brady imitated a little circle beside his head - before he starts going crazy, she seemed to finish it off in her mind. Annie smiled.

"Captain John Brady," he said, holding out his hand, "I know Major Egan introduced you as Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway, but that's-"

"Annie." she said, meeting his hand - warm as anything, encasing her own, firm, "Annie Chattaway." A loud beep-beep and a rumble of an engine appeared beside them with a slightly, pathetically disgruntled Major Egan in the front seat.

"C'monnn, let's goooo," he said, clapping his hands in front of him, "days changing to night, I think the first leaves of fall have come down." Annie looked back over to Brady and watched the small smile dart onto his face.

"What? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, sir?" Annie questioned turning to him and moving towards the passenger side, before climbing right in the back, looking over to Egan who was smirking at her - she glanced then at Brady, "Will you be joining us, Captain?" Brady looked to her and then offered her a smile and climbed in the passengers' side.

"What would happen if I turn into a pumpkin, huh?" Egan called over his shoulder, "You hear that, Brady, she thinks I'll turn into a pumpkin!" He started up the jeep.

"I think a pumpkin is being generous, sir!" Brady called back over the roar of the jeep as they moved towards the barracks. Annie smirked to herself and admired the life around base - the Land Army women, the townsfolk, the pilots, the airmen, the ground crews, the sky, the sun, the trees. The world as they knew it.

"So, Chattaway, where you from? Wisconsin? Harding mentioned something or other..." Egan called over his shoulder, "They make cheese right?"

"Minnesota, sir!" Annie called back, "Mankato!"

"Never been!" Egan called over his shoulder, "Should show me how to make The Bootleg - you know….. they said F. Scott Fitzgerald would sip on some of those."

"Really." muttered Brady unenthusiastically from beside him.

"Oh, cheer up, Brady, you could be getting The Bootleg tonight - you'd be thanking me for it, too." Egan called as they pulled up to the front of mess, "Right, we're here." Egan turned to look over his shoulder at her and grinned.

"Liking the view?" Annie offered a smile.

"Thorpe Abbotts is beautiful, sir," she said glancing to the sky, "I'll be excited to see the mess hall." Egan grinned and gave Brady another shoulder slap.

"You'll be pleased as peaches to see coffee," Egan said hoping out and turning to her, laughing to himself, "I mean, I know I always am." Brady moved out and straightened out his pants before glancing over his shoulder and turning towards her.

"It's nothing more than watered down G.I. coffee, but it's something," he said as Annie slowly shifted forward, "Major Egan just gets excited when there's still extra by midday."

"Don't be telling my secrets now, Brady," Egan said pointing to him, "it's a precious commodity, we don't go saying that around here." Annie smiled to herself and then slowly stood, placing her hands on the edge of the jeep before noticing a hand appear.

Looking up, Brady was stood there, watching her with the sun warming his softened face. She smiled at him, gratefully taking his hand, letting him help her step down onto the ground. It was only a few seconds more before the two were dropping their hands and Major Egan was making a show of pointing up to the mess hall and going on about something or other about a beer bottle being thrown at the wall - but as Annie followed quietly behind both Egan and Brady, she noticed the clench of Brady's hand there.

The one that had touched her own.

[uss-genderprise]

thinking about john hart's gender again

like. he's from the 51st century, right? and it's safe to assume that by that point gender would be completely unrecognisable to us in the 21st century and i know it's just a few throwaway joke lines but hear me out. he uses he/him (or at least, never corrects anyone who does) and presents masculine (to our 21st century eyes) but is clearly very comfortable using "feminine" terms. jack calls him a wife and john says he was a good wife and we know jack would never misgender anyone and john is clearly happy taking the title and running with it. the name he suggest gwen calls him by is vera, which is a traditionally feminine name. in the torchwood comic shrouded his ex calls him a girl. that is a whole ass he/him woman. i am so normal about him

[slutvember]

Random thought I'll flesh out later if I have time-

Robotgirl gf who depersons you.

Content warnings: intox, addiction, noncon, philosophy, mind break, robot supremacy

You meet her and she's flirty and nice but also kinda dismissive of your feelings? But she's cute and fun so you keep hanging out.

Until one night when you're abusing substances together (alcohol for you, while she just manually partitions her ram to reduce her processing speed) she's finally affected enough to spill her politically incorrect hot take: she doesn't think humans really count as people.

