#Wind is pretty simple all things considered

[luimagines]

Fck it Droid AU headcanons? Or just a small thing with Skydroid / Twidroid?

Droid au lives on forever

Let’s introduce the rest of the boys

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Sky

Model SKYLNK

Programmed to be a domestic droid

Babysitter, cook, butler

Tutors the small children, watches over them, and takes care of pets as well

Due to it’s softer programming, when working in the public, it tends to work in bedside manner

Like nurses and nannies

The kind to work in hospitals and elderly living

Not necessarily the newest model on the block, but is one of the most affordable one

Commonly seen in the homes of the middle class

This droid is known for having very little drive deviate from orders

There’s very little facial expressions for newer models

Some, however, have been seen to mimic the facial expressions of the people they serve due to the acclimating programming naturally found in all droids 

The droid is built for handy work around the house

But not designed for hard labor or any heavy lifting

Perfect designed to keep things moving smoothly through the unit it’s assigned to

However- newer models have been seen to come with relationship programming (a new project from Hylia.Inc) 

Further development is yet to be seen

Time

Model TIMLNK

One of the few adults droids on the market

Versatile for many upgrades and job applications

Heavy work? Built for it

Domestic droid? On it

Teacher, hospital nurse, secretary? Just download the needed package for him to take on what job you need him to do

There are certain things that maybe a bit awkward for him to do

Like translating or babysitting

But it works in a pinch

Also sought out as a companionship droid

Takes on a lot of brunt work

While he has a lot of packages that came with time (ha), he is used more for heavy work, like cargo or supply shipments

Isn’t so much for public availability despite the company’s best efforts to expand his roles in society

Not very expressive due to the shift in attention when he was being designed

This is probably why he’s not bought for public use even if he can do the jobs

But he is programmed to be hard working and the robotic equivalent to compassionate 

So this guy never really stops working if the data received can be interpreted as contributing

Legend

Model LGNLNK

Teenage Domestic droid

Known for it’s extensive programming

In the highest demand due to the versatile talents that goes into him

Is used beyond domestic circumstances

Is typically found in place of a translator for political or high standing communal events

Can cook

Clean

Teach

Can directly call emergency services 

Known for the original intention of keeping younger children company or for acting as a Jiminy Cricket for older children

Also originally advertised for older couples who wanted a younger energy in their empty nest

As since branched out to include the other features and is the more commonly seen droid out in public

Also the most customizable out of all of the publicly made droids

Is the only droid available beyond national borders

Other, more advanced models are in progress

Hyrule

Model TRVLNK

A multi-purpose droid

Designed for human relation work or bedside manner

Typically a nurse droid

But not designed for domestic use

Is designed with high grade professional use in mind

Is commonly found in nursing homes or in children’s hospitals

Is also a part of public staff in very highly populated common areas

Like carnivals and amusement parks and zoos and museums and the like

Also acts as tour guide in many other places where travel agencies send tourists for their holiday vacations

Is one of the few droids on the market that can connect to GPS

When droids begin to start working for the public division, they were at first found in buses, driving people from destination to destination

Naturally this upset many people and bus use fell around 19%

But with time people got used to it’s features and the buses ran on time for a change

Not to mention his pleasant demeanor and over all cheerful disposition in his programming made this model likable by many who had to see him on a day to day basis

Four

Model FSWLNK

Meant to be the successor to the WNDLNK model

Used as a child support droid

But also a family companion for lonely, childless adults who want youthful energy in the household

Because of his youthful appearance but older programming, this model tends to be used for public service more so than private ownership

Even if this model is seen nearly in every family friendly public space, there are a few who do accompany children as a family owned appliance

The reason he’s more corporately owned than privately is because he is also used as a child safety surveillance system

Like at public places where children can easily be lost

Like at the zoo, museum, festival, carnival, you name it

They are looking for kids without supervision or who appear to be in danger

It took a lot of training to get that programming even marginally successful

Because they need a lot of of the droids on surveillance, they tend to wear different colored uniforms so people can identify what job that specific droid is doing

Can also be found in child counseling offices or therapy clinics (physical therapy included)

One of the more easy going personality programs

Easy to get along with and easy to like

Is programmed to work with multiple units despite the success in privately owned facilities

Wild

Model CALLNK

Meant for high paced, highly demanding work

A public service droid by nature

Meant to work in the police force

Also found in office facilities 

Or a high scale kitchen where orders have to leave in the matter of minutes

Used as a security droid in a lot of places as well

But more so as a security droid for high profile individuals

Meant to defend and protect no matter the cost

Even if it includes damage to self in the process

Not very expressive in nature

Due to the difficulties and intricacies in programming, they forgo any need for there to be a personal expression in this particular model

So he’s always straight faced no matter what the circumstances are

It’s very unusual for this model to be found in the private or commercial sector

As mentioned before those who use this model for private use are high profile people and people with money

One of the most expensive models on the market

Very few even know he exists

Wind

Model WNDLNK

Child Domestic Droid

One of the first models made by Hylia.INC

Made as an support companion

Later tweaked for homes where children are wanted but not available for whatever reason

As support companions they were designed to help children with special needs, whatever it may be

From reminding children to take their medicine on time, to helping them keep to a schedule and remembering chores as well as simply being emotional support 

The concept was at first a personified tablet

But later on, newer models became more life like and more attuned for family life

Even more later on, they were designed for aforementioned concept of lonely adults who wanted to have children without the cost or mess or real children (Take that as you will)

Is sensitive to temperature

Occasionally feels “hunger” to simulate taking care of another human

Very playful in nature

Few models can be seen in schools with a little more money to float around, helping children where Paras are hard to find

Typically used in school with younger children as the older ones tend to be a little put off by his young appearance

A people pleasure by default, but no one knows if it’s based on his programming or on his need to see though with his missions for the day

Warrior

Model WARLNK

Consort Droid- built for relationships

Has been used for espionage purposes

Doubles as a security droid as well

Is seen typically working a desk job as well

Secretary models, am I right?

Someone has to handle all the forms and PAs and meetings and names and appointments

Not just desk jobs, but also customer service

Is very much used for the public service

Only the rich have it for personal use since it would have added features regarding said spy ware and filtrations mannerisms

Or just to have a pretty thing around

Some people are into that so he’s also for them

Service with a smile~

(potential angst for android War? Definitely.) 

That being said, due the upgraded systems used for both security work and espionage

WARLNK models have also been integrated into public police forces

Public opinion varies heavily on either side

But their effectiveness cannot be ignored when investigating a crime scene

Twilight

Model TWILNK

Heavy work load droid

Handy man is all aspects

Meant to be put to work

Known from farms to construction sites

Programmed to be very loyal to the cause

Lives to serve so to speak

Needs to receive feed back to know if it’s contributing to the community

While not the typical domestic droid, some houses have been known to have a model or two around

Some companies rent out their models to the common folk to help with renovations, or moving, or landscaping, or plumbing- even electrical work

In this au, a lot work for “Got Junk?” 

There has been the one in a million celebrity that has managed to find customization locals and renovate the model to be that of an escort droid

But that’s a very expensive process

And frankly, it’s easier to change the hardware than the software

Is also the occasional nursing droid

Known to be working in nursing homes and independent living units, where it might be required to lift an entire body as dead weight for whatever reason

Is the strongest droid on the market

[1800titz]

HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 8.6K

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 

“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 

Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 

“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 

That barista is definitely fucking peering over.

“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 

For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 

“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 

The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 

There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”

Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 

“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 

“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 

“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 

The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 

“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 

Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 

She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 

He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 

That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 

Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 

It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 

The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 

“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 

She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 

She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 

“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 

He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.

“Yeah. It does.” 

Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 

When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 

“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 

Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 

“Very nice.”

It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 

“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 

He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 

“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 

He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 

Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 

“F’course.” 

The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 

His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.

“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 

“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 

“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new homage from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”

Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 

Yeah. He can work with that. 

“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 

Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 

“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 

The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”

Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 

Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  

“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“

The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 

“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 

Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 

“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”

Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 

“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 

Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.

“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“

Her thighs press together.

“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”

She swallows. 

“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 

Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 

“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 

His strawberry mouth curls a little. 

“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 

It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 

It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 

There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 

“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 

Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 

“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.

And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 

“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 

Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 

“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 

“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 

The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 

“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 

The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 

A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 

He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 

Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 

This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 

Authenticity. 

Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 

“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 

His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 

“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 

“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 

Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 

“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 

Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 

“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 

When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 

It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 

“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 

The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 

It’s kind of game over from there. 

There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 

“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 

The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 

And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 

Gameovergameovergameovergameover.

Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.

Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 

Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 

And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”

Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 

That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 

Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”

A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth

“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 

“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 

Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 

It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 

She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 

It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”

The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 

“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 

Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.

“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.

“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 

Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 

“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 

He bites. 

At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 

“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 

His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 

And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”

Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 

His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 

“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 

And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 

Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  

“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 

He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 

“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”

She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 

“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 

The words coax her to clench over the plug. 

“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 

Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 

“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 

“Hm?” 

“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 

Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 

The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 

And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 

“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 

And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 

“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 

His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 

“Good girl.”

Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 

Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 

“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”

Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 

“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  

A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 

And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 

That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 

“Christ.”

Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 

When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 

“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 

Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 

“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”

Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 

“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 

She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 

“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 

He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 

Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”

Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“

And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  

“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 

Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”

And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 

Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 

Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.

“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 

Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 

“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”

His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 

Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 

The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 

A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 

Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 

His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  

She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 

“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 

She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 

“…Hm?”

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Before proceeding: Luke's a tad wild one might say. Crazy, possibly. Spooky, mayhaps.

Bestfriend!Luke coming over to your cabin to walk you to dinner. You know this and you know all about his crush. You know all about his fantasies, and his tendency of thievery. You may or may not have left your underwear purposely hanging on the rim of the hamper. You may or may not have moved the hamper closer to the spot that Luke usually sat at while he waited for you to get ready.

When Luke actually made it over you were still in the bathroom so he sat down in his usual seat. Luke continued his conversation with you through the door. His eyes caught on the hamper, more specifically the clothing on the rim. A very small voice in the back of his head said take them. Luke wanted to say he was better than that as a person. However, then he'd be a liar as well as a thief. When you left the bathroom you smiled at the now missing underwear. You didn't tell Luke you knew.

Until a few days later when you realized you rather liked that pair. How would you bring that up to Luke. He'd be so embarrassed you know about his feelings towards you, and the underwear thing too. But alas that was one of your favorite pairs so you bring it up when you're left alone with him.

Luke's laying on his back. You hoped he wouldn't run away with leaves and sticks still stuck to his shirt. You were sat next to Luke, leaning back on your palms as you both sunbathe.

"Oh hey you know that underwear you took?" You ask before looking over at the tree off to the side. You heard Luke quickly sitting up. He started talking but his voice cracked immediately. He cleared his throat and started again.

"um sorry what?" You know Luke's under the impression you had no idea. All things considered you were the mastermind behind it all. You certainly hoped he still had them and hadn't thrown them in a wood chipper while you weren't looking. You weren't going to entertain his I have no idea what you're talking about shtick.

"yeah well I want it back because those are one of my favorites but I'll give you a different pair. Tradesies." You keep your attitude nonchalant so you don't freak him out. Or freak him out less. His open and closes his mouth trying to find his words. When Luke finally finds it all he can force out is a tiny sorry that makes him sound like a kicked puppy.

"Luke, it's fine. I don't mind at all. In all honesty I left them there on purpose." This seems to confuse him even more and all of a sudden he's opening and closing his mouth again. You roll your eyes and move back to watching the trees sway in the wind. You felt him pulling your hand away from the ground. You shifted your weight to your other hand and watched him brush the pebbles off your palm. Luke reached into his pocket and pushed the folded material into your hand. He kept it covered with in case of onlookers but no one was around.

You wrapped your next pair in wrapping paper with a pretty bow on the top and a small note. Scribbled on it was a simple enjoy, love. and your signature at the bottom. You left your early birthday present on his bed just before curfew. The next morning Luke seemed quite cheery and you noticed his hand had a tendency to move back to his pocket. You shared a knowing look as he continued his conversation.

[nu-suave]

LOVE LANGUAGES, SATORU VER. feat. gojou satoru <3

word count: 511

summary: satoru's love languages - giving and receiving. a/n: so this was going to be a multi character post but i got lazy. knowing me, i'll post a pt 2 later. with who? i'm not sure.

Satoru’s love language is pretty clear to anyone that knows him: physical touch. He keeps infinity up constantly, not allowing anyone close to him unless he is the one initiating that contact. He’s throwing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, constantly clasping your hand with his own, leaning into everyone’s space at any given moment. At the same time, he very rarely allows people to reciprocate. The exception to that rule is, of course, you; being alone with you is the only time he will let down infinity for prolonged periods of time while around another person. It takes a tremendous amount of trust but by the time you’re dating, it’s become the norm for him to drop his infinity the moment you’re left in a room together, pulling you into a hug or winding your arm through his own or swiping his hand across your cheek or leaning his head on your shoulder. Whatever you let him get away with, he’s quick to capitalise on - around him, personal space isn’t really a thing.

When receiving, however, Satoru’s love languages are acts of service and words of affirmation. It’s a lonely life at the top, after all - at some point, you become used to people seeing you as just the strongest. In a funny way, it makes him insecure. Not about his power, or his strength, but the genuinity of the people around him. Who’s to say that, when faced with the breadth of his strength and the extent of his person, you won’t leave like Suguru did? That anyone else can see him in his entirety, and not turn away from him in the same manner? Suguru asked him one, vital question ten years ago; are you the strongest because you’re Gojou Satoru, or are you Gojou Satoru because you’re the strongest? It’s something he still ruminates on.

This leads to a need for verbal reassurance. He hadn’t noticed Suguru changing, and isn’t that in part due to them not talking about their feelings? He both overcompensates and undercompensates in that regard - tries to play his feelings off as less than they are, and desperately seek reassurance that they’re valid and normal and he’s loved and care for. Those soft words of, I love you, I care for you, I’m so happy to have you in my life help quell the issue somewhat, but it’s a soothing balm to an open wound; it’ll take a long time for him to really accept that.

When it comes to acts of service, Satoru is guilty of adoring it - he’s the strongest! He doesn’t need anyone to do things for him, but when they want to? You wouldn’t be able to tell, considering how vocal he is in his appreciation, but it always hits him right in this soft, vulnerable spot in his heart that you steadily take up more space of. Making dinner, running him groceries, paying for sweets at a stall or even something as simple as opening the door for him or helping take off his coat - he loves it.

[beybaldes]

Karma is the guy on AFC Richmond, coming straight home to me!

summer sleepover masterlist

roy kent × gn!famous!reader (loosely inspired by Taylor swift and Travis Kelce)

summary: “kisses with a height difference” requested by two anons <33

an: okay you can actually thank the queen of my heart @onceuponaoneshotfanfic for my sudden (although potentially one night only we’ll see if I get my uni essay done lol) return because she reposted a celebrity prompt list and it got my mind whirring oops love you tally thank you for breaking my writers (and reading) block <33

“Hot.”

One simple word had sent your 68 million instagram followers into an absolute frenzy, and half of them, you were pretty sure, didn’t even know who Roy Kent was.

“‘So nice of them to put this football player on the map?’ They do know I was famous long before you ever were, right?” You only laughed as Roy grew more frustrated, allowing him to scroll through your Twitter account while you made the both of you some breakfast.

“Hey, maybe they have a point?” You tried to stifle your laughter, knowing Roy’s eyes would be sending daggers into your back, though only for a moment so he could continue winding himself up over the things people were tweeting. “I mean Richmond tickets have now sold out for the rest of the season.”

Roy knew you were only joking. Well, kind of. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, recently celebrating your one year anniversary, but besides the odd article about each of you potentially seeing someone, no one knew you were together - let alone that you even knew each other. Keeley had been blowing up Roy’s phone since she saw the comment demanding to meet you, her favourite superstar, and you’d woken up to 37 missed calls from your dad, furious you hadn’t told him you were dating Chelsea legend Roy Kent.

Above everything, you’re still in disbelief Roy tried to hard launch your relationship in the comment section if your most recent instagram post on a random Tuesday evening.

“Hmm, and I’m sure your next tour is going to sell out 10 times faster now the world knows you’re with the great Roy Kent.” Roy had given up on reading tweets speculating about what his comment meant and if the two of you were together, instead choosing to press his bare chest agains your back, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you finished up breakfast. Fortunately you knew, Roy Kent or not, your next tour was going to sellout. Though you’d rather have Roy be by your side for it.

“Maybe if I’m lucky.” Putting down your fork, you turned in Roy’s hold to face him, standing on the very tips of your toes to press a lovingly slow kiss to his lips. Since dating Roy, you were certain early mornings were for breakfasts that take too long to cook and kisses that end too soon for your liking. Roy’s grip on you tightened and he dipped his head slightly, making the kiss as easy on you as possible. When you began to pull away, he only ducked his head further to press his lips back against yours. “Mmm, although I’d already consider myself very lucky.”

