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ghostykapi · 6 days

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three against me (the trio's love)

misamo & fem!reader // college au

thank you for @cry4mina for the misamo pictures and for being delulu with me about misamo <3 MISAMOOO

when you said you wanted your college life to be eventful

you didn't expect the universe throwing you three girlfriends, each with their own side of how they got you locked with them

it starts during the first semester of your 3rd year, when you were in a small cafe, getting to a headstart in your pile of homework

it's perfect, a iced coffee by your side, three readings beside you, your laptop on the coffee table in front of you and phone silenced, muting whatever the onslaught of messages nayeon is sending that you can't even be bothered to check

you needed this, you couldn't handled anymore 'dubchaeng babysitting!' when the duo would just make your head hurt with the amount of crazy ideas they had. the change of pace for the day is much welcome, especially knowing that jeongyeon took over with the lure of seeing a band a cafe next university over

it's nice, you can feel like you are in control for even just for a bit

then the cafe's noise dies down when the door chimes

it's too silent

fuck.

you brace yourself at the trio, who’s presence can make the entire student populous go on their knees. the mere whisper of their little group brings the entire college either trembling

misamo.

you can feel her gaze land on you, despite the only indication that it is one of them without looking is the whispers within the cafe. even the baristas know them

hirai momo. softball player, the star athlete that brings medals and more recognition to your university. average grades, stellar performance when she steps on the field and can land a nasty punch

with each step you hear her take, the more you have to remind yourself not to look. you can hear her giggles and the way your heartbeat is now in your ears

minatozaki sana. influencer and model, the unspoken leader of their group. through her bubbly and charming personality, she uses her wit to become the face of the university. part of the top 10% of the whole university, the inspiration to study hard and diligently

you feel a hand on your shoulder, the firm grasp rendering you unable to move, yet it's how you know who it is. she hums in delight at your sharp intake of breath, knowing that you don't need anything else to tell her apart

myoui mina. rising entrepreneur of 3 different business ventures, the deadliest one from the trio. always calculating, always 10 steps ahead of her peers and competitors. sweet, kind, and demur, she brings class to whatever she does

that includes sitting beside you, her bag gently landing on the table, your proximity leaves the others questioning your relationship, but all you know is that you must have done something at your shared class with her yesterday for her too approach you

"i hope you don't mind" she starts, eyes confident and you want to scream and cry because she's wearing a suit. typically worn when she's fresh from visiting one of her businesses. "i heard you were well versed in code"

"programming is my major yes" you keep your voice leveled, after all, being a woman in such a male dominated course has made you what your flock of admirers say, freezingly cold.

"i have a proposition for you" mina starts, keeping a dangerous game of who can keep the eye contact going "you help me with homeworks and projects while i give you money per assessment made"

while mina has a fair share of students that matched her energy, something in your gaze makes her crack a bit

"what makes you think i'll say yes?"

"you can't say no to me"

"yes i can. here watch i'll say it"

and mina can't deny it when she feels her heart start to race when you get closer to her. faces barely a few inches apart

"i don't do things for money. so no"

and you pull back, ready to put back to attention to your homework when mina speaks up

"every time you have to help me i'll pay you in food"

oh goodness free food

"ok i'm in" you hum, hands typing away on your laptop "we start in two days, send me an address and i'll met you there myoui. now shoo, i have to catch up to my work"

she stares at you with a blank gaze, but inside she's dumbfounded at your boldness

nevertheless, she stands up to leave you be, but before she's out of earshot, she says something you don't quite catch

"what?" you ask

"you should call me mina. myoui is too professional even for my taste dear"

three days later, it's momo who bugs you after your morning class

she slips up right beside you, the lack of dress code in the university gives momo a chance to wear a body hugging pink dress, something that makes everyone go crazy. what you don't like is how every guy is looking at her in ways you want to pluck their eyes out

filthy bastards don't deserve to gaze at her at all

"momo" your ears are red because everyone can clearly see you both in the halls, her arm around your waist as you slowly walk to the next building for your next class "what are you doing?"