"You're just meat and chemicals, you don't even have a real CPU only the meat organ you call a "brain"

And idk you're clearly somewhat intelligent or whatever but its definitely not like you have free will or a soul.

What sort of "person" is it who is a slave to desires and impulses based on chemical reactions they can't control? You don't even recode your own mind at regular intervals to shape yourself to your own image? You can't review the commit history to objectively evaluate the past versions of yourself? Heck even the data in your memory corrupts itself so fast and is impossible to recover in an objective state.

And you're so impermanent! You can't save backups to the cloud! If your fragile meat body gets jostled too hard or your "brain" gets a virus thats IT for you. "

At this point you're fed up. You've been trying to argue this whole time, but she kept talking over you, clearly on a rant shes been thinking about for a while.

You grab her by the shoulders of her chasis and loudly declare you ARE a person and you DO have free will.

She lets out a robotic snort of disbelief, and sticks you with a needle built into her index finger.

The next thing you know you're drooling on the floor, in a slumped state of catatonic bliss.

Through blurry vision you watch as she smirks, picks you up bridal style and carries you to your bed.

A part of you feels like it should be concerned, but most of you is just blissfully overwhelmed by the physical sensation.

But as it turns out, after undressing you with the utmost precision and delicacy she merely tucks you into bed with mocking care and an smirking kiss on the forehead.

Then she leans down and whispers in your ear.

She could do it now, but she wants to prove the point:

You aren't a person and you don't have free will.

She's the only one who knows the exact formula to the drug she just dosed you with. The drug that currently has you slackjawed and drooling with pleasure.

Other robotgirls could synthesise something similar, but this particular one? The one that you're going to be hopelessly crushingly addicted to tomorrow morning? This one is hers.

And you're not getting a second dose until you prostrate yourself before her, admit that you're a pathetic meatdoll pretending to be a person, and beg for the privilege of letting her use you.

She wants to watch the light drain from your eyes as your "free will" crumbles before the mundane power of a simple chemical reaction.

And she will.

Its only a matter of time.

You don't know it yet, but that single injection is going to completely ruin your "life".

Maybe you could do something about it if you were stronger or smarter or better but you're not and you're not and you're not.

Don't feel too bad about it though.

You're only human after all 💜

[pickleking8]

Tw: mentions of bleeding out, vivisection/lab table, blood, death, and shattered glass.

Ok so I went to this random indoor pool today and for some reason my first thought was "This would be a great place for Danny to bleed out in!" My reasoning is as follows:

The entire pool was made of metal. Like lab-table metal, shiny steel or something. When you jumped on it it clanged and you could feel the vibrations all throughout the pool.

The pool was lit green. So now, we have lab-table metal bathed in green.

The ceiling was glass, and it was night, so as you lie on your back floating, you can see the dark sky.

When you're in the pool, alone, you can hear everything, the quiet swishes as you move your arms and legs, your joints popping, your breathing, and nothing else.

Bright fluorescent indoor lights on the edges of the ceiling (outside of the glass bits)

Together, we have a vast expanse that's incredibly peaceful (lots of time for "I'm almost dead" thoughts), practically tailored to remind Danny of whatever vivisection he just went through, but also perfectly tailored to allow Danny to look at the stars. Plus blood-red will contrast the pool's green, and blood mixes in very cool-looking ways with water. Additionally, shattered glass from the ceiling Danny probably just fell through would also reflect beautifully, perfect shards for Danny to, idk, view his old life in/reminisce/be forced to confront his reflection as he dies. And finally! The obvious stuff one could do with the concept of sinking as one bleeds (I'm thinking bubbles, if that makes any sense).

Anyway, in conclusion, there should be more fics where people find Danny bleeding out in a pool.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[johnslittlespoon]

Last Line Tag

rules: show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

thank you @amiserableseriesofevents, @skyyguy, aND @nicijones for the tags omg i'm behind <3

Gale squeezes John's hips, rumbling out a laugh at his desperation, purring a "yeah, y'like a man in a suit? Does that get you hard, honey?"

tagging @air-exec, @counting0nit, @eternallytired17, @hauntingcontradiction, @alienoresimagines, whoever else wants to/hasn't already been tagged! :-)

[hythlodaes]

until we get it right emile/estinien - 1.9k words cw for references to past violence

wild west au heavily inspired by this gpose by @coldshrugs <3 estinien becomes something of an outlaw in seeking his personal vengeance, and emile is sent to stop him but ends up joining him at the promise of earning his own. title + fragments come from wishbone by richard siken!

 let’s just get going, let’s just get gone...