“That you are.” Roy murmured against your lips, immediately pressing them flush against yours when he’d said his piece. “And so am I.”

an: okay short and sweet but I’m hoping to get back in to writing and get up to date with my requests now that I’m settled at uni and with my new job. Missed you guys hope you all are well <33

[dcmainlybillythoughts]

Consider if you will: Billy gets hit by some spell that sort of shows the gods who are in his head All the Time. Not exactly though, mote like misty gray human shapped blobs. Like someone took the Smooth tool in photo shop to them to erase all the details and faces. They still have different body shapes, postures, and voices though. Everyone can see all seven- wait seven?

Everyone there, especially those who don't normally have bodies of their own are Very excited to be there with Sort Of Bodies. Mercury immediately jumped on the table and started to sing while doing the Freestyle Dance Teacher dance. Atlas and Zues are brawling in the back and Hercules cheers. Achilles talking to Billy who is Not Responding while trying to figure out how to copy the dances Mercury is doing on the table. Solomon is simply giving some long winded lecture that Billy is already tuning out as he introduces each of his patrons to his coworkers and says, "and yes. They are always Like This. 24/7. Actually I'm surprised Hercules isn't trying to over power Mercury's singing with his own."

Hal points to the 7th and final figure who is yet to be introduced, A very small and skinny figure tucked between Marvel's cape and his legs, face to blurred and smooth to know but clearly glaring and body language frightening, and asks who this one is and what power they give. Thinking fast and maybe with a touch of help from Solomon sending a bit of extra power, Marvel says, "oh this? He's shy and doesn't like his name being given out. And he may not be the strongest or the bravest or the fastest, but he is undoubtedly one of the most important blessings I have. The Heart and Mind of a child. He keeps me honest and nags me about doing the right thing simply because it's The Right Thing. He also reminds me of the beauty and wonder in the world in small and simple ways. Like the time he got so excited about finding a 5 leaf clover that he made me preserve it and keep it in my pocket because the 5th leaf *clearly* means it's *extra* lucky. Or he'll point out things like how pretty the sun set is or how nice ice cream is on a hot day and just. All the little things that remind me of why I fight in the first place. He's a good kid, even if he didn't get to be a kid for very long." Billy feels a bit awkward patting his own(?) Head but he's got to sell the illusion.

Everyone is awwing almost enough to not notice when Murcury starts singing "FROM THE WINDOW, TO THE WALL!" And gets the the shit smacked our of him by Achilles before he can finish the next verse.

This is so cute. Imagine that when Cap was introducing Billy he put emphasis on his job by telling them "He is the only difference between me and Black Adam" because that is why Shazam picked him.

Also I am living for the chaos the gods are bringing to the table, or on the table if you're Mercury.

[whokilledjared]

the sluttiest thing a man can do is be himself. (& takes on social media)

Hi.

I'm lonely.

The moment I got "two weeks off school" in sophomore year, life went to 4x speed & I can't turn it off no matter how hard I try.

Maybe COVID-19 adolescence did numbers on me. Somewhere between the iPhone 5c and ChatGPT, 14-hour screen times have live-streamed to me a steady, homogenous death of culture.

Nothing is cool anymore. Nothing is sacred. Every movement is a trend, and every cult classic a sequel.

The value we place on things being beautiful, on being "cool," and our gatekept appreciation of how hard these things were to find: it's been co-opted, or perhaps stolen. It's been stolen by the new merchant class. "Disruptors" and "innovators" turning our lives into a burgeoning black mirror prequel. Soon, we'll graduate too, and we'll wring every morsel of value in each others' lives dry for cash.

Plain and simple, I think we're being manipulated.

Your dates are an algorithm. Your music is a social signal. And Zuck knows when you sleep.*

God. What the fuck are we doing???

“Individuation is becoming the thing which is not the ego, and that is very strange.” — Carl Jung

Recently, I deleted Instagram. My first impulse was to post a story or something, announcing my departure. But then, I thought that would be lame.

I got rid of my account, too. Kinda. Over 1 year, over 800 followers removed, and what remains of me is a little grey icon, and "JM_0000000010" where my name and face used to be.

yay.

There were many people I wish I could have been friends with, but I wonder, too, why I find myself so drawn to the validation of others. Does social media affect me worse, or do we all just choose to ignore it, languishing in private?

At any rate, this last year has almost felt like re-learning how to be a human being.

Personally, I think one of the biggest markers for maturity is when you become willing to disappoint the people you know in favor of what feels right to you, when you start to unravel the stories you’ve told yourself (or been told) about who you are and what you should be. In short, the sluttiest thing a man can do is be himself.

And sometimes, I think about every college student that has ever lived. My grandmother, my dad, and so on. Just consider for a moment all kids who graduated before 2010:

What was it like for the ones in 1940? To walk around, before a campus had computers? In 2006: To meet someone pretty, but forget their number? In 1999: To cram into dorms, and watch Seinfeld live on-air?

Would I, like my dad in 1988, have braved cold night, brisk wind, & landline phone-call just to knock and see if my friends were too busy to hang?

What stories could I tell if there was even the slightest chance of getting lost on the way home from a party?

Humans are social creatures. We crave our friends like water. To me, the clearest difference between Dasani and Instagram is that one of them comes in a bottle.

Yet despite these distractions and comforts we have in 2024, somehow, we still have engineering students. People who carve out time in their day to sit down, look at paper, and solve differential equations. But then, that's not so hard, is it? It just takes time. Precious, fucking, time.

At Meta, leagues and leagues of these engineers power behavioral scientists, who are competing for the highest salary. Their benchmarks? Your FOMO. Guilt. Anxiety. Obsession. The worse you feel, the more you engage with their content. The more you engage with their content, well, you're starting to get the point.

Try something for me: Open up Instagram, but don't tap anything. What happens? How many little animations? How many tiny nudges prompting you to get lost? Our home-pages are billion-dollar diving boards, hoisting us over engineered catacombs of subconscious quicksand.

My homepage is my FOMO, my envy, and my crushes. The pain and struggle of trying to be someone who I am not. My little existential crises, bundled-up, packaged, and shipped with a like button.

To abandon your social networks entirely, however, requires a safety net of close friends. After all, your friends are online, and you'd be miserable without them.

This is the problem with our monkey brains. Millennia of sociological natural-selection have made us quite great at feeling terrible. We're damn good at making tribal status games to play with, too.

Seeking refuge in quirked up septum piercings and boygenius listeners, my time in counter-cultural, alternative "scenes" between St. Louis and Tampa has shown me that even the weirdest of folks and the most removed can accidentally find themselves reduced to nothing more than high-school popularity contests. Even if I love them. Even if they're amazing people. We're human.

We can't "quit social media" as much as we can't "quit bottled water" Sure, we can, but it's inconvenient. And even without a bottle, we're still drinking water.

So I lost touch with my friends. I got no new updates on their lives. I forced myself into the inconvenience of not having a phone to reach for in fleeting moments of boredom. Suddenly, I was out of the loop. Suddenly, I was bored. And suddenly, nobody missed me. My only friends were the ones I had the time to text. Everyone else ... does not exist.

Weekends have become more valuable than ever. Without the empty social calories of seeing my friends' pictures, I find myself planning hangouts as often as my schedule allows. I have more lunches, more study sessions, and more is done in the company of less.

And I have the time to breathe.

And in this calm, I think I found my answer: it's my misplaced ambition. These fears of anxiety and people I thought I would miss, they seem represent something I want to see more of within myself. Something I want to develop, lean into more deeply, as an individual. And I think that's quite normal; to look out into the world and feel attracted to things we want to see more of. This is, I think, how everyone develops their own definition of beauty — and of coolness. It's largely the intersection of what we find most interesting, and what we want to see more of in the world. Because beauty and coolness, by definition, are rare and hard to find. If they were everywhere, nothing be beautiful, nor would anything be cool.

When we all turn into wrinkles and cataracts, bad backs and heart attacks, for a brief, glorious moment, our lives are going to flash before our eyes. In this moment, you'll see your story. The ultimate progression of you.

How much of that will be skibidi toilet and reaction clips? How much of that will be arguing on the internet? Can you tell me, just how much of your life will you have skipped over to pacify your intentionally-lowered attention span?

That girl whose number you couldn't find Those passing questions over coffee that you couldn't search on Google The boredom of a subway ride

Those are not inconveniences, they're what the older generations refer to as "life."

* (oh, but if you can't sleep, consider this aside: Google knows the angle you walk at, how fast you're walking, and they've got crowdsourced pictures of everywhere around you at all times of the day. fun bedtime thoughts <3)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I asked my mom to stop keto-fying recipes?

this is either gonna be a complete non-issue or get people mad at me, i can tell lmao. unfortunately this has been bugging me for weeks. :D

To be clear, I'm almost 25, but I and my adult/teenage siblings still live with my parents bc the economy is ass. Also, Mom hasn't been doing it to every recipe…yet…but the ones she has changed have been recipes where a carbohydrate is an important part of the main meal.

