#also! lil excerpt in this one

[binch-i-might-be]

oh god. i cant. like. i have so many thoughts in my head rn. i need to choose just one to rant to you about. but my god. know i have SO MANY

and no bc i am constantly thinking about how they have to hide. how theyre so fucking in love but nobody can ever know. how their love is so fucking pure and sweet and yet nobody can ever see it, but the unhappy arranged marriages are flaunted for the world to see.

yk whats on my mind constantly? how nobody came to their wedding. because they couldnt. it would be too dangerous. not even the people who know. because it was already so dangerous, even when it was just them and the river and the stars.

and the LINE. "you can share your life with the man you love without fear and thats a luxury i will never have" lives in my brain. just constantly. like my god. you pulled out ALL the stops in that fic. that line tore me APART. like okay. what if i just sobbed.

god. im just. im cradling them in my hands. these poor poor boys.

- 🐥

give them to me ....... send them ALL 🌀

dude it literally rips me apart. that's one reason I'm so obsessed with the reincarnation au, because finally finally finally they get to hold hands and kiss and be silly and young and in love. they're constantly in each other's arms, touching at every chance, to make up for the 45 years they had to hide

NOBODY CAME TO THEIR WEDDING! it was just them and it was so special but. they didn't even have an officiant. because no one would have married them :(

THANK YOU. I loved that line, I loved that John was the one who got to say it to Martha. he needed that. he deserved that.

actually you mentioning the wedding and Martha reminded me of a little bonus fic taking place during Green Eyes that's been rotting in my drafts for like two years now, I'm gonna put a lil snippet under a cut!

yeah. cradling them kissing them tucking them in nice and tight and protecting them :(((

“Alex, dear, I- would you mind telling me a bit about that wedding of yours?” she said, brushing her thumb over a chip in the smooth porcelain cradled between her hands.

She had asked George about it after Alexander had left last night, but he hadn’t been able to tell her anything, either. He had not been present for it; on some level, she had been glad, even if that was petty, perhaps.

It was just hard for her, sometimes, to realise Alex felt he could be open with his father while he so obviously treaded on eggshells around her, even giving a warning every time he was about to mention the man he wanted to share his life with.

To know George hadn’t been involved in that wedding was a bit of a consolation.

Alex snapped his head up and regarded her with wide eyes. “Really?” he said, and there it was again, that guarded expression, as though he expected her to launch into a lecture about sodomy and the fate of his immortal soul any minute now.

Martha ignored the dull pang in her chest that came every time she was reminded her sweet little boy distrusted her on some level now, and forced a smile. It felt stiff on her face, and she knew she had raised a very sharp young man, so she hid it behind her cup.

“Yes, really. Of course, I have attended some weddings in my time, but I do think yours might have been very… special.”

Alex huffed a soft laugh and cut his gaze away, his eyes finding the gently shining ring on his finger instead, and a blissful little smile conquered his features. “You could say that.”

Well, that distraction had worked quicker than she would have thought.

“So?” she prompted, careful, and nudged her knee against her son’s thigh.

“Um,” he said and slowly turned his cup between his fingers, an old habit he had picked up from George, who liked to absentmindedly rotate everything from wineglass to teacup when he was lost in thought. “What would you like to know?”

“Let’s start with something simple,” she said, and Alexander chuckled. “The date?”

“June sixth,” he responded at once, smiling softly to himself.

“Oh, a summer-wedding? That must have been nice," she said in an attempt to show him he had nothing to fear right now, that he could be honest and open with her as he was with his father. "Your father and I got married when he was on leave in January. The snow was beautiful. Awfully cold, though."

Her first wedding had been in autumn, but Martha tended not to dwell on that chapter these days.

Alex snorted a laugh and took a sip of his tea; he wasn't tense, and he didn't seem suspicious of her intentions anymore.

It was a start, she thought.

"It was… a little different from your wedding, I think," he said. His eyes were so soft and happy, not even a trace of his earlier tears in sight, and Martha wished she could understand it all. What drew her son to that boy, and what drew Laurens to her son, and how they fit.

It just seemed so odd to her.

"How so?" she prompted gently after a beat.

Alex flushed a bit at that, didn't meet her eye. "Well, it was… private. Just the two of us, out under a tree at midnight. The- the moon was full that night. Cloudless sky." He took a slow breath, and his smile slipped a little, gained an almost sad note. Martha shuffled closer and squeezed his arm. "We went down to the river and said our vows under a willow."

He turned back to her, his smile returning full force. "It was perfect. There's not a single thing I would have changed."

Martha hummed, thoughtful. She couldn't help but wonder about the stricken look that had flickered across his features just now.

"You mean that, love?" she said, and Alex nodded, let his eyes slip back down to the ring he twisted around his finger–Martha had to bite back a fond smile at that gesture, something she herself had done for over twenty years now. Perhaps Alex hadn't only picked up his habits from his father, after all.

"What was that frown about, then?"

[slashingdisneypasta]

Foxy Coltrane x Fem!Reader || Excerpts

Plot: A few (5) of your many 💋kisses💋 with Foxy Coltrane. They aren't really in any particular order.

'I just wanted to know what it would be like.' - Gilmore Girls

Warnings: Sexual references + kissing gifs. Reader is pretty obsessed. Unedited.

***the 'fem' part in the title can be taken with a grain of salt. I only put it because the gifs are all hetero. If that doesn't bother you, theirs actually no mention that the reader is feminine in the writing.

1; The first time.

Your lips touch his, your hands sliding up a moth eaten american flag shirt and the warm chest under it and they reach his shoulders, and its absolutely everything you thought it would be. He grins against your mouth like he just won a bet and strong arms wrap around you; holding you still. Literally caging you in.

If you hadn't already committed to this madness, then you probably would have the good sense to be afraid of that. But you wanted this. You thought about it, you considered the pros and the cons, the feel of his lips on yours vs the feel of his fingers in your guts, and the desire to kiss him won by a landslide.

You must be crazy.

Foxy kisses just like how you would imagine a 55-year-old borderline feral classic to kiss- all encompassing, that beard rubbing your face in an oddly pleasant way and his big hands grabbing your hips just like they belong there. Like you're his. He takes his time kissing you, his mouth moving carefully on yours, just enjoying it; a hot piece of ass like you just walkin' up and kissing him out of nowhere. He's definitely game for shit like that.

When you have to breathe and separate just for air, he tries to follow you for half a second, but settles for giving you a mischievous, almost smug grin and dropping his forehead against yours. "... well hi." He drawls, his voice a slow crawl that makes you feel things. Terrible, dangerous things.

Breathless and eyes glazed over with want. Everything about the older man is perfect to you- how can he be so handsome?? How can he be so hot? And interesting? And the fact that he's considerably saner then his brother and sister is definitely a bonus for you. "I just wanted to know... what it would be like."

"Oh? Making out with an old guy?" Foxy teases. "Kinky little bitch, huh?"

"Making out with you." You admit boldly, your hands still on his shoulders and watch his face transform into a wicked grin.

"'s that so?... " He looks thoughtful and impressed and intrigued by you, his eyes soft but daunting at the same time. "You sure about that? Kinda dangerous, dontcha think?... "

Definitely. "I think it was worth it."

"You wanna get outta here?"

2; When he comes back after a trip away from you.

"Fox!" As soon as you saw him laid back half-slumped in the cushions on your couch, his knees spread wide manspreading like an ass, and an old black-and-white on your tv, and that slow smirk on his handsome face after he was gone for 2 months, your mood is completely lifted. You had the l o n g e s t day at work and you were ready to absolutely collapse but the effect he has on you is an instant recharge. A slow grin spreads across your face as you close the door behind you. You've missed him so bad-

"Hey there sweetheart. Been a while this time. My bad." The way his eyes flicker down your body and back up to your face again, the happy-to-see-you grin on his handsome rugged face, lights you up inside even brighter. He came here to see you!! He's happy to see you!! "C'mere."

You don't hesitate a second before crossing the room and settling in his lap, connecting your lips in a searing kiss full of all the want you've had to compartmentalise and put away all the time that he was not here. He barely moves, seeming lazy as he just lifts his chin to kiss you back. He doesn't need to move; you're in control (at least he lets you believe you are, 'cuz he likes you) and you're already nice and close in his lap, your knees digging into the couch cushions on either side of his camo-clad hips.