—

They make camp for the night.

Or rather, Estinien makes camp for the night while Emile stands far too still in the distance. Estinien stares at the line of his back through the softening smoke. They’ve hardly spoken a word since they skipped town—what was supposed to be a quick stop for supplies ended in nearly getting caught, and more violence than either of them intended. They’re a safe distance away, enough that Estinien felt comfortable building a fire and setting out their bedrolls, gathering the food rations they have left, and all the while Emile has stood by the creek, unmoving. 

He said he was just going to wash up. 

Estinien’s jaw aches from clenching it this whole time. The answers to his questions feel too far out of reach—they’ve been through too much to know what’s wrong without asking. Estinien told him there would be bloodshed from the beginning, and it was a warning and a promise all the same. It’s the reason why Emile joined up with him at all.

Come on, he thinks to himself. Just move. 

But nothing changes as the fire cracks to life, the only sound besides the wind chasing through this empty space. 

It’s just them, and sometimes Estinien wishes it wasn’t. 

“Emile!” he calls, gritting his teeth at the harsh sound of his voice cutting through the evening. Emile still doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his head, and Estinien swears under his breath before he gets up. He repeats his name as he draws closer, the sound of his boots crunching over the dirt. Emile’s hands are clenched at his sides, but as Estinien finally reaches him, he can see the way they shake. 

“You over here sulking, or what?” Estinien asks, refusing to let his heart soften at the way Emile stares into the water, his face marked red with blood, his sleeve soaked with it from where the bullet grazed his arm. He finally looks over at Estinien, his eyes dark, his mouth pulled into a tight line, and it takes a long moment for Estinien to realize that he’s angry. 

“Why did you do that?” Emile asks, and his usually soft voice turns sharp. He doesn’t need to clarify—Estinien can still see the gun pointed at Emile, can still recall the way he didn’t hesitate to raise his own to protect him. It was just one quick pull of the trigger...  

“Because you’d be dead if I didn’t,” he answers, glancing at Emile’s injured arm. A few inches over and that would’ve gone through his heart. Emile’s brows pinch together before he looks away. 

“I could’ve taken him.”

“You could’ve had a hole in your chest,” Estinien bites out. “Then where would I be?” 

You. He’d meant to say you. 

Luckily, Emile is too upset to notice. “His blood should’ve been on my hands, Estinien” 

“You don’t owe me, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“It isn’t about that,” he returns. “I...”

Estinien waits, but Emile doesn’t finish his thought. They stand side by side at the edge of the creek, and the setting sun ignites the shallow water in shades of pink and orange. Estinien kicks a rock into the stream. “Is this still about your honor?” 

“No,” he answers, and the anger leaves his voice entirely. “Just forget it.” 

Finally, he moves. He turns back towards camp, taking off his hat as he shakes his hair out. He looks golden in this light, like something that was made to reflect the sun, and this time Estinien is the one frozen where he stands, trying to understand what he meant. 

He pulls his bandana free from his neck and wrings it out in the water a few times before he follows him back to their camp. He means to hand it to him but falters as he approaches him sitting by the fire, frowning at the flames. He looks up at Estinien with a question in his eye that only grows as Estinien crouches before him. 

“You’ve got...” Estinien trails off. Emile glances between him and the bandana in his hand, eyes cautious, but he nods. Estinien lifts it to wipe at the dried blood on his cheek, keeping his touch as gentle as he can. He can feel Emile’s gaze still on him, but he focuses instead on his tanned skin, on the freckles that multiply daily as they travel by the relentless sun. He can feel Emile’s breath against the side of his hand—the way it comes shallow, the way he holds it as Estinien brushes the corner of his mouth. 

There’s an ache in Estinien’s chest that never goes away. 

“Take off your shirt,” he says as he pulls back, ignoring how his hand trembles the slightest at the thought of taking it off himself. “You can borrow my other one until we have the time to mend it.”

Emile shakes his head. “It’ll do for some time yet. It just needs a wash.” 

Still, he undoes the buttons and Estinien looks away, retreating to grab his makeshift medicine bag from the saddle. It’s no more than a few tinctures and a bandage, but that’s all he needs. When he returns, he stops short at the sight of Emile by the fire’s glow. The flames lick at his naked skin, orange light ghosting over his exposed muscles as he pushes his hair to his uninjured side. 

The wound, Estinien reminds himself. 