For instance, replacing the potatos in a beef-carrot-potato stew with a rutabaga.

Mom's been on a modified keto diet for a while now, and while Dad is the only one intentionally doing it with her, the rest of us are aware of her diet and are generally chill about it. For a while, we would have nights where the parents would have Thing A, which was diet-compliant, and the rest of us would have Thing B, which was not. Those of us who are not dieting are all old enough to make things for ourselves, by the way, and that's usually what happens. For most of these "split meals," one parent usually doesn't wind up cooking two meals, one of which they can't even eat.

The stew is usually a "split" meal that gets made by one person who does most of the prep just by virtue of knowing the recipe, then one person who peels and chops the potatoes, and then one who wrangles the peeling and chopping of the rutabaga. The rutabaga then gets combined with a proportionate amount of The Rest, and those of us who aren't dieting are welcome to taste-test it. I've tried it, and the rutabaga's okay, I guess, but quite a bit too sweet and non-safe-food-y for me in the context of the stew, especially when I'm so used to potatoes. Wrangling the rutabaga is a bit more fun than eating it.

…except the most recent time we had the stew, Mom and Dad made an executive decision and just made a full-family pot of rutabaga stew without really seeing if everyone else was on board with it. Two of my siblings seemed fine with it, one is an enigma on a good day so I don't even know how they felt about it, and I hated it. I didn't get the chance to say so, however, between everyone else complimenting the altered stew and the conversation quickly switching to something else.

Unfortunately, our parents have decided that we will be making the stew with rutabagas only going forward.

Not "the family has decided."

The parents have decided. For adults and a teenager. Not for little kids.

Since then, in other conversations where recipes come up, such as conversations about the teenager's recent baking kick, Mom has been mentioning keto versions of whatever's being talked about in the nonspecific way that I'm pretty sure is her hinting/telling us that we should make it. In the context of teen baking, a keto chocolate cake, or keto cookies.

Look, I'm not here to debate the worth of a diet or lack thereof. I have plenty of those opinions and I'm not going to change them or let them distract from the core of the matter: when any of us are making food for the others, why are we letting two people's diets dictate what the rest of us should eat? If we're making something specifically to align with the keto diet, then that's a parent snack/meal. If we're not, it's a "kids" snack/meal. It should be as simple as that. Why make a full-family-sized meal if it's going to be pushing low/no carbs onto people who, historically, have not wanted to or needed to drop carbs? (It's me, I'm people. I know, I'm not really subtle, am I?)

I'm considering, the next time the stew comes up as a dinner plan, asking what a single-sized portion of the potatoes would be and just making it for myself. Given I have the spoons to do so that night, anyway. However, I really don't want to insult Mom's family recipe (which…she's already altered…and I would be reverting to its previous state…) or her cooking skills (which haven't lessened, even if I personally think her ingredient choices are a bit lacking lately).

What are these acronyms?

[hystixia]

BREAK IN.

SUMMARY 、JEFF PAYS HIS OBSESSION A VISIT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

FEATURING 、JEFF THE KILLER X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, SOMNOPHILIA, BRUISING, STALKING, CREAMPIE, BLOOD, BLOOD KINK (?), MENTIONS OF KILLING, IMPLIED CORRUPTION KINK, MENTIONS OF KNIFEPLAY, PANTY STEALING

No matter how hard he tried to think on a reason, Jeff could never really pinpoint what made him so infatuated with you from the very start. Maybe it was simply the fact your body was alluring and called to him, maybe it was the way your big doe eyes looked cautiously over your shoulder when you were walking home alone at night after a long shift at work. Or maybe it was just the way you seemed so pure and innocent, something he was the complete opposite of.

Whatever it might’ve been that had convinced Jeff months ago to follow you home one late evening and watch you every night through your window, he’s glad he acted on that impulse because the sight before him tonight was just too inviting to ignore.

Your body— motionless as you slept soundly —curled up into the soft silks of your sheets and a cute pajama set clinging to your figure and damn near teasing him with the way it accentuated the curves of your body as you lie on your side facing away from him. The fluffy pink and white of the soft fabric complimented your figure as you dreamed peacefully, occasionally twisting in your sleep only to settle back down. A small plushie of your favorite animal held tight in your grip against your chest.

Had it been anyone else, a simple burglar looking to get their hands on something to sell, they would’ve simply gotten inside and stolen things from your home on a night like this and left swiftly, but Jeff wasn’t here to do any of those types of things. He was here to indulge himself in a sick fantasy he’s had for a long time.

His hands push your window up— knowing it’s always unlocked from his previous intrusions —the soft sound that follows as it rises isn’t enough to wake you nor is the sound of wind blowing outside or his calculated footsteps as he pushes himself through the open window into your dark bedroom and stands up straight.

He should feel disgusted with himself but all he can do is stifle a cackle at how easy all of this was. Now that he was inside like so many times before you couldn’t do anything to stop him from taking anything he wanted, could you? Wouldn’t that be entertaining to see in the future; you trying so hard to get him off you while big sparkly tears fall down your pretty face. The thought alone had his cock hardening in his slacks.

He nears the side of the bed, his shadow is dark and large, completely engulfing the shape of your sleeping form as he takes in the sight of the peaceful expression you wore on your face, soft lashes kissing your cheeks as soft breaths left you. Oh if only you’d opened those pretty doe eyes of yours and stared up at him with that fear he wanted to see on your face so badly.

Your bed shifts under his weight and he’s slow with his movements, careful not to wake you, the sleeping princess. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten inside someone’s room and gotten face to face with them before they were ever aware, but he’d make sure you never knew of this happening until he wanted you to. He liked leaving you completely oblivious to the danger you were in.

Your brows furrowed together as you grabbed at the plush between your fingers harder, a huff through your nose before your features relax once more and if he cared, Jeff would’ve been interested in what you were dreaming about. Too bad he didn’t.

He stills himself, laying beside you who’s curled up and facing away from him. His eyes move down to the cotton shorts that look just a little too tight for you to sleep comfortably. You’re lucky he’s a kind man, taking time and skilled movement to slip them down to rest against your ankles while the sight of your panties comes into view now. The white fabric littered with pink hearts and he considers taking them afterwards as payment for being so gentle with you.

He sighs, touching your hair and grinning widely before he leans closer and takes a sniff. The soft flowery scent is welcoming and familiar to him. He’s addicted to it most nights when he’s stuck with the image of you in his head and a tight grip on his throbbing cock as he pumps it ruthlessly to his fantasies containing you.

His hands ghost over your body down to the soft panties that hug the curve of your ass, resting his hands there with his eyes fixed on the back of your head in case you were to stir awake at the eerie coldness of his touch. Nothing happens, and a crazed smile that stretches his open scars blooms on his face.

His fingers carefully tug under the band of your underwear, listening closely to you as he slips them down slowly. He couldn’t rush opening such a perfect present can he?

The soft fabric meets your shorts and stays with them bunched up at your ankles as he trails his index back up your leg, enjoying the way goosebumps bloom against your skin on his wake and he rests the flat of his palm against your soft hip stifling another laugh at how stupid this was, how stupid you were. Anyone would’ve woken up by now but you were just so tired weren’t you? Why wouldn’t he take advantage of that fact? He wouldn’t have gone to these lengths to get his dick wet if he gave a damn about your comfort in such a situation.

His pants and boxers are pulled down just enough to free his hard cock that throbs at the fantasy that plays on loop in his head. He’s always wanted to do this to you and he almost can’t contain his crazed excitement as he lifts your leg up just enough to slide his cock through, resting against your entrance as he takes one last look over your peaceful body before slipping his blunt tip past your lower lips as warmth envelopes his length.

It’s tight, so fucking tight and hard to move when your pussy struggles to take just the head of his dick, a soft whine escaping you but you don’t wake even now as he takes his time sliding deeper into your cunt while your plush walls squeeze him.

His fingers dig into your soft thigh and he coos quietly at the sight as your pussy flutters around him and a pained whimper leaves your throat as your hands grab harshly at the plushie you’ve unknowingly shoved into your face. He’s not even halfway in and you can barely handle him. It makes his cock twitch painfully against your sticky walls as he inhales through his nose against one of your many pillows, the scent of iron flooding his senses again and he becomes aware of the sticky and fresh red splotches against his hoodie again.

There’s going to be a lot of red adorning your silky white sheets where he lays in the morning and a achy full feeling between your legs when you wake up.