You went from negative one hundred to positive two hundred so fast you're already clenching around nothing, and so when he puts his hands on your hips (His big, dangerous, experienced wolfman hands) and encourages you to grind down on his hard bulge - which must have already been hard before you walked in, - you're happy to oblige. The kiss has to stop, at that- an inconceivable sigh of relief choking you at the feeling you missed; your head pressing into his shoulder as your hips slowly move against him.

"There, there, baby... I'm back... "

3; When Otis is looking at you a certain kind of way.

You hate Otis' attention. You hate being around Otis- he nearly killed you when you first met the Fireflies, after all, and it was only Baby who kept you alive cuz you were a good playmate (now of course you're Foxy's playmate, instead though. Funny how things change). But even now he sometimes looks at you, and you can tell he still wants to kill you after all this time. Pull you apart and make something new out of your pieces. Otis hasn't become attached to you in the slightest- he never would. In his head you will always be prey.

The whole time Otis has been sticking near to you tonight and picking on you Foxy has been behind you, telling him to back the hell off you whenever he goes too far, or just glaring. Otis knows what he's doing, knows he shouldn't be messing with you (You're Foxy's), but of course he doesn't care.

When Otis crosses the line with Fox (Finally. He crossed the line as far as you're concerned 3 seconds in), referring to you as 'meat, you're sure Foxy's going to pick up your hand and take you both out of there. Leave. Go somewhere where it can be just the two of you.

You're shocked when he sits down in a chair and guides in between his legs, one hand on your waist drawing you in for a deep kiss thats would be completely indecent in any other social group but the Fireflies. A surprised noise slips out of you but after he uses the opening to slip his tongue into your mouth, you get quiet; obediently kissing him back. Needily kissing him back. You're absolutely all his and you can never ever help it when he kisses you. He kisses you, and its all over. Any restraint you had, any nervousness or fear (Of him, of Otis, of your own psychotic desires for this evil man) disappear and all you have is a want for the warm familiar feel of him under your skin.

He knows it.

He knows as soon as he does this to you you wont be scared, anymore. You'll forget all about Otis. And Otis'll lose all interest.

And just like that, with Foxy's tongue deep in your mouth and his hand on your waist squeezing the fat there gently and making you crazy, Otis rolls his eyes and gets up. You don't even notice him leave, your fingers losing themselves in your Foxes hair just like the rest of you is lost in him.

Foxy cracks his eyes open, still kissing you, to watch him walk off. Too fucken easy.

4. Slow kisses when you're alone and you have plenty of time.

Sometimes the stars and the planets all align and your free wolfman stays. Foxy gets that still energy about him- like he's not going anywhere this time, at least for now, like here with you is exactly where he most wants to be in the world- and thats saying something because Foxy can go anywhere he wants to. Have whatever he wants. do whatever he wants. At least thats what you think.

At least he can get whatever he wants, from you.

During these times where he's still, not going away, you hope to be alone. No Fireflies, no Spaulding, no scary Otis.

Because- g o d.

When you are alone-

Theirs something oddly romantic about him, something from those old movies he likes in the way he touches you. His lips on yours are soft, teasing, setting your nerves on fire and making you moan. He'll sit on the couch for hours with you just tasting your lips, and your tongue, and your cheeks and jaw and neck and anywhere else he can reach. And when you get up to eat, or shower, or go to the bathroom, its not long before the possessive-obsessive wolfman comes up behind you and starts all over again.

He presses your front against a wall and lathers your neck and shoulders in those maddening gentle kisses, he feels up your spine with the tips of his dirty fingernails while you're cooking something on the stove and then sucks the darkest hickey you've ever seen into the crook of your neck (It'll be so sensitive to the touch after. He'll leave the same ones in all sorts of other places on you, too), he'll kiss you deep until you get lightheaded from the sheer lack of air.

He makes you even more addicted to him. Makes it even worse when he inevitably leaves again.

But... while it lasts....

5. The kiss in the middle of a fight.

Its honestly the hardest thing in the world for you to be mad at this man- because he could hurt you. But also because you love him. And also because he refuses to listen!!

"You are the most frustrating- are you hearing me??"

He looks up from a machete set across his knees, which he was picking blood clots off of with his bare fingernails, and raises his brows. "... huh?"

"Ughhhhh!" You just got finished telling him what was bothering you, and he was off in la la land!! Frustration washes through you like a tidal waive and you don't know what to do with yourself. He does this every time!! You're pretty sure he does it on purpose! Unsure what to do with yourself, you whip around and storm off- ignoring his 'wait, hold on, wait, wait!- '.

When suddenly his hand wraps around your wrist like a vice and whips you back around to him you end up slamming right against his chest. You try to back up and storm away again but his other hand comes down on your arm and holds you still. "Hold on, there. What's the problem, sweetcheeks?"

"Whats the pr-!? " Ohhhhh. "Let me go, I'm leaving!"

"Come on, clue me in."

"I did! You weren't listening!"

"Alright, shit, well I didn't think it was something important. Fuck me. Alright, siddown, my ears are wideee open."

"No!"

"I'm not givin' you a choice."

Instead of arguing with that you just start struggling against him again, and he watches half-annoyed at your little attempts; wriggling your wrist in his grip and trying to yank your other arm away from him- you budge him but he doesn't let go. "Fuck- "

Eventually his annoyance turns into amusement, watching you wriggle like a worm on a hook. "Goddamnit, you're cute." A slow smirk spreads across his face looking down at you. "Makes me wanna do stuff to ya. Stuff ya like. Too bad you're so upset... woulda been a fun couple hours."

Thats, admittedly, makes you falter. Even give up. Fuck. Breathless, you stop your fighting and look up at him with big frustrated bambi eyes. "... what?"

"You heard me."

"I'm mad at you." He cant do this to you!! This isn't fair! He's an ass, and he deserves to be mad at for a while.

"I know, I know." The grin on his face spreads as he steps in closer to your body, now that you're not actively trying to get away from him anymore; he knows he's got you. You can feel his warmth against your skin through layers of clothes. "... but come on, that'll just make it more fun, right?"

"... " You part your lips to respond, agree with him or deny him some more even though you know you want to give in, when you realise his grip on you loosened. Your heartbeat immediately picks up and thank god he doesn't realise it because a moment later you're gone from his grip and storming off again.

This time you make it a mere 2 feet before he catches you again and drags you back right against him this time; smothering your laughter and his amused grin at your cheek with his mouth.

The kiss immediately destroys any last resolve you had for yourself and you ring your arms up around his neck; slipping your tongue into his mouth.

[indigopoptart]

filled with so many URGES to show off my horror art

[kallowrites]

Will this make sense without extra context? Probably not... but just know I have read many (very good) Micolash centric fanfics over the past while and I want to attempt one for myself SO bad, so this is a snippet of an idea where he's barely even present except for like one passing mention LMAO

(it is LONG so beware - 3775 words)

Mostly hunter-interacts-with-hunter content tbh:

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The cacophonous chants from above came to a sudden, horrific end with no forewarning. The hunter halted in her struggle against the shackles keeping her confined to the chair in this cell and listened for something, anything. The abrupt dead silence hung so heavy in the air, it threatened to choke her, had she not already been contending with a rapidly growing sensation of something that could only be described as existential dread.

A thousand eyes upon her, and yet nowhere near her all at once, for she knew their focus ought to be up above in the chapel. All of her instincts screaming and biting, gnashing their teeth in the back of her mind – Something had gone wrong. She had no way of knowing what exactly, for she didn’t even know the details of whatever this supposed ritual was, but she knew by the way her skin crawled that things had not turned out as what may have been intended. At the very least, it felt unnatural. She jerked her head around, struggling to see if the eyes she felt could be seen in the dark, perhaps incandescent in quality, but the only sources of light were the dimming torches nearby. In an hour or so, maybe less, she’d be in complete darkness. Forgotten, left to rot.

She was completely alone.

The same moment the silence swept through the room - perhaps even all of Yahar’Gul - was when something shifted in her chest, as if a part of her wanted to simply float away and out of this chair, weightless. But she resisted. Fear and paranoia overtook that urge and she began tugging erratically at the shackles, hoping and praying they magically come undone and allow her to escape this cursed fate she’d stumbled into. If her feet hadn’t also been strapped to the legs of the chair, then maybe she could have had enough leverage to be able to break free… Or at the very least, maneuver around the cell a little.