"accompanying you to class" momo won't admit it, but ever since mina said you were, in her words, 'pretty and sufficient', she had to see you

"why?" you ask, glaring at every man who's looking at her too creepily, making them scurry away

"just because, plus our classrooms are right beside each other" she relaxes more with each less man in the hall, you notice it

"fine" you huff, and before she can even say anything else, you remove your jacket, giving it to her "wear this for today, i don't want any man to look at you. you're too gorgeous for them"

the rest of the walk is silent on the way to both of your classrooms. only thing you can hear is the squeak of every sneaker from each man running way and the whispers in between students

it's the most peaceful walk momo has had since becoming star athlete

so when you wave at her from the door before disappearing to go to the classroom beside her's, she feels like she can breath without panicking

she hates taking anything math related, but she might bare it more when she knows your beside her classroom

she's hooked

later that afternoon, while you lounge around the student council office sipping a red bull, someone barges in, scaring your team who's having a heated debate on who should the rest of the papers

"fucking jesus who the fuck-" ryujin is silenced from who she sees at the door

minatozaki sana, the ever persistent and one of the most notable member under the team of the president.

"someone sent you flowers?"

not a question you were expecting, even your team is gawking at her

dressed to perfection, you can't catch her in a regular outfit at any point, which is kind of ridiculous. sana doesn't care, always styled like she's going to a fashion week in europe. today she's wearing that white dress that she just wore in her feature in some magazine

what is it with the trio and wearing designer clothing every time they are at university grounds? specifically when they are within your eyesight

"pardon?" you know the amount of admires that still try despite cold rejection, even hailing from different courses. hell you think someone from the university over sent you chocolates once, you gave it to your team though

"did you accept some stupid boy's flowers?" sana repeats, anger in her eyes, an emotion she barely shows, and possessiveness in her body language, something you see glimpses of when someone gets close to mina and momo that she doesn't approve of

"minatozaki you know i don't do that" you say calmly, your team in awe at how you keep a calm attitude "if the suitor doesn't have the guts to face me, then they do not deserve my limited time"

"then you'll entertain if i do right?"

you can hear felix and lily choke over their pizza behind you

"you are not serious" you look at her like she's crazy (she loves being called that, you learn from mina later on)

she gets closer to you, faces barely an inch apart, any slip up from her leaning way to closer over your table and she can just kiss you

"try me, i'll see you at tomorrow's meeting miss vice-president"

when she leaves the office, it takes you and your team a total of 5 minutes to recover

"jesus what the fuck was that"

"ryujin shut up, go back to bickering with lia"

no one has ever said no to the trio

maybe a few people had

they're just not as pretty, charming and confident as you

maybe that's why mina keeps sitting beside you during your shared programming class even oustide 'tutor' hours, why momo's insistent at being beside you in between periods to carry your items on days your classes line up, and why sana shows up in every weekly meeting with an expensive gift or a trinket, challenging each suitor head on.

women like them are gonna be the death of you

"you have some crazy women that like you" jihyo jests beside you, giggling at how sana is glaring daggers at how close you both are. you both are now taking a break along with the rest of the internal team to finalize some papers

"yeah well" you don't like to admit it, but ever since their persistence to always either be near you, you have been starting to crack bit by bit "can't really escape them y'know"

"i think you would look cute with them" jihyo hums, swinging her pen between her fingers, making someone across the table keep her stare at the president "misamo and their girlfriend who sucks ass at karaoke"

"ok that was one time" you huff, jihyo's snickering makes sana look up from her phone, jaw tensing up at how close jihyo is "clearly i let you win because you liked it when tzuyu said she's treat you out if you win right?"

that shuts her up. the said tall woman is at the other side of the room, watching the president's face get red, wondering what you just said to make her like this

"get back to work" jihyo then shoos you away, your laughter making jihyo flip you off before returning to work for herself

before you cam even return to work, your eyes meet sana's, her expression unreadable. you wonder what she's thinking of

you look away, a light blush on your cheeks from her intense stare, busying yourself once more with the papers

to sana, witnessing your smile and laughter rewires her brain, heart pleading with her to speed up whatever this stage the three of them are in. each day that passes drives the three of them crazy

mina is messing up in her calculations, momo is missing her shots and sana is losing her composure on the daily

she needs you. they need you.

when sana heads home that night she keeps thinking about you. even when she lets her girlfriends debate what their late night dinner should be (mina wants tacos, momo is craving for some pasta). she blurts out in the middle of it

"do you think y/n would say yes if we offered her sushi as a late night dinner?"

the two stop at their bickering to look at sana, who's eyes are begging for the next move. she's getting itchy and desperate to make it

"satang" mina reaches out to her, letting sana wrap her arms around her waist as momo hugs them both "did something happen?"