He pushed a little further before pulling back and pushing back in and after a few slow and short thrusts your soft sounds turn more angelic and your walls accommodate to his length as he presses further, taking a few more thrusts before he’s growing impatient and shoving the rest of his length into your tight cunt with a muffled groan.

“Stop! Oh, haah, stop..” He stiffens against you when your small voice breaks the silence, reaching for his knife that’s about to fall off the side of your bed before you relax and a quiet snore leaves you.

You’re still sleep.

He grins as he retracts his hand from his weapon and grabs at your plush hip, his other hand snaking under your body to grab at your warm side.

Your walls hug him tight as he pulls back before sinking back into that overwhelming warmth, he can feel your cervix pressed tight against his tip as he begins thrusting into you, nothing fast or hard enough to wake you.

He curses under his breath while your pussy grows wetter and sweet sounds leave your lips as he fucks you in your sleep. It’s like a sick dream has came to life for him and he’s living in it.

His thrusts grow a bit faster, a little rougher. Experimenting with the possibility of what would wake you and even still you remain asleep as your body rocks with his and your bed creaks softly with each movement.

He wants you to wake up, to feel his knife pressed against your throat as he fucks your tight pussy and fills you up. He wants to see you sob and beg for your life, cry for him to stop what he’s doing even with a knife to your neck and the silent promise of slitting your throat if you fight back. Though the idea of you fighting back, putting up a struggle as futile as it may be, sends a rush of heat to his twitching cock.

The ideas make his abdomen tense up with building pleasure and he grits his teeth as he ruts into you a little harder than before, hearing a sweet sound leave you when he presses against a gummy spot inside you that makes you arch against him before he’s thrusting up into that spot repeatedly.

Your cute moans are addicting to listen to as he plays out his fantasy in his head, growing closer to his release with each passing second as his fingers dig into your plush hips enough to cause bruises.

If he was really coherent and not lost way your drooling cunt sucked him in, he’d wake you up right now so you knew what was happening to your poor pussy but he also loved the idea of leaving you to wonder what that warm feeling between your trembling legs was when you wake up in a few hours.

Maybe you’d be confused, reaching under your cotton shorts to feel no underwear and come into contact with your bare cunt, sticky and drooling his cum. Maybe you’d be shocked, thinking it was you and that you had a wet dream during the night. You’ve never had a guy fuck you before anyways, you wouldn’t notice a difference or be aware in the slightest that a scary murderer on the loose in your neighborhood came and fucked you in your sleep.

His jaw clenches tight as he reaches down to your puffy pearl that begs for his attention and he rubs harsh circles into the bundle of nerves, your body jumping slightly and shaking against him as your face contorts in pleasure even while sleeping. For a moment, his twisted mind hopes you’re dreaming about this right now.

He hisses out a low groan as his hips go sloppy in their rhythm and his balls grow tight before he presses himself flush against your ass, his cock twitching as hot ropes of his seed spurt into your welcoming pussy. His thumb never leaving your clit until your whines grow in pitch and your walls spasm around him as you cum, your hips jerking ever so slightly against him but it’s hard to notice when he’s holding you in place so firmly.

He takes heavy breaths through his nose against your pillow, hand releasing it’s tight grip on your hip as he comes down from his high and glances down at where you’re both connected before pulling out, a trail of his cum following but being pushed back inside with his index shortly after. He takes a glance at the cute panties and tugs them off before pulling your shorts up to rest snug on your warm hips like they were before he had snuck in. The faintest sight of a developing bruise on your hip is visible in what little light is casted by the moon through your window and it makes his mangled scars twist in a sick grin.

He’s quick to pull his pants back up and stand to his feet without waking you, knife in hand as he steals one more look at your resting figure before smirking and leaving through the window he came in from. He closes it softly behind him and he stays there out of view, waiting for when you might open your eyes and stretch with a big yawn before noticing the ache between your legs, like always. He grips the material of your panties in his hand, saving them for later use as he eyes your sleeping form.

If only he had a phone with him to record your inevitable reaction to his disgusting crimes.

[1800titz]

pornstar!Harry TEASER

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to conversation over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame them for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along. 

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

[aemondsdoll]

best friends brother | aegon targaryen

warnings: corruption

summary: you don’t know how to kiss, luckily, your best friends brother is more than happy to teach you.

a/n: dedicated to @eddiemadmunson

You had no clue what you were doing. A boy in your class had asked you out, one that you’d had a crush on for a while. But there was a slight problem.

He was experienced, meanwhile you knew absolutely nothing. Not where to put your hands, or what to say afterwards, or even just how to fucking kiss.

“You’re gonna be fine! It’ll come to you in the moment,” Helaena spoke, the two of you sat in her room, playing with her tarantula.

“No it won’t! I’ve never done anything like this,” You said begrudgingly with a groan. You’d been googling what to do, and it all said the same thing. ‘You’ll figure it out as you go!’ and other cringey inspirational shit.

You didn’t want to figure it out then, you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to know what to do in the moment, and how to do it.

Sleeping over at Helaenas was always calm, and fun. She falls asleep pretty early though, leaving you to your own devices. You tip toed through the hallways of the Targaryen mansion, which you'd gotten lost in more than a few times. Who the fuck needs this many rooms? you thought with a giggle.

You sat yourself on the kitchen island with a glass of water, phone in hand. You still scrolled through the google results on how to kiss, groaning at every click bait article. You were losing hope, and you considered cancelling the date altogether.

Unaware of Aegons approaching form into the kitchen, you were furiously tapping on your phone when he spoke.

"Hey," His smooth voice echoed through the otherwise silent kitchen, you jumped in fear, causing your phone to fall from your hands. "Fuck!" You squeaked, and he laughed loudly, picking up your phone.

You looked over his appearance, he was shirtless and his silver hair was a mess, in the hottest way ever. He had on grey sweatpants, and many thoughts went through your head. He spoke again, and you realised he had your phone in his hand.

"How to kiss?" Aegon spoke in his cocky tone, and you immediately reached for your phone. "I'm researching for a friend!" You tried exucsing yourself, your voice high pitched. He held your phone above his head, so you couldnt reach.

"Sure, sure." He begins, "You seriously dont know how to kiss?" He laughs at you, and your shoulder slump. "Yes, I dont know how to kiss. Now give me my phone!" You demand, hand outstretched.

He hesitantly placed the phone into your palm, a cocky smirk on his face. "I can teach you, love." His voice speaks, and it comes out smooth like honey, causing heat to flow through your body, which you just now notice is scantily clad in a small while crop top, and plaid pyjama pants.

"I.. I think I'd like that." You reply after a hot minute, looking down at the floor. His hand moves to your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Come with me," He speaks again, giving you little to no time to process whats happening before hes stalking down the halls. You follow him eagerly, almost stumbling over your steps as he leads you down the endlessly winding halls, and into his room.

Its simple, not too messy, band posters splayed onto the walls, desk messy with papers and a wall of aged alcohol, definitely not surprising. you think with an internal giggle.

Aegon sits on his bed, leaning on his headboard with a mischevious face. "Where would you like to start?" He asks you, and you look to him nervously.

"Thats my problem.. I dont know how to start, or like... anything." You awkwardly laugh, and his eyes soften for a moment.

"Cmere, little one." He coos, and you hop onto his bed, facing him. "So, why the sudden interest in kissing?" He questions, and you sigh.

"This dude I've liked, for ages now, asked me out... and I realised I have almost zero experience."

"Well, I certainly can help with that," Aegons voice drops an octave, running a veiny hand through his silver hair. You realise you really like the look of his hands, and just seeing them sends a shockwave of arousal through your body.

"Just let me take care of you, little one," Aegons deep voice purrs, his hands go to your hips, lifting you swiftly onto his lap, revelling in the noise of surprise you emit from those oh so pretty lips. Lips that havent been kissed.

Oh how he was going to ruin you. You wouldnt be going on that date once he was finished with you. "A-Aeg.." You whisper, faces close together. "Can I try something?" You ask, and he nods, "Of course, beautiful." He replies, and your dainty hand goes to the side of his face, and you urge his head closer to yours.

Softly, you press your lips to his. Its small, like a ghost had kissed him. "Cmon, you can do better than that," Aegon snides, and you roll your eyes.

"I'm not sure just how." You speak, and he grins, eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes. "I'll guide you," He says, and you lean in, kissing him again.

Aegon doesn't let you pull away, it's more passionate, and much longer. His hand gently rests within your hair. Moaning into his mouth, you deepen the kiss.