Hell, she couldn’t even reach the augur from this angle. She could feel it every time the muscles in her one arm tensed as she tugged, hidden under the flap of her outer coat and safe from view. If it had been in her hand, she’d be able to break loose with little issue, the strength of Ebrietas making quick work of simple earthly metals like this. After exhausting herself with her continuous failed escape attempts, she slumped back against the chair and stared up at the dark ceiling.

Some hunter she was. First getting taken off-guard and being essentially kidnapped, then being foolish enough to just let herself be placed here despite being vaguely aware of the dubious happenings here. She was no closer to her answers she sought, and perhaps was even further away from them than ever. And now… doomed to rot in a chair in a dingy cell below Yahar’Gul, probably starving to death long before the Scourge ever caught up with her. Not unless she decided to tear her arm off with her teeth to get free. The thought sent a tense, depreciatory laugh through her. Maybe she was already going mad.

…How long was it that she sat in that chair for? Her wrists were growing raw, chafing against the metal even through her gloves. At some point, she must have dozed off, because she could feel herself open her eyes and blink as if to right herself, only to realize the torches had long since burnt out. Her eyes couldn’t adjust because there was nothing to adjust to.

Ah, but then after some other indeterminable amount of time, something faint appeared out the corner of her eye near where she supposed her shoulder was. The softest of blue glows, as a slug-like creature slipped out from underneath a fold of her overcoat, just bright enough she could tell it was looking at her. So the augur finally found its way out through all the layers of leather, huh? What a curious little thing… sometimes the hunter forgot that it was an entity of its own. Micolash had called it a tool, but tools do not have consciences. They did not think or eat or sleep, and they certainly didn’t squirm and leave behind a thin train of phosphorescent slime, either. Though its trail faded almost as soon as it was formed, the phantasm itself didn’t cease to emit that gentle blue light.

The hunter found herself with her gaze completely transfixed by it, as if the glow was the only safety in the room. It slowly slithered down her arm, and she felt her heart pick up speed as she thought it would slip straight into her hand, only to release a huff of air as it sharply turned and decided to instead crawl onto her torso, its sensory tentacles on its head moving about as it seemed to observe her as it moved around.

A nice distraction perhaps, but none of this was helping her get anywhere. But then she heard something so distant, she initially believed it to be her imagination until it got closer. Footsteps. Heels clacking against stonework somewhere up above. The hunter thought it strange she felt very little impulse to shout and yell and make her presence known… but perhaps it was because the nature of the sounds was yet undetermined. If it was another hunter, she may be in luck. If they weren’t blood-drunk. She’d encountered one or two of them in the past, all deceptively placid up until she crossed into their line of sight, and turned erratic and violent. Just because the footsteps up above sounded rather purposeful, didn’t mean it was a good kind of purpose.

The augur had made its way back upwards, momentarily struggling to get its ‘foothold’ as it had to work around a copper trinket that dangled from a buttonhole in her undercoat, before it managed to find purchase on the capelet. Not long after this, did the footsteps return after having faded some time ago, this time much louder, echoing through the hallway where her cell was located. But since it was pitch dark… Would whoever it was dare search around unnecessarily? The hunter felt herself hold her breath for reasons she didn’t know. A light emerged in the doorway and grew ever brighter as the footsteps grew closer… But then the light went out.

What were they thinking?

The steps continued, now accompanied by the telltale sound of a blade brushing against the walls of the stonework just barely, just enough that the mysterious person could feel their way in the dark. She heard them walk straight past the door and for a moment she believed they’d completely pass her by. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she heard the other person shuffle in the hallway, the light being re-lit and momentarily blinding the hunter. She blinked a few times, before realizing that they had in fact seen her.

They approached the cell, stopping in front of the door and leaning in to shine the torchlight upon her in full, as if to check for themselves that she was alive or not (which wasn’t something she could fault them for, given the amount of corpses everywhere around here). Their head tilted with a jerk as they addressed her at last, “Who are you?”

The voice was deep, decidedly male but not strained with age or scourge.  She made to respond, but found her mouth was suddenly incredibly parched… How long had it been since she’d last had some water, anyhow? Something wet and cold tickled the exposed part of her face, and she shook it away, realizing the augur was now considering her mask or hat as a new perch. The man didn’t miss this, and though she couldn’t see it, she could tell he’d narrowed his eyes with skepticism betrayed by his tone alone, “...You’re not one of them are you? The church folk with their bloody slugs...”

She almost laughed at his disdain, but instead finally managed to speak, though it was a pitiful croak compared to what she last remembered sounding like, “No, I’m not.”

“Even more curious…” He huffed before gesturing above him with a wave of the torch, “What’s happened here? Do you know?”

“Don’t you?” He didn’t appreciate her quip, and she added quickly, “I thought this place was hidden to most.”

“...Me too.” He seemed to glance around for a moment before nodding his head towards her again, “That's your augur, then? Everyone else up top is dead. It’s all corpses and beasts, now. More than just beasts…. Almost woulda missed you if I didn’t see that blue glow.”

She blinked, “I… Y-Yeah…” She frowned and shook her head, more pressing questions lined up, “What do you mean ‘everyone’s dead’? I… I don’t know how long I’ve been down here for. They weren’t when I was up there last.”

The other man – a hunter, she confirmed by his dark, familiar leathers – seemed to relax a little at her words, as though they’d confirmed that she was not an enemy, and he instead redirected his attention towards the lock on the gate. He tried it anyway, giving it a push, then jerking back and pushing again, the clattering particularly sharp and obnoxiously loud in an otherwise silent room. After a moment he changed his strategy and lifted upwards on it, seemingly with much resistance if his posture was anything to go by based on what light there was now, but pulling upwards and to the side seemed to have the exact effect he wanted. With a metallic clunk, he dropped it from his grasp and it swung loosely open.

Well, go-fucking-figure. It was just a finicky door after all… Not that she’d ever had a chance to try. He approached with narrowed eyes as if he believed the same, but his gaze came to rest on her shackles, “They strapped you in good, huh? What’d’ya do?”

She frowned, “I’m sorry?”

He tilted his head towards her again - a characteristic gesture, she was noticing, “I was in this place once before, a while back, but they never shackled me to a chair. Hell,” He scoffed, though she figured it was meant to be a laugh, though she couldn’t see which direction his lips were turned considering he wore a face cover much like she had, “They even left the bloody door unlocked.”

The hunter huffed in disbelief, “Wish they’d been so incompetent with me. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He shook his head, stooping to place his torch down on the stone floor next to them, before staying on his one knee to observe her predicament, “You’re just lucky I bothered coming down here. Was hoping I’d find something useful…” He gave an experimental tug on the metal keeping her wrists restrained, but hummed in disapproval when they didn’t budge, “But I guess you’ll have to do.”

He’d glanced at her then, a strange twinkle in his eye that had her loosening her shoulders just a touch. From the way his eyes crinkled, she’d swear he just…

But as soon as that look was shared, it was gone and over with. He seemed to fiddle with the cuffs a bit, perhaps attempting to figure out how they worked, but he spoke somewhat idly in the meanwhile, “Interestingly enough, a lot of the corpses upstairs were shackled just like this. Know anything about that?” His head lifted upwards again to look at her, “That or the cages on their heads.”

Ah, “...Mensis cages.” That much she did know, though it wasn’t all that helpful, “I… Don’t know why they’d be shackled though. From what I understand, most of them were all too willing, going into this.”

“Going into what, exactly?” he didn’t look at her anymore, instead having pulled out a knife he seemed intent on using as a shim.

“I’m not sure. Some kind of ritual, but that’s all I know.” She held her tongue from saying more – Telling this hunter that she’d known a couple of the scholars at work here would likely only incriminate her, and the last thing she wanted to do was lose the only ally she had at the moment.

The stranger shifted his weight suddenly, pushing against the handle of the knife until there was a resounding snap that signified either the blade or the shackle had broken. She was apprehensive to discover which… But she felt a gloved hand over top of her own for just a brief moment, and the pressure on her wrist was now absent. He took a moment to sit back on his heels, having shifted to fully kneel at her feet now, “Ritual, huh? Seems to be all there is to Yharnam anymore. It’s too strange, I can’t wrap my head around it all.” 

His attention turned to her other wrist-bound restraint as she questioned, “Does this mean you’re an outsider too?”