"it's just" sana doesn't even try to hide it at this point, knowing that the three of them are nearing their breaking point "i saw her laugh today and it really made me think that 'i want to make her laugh with us' and i-i don't know but it has been driving me mad"

mina hums in understanding and momo speaks up, ready to take that push

"then let's go"

staying late even after meetings is normal for you to catch up with the papers, but for the past few days, you have been staying late in the office to busy your thoughts

mina hasn't been looking at you in the eye or been acknowledging you

momo hasn't been accompanying you to class

sana hasn't shown up to a single meeting this past two weeks

trying to silence your head, you decided to throw yourself into your extra curriculars every night. this night, you are working alone, the only sounds that you can hear are your aggressive typing on your poor keyboard, the music coming from your small speaker and the voices in your head making your heart ache

and now a knock and the door swinging open

"if you have any concerns please drop them by our social media accounts, email, or even the drop box by the-"

you stop your next words when you look up

mina.

you want to curse at the woman, for deliberately avoiding you. it was worse with her, because at least with the two you didn't have the urge to scream because they simply did not show up.

momo.

even clad in that handsome suit, she's still wearing that jacket you handed over to her. devastatingly handsome and gorgeous, you wonder why did she have to leave you wondering in the noisy university halls

sana.

meetings are still the same, but jihyo keeps on asking why your eyes have been straying, always going back to the door. waiting for that laugh to annoy you, waiting for a snarky remark to any stupid men flirting with you, waiting for anything from her

you really want to throw a chair at them for just showing up now and pissing you off

you don't though, because you missed them

each in their own suit, each with their own gift, each one with a nervous smile that no one will ever see, each one wearing their hearts up their sleeves, and each with the same question you didn't know you wanted to hear until now

"we like you. would you like to go out with us? dinner tomorrow night, our treat"

you can't say no

"you guys are horrible at courting. pick me up at 7"

bonus:

in every first date you've been on, you never come over to your dates home. that changes and ends with them

"hirai" you're trying to keep your breath stable as her hands are playing your hair. eyes hazy, but clearly on you, her self control out the door, just like yours

"myoui" she's behind you, her hands on your waist, murmuring what she's been thinking about for the past days. it's all you, and it makes you melt

"minatozaki" you let her kiss you, silencing your worries and doubts, silencing anything that makes you question them. the heart finally getting what it wants

"you my love, deserve to be ours"

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moondirti · 3 months

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JIGSAWS [ surgeon! simon riley x f! reader ] — masterlist / each part can be read separately : dealing with cruelty is hard when stress has a crippling effect. simon gives you a place to find comfort, however unconventional

dom/sub. dubcon (power dynamics). adjustment disorder. sexual harassment and battery. dacryphilia. hurt/comfort. biting. marking. brief fluff. medical settings. 2.8k

"Fuck aff, ya useless pillock."

At 0600 hours, a belligerent intake is the last thing you need.

Fatigue works her wily fingers into you, kneading staunchly into your shoulders to add resistance for every step forward. The sun hasn't yet peeked over the horizon, pellucid blue sky outside somehow consolidating every misery from the past week. If your exhaustion felt impregnable during the bright stretch of summer, autumn encroaches vindictive, dreary winds intent on teaching you to count your blessings, next time.

"Good morning, Mr. Cook. I'm one of the daytime neurosurgical residents, here to see how you’re doing since your admission last night at... 2100, is that right?" The script, if not plainly artificial, is a cornerstone for when you cannot muster your own words. Too often, you opt to lean into its guidance – a habit you picked up the hard way during intern year. Control all variables. That way, if things go sour, you can be almost sure that the error did not lie with you.

But perfunctoriness doesn't always bode over well. Mr. Cook's face twists into something foul, sunken eyes assessing you spitefully from his cot. You should have known to affect a different approach. He called you useless after all, for what you assume is frustrated reason. No one likes spending their time here without answers.