Aegon, being ever the tease, pulls away. "See, that was perfect, now try getting a bit more into it. Let your hands explore, and get lost in the kiss." He suggests, completely for his own needs.

He needs to taint you, to make you forget about that stupid boy. He could never treat you like Aegon could, and he needs to make you know that.

So he launches his lips onto yours, and the air around has changed, changed to something you're not exactly familiar with when it comes to another person. Lust.

Your hands explore his bare chest, taking his advice. One hand leaves his chest, going to his hair and knotting your hand within it. He chuckles into the kiss,

"Such a needy girl," He murmurs as he pulls away. You blush wildly, moving from his lap and standing up.

"I'm gonna go back to Helaenas room.. thank you." You rushingly speak,

"Come to me for anything, princess." Aegon says as you leave. You don't sleep well that night. Aegon plagues your thoughts, the intimate moment you just shared ringing through your mind, setting it alight like wildfire.

You dont think you're going to that date anymore.

Helaena and you are sat at breakfast, an admittedly late one. Sitting at the table, talking about everything and nothing.

Aegon, is in the kitchen pouring himself a vodka orange juice when Helaena speaks.

“Did you manage a breakthrough about your little date?” She teases, picking at her eggs half heartedly.

“Yeah. Don’t think I’m gonna go.” You say, eyes on your plate. Helaena giggles at your stubbornness, yet she doesn’t know the real reason you decided against going.

Her brother, who you notice is looking at you with a smug smirk on his face, chucking you a wink as he walks back to his room.

fin.

[razorblade180]

Safe Bet

[Swarm Disaster V]

Qingque:I heard you like to gamble?

Aventurine:You could call it the spice of my life. Let me guess, you’re betting I will do well?

Qingque:Oh that’s way too simple. We will have no healer.

Aventurine:…What?

Qingque:I tend to try to take things easy but after numerous failures here it’s only natural to form plans. I’m not betting on you doing well, I’m wagering your ability to protect us long enough for us to gather blessing I need plus curios.

Aventurine:And how long to you typically last in here?

Silver Wolf: The first elite. Sometimes we make it.

Sparkle:If we get resonance. Though your fellow gambler over here has gotten much more reliable since our last attempt.

Aventurine:..Alright. Let’s do it. Should be fun. Let’s see what’s about curio option number one!

Nullify attacks

QASS: (Oh shit this might actually be the run…)

Floor 2

Aventurine:Little lady, is there any reason why you refuse to keep a shield?

Silver Wolf: It’s not my fault these enemies understand who the real threat is. I’m alive aren’t I? Good job, but I recommend investing in speed.

Aventurine:Learn to take a hit.

Qingque:Don’t sweat it guys. It’s time for the easier part. *presses downloader*

Acheron:Hey. Oh, it’s you.

Aventurine:I think that’s my line. To think I’d get your aid in a place like this.

Acheron:I’m just here to cut through the fodder and potentially give you a chance to win it big. Consider me your guide.

Aventurine:We’re bound to get lost then.

Acheron:Heh, then I guess you’ll be getting enough blessings. Stay close.

xxxxx

Knight of beauty appears

Aventurine:Well would you look at that!

Sparkle:Okay, so I typically don’t care how far these runs go, but if you somehow ruin this I’m actually going to be disappointed.

Aventurine:Oh you know a situation is dire if I have a Fool acting serious. I was already planning on proving my value anyway.

Floor 3

Silver Wolf: Well it’s be real everyone. Don’t really need me for that oversized bug. It’s got every weakness you need.

Sparkle:What an interesting way of saying “I am a liability.”

Silver Wolf:It’s simple strategy. We didn’t come all this way to gain nothing. I’ll just cheer from the bench. Qingque, don’t miss your crits. *

Qingque:I literally can’t.

Silver Wolf:And don’t eat too many points. *leaves*

Qingque:…No promise. *hits downloader*

Ruan Mei: Shall we begin?

Aventurine:All this talent and you needed my help?

Ruan Mei:Have you ever felt the wind shear of a Swarm Disaster? Some people say it’s like a personal hurricane on your body.

Qingque:I’m “some people”

xxxxxx

20+ Propagation blessings. Various Curios, interplays achieved, and additional blessings gained. Danger level Eight

Swarm buzzing violently

Qingque:I’m gonna be honest guys, I don’t know if I’m trembling because I’m nervous, or because this is about to be pretty spectacular. Aventurine, if you would? *holds out tiles*

Aventurine:Heh, you really want all the luck possible huh? Alright then, strut yourself.

He leans over to his left and gently blows on the pieces.

“Let’s play a game!” Qingque tosses them into the air and twirls as metamorphosis begins; catching the pieces as they fell. Without stopping, she throws out a four of kind then immediately flicks her wrist like a slite of hand trick to reveal another set of tiles to throw.

The experienced gambler watches the girl pass the tiles between her hands twice before throwing another eight, killing a bug and keeping the pace by tossing a new set once before suddenly slamming down a tile that shakes everything and hands her another four of a kind she quickly turned into eight. It’s still her turn. Gambling is partly a numbers game, and Qingque has clearly crunched them.

Aventurine:(Oh shit…)

Sparkle:Wooooo! Don’t stop the fireworks!

Three more tosses before another hit! No worries! Qingque happily took a single tile and beamed it another insect before slamming down another that caused it to explode. She tossed her set to a corner bug as she took another break turn to eat up all four points before hearing Sparkle laughing as she topped off the difference.

Qingque: Can’t stop won’t stop!

Another eight tiles exploded and knocked the main bug down briefly. Aventurine was thinking he didn’t need to be here, until it got back up and tore through the shield like paper. Without hesitation he let his wealth pour down like rain and redeployed a shield. He confidently scoffed, but Ruan Mei could see his hand twitch in his pocket.

Ruan Mei:Fear is a healthy way of understanding your current situation as well providing alertness. Are you alert?

Aventurine: Vividly. *stacks shield*

Ruan Mei:Welcome to the Swarm Disaster.

Qingque:You get a front row seat to VICTORY!

1,500,000

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

what do you think the chains favorite breakfast foods are (if they eat breakfast)

I WAS HALFWAY THROUGH ANSWERING THIS AND MY PHONE DIED AND DELETED EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN, DEATH AND SORROW AND DESPAIR.

Okay I'm good now.

ANYWAYS, I split you ask into two sections: first, their favorite food ever if they can get their hands on it, the second what they like to eat on the road. And then a final unhinged rant at the bottom about the one thing about teenage boys/young men and their food that I'll never understand: Bacon.

Legend--I have a feeling that he likes sweets. Specifically, waffles with whipped cream and berries. They're a little burnt, but Ravio made them for him, so he'll pretend he doesn't notice (and grows to like them better that way). On the road, he'll go for coffee/tea (he's not picky) if one of the others make it, or nothing at all.

Hyrule--does he have a favorite breakfast food? Food isn't very stable where he comes from--Legend and Wild would spoil him so much in regard of expanding his palate. But I imagine that something like a fried mixture of beef/sausage, vegetables, and a starch (perhaps an even poorer version of an already poor person food Shepherd's Pie, perhaps? it could be a breakfast food) would be a sort of filling, tasty, and easy to procure/make/preserve food that he'd like. On that note, I would say something simple, easy to get and preserve, and hardy would be his go to breakfast on the road--maybe meat jerky.

Wild--Also a sweets person. Fruit cake, cinnamon rolls, frosted cupcakes, basically all the little delicacies he could get at a dumb party 100 years ago, he ain't picky, it's for breakfast and it's fueling a day long sugar high. On the road he, unlike the other Links, can be pretty creative with his breakfasts, and he likes his spice as well. So, I think he'd like Meaty rice balls.

Four--direct this question to someone else please. He has four voices in his head fighting to answer right now, and none of them agree. I surely dont know if he doesn't.

Time--Pancakes and farm-fresh scrambled eggs and toast with jam. Malon makes it for him. What can I say. On the road he is a habitual coffee drinker, he wouldn't be functioning in the mornings without it. But he'll also take a poached egg if he has the time (heh).

Warrior--unlike Time who is a habitual coffee drinker, he is a coffee connoisseur. He likes the breakfasts they serve at the castle--a lot of meats and fruits, expensive, and on top of it all, well plated. Not to say that he can't eat simply--he was in a war, mind you--just that he prefers not to. On the road, he strikes me as the kind that would drink those tasteless quick oats (y'know you just add water, shake and go?) and also be very vocal about much time (heh) it's saving him (being none). I don't know what the Hyrule equivalent of those are.