Though he didn’t look up, she heard the huff of air from underneath his face covering, as if she’d just told him an extraordinarily dry joke, “Could say that, yeah.”

She watched him work for a few moments, watching how he carefully slipped the blade between two very specific pieces of the metal, before cranking it to the side and then putting all his weight on his knees to break the joint that fastened it to the chair itself. He worked like he’d done this before, and though any other day this would lead her to countless questions about his background, in this instance she couldn’t help but feel unconcerned and full of relief. Glancing out the corner of her eye, the augur still sat upon her shoulder as if it too were watching the stranger, and she raised her free hand to gently brush against the side of its slick skin.

Another loud snap, and she finally released an obvious sigh of relief as she tenderly touched her wrists. Sore, certainly… but at least they were still there. His voice drew her from her thoughts after a moment, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

She glanced down at him, and frowned, “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with why I’m locked up?”

“I’ll take my chances with you, when there’s nothing but dead elsewhere. You didn’t answer my question though.”

“I…” She glanced away as she admitted with great self-loathing, “I got ambushed. I was trying to find my way to the Grand Cathedral and I rounded a corner and… Well…”

“...Big pale guy knocked you out cold?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, as her expression said all he needed to know. He chuckled, a pleasant, impersonal thing, “Me too. Not this time, but the first is always the worst.”

He leaned down to start on her ankle restraints, and she couldn’t help but pry further, “So why are you here now? Why willingly come to Yahar’Gul?”

He seemed genuinely confused when he peered up at her next, brow wrinkled rather deeply, “...You mean you can’t hear it?”

“Hear what?”

His eyes drifted towards the ceiling, “The cry of a baby.”

His words caught her off-guard, even as he returned to his work trying to set her free. There had been nothing but dead silence once the chanting had ceased… She hadn’t even heard beasts or these so-called corpses he’d mentioned. She wasn’t that far beneath Yahar’Gul. She should have heard something.

But a baby? Why the cry of a baby of all things? That couldn't be what that ritual was all about… could it?

She barely realized he’d made an attempt on the shackle, until his cursing caught her attention. The blade of the knife had broken clean off and clattered to the floor, rendering it completely useless for his task. Seeing him look so disgruntled had her speaking without much thought, “I have a couple throwing knives in my belt… Would that work?”

She realized with a delay that she could actually reach for them now, and drew them out, the blades shining in the torchlight. He reached for them, “Might be a little thin… but worth a shot.” He seemed to regard her a moment longer with a look she couldn’t quite place, before he leaned back down to attempt it again. The hunter was quite glad she’d been restrained the way she was. She didn’t exactly want to think too hard about him having to work between her legs…

She shook those thoughts away as soon as they’d shown up. A fellow hunter shows up, shows her a scrap of kindness, and she’d think of him like that? Now, of all times? Good lord… She must have been going mad. To shove those terrible, intrusive thoughts aside, she elected to finally answer him, “I haven’t heard a baby’s cry, no. When did it stop?”

He shook his head as he finally managed to free her one ankle, “It hasn’t stopped since the moon turned red. I still hear it, even down here.”

She was going to inquire about this ‘red moon’, but a different thought rushed to the forefront of her mind, and she caught herself reaching out to grab his shoulder to halt him from proceeding with her last restrained limb, “Aren’t you worried?”

“...About?”

Her brow scrunched up in disbelief, “That I could be borderline blood-drunk, or… I don’t know… Bad? Somehow?” She shook her head, relenting a touch, “I just find it difficult to believe you’d be so willing to help me when you don’t even know who I am.”

From the angle which he looked up at her, she saw how he cocked his brow, eyes steeling a touch, “If you were blood-drunk, you would have been at my throat by now. Besides, I already told you – There’s no one else left alive out there. Not in Yahar’Gul, anyway.”

“...But…”

“Are you that worried about it? I’m not going to bite. I could use the extra help.” Before she could protest further, he shifted his weight so he was propped up on one knee, and he surprised her by tilting his hat up off his head a touch and tugging down his face cover, baring his teeth in the torchlight, “See? I’m not a lost cause. Now you on the other hand, I doubt… But if you insist…” He reached up to do the same to her, although instead of forcing her mouth open, he simply held his torch close to her face as his other hand - momentarily knife-free - cupped her jaw, gently tilting her head this way and that as he stared straight into her eyes. His voice lowered into a thoughtful hum, “No collapsed pupils… No patches of fur… And you don’t smell like wet dog. Not for now, anyway.”

Seemingly satisfied with his findings, he tidied up his appearance to become obscured once more as he offered the most nonchalant shrug she’d ever seen, as he concluded “So no. I’m not worried. I appreciate the concern, though. More than I can say about almost every Yharnamite I’ve come across.”

The last shackle was removed the quickest, as he’d now had plenty of practice. As soon as she was freed, she stretched her legs and couldn’t help but stretch and crack her back a little, “Felt like I was there for ages.”

He stood tall and offered a hand, though she realized he still held onto her throwing knives loosely in the other. He helped her rise up, and when he bent to pick up his torch, the hunter made a point to pick up the augur and carefully place it back in the spot she always kept it – a hidden little pocket tucked on her side, just underneath the capelet part of her coat. When she turned back, the hunter ahead of her was watching, and made some sound that might have been light amusement, “Pretty nice towards that slug, aren’t you?”

Out of reflex, she responded immediately, “It’s a phantasm, not a slug.” Oh god, Micolash would’ve loved how she’d picked up on his smart-ass tics now… Her gaze unconsciously rose upwards towards the ceiling as she wondered what became of him. If everyone up there was truly dead as this hunter claimed…

The other hunter waving his hand dismissively caught her eye, “Slug, phantasm… same difference. Just odd, that’s all.” He held out her knives so she could grip them by the hilt, “Here. Don’t need ‘em anymore.”

She nodded in thanks and returned them to their respective loops on her belt. Before she could open her mouth again, he cut in rather suddenly, “How much further does this place go, exactly?”

“Down here?” He nodded, “From what I recall of it… Not much? But I could be mistaken.”

He shook his head, “Don’t think it’s worth it. The longer we stay here, the more those things up there roam about. I wonder if they’ll manage to leach out into Central Yharnam as well.” He turned on his heel and walked out towards the doorway leading into the room, but paused to cast a brief glance over his shoulder, jerking his head in emphasis, “Well? Come on, then.”

She paused, wanting to look around the room a moment longer. Sure, she’d still had her throwing knives on her… but two little knives weren’t going to wipe out all of Yahar’Gul, and especially not the tall kidnappers that dragged her here in the first place. Not when she had been shackled most of the time. But she was lacking her saif and her pistol, and felt naked without them, and she vocalized this discomfort, “I’d rather not leave without my gear. I’m just… not sure where it is.”

She could see the way his shoulders heaved that he’d sighed, perhaps irritably so, but helped her look around the room anyway. When they found nothing, they elected to wander down the last portion of the hallway, leading into a small room at the end that held an oversized chest. Lo and behold, her things were there. As she picked them up, taking comfort in feeling the weight of the saif’s compacted handle and her pistol’s grip in her hands, her newfound ally remarked neutrally, “And here you were, suggesting I don’t keep searching.”

“I didn’t say that,” She frowned, “I just said I didn’t know. I wasn’t exactly paying attention when I was dragged down here.”

She thought he’d quip some more, but seemed to steel himself into a more hunter-like persona, only stating, “Fair enough,” Before gesturing for her to follow him.

[roydeezed]

I love the way people misunderstand The Ones who walk away from Omelas in order to make points. Like the most common one is that how the story shows how suffering and pain isn't interesting. Don't romanticize your Pain! the cries go. And like sure, make whatever point you wanna make with cherrypicked words but the context of the story is that it's about the greatest and happiest place on earth, and it only exists because of the suffering of one child. It's a harrowing story that carves out your insides and nests in that hollow spot. And it's so affecting because of the contrast. Because of the difference in good and evil. What Mrs. Le Guin is saying is that happiness is as potent as it is because of the suffering that exists alongside it. It's a theme park next to the slums. Because of the contrast, evil is interesting. Evil is boring and banal only in isolation. So is happiness. We need the two extremes. The story is actually the opposite of what most people claim it is. But it's mainly for storytellers to tell interesting stories. If you want to take away a life lesson from it, go ahead. I'm not here to make value judgements on people. I couldn't care less. It's just interesting to see the way people warp stories though.