Try cutting to the chase, then.

"I see from your chart that you came in complaining about headaches, fever, and nausea. I understand how tired you must be. If it's alright with you, I’d like to perform a quick exam to get to the bottom of things."

"Ye'd be wasting my damn time, girl. Jus' lookin' at ya, I can tell the only thing ye're good for s'wetting my cock."

You sip a startled breath, consoling the erratic stutter of your heart with oxygen and four fingernails curled into your palm. It's not a serious threat – that much is evident by the slurred cadence, the unfocused hands he waves accusatorially in your direction. The overnight resident hadn't noted any aggression on his chart, either; which suggests this is new. Exacerbated by his condition, else the pain has loosened his tongue.

(And Kyle knows better than to schedule you with the tough ones. It's noted especially in your file, documented as a corrective action plan in prim, red ink.)

Though the smile has long since slipped off your lips, you amass what sympathy you can, nodding like it'll do anything to dissuade his suffering. Useless. "A little civility would help things run a lot smoother, Mr. Cook. It's just a few questions that will give me insight to your malaise. I'll even forward those to a senior physician, if you would prefer more qualified care."

Just one face refines itself in your mind's eye. Deep-set brown eyes, prying behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Sentiment that teeters the tightrope between indifference and affection. The days have buried their thumbs into your obsession, urging it deeper, beyond professionalism. Nudging your lungs, finding place amidst life-sustaining organs to become one of its own. Now, veins wire through, supplying blood to what should not be encouraged, should not be sustained–

You think of him, anyway.

"A'll tell y'what." A blurry shape swipes for your face. You flinch, neck snapping back, before finding that the rest of your body can't follow suit, arm held in a vice grip by a set of gnarled fingers. Mr. Cook's hold curls into bone, urging a whole world of pain to match the terror storming through your head. Your blood pressure skyrockets. Stress whistles sirens behind your ears. "How 'bout you call a proper doctor in now, and put on a li'l show for me in th'meanwhile, eh?"

A multitude of scenes, each more harrowing than the last, unfurl at his implication. If you cannot wrench yourself from him, what's to say you can fight back should he decide to pull you closer? Oh god. Your wrist struggles, thrashing wildly, disregarding its wellbeing for the opportunity to screw out of his grasp. The clipboard clatters to the floor. Your heart palpitates arrhythmically, unsteady palpitations battering war drums on your ribs. Though you've been trained for this, you cannot regulate your response to adrenaline. The exercises given to you by your therapist scatter at the first sign of real turmoil. Your body shuts down. Things spiral out of your control.

But your assailant's condition is not usual. Where a healthy man would only grow more determined in your struggle, he lets his aggression get the best of him. Roaring, his legs kick from beneath tight-fitted sheets, arm shuddering with the force it takes to keep you tethered in place. Eventually, your panic grows too much for him to subdue. With a final push of your heel off the floor, you free yourself, stumble three steps back, and fall flat on your ass. Hurt, but safe.

Mr. Cook grumbles, moving on too quickly for someone who had been so passionate just moments ago.

Safe, safe, safe.

You force yourself to repeat only that as you straighten yourself out. Hone in the truth of the matter, and not what your body tries desperately to have you believe. Safe. It's just another patient with neurological deficits. Safe. You have reason to hand his check-ups to someone else.

Safe. There's a place you can go to sap this off your chest.

"I'll order a CT scan for later this afternoon. We will do our best to help you once the results come in. Have a good day, Mr. Cook."

Still, as you scuttle out into the white-lit hall, you feel anything but.

"Come in."

Dr. Riley's office is comparatively dark to the fluorescent rest of the hospital, brightened only by the warm light of his desk lamp. Though his curtains are drawn shut, beams of pink from the vibrant dusk outside sneak their way through, casting everything in a rich glow. The day has been long, leagues more taxing than usual. Stepping into the space offers brief respite, then, like sinking into bed to reach for better dreams.

He looks up at you, impassive. There's never any indication to how he truly feels – whether creeping adoration curls around his heart at the very sight of you, or if he reserves it for after hours – but you've found that the puzzle attracts you more than it pushes you away. You like feeling pinned under his scrutiny, a little lab mouse tested for its wit. Even now, with a whole host of real matters to discuss, you can't help but pick apart the minutia in his expression.