Twilight--our favorite country boy. I think he likes a true southern breakfast. Ham and pan-fried potatoes and eggs over-easy, with a side of cheesy grits and sausage biscuits and gravy like Uli used to make for him (I HC this man has a black hole of a stomach, out of all the Links). On the road he'll inhale a boiled egg or two (salted and peppered if he's feeling fancy) that Wild made for him. I also head canon that Twilight likes tea with an intensity. And not only sweet tea, but like, ALL of the teas. He gets obsessive. I literally have in my detail/subplot tracking documents for BDOR the following entry underneath chapter 8--Tea: "Twilight’s cure to Wild’s voice is tea. His cure to life’s woes is tea."

Wind--whatever his grandma is making, probably with seafood involved. I've had a crab-spinach-egg casserole for breakfast before, it was good, so I'll give him that. On the road, I can see him packing a lot of bread and some meat (dried fish if he can get it).

Sky--This guy honestly has me stumped. Do those on Skyloft eat Loftwing eggs, or are they considered taboo? They have a lot of pumpkins around--do they incorporate them into their meals?@needfantasticstories you know a lot of Skyward Sword lore, bequeath me your wisdom. Anyways on the road he's a meat and bread person like Wind. Practical.

Now, for my rant about young men and their food quirks:

Bacon. Bacon, as I have witnessed, drives the most reasonable of men insane.

I just a few things to say about this. I have younger brothers, and I born witness to many male sleepover parties. I--as the resident nasty fe-male XD--have been (forced) to cook for them in the mornings. Set a pile of bacon in front of them (or really any meat, but I have found that bacon has the strongest affect) and they turn into WOLVES. They start to crowd around and stare as soon as they begin to smell it (which hey, give me space in the kitchen, please!), snatch it up before the grease even cools, and then retreat into their separate corners of the living room/kitchen and scarf it down, all while avoiding eye contact and projecting just how much they don't care about the bacon they're eating (perhaps so one of the others don't take notice and try to steal it). There's an odd little ritual/rules to the thing, too: for example, it's frowned upon to take more than three or four pieces at a time, there has to be enough for everyone, obviously; but if you finish a second and third serving before some poor sod stumbles in and gets himself a piece--why that is acceptable, even encouraged. But at all times, you could feel them watching each other, judging whether each person had taken acceptable amounts. 6 at once, I have determined, is veritably considered too much, as I have watched an entire group of mid-late teenage boys chase another through the house and outside for this crime of greed. Another thing was the presence of literally any other edible food. If there was anything else--eggs, fruit, even something like a few slices of unbuttered toast or coffee or juice sitting out, this reaction was largely tempered--even if none of the boys took the other foods, they would take a meager one or two pieces of bacon and be satisfied, perhaps reassured that other food was present and their hope of a filling breakfast was not in vain. Most, at that point they would restrain themselves from eating anything (other than their bacon tax) and wait so that everyone could eat together. But the mad scramble that occurs when there is bacon and only bacon in the kitchen (even if other things are cooking, nearly done, and visible to them) is otherworldly.

I never saw it with anything else, not eggs, not fruit, not even sausage or any other breakfast food. And it must be noted that I was exempt from their little ritual of judgement--perhaps as the only woman, or perhaps as the cook, I was allowed to take as much bacon as I liked from the pile, once the initial wave had attacked and retreated with their bounty (and the strips of bacon had cooled enough that mortal human hands such as my own could pick them up). And while they behaved like beasts, I was always very politely thanked for making breakfast once it was over and the frenzy had abated.

Anyways, your ask got me thinking about Malon making a pile of bacon for the boys, activating the beforehand undiscovered "PANIC! BACON!" mode in their brains, and just being utterly confused as they turn into animals. Just the boys descend, and then a few shouts of "Thanks, Malon!" drift in on the wind as they scatter like racoons with treasure, leaving an empty plate spinning behind them.

[kadajsbitch]

Fresh Air

Pinocchio x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smoking a cigarette, other than that none for the most part.

I kind of want to turn this into a series, idk yet. This may be a bit OOC but for the most part, the character is nameless as for the little mentions of her family and things, I still for the most part kept it a clean slate for the readers to make that themselves. If I do make this a series, I’ll probably give them a last name or something but as of now, it’s pretty much a blank slate so enjoy. 😅

•*•*•*•*•*•

It was late. Way too late for a lady of her status to be outside even if it was just to stand in front of the building she resided at.

But then again, those things didn’t matter anymore… not with the rogue mechanoids patrolling the streets of Krat looking for any potential human or even puppet that hadn’t been affected with whatever was turning them haywire, to ultimately slaughter. It also didn’t matter anymore considering she no longer lived under her families rule anymore. For all they knew, she was dead and despite that being a cause for concern to most, it was one of the things that felt like a grand weight being lifted off her shoulders… therefore, her status didn’t matter anymore.

She pulled her robe around herself a little more tightly for the sake of keeping warmth. Due to the fires that were beginning to spread around the already apocalyptic city, the winds had picked up, causing for it all to appear slightly foggy, and in all honesty hard to breath… which made for what she was about to do seem stupid.

But one thing was for certain and that was that Krat was now in an apocalyptic state and even if the puppets were to one day just stop their tumultuous assault against everything within their line of vison, it would take years before Krat could be in a state of repair… and years before it would be fully repaired.

She reached into her robe pocket, keeping her head up and alert as she looked around once more, wearily taking a few hesitant steps away from the door. While it had only been a few days since her arrival to the hotel, she felt as if she was trapped which to her was slightly ironic because before she had arrived, she had told herself if there were people there who could help her, she’d never leave the building for the sake of her life.

To get to the hotel had been a challenging and a perilous journey itself. She had been on her way back to the station, not willing that was or sure but having only been in Krat because she thought she’d be able to hide out there until her family got bored with looking for her…

She let out a frustrated huff, as she quickly moved to check her other pocket, and to both her satisfaction and annoyance, she finally grasped the thing she had been looking for… the box of cigarettes.

Straightening herself as she hesitantly glanced down the bridge and around her once more, making sure she was indeed alone. Her attention fell back to the little box. She had grabbed it off a corpse when she had been running towards the hotel… she guessed it had been a simple cream white color before it had been splattered with blood.

It felt wrong to grab it off a dead man’s body, but then again it wasn’t like he would be using them. She for one, definitely did not them nor have any true need for them considering she had never smoked before in her life. Yet she did it… and she despite the overwhelming feeling of regret having to do with her actions, she felt a peculiar sense of excitement by it due to the fact if her family could see her, they’d surely throw a fit at catching her smoking.

She carefully slid the little box from the bloodied sleeve that held its contents, before pulling one of the carefully hand rolled pieces out. Quickly, she placed it between her lips before pocketing the box and shoving it back in her robe pocket and finding her matches.

Speaking of her family….

She came from a wealthy one. One with lots of influence on those within in London and neighboring countries, yet no one would’ve guessed considering she never had her debut into society the proper way due to the fact she had ran away. She knew what would come of the day… Her mother had wanted to throw a debutante ball and hold it at their manor, like they had done for her sister and cousins, and so on.

While from the outside, it seemed like a grand affair, some girls who were the stars of their balls and those they attended, loved it and looked forward to them, she knew it was just an excuse for her parents to go window shopping for a husband for her. The very thing she did not want.

So, she waited a week before the event, the night of her escape she had changed into one of the puppet servants clothing and promptly ran away. She had been fifteen then… and she had been very ill-prepared for how the world outside of first class society really was and yet, she wouldn’t trade it for nothing in the world because at least she had one thing her parents seemed to have not wanted her to have at all, and that was free will to live her life according.

Of course, her family wasn’t just going to allow her to leave on her own terms. Over the years she had narrowly escaped men who had chased after her, no doubt privately hired by her father who promised them wealth and money to find her. Three men in which, continued their pursuit of finding and bringing her back to her father alive and in one piece for the award they were no doubt expecting from the man.

And they would’ve succeeded this time too, if not for the puppets at the station going haywire and attacking the men who were all but trying to drag her in the train and those around her…

Feeling her hand grasp the small box of matches, she quickly pulled it out, her head whipping around to ensure her safety once more before she looked down, bringing the now lit match that she had repeatedly hit against the striker until it was ignited.

Quickly she brought the end of her cigarette to it before shaking the match out, and taking a shaky inhale. While she had never smoked before, she had been told if she ever tried, to inhale with her mouth first before fully inhaling with her lungs to avoid the embarrassment of hacking up said lungs. She pushed the smoke out through her nose, making an audible “Oh.” Sound before, she brought the cigarette away from her mouth as she hesitantly looked across the bridge, her face fixing on the figure she hadn’t noticed before.

She froze for what felt like minutes before she slowly made her way to the hotel door. However, she got the need to look back once more, in which she did, and luckily it wasn’t a puppet like she had assumed… it was him.