[void-botanist]

NaNo '22 Week 2

Word goal: 23,333

Words written: 23,593

Things are still going pretty well. I did end up "cheating" and writing two days' worth on Saturday because I was having a good time, then counting half of that on Sunday. (However I did not actually use the "extra" time I created on Sunday to do anywhere near the amount of schoolwork I should have. Oh well.) And today was one of those days where I coincidentally end a sentence on the 1,667th word of the day.

I've now gotten through the first Council meeting on Elbas Island, where they sort out any remaining questions and concerns about Dez's integration month and potential citizenship. This is probably the fifth time I've written a version of this scene since I started messing around with Dez's story late last year, and it's gotten progressively less dramatic and shorter overall, while also getting denser with legal worldbuilding stuff. I don't think it's boring, but we'll see what happens when someone other than me eventually reads it. I am, however, getting tired of character introductions, which is either a sign I have too many of them already or I need some more interesting approaches. Maybe both. Tomorrow I'll probably go back and add some more to the conversation between Dez and Hoven that I shared the start of last week—once they get started working together, they keep getting distracted with being curious about each other. Hoven is discovering that his assumptions about androids from knowing Syndy frequently don't apply to Dez, and Dez is a little enamored with getting to know a sha-nawwen, a librarian, and an archivist for the first time, all in the same person. A lot of what I've written this week has been dense and requires a good bit of extra context, so instead have Anni and Zel talking about spending winter solstice (this world's new year's eve, which is why they also talk about the last week of the year/the first week of the next year) with Anni's family in Ermotlift, the capital city of Deridis. Zel is from another country, but she's lived in the same area as Anni for years (and brought all of her disaster bisexual tendencies with her).

Zel talked about First Week like she’d never experienced it. “This is your first solstice in Ermotlift too, isn’t it?” Anni said. “Yeah, but I think the thing is it’s my first solstice really having a place to go. I never really did the whole ‘find a family for the holiday’ thing even in college because I figured out that no one expects you to do any work over Last and First Week around here, so I could do whatever I wanted, basically.” Anni remembered the conversation after she’d invited Zel to solstice, where Zel had said something vague about not having cultural traditions for it and never really doing much, since she also had no family in Deridis. “So when you said you didn’t do much for solstice…?” “I meant I either ate [pop-tarts] and played video games in my underwear for two weeks, or I cooked two big batches of stew and tried to get my apartment-slash-life back in order. Actually, one time I did get enticed out to a First Week thing for the free food. It was mostly worth it.” “Well, I hope you like our solstice.” And that it didn’t accidentally sound like there were consequences for not liking it. “Oh, I’m sure I will. I am looking forward to it. I just mean that ‘proper’ solstice is kinda new to me.”

[suzukiblu]

thinking of fully-not-cryptid tim still being horny about kon making shinies, because both 1) incredibly cool display of scientific understand and superpowers and 2) kon clearly thinks that he would appreciate them, and he’s making them solely for that purpose, and that just does something for him

You may or may not be tapping into something I am trying to tap into with the actual fic version here, lol. In fact, have a lil' excerpt along those lines:

"I got you something else too," he says eagerly, jamming a hand into his jacket pocket and then pulling something shiny out of it and holding it out in offering. Tim takes it on reflex, which is a stupid reflex, but Superboy just looks so excitedly hopeful that he does it without thinking. It's a crystal-clear and faceted rock with an unmistakably heart-like shape to it, and it sparkles brightly in the late-night Gotham moonlight. It's not a particularly big rock, but it'd be a pretty damn big gemstone. Which–if Tim didn't know better, he'd think Superboy had just handed him a perfectly flawless fifty-carat diamond. But that would be insane, because a diamond this size and quality would be worth a good five million dollars, if not significantly more, and– "I made it," Superboy says, his face turning a little pinker than the cold night air up here should account for with a half-Kryptonian, even one whose full powerset allegedly isn't in yet. "Like, I mean, I sat in a volcano and crushed some carbon and cut it with my TTK so it'd look nice and then–I just thought maybe you'd like that kind of thing? Birds like shiny stuff, right? And like, you're kind of . . . bird-ish, right?" . . . okay then, Tim thinks as he stares blankly at the custom-cut, custom-crafted diamond in his clawed gauntlet. He has absolutely no idea how he feels about this situation. "Ishhhhh," he says, then sort of just . . . disappears five million dollars of "shiny stuff" into the tattered folds of his cape and inside his hidden utility belt, because Superboy seems really invested in him liking it and also he apparently literally made it, which Tim is just . . . gonna need a moment about, maybe. Superboy's only existed for five months, two weeks, and six days. Exactly how long does it take to learn how to telekinetically cut a diamond? Much less one this flawless? Like . . . percentage-wise, how much of his life so far did Superboy just spend on learning how to make him a fifty-carat heart-shaped diamond? Just . . . mathematically-speaking and all.

[mementomoriwithacherryontop]

This article about Dead Boy Detectives and Netflix's stewardship of LGBTQ+ shows is my Roman Empire

I'm linking the article below, and it's one of the best analysis' out there about both the significance of Dead Boy Detectives' being cancelled, but also the bigger picture of why this is so significant to both fans and the LGBTQ+ community at large. Please read (and share!) the article, Why we need more queer art, not less-the case of Dead Boy Detectives, written by Karla Elliott.

A damning excerpt, and article linked below:

"Netflix has long tried to market itself to audiences just like this as an alternative to more traditional media companies. Yet its cancellation of Dead Boy Detectives is another in a long line of queer shows and shows with queer storylines – such as Sense8, Julie and the Phantoms, and Shadow and Bone – to be axed by the company before their time.

The showrunner of Warrior Nun, another of Netflix’s prematurely cancelled shows, even revealed that Netflix pushed back against the writers developing a queer romance for the show’s second season.

Meanwhile, the streaming service continues to platform performers such as Dave Chappelle, who used his latest Netflix special (his seventh on the streaming service) to double down on jokes made about the queer community, particularly targeting transgender folk.

It seems, then, that companies such as Netflix are still largely only interested in token queer representation, and only if and when it aligns with ever-shifting profit goalposts."

She goes on to talk about the crew and fans rallying around Dead Boy Detectives and taking a grassroots approach to save this show. She links IG and Twitter posts (it'll always be Twitter, to me), and she includes The Petition in her article.

She also accurately addresses the NG elephant in the room, pointing to his limited involvement in the show and how Dead Boy Detective fans have "resolutely condemned his alleged actions and stood with the women speaking out against him. Their outrage perfectly aligns with the core lessons of the show, which counters harmful gendered stereotypes and advocates for men to take responsibility for their actions, hold one another accountable, process anger, and open up to feelings like love and empathy."

She concludes, and I must admit, this brought a tear to my jaded 'lil heart, that "[t]hrough its community-building, energy, and activism, the fanbase is proving to be the living embodiment of the lessons Dead Boy Detectives has to teach us about solidarity, love and care."

So, go us. Keep at it. Don't loose hope. And please check out this article. I gave you a sneak peak, but it's chalk full of really good information and I promise you'll be glad you read it.

[tomshelbystitsfics]

Untitled Fic.

Eventual!Carmen x Reader

(this is just the beginning for the fic. its storyline/plot building. also the reader is midsize. not skinny but not plus. in the middle)

(im posting this its the beginning to a fic im writing & i just wanted to post this lil excerpt. hoping to get some feedback & see what people think! please, let it rip:)

Home. Home? What did that word mean to you? It was a noisy, dirty, yet charming city. An old house, at least sixty years old. Paint now peeling, gutters full of old leaves and shit. Home, a minute's walk across the road. Inside a warm dish of delicious food awaits. Michael hands you that first plate. There it was, the moment of truth. Determining if you were friend or foe. Not really though, just testing to see if you were a narc. (Later you would argue with Mikey that his logic made no sense whatsoever.)

You found a home in the dysfunctional, crazy ass Berzatto family. They quickly accepted you as one of their own. Having been Carmy’s best (and only) friend. Always so polite and sweet. Until Mikey or Richie pissed you off. They were always picking on you and Carmy. And sometimes they pushed hard enough to set you off. That is exactly why you’re all in this situation now.