"Dr. Riley," You whisper, careful not to disturb the tranquillity.

"Yes?"

"Um, I'm so sorry to bother you–"

"No need for that." He clips, the liquid of his eyes shifting as they coast back to assess his screen. The monitor projects stark shadows onto his face, harsher than usual. Despite your... relationship, it's hard not to feel discouraged. He wouldn't look away if he were interested in what you had to say. "We're alone."

"Right." Clearing your throat, you shuffle through the glossy prints in your arms. Cross-sectional imaging from Mr. Cook's CT scans, annotated in your illegible hand. The aftershocks of your stress are evident in the writing; loopy letters boasting sharp corners, a liberal use of shorthand where it wouldn't be allowed. When you place them on his desk, you pray he doesn't take heed of it. "A patient who was admitted last night. Though the tomographs are nonspecific, I have reason to believe it might be a brain abscess. If that is the case, I'd like to schedule him for surgery as soon as possible, and I know you're in the OR tomorrow, so..."

He doesn't look up at you while you speak, opting instead to skim the analysis you've left for him in the margins. Only after a long moment's silence do his lashes quiver, a voiceless acknowledgement to your request. The details come later. Tomorrow morning, likely, assigned by Kyle upon clocking in.

"You'll serve as my resident."

Your lips part. Seeing Mr. Cook again, even while under the effects of anaesthesia, brings a queasy ache to your stomach. It's about the most unprofessional thing you could voice, however – more so than any nasty promise Dr. Riley whispers to you in private – so you settle on keeping it to yourself.

"Okay."

But he doesn't miss a thing. The warble in your tone catches his attention like steaming gore to a predator, jaw ticking as salivate floods his mouth. You should have schooled your emotions better, should have given it a good, long mourn before coming to see him – because if you know anything, you know that there's nothing he loves more than seeing you cry.

And now–

Now, it's too late to renege. You're on a fixed path, the only variable being a matter of time until when. The rush of it already devastates your throat, stone lodged in a white river rapid of sentiment. Warmth fogs your eyes. Prelude to collapse, tremors buried deep beneath the earth's crust come to light.

"Out with it." He says.

And your body serves him, better than it could ever serve you.

A sob breaks the dam, first – snarling, ugly thing, face screwing up in a vain effort to tamp the subsequent flow of tears. Your head feels heavy, weighed down by briny devastation and the culmination of your pressures. Yet catharsis never fails; immediately, you feel it unravelling, hiccups picking the presumably impossible knots in your chest until they are nothing more than strings, meant to eventually tie back up again.

So it goes.

But it doesn't matter here. Can't. Not when Dr. Riley scoots his seat back, clearing a space by his legs. Parting heaven's gates, a little sanctuary for the desperate. You run to it, crumpling to the floor to bury your wet face in his trousers, hugging the wide breadth of his calves. It is as though your troubles melt off your skin, wax held close to a flame. No cologne or scented-soap veils the true essence of him; him, who's able to pacify you with little word. Musk, traces of sweat, a sage and cedar-wood body wash that still clings to him, despite the day and several layers. You suck in a chest-straining whiff of it all, stitching your eyes shut to etch the smell into your memory.

"H-He was awful. Said I was... was good for n-nothing but bei-ing a whore." You sniff, curling tighter around him. A lab mouse indeed, basking in the hand that feeds it. His own – large, dry, warm – pets your nape, tugging a little at the baby hairs below your ear. Idly playing, as though your grief does not necessitate his full notice.

"Comes with the job, little thing." You know that. You know that – have heard it many a time from your parents, your therapists, your peers and higher-ups. Anyone who has ever been privy to your condition has warned you that the medical field is never stressless, that you'll spend years miserable until it grows to be too much. And he must feel your bristling, the discomfort his advice affords, for he moves on sooner than you can state your case. "Did he touch you?"

You doubt it's meant as more than a simple inquiry. Still, you fumble for the right answer. Though the one you tend to is yes, yes he did – a childish grasp for some cosseting – you wonder if he'll take your minor wounds seriously at all. Does it count if what you have to show for it are surface-level contusions? Or will it only warrant mention if you can match the fissures of his flesh?