He was halfway across the bridge now, his eyes fixed on her. He wore a simple chemise top that had a loose frill collar, and simple black breeches with his flat shoes and socks. A stark contrast from the uniform she was use to seeing him in…She suddenly became aware of what she had on, as the skirt of her chemise night dress and train of her robe blew slightly in the harsh wind, again reminding her that she shouldn’t have been out. If not for the fact that by societal standards, she was a woman, it was the fact that she was dressed indecently especially considering she was alone.

She pulled the silk robe a little bit tighter around her chest area, looking down to make sure it was still secured in place by the silk belt of the robe before she hesitantly stepped away from the door as he got closer.

“It’s late. You could’ve smoked through the window.” His voice was surprisingly deep yet it wasn’t so guttural, and held a softness to it. It was both pleasing yet odd coming from him considering his features were somewhat soft. Despite this, he didn’t sound particularly upset or worried about what she was doing. More so stating the situation, and a solution that would’ve been better than her coming outside.

She sighed softly, exhaling the smoke as she turned to look behind him and towards her right. “Yes, it is and I could’ve but I needed some time outside of the hotel… I know the air isn’t particularly fresh out here, but it’s nice to be outside.” She said, her eyes finding his to search his expression.

He tilted his chin down slightly keeping his eyes on her as his eyebrows furrowed in an expression that seemed to be questioning her reasons.

“Nice to be outside… in these conditions.” He turned his body slightly to look at the scene beyond the destroyed building that stood closer to the hotel as his eyes shifted from one collapsing building to the few giant clouds of black smoke rising in the air from fires that brewed.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly as she took another drag of the cigarette, now feeling a little more comfortable to inhale it. “As thankful as I am for Antonia’s benevolence and allowing me to stay under her roof for the time being, staying inside for too long can be a bit stuffy. No matter how many windows you open.” She said, watching as he turned to look back at her, his eyebrow raised slightly in a questioning matter while his gaze seemed to hold a look of doubt.

“Besides, it’s not like we can really have many windows open… while it does seem like the puppets tend to ignore the inside of the buildings, if they catch wind of seeing anything within, they’ll do what they usually do.” She says frowning. When she had arrived to the hotel, she had felt safe enough to relax and be as loud as she wanted due to the fact she was staying in the highest part of the hotel… that’s until Antonia informed her that some of the puppets were climbing.

“How attentive. You’re observant enough to know that if they think they can sense humans within the building, they’ll tear it down in a means to get to us. Yet it’s alright to stand outside and smoke because you’re in need of fresh air?” At this, she narrowed her eyes at him slightly before rolling them watching as a gentle grin found it’s way on his lips.

“We haven’t been formally introduced. My name’s Pinocchio.” At this, her exspression shifted to one of curiosity. “Like the fairytale?” He nodded before holding his hand out for her to shake, an action in which she carefully repeated as they became familiar with one another.

“(Y/n).” She said, a little to stiffly for her liking but hoping it was believable. She had been using the false name for years after she had ran away, yet it never felt right coming from her lips.

She didn’t miss how the corner of his mouth slowly withdrew, his eyebrow raising more as a smirk found its way to his face. “Lovely name. I haven’t met anyone with a name like yet.” She smiled, withdrawing her hand from his as he did as well.

She had seen the man walking around the hotel every now and then, but she had never interacted with him due to the fact he seemed to only really come inside the hotel to maybe get supplies and talk to Eugenia, Antonia, and the man who resided in the study.

And almost immediately, he’d leave afterwards. She had never seen him eat or drink anything, which in turn made her believe he ate when she was either in her room considering the fact it’s where she mainly stayed now unless she was speaking with Eugenia, the girl who ran the weapons shop she had became friendly with.

After a moment of silence and looking at one another, he turned to face the bridge to look at the scene in-front of them.

“You shouldn’t stay out too long. They rarely come up here, but every now and then there’s two or three that are sauntering infront of the door when I come or am exiting.” At this, her face fell from the relaxed, almost pleasant look to one of shock. Not really by the fact that they would come close to the hotel, that much she assumed but she hadn’t even bothered to check the windows before she so much as opened the doors.

He glanced at her from the side before smiling gently, turning back towards the doors as he opened one. Before he entered however, he looked over to her, clearing sensing her sudden unease. “Are you coming inside too or, do you wish to enjoy the outside air more?” He asked. Again, his tone was gentle yet you could see an almost teasing look in his eye as she stood there waiting for his response.

She didn’t hesitate however. Quickly, she knelt down, quickly stubbing the cigarette out as her other hand held her robe together tightly to keep modest before she stood up, and quickly went inside. Nodding at Pinocchio who averted his eyes to the ground to watch his step, once she was inside as he moved to follow, closing the door behind him.

[borzoilover69]

“Ok Borzoi so why don’t you like Dirkjohn” - somebody, who didn’t ask, but I want to ramble. 

I guess it’s funny as a crack ship but in actuality, i feel it would fall incredibly flat and only be viable in an unhealthy way. Canonically, they've got little to nothing to do with each other, and their relationship branches on bullshit in the epilogues and HS2 which just isn't a good judge of Dirk and Johns character so much as a butcher of it.

First, lets get their characters down. Dirk, very introspective to the point of destruction, who’s prone to rambling, overcomplicating and accentuating things in a way to keep up his aura of coolness, of being “totally in control and all knowing”, and sort of socially awkward, failing quite a few times to read jokes as jokes. 

John, upfront, more likely to push forward without really thinking, keeps things simple and asks not much, and very much a protagonist figure. He’s blunt, he’s teasing in his humour, and he likes to take the mic out of people and make his own fun. 

Dirk is very active. He's willing to go through many hoops and talk around himself, and he needs a conversational partner willing to spar him on it, however, John is anything but that. He's upfront, he brings a hypothetical hammer down into the bush that dirk is walking around. Jake will indulge, so will a lot of the alpha kids, but the beta kids by far are more blunt and straight forward. John would see whatever bullshit Dirk is pulling and think it's stupid and ornery, and shut him down..Dirk would go "okay" and then either try to counterpoint to be shut down, or walk away.This conversation is a relaly good point of reference for how it would go. Note how roxy is going through the general alpha kids bullshit theatrics and ornery, and john instead of getting it, cuts it down with "no thats stupid", and doesnt get the joke.

This conversation is a really good point of reference for how it would go. Note how roxy is going through the general alpha kids bullshit theatrics and ornery, and john instead of getting it, cuts it down with "no thats stupid", and doesnt get the joke.

dirk wouldn't know how to handle someone actually being completely straight up and refusing to humor him, being open about not giving a shit about whatever tangent dirk is on.  it might humble him which he definitely needs sometimes but most of the time itd just make him go "ok. whatever man im going to jake's"

(art by my boyfriend) 

Nobody puts up with dirk and jakes bullshit as much as dirk and jake do each other

DIRK: "I'll get this blue gumball son of a bitch this time. He's gonna be so perplexed by the bullshit im about to spew he's got no idea the storm that's wafting in on the wind."

 and then john says ratio and dirk is reduced to ash. 

John and Jake also have a bad habit of comparison in a negative sense, like how he did with davesprite. Jake does it out loud with no regard for others, and John is the type to drop a single “x has already made this joke” because his preference of Dave is so much stronger than Dirk. Dirk wouldn’t be able to beat Dave to the ironic punchline because most likely, Dave has already said it in a language John understands, and John has made fun of him for it already. John doesn’t have patience for long winded games, if he’s not in the mood he’ll just fuck off. 

Personally feel like John would be acutely aware that Dirk hates when he shuts him down, but he just genuinely cannot sit here and listen to a “worse version of dave talk like hes pretending to be rose. I just cant.i don’t have it in me.” 

I mean I think they’d be funny somewhat, but they would not be happy together at all it would be awkward as hell. Dirk needs someone to pull him out of his bullshit but John just won’t do that. He won’t consider it really that much. They could have funny moments, but the toxicity of their potential relationship sours most of it for me. Dirk is pretty fucking intense in a lot of ways, and hes prone to being a lot. 

the alpha kids in general are just way intense due to their fucking isolation whatever thety smoked in those years made them volatile like fucking potent like a chili peppers but thats words for another ramble.

John just isn’t able to match Dirk. He doesn't think enough, he's just going with the flow and dirk needs someone who can either match him on an intellectual level or someone who can match him in an interest way. John just wouldn’t take the relationship seriously enough, which would lead to Dirk trying to figure out something that isn’t there to really figure out. John matches well with someone who has known him for a while and doesn’t have a specific way they want things to go.