“Fucking A. You ain’t gotta hit me that hard asshole! Seriously, it was just a fucking joke man! Lighten the FUCK UP!” Richie yelled. You sat across the island from him. Mikey was digging through the freezer. He was trying to find something to ice Richie’s face. You had given the bastard a black eye and a bloody fucking nose. Mikey was more than impressed. So was Richie, but he wouldn’t be telling you that any fucking time soon.

“I’m sorry Rick,” he scowled as you called him that. “I tried to warn ya that you went too far, but no, you just had to go there.” He just stared at you, deadpan. You sucked in a breath, cheeks puffed out. Head in your hands you let out the breath. Standing up and making your way in front of the man. A hand extended out, an olive branch.

Scoffing he smacked the hand away. Your chest tightened, Richie was basically your older brother. His rejection hurt, a fucking lot in fact. Not wanting him to see the tears starting to well up, you start to turn away. That is when you feel it. Two long, solid arms wrap around you. Twisting around, you rest your chin on his shoulder and grasp the back of his old ass hoodie tight. Fingers clenching the fabric.

“It’s all good Doll. I still love ya. Even if you broke my goddamn nose.” Richie held you, then after a beat, “I mean shit. My cheekbone feels like a grown man split it, kid.” The tender moment was over for now. Richie is trying to make a joke out of it. You smirk, shoving him by the shoulders into his previous seat.

“ ‘S what ya get asswipe! Quit fucking with her when she says. It’s called ‘boundaries’ cousin? Ever heard of the concept?” Mikey slapped a steak on his eye. The other man groaned.

“FUCK SAKES MIKEY! Please, could ya be a little more considerate or some shit? I already got rocked. Don’t need a worse fucking bruise.” Mumbling as he pushed Mikey’s hand away, holding the slab of meat.

“I am not eating that shit later Mikey, no fucking shot.” Giggling, you give the man a kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner anyways?” The dark haired man seemed to think for a moment, then said something similar to what landed Richie his shiner and fucked nose.

“Ask Carmy, I’m sure he has a few ideas for what he wants.” Wagging his eyebrows at you. The smirk was audible. Mikey seemed to be proud of himself for the quip.

“Y-You…motherfucker.. I swear I’ll end you, Berzatto. YOU BITCH, C’MERE.” You took off around the island to where he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Richie was screaming and crawling up onto the counter, “ You two fucks better watch out for me. My shit’s busted enough. Get the fuck outta here!”

The memories of Mikey and the family keep swirling through your head as you stand in front of the funeral home. It had been a year since you physically saw any of the Berzatto clan. Too many years since seeing your best friend. Carmen Anthony Berzatto. A name you desperately wanted to forget. The name felt hollow to say, a distant memory. A smoke show that never existed except only in the dark recesses of your mind. Brought up when you wish to torture yourself even more than usual.

Drinking in the cold Chicago air, you begin the trek up the stairs. One measly step at a time. Hoping to calm your racing heart. It felt like the organ was lodged in your throat, bound to come up in a grisly mess at any second. The walk into the foreboding building felt like it took light years and seconds all at once. Standing before the doors, hand hovering over the knob. Psyching yourself up you finally grasp the knob and starting to pull and-

“Fucking Christ! This is fucking insane.” A familiar voice barks out. The door was quickly and haphazardly thrown open. PANG! Jumping back it only caught your arm a bit. The pain was nice and a needed distraction.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I-I didn’t realize anyone…” a small gasp of surprise and a tearful chuckle. Then a slow shaky intake of air, “Doll, is-is that you? Or am I just fucking nuts?” Desperation paints his tone. His words crack and waver with emotion, no, sadness and grief. And a bit of hope.

“Hey cousin, I guess it's only fair, I did bust ya up good when we were younger. An eye for a, uh- arm, I guess.” Your voice was thick with the tears ready to be shed. Before you know you’re shoved into his warm chest. All you smell is stale cigarettes, and his woodsy, Ed Hardy cologne. The aroma of smoke, along with bergamot and amber soothes you. There was a time you despised this fucking scent. It was always too strong and pungent. Telling Richie he smelt like a hooker, wanting to piss him off.

“At least one of us is shaking ass and making some cash Doll.” SMACK! Richie shook his hips at you.

“You made it inside yet? ‘Course not, fuck. I-I’m sorry Doll, my brain is fucking lost. I-I don’t have a goddamn clue about what’s going on.” Apologizing and rubbing his nose roughly.

“Can’t lose something you never had Rick.” You smirk, jabbing him in his ribs.

“Hardy har. You got fucking jokes, eh? Nice, real nice…Shit.” Richie let out a loud sigh and looked at his feet, “Don’t call me fucking Rick man. Shit wasn’t cool when you were a kid, sure as shit ain’t cool now pip squeak.” He smacked you lightly on the back of your head. Reaching into his coat he grabs a cigarette, and swings the pack towards you. You quit smoking, (mainly vaping) a year ago. But, fuck it.

It is a funeral after all. Might as well take the edge off somehow. Being sober was fucking awful at times. You both finished the cigarettes in silence. After stubbing the cherry out, you gestured to the door.

“Think we should, uh, ya know?”

Richie swallowed his nerves and gave a single nod. The man had a hold of the handle before you could even think about it. Walking into one of the absolute worst possible moments of your entire fucking life.

[sophswritingthings]

I HAVE AN IDEAAAAAAAAA!

(btw, if you wanna do this one more than my other request PLEASE DO)

highschool au mizu x reader. acidemic rivals.

mizu is literally readers worst enemy when it comes to tests and work, and the two are constantly fighting over who got a better grade

sometime after, reader starts getting unsigned love notes in their locker. they can’t recognize the handwriting as anyone they know

like a month after the notes appear, the writer asks the reader to meet them at a park

they do, and the writer was mizu (how funny) and they make up and confess

😋

pairing: high school au!mizu x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, mizu being a lil shit

a/n: I LOVE THIS. she 100% would be like “bitch I will cut you” because she also does their fencing club and and,,,,

summary: after a while of bickering and fighting with your little rival, you start getting unsigned love notes in your locker.

word count: 823 words / 4,524 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“oh, for gods sake, mizu!” you roll your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “I’ve definitely got the better grade. you may have one our last little “battle” but I will win this war of ours.”

you snicker, gazing at her from your desk.

“I don’t happen to agree, (y/n),” she gathered herself to her feet. “I have fencing practice today and don’t have time to argue about this right about now. later, maybe?”

you laugh, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“yeah, yeah. go do your little fighting thing, or whatever you do. I have debate, anyway,” you hiss, strutting out of the room on your high horse.

she watched as you went. she watched as you strutted away in your schools uniform; a sight that made her head race with thoughts she didn’t think she shouldn’t be thinking.

you were headed to your locker, grabbing out your books and bag. you stuff all your items in your bag. 

but not before you noticed a note, stuffed in the back of your locker.

your eyes trace it, for a moment, a light pink piece of lined paper. you grab the paper, beginning to read what the note says.

an excerpt, of your favorite poem.. written and unsigned.

the words make you blush a little bit—someone, leaving such a thoughtful and loving excerpt of your favorite poem.

who in hell would be leaving you a love-note in your locker?

it wasn’t handwriting you could recognize.

a month after you found the first note, you would find another one each day. another excerpt of a poem you loved. and it got more… romantic, everyday you found another one.

and of course, you arguing with mizu never stopped. over test grades, group projects, presentations. you know, the usual.

but you didn’t really pay attention to it much, anymore. you were a bit distracted by the little love notes in your locker.

somebody was interested in you; mizu didn’t have that, and you did. why fight with someone who didn’t like you, when you could use your smarts to find out who did like you?

when you arrived at your locker again, you smiled bright as you saw another piece of paper.

you grabbed it.

but this time, there was no poem.

the same handwriting, but this time it read that the writer wanted you to meet them at the park—a park that bloomed with beautiful flowers.

and it happened to be just around the corner of the school.

you grabbed your stuff, rushing out of the building and to the park. your eyes saw a shadow, hidden behind a small tree. a shadow who looked.. strangely familiar..

you approached slowly, clearing your throat to catch their attention.

and there she was. mizu, standing with a fencing sword attached to her hip.

you blushed a little, your eyes widening.

oh.. my fucking god. 

mizu. mizu had been leaving you love notes in your locker for the past month. 

everything clicked for you. how she knew your favorite poems, exactly which excerpts to pick.

if you were being honest—mizu knew more about you than anyone you had ever known. even if you did fight so much.

and it was evident that she cared. evident that she liked you enough to do all this for you.

you smiled softly, “um.. hi.”