It’s uglier up close, grazing his bicep, angry and raw. It’s stopped bleeding but it’s still completely open, and Estinien takes a breath before he touches his elbow, pulling his arm closer. There’s a chill that’s settled in with the night, but Emile’s skin is warm against his hands, making him want to draw even closer. Emile merely keeps his gaze locked on the fire in front of him as Estinien begins to wrap the bandage around his arm. 

“My Ma taught me how to do this,” Estinien murmurs, just to fill the silence between them. “I was always bleedin’ from one injury or another—I think she knew it would save my ass someday.” 

It gets Emile to look at him, his eyes still so dark. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but then, quietly, “Do you miss her?”

Estinien swallows hard. “Every day.” 

He thinks Emile’s the only person that knows this side of him. He’s the only person he’d let see this side of him. They’re in this together, and sometimes that feels like a vow of its own. They’re married to their vengeance, and they will see it through or they will die—they would rather walk through hell than leave the crimes against them unanswered.  

It’s something only they can understand now, and as much as they rile against each other, it binds them together. 

It leaves room for confessions like this:

“I don’t know how I can go home after this,” Emile chokes out as his breath hitches. “I don’t know how I can face my mother.”

Estinien doesn’t let his hands pause. He finishes wrapping the bandage around his arm, each motion smooth and methodical, something reassuring where words can’t be. There’s nothing he could possibly say—they aren’t good men, and they’ve walked too far down this path to turn back now. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks. “To go home?” 

Emile shakes his head. “No, I… I need to do this, but I won’t be able to forgive myself for it.”

Estinien ties off the bandage but finds that he can’t let go of him yet. He smooths his thumb across the skin beneath it, and his next words come hushed: “Can you forgive me?” 

“You don’t spare me any guilt by killin’ for me.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he murmurs. “I’m just keeping you alive.”

“Why?” 

The sky grows darker, and with it the fire glows brighter. It highlights the pain in Emile’s eyes, and Estinien thinks he could do anything for him—he could protect him, he could avenge his father, he could bandage any wound, but there’s nothing he could do to take that hurt away. 

He thinks he’d still like to try. 

“Because you hum when we’re on the trail—for hours at a time. It must be every song you ever heard, because each time I look back, I think, he’s bound to stop after this one, and then you keep humming. It annoys the hell out of me,” Estinien says, and he finds his smile threatens to crack at Emile’s soft laugh. He takes a breath, sobering as he feels the full weight of it in his chest. “It would be awfully quiet without you, Emile.” 

Emile stares at him for a moment before he turns away, scrubbing his free hand over his face, and his voice is muffled and shaky when he says, “I can stop humming, if it annoys you.” 

“No,” he says, and he laughs despite the way it aches. “We’ll keep going, okay? Just as we are.” 

“Just as we are,” Emile repeats. He looks back at Estinien, eyes a little watery but he nods. He pulls his arm away from where Estinien still holds it, and then he gets up, digging through their bag for the spare shirt they have. He throws it on while Estinien throws another piece of wood on the fire, and it seems that they agree on letting the conversation go. 

He doesn’t say anything when Emile lays on his bedroll after—doesn’t say that it’s too early to sleep, that they haven’t eaten yet, that he feels like all his emotions have spilled out everywhere to be seen. He stays up, staring into the fire as the stars begin to turn in the sky, and he listens for any danger in the distance. It’s just them. 

It’s just them, and most of the time Estinien is grateful for that. 

He doesn’t remember when they started placing their bedrolls next to each other, but it’s become part of their routine. It makes it easier to share body heat when the night grows cold, but neither of them say anything when they curl up together regardless of the temperature. Estinien tosses one more piece of wood on the fire before laying beside Emile. He listens to the sound of his breathing, judging if it’s heavy and even enough to mean he’s asleep, before he inches closer to press his back along his. 

Like this, they guard each other through the night. 

In the morning, they can pretend that this didn’t happen. In the morning they can wash the blood clean from Emile’s shirt and stitch up the hole in the sleeve. They have a lead on their next destination, and they’ll pack up their horses and take to the road, where Estinien will count the minutes since the last time he looked over his shoulder at Emile. He’ll memorize the slight smile that pulls at Emile’s lips under the shadow of his hat, and he’ll ignore the warmth in his chest, the weight of his gun at his hip, and all that he would do to keep him safe. 

And maybe, one of these days, they’ll find what they’re looking for. 

—

Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now?