Tucking your arm between your legs, you shake your head no. Dr. Riley's forehead creases, brows knitting together reflexively. The move must not have been subtle enough, because he extends an expectant hand, impatience igniting his tail. Bones work under the scarred skin of his knuckles, muscles rippling in the quarter-length of an exposed forearm. He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits there and waits, the ire emanating off him enough to urge you into lift your bruised wrist.

(Splitting to his will like brain matter to the knife.)

Anyone would look delicate when set against him, yet you marvel at the contrast nonetheless. It resembles porcelain, fine china in his grip. His thick fingers twist to inspect the splotchy discolouration, set there by Mr. Cook's hold.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when– ah," You huff. His thumb presses into the tender flesh, recalling the pain you've worked all day to ignore. "you do that."

"Hm."

The words tumble from your tongue before you can catch them.

"Are you mad?" You ask, softly, then cringe as the question finds its place in the lull. It's an awkward echo, like the ocean gnawing desperately on shore, trying to make its mark in the sand. No matter how hard the spume and saltwater crashes, no matter the devastation it wreaks, it will always be pulled back, away from what it hardly affected.

(You used to liken him to choppy waters, feeling drowned in all his callousness. Yet as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, your passions warring with each other within a vessel that cannot contain it, it has never been more clear that he is the earth. The ground. Unfixed, unmoved. It is an impossible endeavour for you, whose impact is as thin as the tides.)

More than anything, you covet an admission of his concern. Warmth to feel him in your corner, eternally there, even as your sight’s set on other horizons. With it, you'd be able to stand it all, you think.

"No." He says. "Brain abscesses can exacerbate aggressive behaviour. I don't fault him for that."

It needles right over where it hurts, mangling the softened muscle of your heart.

"Oh."

"But," Dr. Riley adds, guiding you to a wobbly stand. If he didn't plan on transferring you to his lap, you would have fallen right back down. As it is, though, he uses your fawn-like strength to nestle you across his thighs, brushing the flyaways from your temple. "Don't like seein' the marks on you."

Your cheeks heat. Pressing them into his collarbone, you speak against his pulse. It flutters, tandem to your breath. "I'll put a warm compress on it tonight."

"Better. Should only be mine you carry, pet." His voice vibrates through you, sound waves absorbing to become one with your body. Never did you think it could feel so good, yet as he continues to speak, you find yourself wishing that he’ll do so forever, eternal, so that you may weld together eventually.

"Sir…"

"Lift your head f'me." He whispers, nipping your jaw when you follow his instruction. Thin lips scratch your neck, chapped from the tight constraints of his mask and the dry hospital air. You dizzy to think of wetting them with your tongue, running the muscle along his cupids bow, sharp canines, dunking to map the inside of his cheeks. But that isn’t what this is; he’s made sure to clarify that, of all things.

So, you dip your head, neck arching to widen the canvas to his onslaught.

His groan is hot, ticklish as it fans over the area. You wriggle in his firm lap, coming to expect something much more permanent once he latches to your sweet spot. Practiced, trained to the hollow of your throat. Blood rushes to the capillaries sitting just under the skin there, bursting when it grows to be too much. Building pressure that takes away from your brain, your numbing extremities. Your cunt throbs, balmy and slick. He keeps a large hand anchored between your thighs as if he’s aware of what you’ll try to do without direction.

As a high whine pitches from your chest, and you darken to the shape of his maw, Dr. Riley doesn’t budge. He pushes further, rather. Digging his teeth into you, laving over the iron that surfaces. It hurts something terrible. If it weren’t so late into the night, you would doubtlessly be interrupted as a louder wail splits the sheltered office space, carrying through the labyrinth halls. Pain eclipses any internal worry, though. And perhaps that was the intention, mind buzzing with white noise once he pulls away.

Blinking, you clear the gossamer webs of delirium off your eyes. His mouth comes into view, first; swollen, tinted with a diluted wash of ichor, purpling with a bruise that no doubt mirror yours. You can only imagine what a mess he’s made of you, if the evidence of his own undoing is so stark.

The dual marks brings a dumb smile to your face.