“hi,” she choked out. “this has gotta be weird for you. hasn’t it?”

“a little,” you chuckle, “but I can’t say I’m… disappointed, in a way?”

her blue eyes widen, “your not?”

“no,” you take a few steps toward her, “I just.. wasn’t expecting it.”

“neither—hah, neither was I,” she whispers. “but it was a pleasant surprise, I won’t say it wasn’t,” mizu takes in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry for all the things I’ve said, I have to say that. I’ve never been one to deal with feelings properly, and I think it came out as jealousy and anger.”

you nod, taking another pace toward her. 

“I understand that,” you murmur. “I’m sorry, too. I did the same things to you. it couldn’t.. have felt good.”

“no—it didn’t, but it couldn’t have felt good on your end, either, being treated like that.” she reached out for your hand, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

“y-yeah,” your voice choked out, clearing your throat again. the sudden touch made your heart pound. 

“I like you,” she whispered, practically into your ear. she was so, so close to you. “I really do.”

you nod slowly, taking in her words. 

“I.. like you too.”

you murmur, your lips inches from hers.

she takes the initiative to close the gap, her lips pressing against yours. she holds your chin in between her fingers gently, the other hand grasping your hand.

you hum softly, pushing yourself up onto your tip-toes to get a better vantage point.

“short,” she chuckled, her forehead still pressed against yours.

“oh, shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: combined your asks!

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

MASTERLIST

SERIES:

You're the Only Girl for Me- [ONGOING]

All I Want Is You - [COMPLETED 8/29/2023]

LOVE - SEQUEL TO ALL I WANT IS YOU. - After getting back together, Janelle finds out thats she's pregnant. Follow along with Josh and Janelle as they deal with the highs and lows of her pregnancy. [ONGOING]

ALL FALLS DOWN- Kiyana Fatu's world is now in shambles after her husband comes home and tells her he has been having an affair. [COMPLETED 03/25/2024]

REBUILD & RESTORE - SEQUEL TO ALL FALLS DOWN [ ONGOING]

Neon Hearts - Chantelle aka Honey is a 33-year-old stripper who works at The Blue Thunder. What happens when a blast from the past blows his way back into her life. (COMING SOON)

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS:

You're the Only Girl for Me ; May 200 Word Challenge - A part of my You're the Only Girl for Me series. Set in the future

YTOGFM - May 200 Word Challenge (2)- A part of my You're the Only Girl for Me series. Set in the future

REQUEST:

Miss Independent - Can you do a story where jey starts dating this girl and she is veryyyyy independent and like to do everything her self but jey has to always tell her to sit down and let him do basically Ms.I can do it myself meets mr.sit tf down imma do it plz 🤭

4 a.m Cravings - a part of my LOVE series but also requested. Request: heyyyyy can we get a short lil page or story of Janelle’s pregnancy cravings pls🤍🤍🤍

Jey Rizzo - Okay so yk how the raw before war games when they were mentioning how they needed a 5th member? Well, this universe, it’s a mixed war games so Rhea is in. Cody makes his “call” Randy and a former NXT, newly signed Keiarie or Kabana Love for her ring debut with them. Mr. Main Event takes a notice to her and tries to yk, get his game on the whole night with her

SERIES:

Sorry [ONGOING]

DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS:

May 200 Word Challenge - An excerpt from a One Shot that I have been working on for a while

Untitled - Jimmy Uso x OC (Alani) *

REQUEST:

The Bridesmaid- I hope you’re having a good day! I wanted to request a fic with Jimmy (or jey, I love them both) where the mc is a bridesmaid at their sister’s wedding and she meets one of the groomsmen (Jimmy) and they start to really like each other. The sister warns mc that Jimmy is a playboy but things start to heat up quick between the two anyway! You can add or take away any aspects, have fun with it. Thanks, I love your writing!

ONE-SHOTS

Til Further Notice - (based on Travis Scott's song) - He's been gone for 4 months. 118 days without a phone call or a text. What happens when he finally shows back up to work? Will he give Kaela the answers she's looking for?

Til Further Notice - The Reactions: How did the WWE universe react to the first time Roman was seen in 4 months...

ONE-SHOTS

Tongue-Tied -

[ghostedeabha]

Ok so like, I really like ghost and könig....I was wondering if you could do a not so safe for work story for me? I don't really mind how it plays out as long as you could maybe put some knife/gun play in there and lots of teasing...would mean a lot to me

knifeplay and gunplay🤭🤤 i am such a whore for these it's so sad

i hope you eat well darling 🫶

könig x afab!reader x ghost

wc: 896

tw: SMUT SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, knifeplay, gunplay, penetration with an inanimate object, a lil bit of a blood kink (just a teensy bit), poorly translated german

MINORS DNI

a/n: i had the most evil lil smirk on my face when i read this request, i love it sm. when i tell y'all i was smirking uncontrollably as i wrote this?? also can y'all tell what petname i like the most lol

a/n 2.0: i tried to make this relatively gender neutral but reader is described with female genitalia

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"schatzi, can you come here? ghost and i have something we want to discuss with you." you hear könig say, beckoning you into his and ghost's shared quarters. his tone sounded rather serious and it made you fear that perhaps you may have done something wrong.

however when you entered the room you knew that that was not the case, or so you hoped anyway. in ghost's hand you saw your journal. it was no simple journal though, no, this journal contained all of your dirtiest thoughts an fantasies.

"nice of you to join us, love. we found quite the intriguing... stories in this little book of yours." ghost says, you can practically see his smirk behind his balaclave.

"oh my go- i can explain!" you say, trying to think of a defense for the things written in that book. things that may or may not have involved some very filthy deeds between yourself and your two boyfriends, things far filthier and taboo than you had already experienced with them.

"no, no, maus. we don't want an explanation, we don't want to hear your pathetic little excuses, dirty little thing..." könig says with a chuckle. "there was one entry both ghost and i found rather... intriguing. something that we would love to make a reality, our süße schmutziges mäuschen."

he pulls you over to the bed and has you sit next to ghost who begins to read off an excerpt from your journal. you can feel your face begin to heat up in embarrassment as he reads, making sure to emphasize every dirty little detail.

you wanted nothing more than to sink into the bed and disappear, this was so embarrassing that words couldn't even describe how embarrassed you were at the moment.

"you naughty little minx, writing down all your little fantasies in this little book. i bet you wanted us to find this, hm?" ghost asks qith a smirk. "you knew exactly what would happen, you knew we would find this book filled with all your filthy little thoughts."

"no! no, i didn't!" you protest.

"knives and guns? my, my maus... you have quite the imagination." könig chuckles deeply.

"sweetheart, if you wanted to try these things, you could've just asked us." ghost adds.

the next thing you knew you were tied down to the bed, clothes discarded as ghost and könig sat on either side of you, könig tracing a large hunters knife gently down your torso as ghost ran one of his pistols across your cheek, caressing your face with the gun.

"hold still maus, wouldn't want to cut your pretty skin... unless? would you? would you like to bleed for us schatz?" könig asks with a dark chuckle, you can feel your heart skip a beat at the suggestion. it was hard to tell if he really would or not, especially as he ran the blade of the knife across your skin so slowly and carefully, if he pressed any harder he would definitely break the skin.

"maybe another night little love, for now, just enjoy our teasing." ghost says with a smirk, mask still on, but you could hear the smug smirk in his tone of voice.

"just lay there nice and pretty for us maus, our good little maus, ja?"

and so there you laid as your two boyfriends ran their weapons across your body, slowly and agonizingly teasing you with them, it was torturous, agonizing even. but in the most pleasurable way possible.

just as you were getting used to the sensations they were subjecting you to, you felt könig's cold blade lift away from your skin as ghost trailed the gun down your torso. the next thing you knew you could feel something solid press to the entrance of your cunt. the handle of könig's knife.

without much warning he slowly began to press it into you, watching your face as it contorted in surprise and pleasure, soft gasps and moans escaping your lips.

as könig thrusted the handle of his hunter's knife in and out of you, you felt ghost bring a hand up to your throat, wrapping around it just so.

"that's it love, just lay there and take it. lay there and let us take care of you. we'll make all of your little dirty fantasies come true." ghost mutters as he leans down, whispering in your ear.

you felt ghost bring his other hand down to rub your clit as könig continued shoving the handle of his knife in and out of your cunt, your orgasm building a lot quicker than you anticipated it would. and your boyfriends could tell.

"go on maus, let go for us. cum for us like a good mäuschen..." könig demands.

"yes sweetheart, that's it, just let go. that's a good good mouse." ghost encourages as your orgasm washes over you, body shaking under their touches.

as you come down from the intense pleasure, the two clean you up. ghost hands you a bottle of water after untying your wrists from the headboard and massages some lotion into them as könig wipes your release from your thighs with a warm, damp towel he retrieved from the bathroom.

"you did so good baby, so so good." könig smiles.

"we hope we lived up to your filthy little written fantasies," ghost adds. "because we have many more stories to recreate."

[diadraws]

have you read Open My Eyes by Buggachat?

not yet! ive been putting it off because i started writing a fic with a similar concept (i.e. post season 5 adrien angst) in early september and i want to finish that first before reading other people's takes on it, so i dont accidentally steal other people's ideas by reading their fics while i'm still workin, im at likeeee 28k words?? im prob 50-60% the way done unless i get distracted and go off on a tangent like i always doooo. heres a lil excerpt

sry (bout to start ramblin) i feel bad being AWOL so much lately from this blog. i got fired from my job that was making me hate all life so now im trying to find a new one and it is making me hate all life even more. (customers are annoying but being able to afford more than 1 meal per day was nice) also my injuries are flaring up and making it hard to draw. anyways thank you everyone for stickin around here is gatito noir as a token of appreciation i promise i will stop being in my flop era eventually and then i will be back and draw more creatures

[splendsay]

COD Fic // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 10: Father's Daughter

hello hi yes more angsty hand holding in this chapter UR WELCOME I had to do a lil bit o' research for this one to make sure all my i's were dotted n' shit, so I am hopeful everything comes across in a way that tracks with reality as much as possible and it all makes sense and also that u love it and honestly if u don't that's really none of my business

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 10 // Father's Daughter

.................................................................. CWs: Explicit language, vague mentions of past trauma and recovery, descriptions of guns

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader (You), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Chapter Excerpt:

"You won't find it anywhere. It doesn't exist."

Soap frowns. "What d'you mean?"

You stare at them -- these men you hardly know. They seem so earnest. You hate that. You hate that you only have one thing to offer them -- a measly supply of information relative to your crazed scientist father's end-of-life havoc-wreaking. 

You tighten your grip on Ghost's fingers, and he runs a comforting thumb along your pinky.

"Toward the end... My father...he got more and more erratic. His behaviors, his decisions. They didn't make sense. He wasn't himself."

Gaz leans forward on his elbows, nudging his bowl to the side. "In what way?"

"He stopped taking my calls--"

"Because you were discharged?"

You try not to feel the sting of that word on someone else's tongue, but it's hard. Even after all this time. 

"Partially, maybe," you ponder. "But he'd been deteriorating even before that. I'd thought he was just manic -- obsessed with the task at hand. That wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. But he was taking shortcuts he wouldn't normally. He told me one day that..." You trail off. The memory is like a bloodstain. 

"Dad...dad, slow down."

"It's the breakthrough of a century, Sunny," your father speaks to you through rough, choppy pants, as though he's got blades in his lungs. He's been chain-smoking again.

"This...this will be my legacy," he goes on. "Everything I've worked for, everything I've done. Nothing will top this. It's perfect -- it's the perfect specimen, I know it is."

"Dad, what about trials?"

"I don't fucking need trials! We'll go strai--"

"But, you're pre-clinical, you can't proceed on humans without testing the potential implicatio--"

"Who the fuck do you work for, the FDA? I don't have to do shit!"

"But the ethics of jumping straight to--"

Your father's voice is as cold as you've ever heard it when he cuts you off again. "Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, Sunny. You know this."

There's a momentary, bitter pause as you digest his words. Words you know, words he's recited to you a hundred times. "Dad," you plead. "There's anoth--"

"Goodbye, Sunny."

The line goes dead.

The sensation of Ghost squeezing your knee again brings you back to the present.

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

.................................................................

"Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful." - Samuel Johnson (1709 - 1784), English Author, Poet, and Literary Critic and Writer

[unimo]

I really like your HCS about Lawrence, would mind sharing more? :)

hello anon! ^_^ here’s some lil excerpts i got lol cw for suggestive and icky

he secretly really likes it when someone compliments him, not necessarily for the compliment itself but for the sentiment behind why someone would do it in the first place (also likes the compliment too depending on what it is)

has accidentally mentioned embarrassing things while talking to coworkers and strangers so he keeps quiet for that reason too

dude can’t keep it up (due to being a druggy and also being sorta dead rip) but he does have aphrodisiacs that help- once he takes them tho it overwhelms him a bit 🌀 (be prepared to be obliterated by a emotionally volatile horny man)

dude wants to smoke down and talk about theories and hypotheticals with someone he trusts so bad 😭 just watch random ass youtube videos and be brain-rotted together

as a kid he loved those fantasy 80’s animated movies, also disney movies, i don’t have evidence just trust me 💫

probably had unlimited internet access to his family’s computer and would look at weird things, part of the reason why his parents knew he was such a weirdo (he didn’t know how to clear the history rip)

can be pretty desensitized to the way he smells and how the smells of stuff he messes with sticks to his clothing (the mix of drugs and depression messing with his priorities and mental state) he’s accidentally made poor bystanders and coworkers gag while standing too close to him 💀

already pretty canon but man does not care how you look naked wise- fat, skinny, hairy, smooth, smelly, discoloration and birthmarks he don’t care and has seen it all while online. he fears people and everyone’s an enemy to him until proven otherwise but if he really likes you, your personality and soul, he’s silently loving every and all parts of you and wishing the same 🥰

part of the reason he finds people to be deceitful flowers is because of his parents, also just being observant. he’d see them being friendly and loving one minute until individuals would leave and they’d talk bad about them afterwards. he finds it incredibly distasteful and makes him weary of nice individuals.

[soumarhea]

Piston Peak Air Attack residential circle concept arts, with excerpts from The Art of Planes.

[Air Attack base]

Each member of the air attack team has his or her own hangar around a circular neighborhood pattern. “This layout was also largely influenced by the wonderful sense of community we got when we visited the ranger and staff residences in Yosemite,” notes Planes: Fire & Rescue head of story Art Hernandez. Shape language reflects this warm, welcoming atmosphere: “We use rounder, friendlier shapes at the air attack base, as opposed to more angled, formal shapes at the lodge,” explains art director Toby Wilson.

"Dusty's" and Blade's hangars;

Blade’s hangar is on the highest perch in the air attack team’s residential circle, out of respect for his authority. It features a front deck helipad, built for easy accessibility when the alarm sounds, so he can just roll out his door and take off, jumping into immediate action.

"Blade's hangar is on the highest perch—" if that isn't short king behavior, I don't know what is.

Windlifter's hangar;

His hangar is elongated a bit to give it almost a longhouse feel, and it features a repeated pattern of tailfins, laid out in a style often evident in American Indian tapestry. On the side yard, Windlifter also has a cable and pulley system that encases giant logs that he can use for weight-lifting workouts.

First time saw this I keep looking at his helipad and thought, "so he lands there, just to take off and land properly on the ground??", and then I remembered his workouts.

Dipper's and Cabbie's hangars;

Compared with the other hangars on the base, Lil’ Dipper’s clearly has more of a feminine feel to it, with cheerful bright blue paint, wildflowers, and window boxes made of old tires. “My favorite detail is the lawn art, an excavator styled to look like a pink flamingo,” laughs set designer Jim Schlenker.

Would having pink flamingo lawn art styled from an excavator is something like having monkey lawn art styled from human figure or is it different??....

Cabbie’s hangar displays camouflage décor. “We knew he would definitely feel at home in an ex-military Quonset hangar, and we gave him a ham radio with a huge antenna, imagining that he might stay in touch with his wartime buddies,” notes Planes: Fire & Rescue art director Toby Wilson.

Remember how big Cabbie's headphone is when Dusty first touch down at base? Yea I always think about that. Pretty sure it is bigger than Patch. Not sure why that one comes to mind, it just did.

Bonus,

Dusty: Damn, they put me in the storage room...