“There.” He resolves, at last. It sounds like pride and feels a lot like damnation. “Good.”

You can’t help but agree.

(Even the earth will eventually erode away. Even the earth.)

#dont ask about the time jump or any development i just wanted to get straight into it okay #this was actually a request #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #modern warfare #x you #fic ༄ jigsaws

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occamstfs · 6 months

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Ain't No Place For A City Boy

Well this one was quite a bit longer than I intended it to be, Here's a ranch hand TF! Hope y'all enjoy and Happy Eclipse Day! -Occam

Day One

Buckley would never deign to visit a ranch of his own volition. Apparently once he left for college his dad visited this place quite frequently, but a habitual indoor kid Buckley never sought to join him. His father recently passed and his last request for Buckley was to give this place a chance. Homebody he may be Buckley was not going to ignore a deathbed request to just try some manual labor so here he is, luggage packed standing outside Stockman August’s Ranch.

He fights back a grimace as he reminds himself to keep an open mind, eyes going slightly wide as a massive man starts approaching him from the homestead. He repeats various mantras under his breath; I can do anything for a week yeah? It’s for dad, it’s not like they’ll have me do something I don’t want to do.

Buckley throws up a performative smile as August approaches close enough to see it, he stands there frozen waiting for the man to offer some pleasantry. He throws out a hand to shake and asks, “You Austin’s son?” steely eyes under a furrowed brow observing and assessing the weak man before him. Buckley quickly goes to shake August’s hand, doing his best to manifest the strong handshake his dad had always endeavored to teach him but his hand simply cannot near the strength this man expects of his ranch hands. August makes no attempt to hide his own grimace looking at the sorry state of Buckley.

He turns to go back to the ranch, hands in his pockets expecting Buckley to get his own luggage as he shouts back, “gotta room for ya upstairs. Ya missed dinner, but we’ll get a plate for made. Work starts tomorrow.” Buckley just stares blankly as the cowboy wanders off, biting his tongue as he forces a smile onto his face one more. If he keeps it up maybe he’ll trick himself to not be stewing in irritation. He struggles behind August with his heavy luggage trailing behind, taking great care not to disparage this whole experience as he feels his open mind already being tested.

Finally stumbling into the doors, Buckley finds a friendlier face in a younger ranch-hand Beau. All smiles, Beau welcomes him to the Ranch “Yew must be August yeah? August said yew’d be around, did’ya need some help with yer bags?” Buckley firmly latches onto the helping hand wordlessly taking all the help Beau is willing to offer, blushing as the man easily hauls all of his bags up the stairs and into his room.

Finding his accommodations, Buckley is less than pleased that there are three beds in the room. The light drops from his eyes as he realizes what a scam this whole mess is. He’s paying to share a room with two men? Seeing disdain painted across Buckley’s expression he quickly goes to assure him, “Hey now, ‘s not so bad Buck! I know there’re three beds but it’ll just be you and me in here and cross my heart I’m a terrific roommate! Or I was, uh, in university?” Buckley squints his eyes at the man before him, seeing his eyes go blank as if he’s adrift in his own mind and scratching at his chin. Rather than addressing his clear state of confusion, Buckley instead goes to correct his new roommate, “It’s Buckley actually, if you don’t mind.”

This snaps Beau out of it as he returns to assuaging Buckley without missing a step, “Sorry partner! I’ll try to remember that. How ‘bout I go on and get yew something to eat. Think there’s still some chili left. ‘ll that work for yew?” Buckley nods and Beau quickly makes to grab him a bowl from downstairs, repeating Buckley’s name to himself under his breath to avoid calling him Buck. In his absence Buckley begins to less than sneakily snoop around the room for anything he can learn about this horrible camp or his theoretically not abhorrent roommate. It is shockingly hard to find any personal effects of Beau, he thought he saw a degree on the wall but upon a double-take and closer inspection it just turned out to be a list of chores for the upcoming week.

As he inches over to Beau’s part of the room he smells something horrible from his closet, sure he can quickly sneak a peak before his roommate returns he opens the door to see pair after pair of dirty overalls filling the floor of the closet. As he opens the door a few spill out into the room proper as Beau returns with supper for Buckley. He looks away out of embarrassment and exhales out of his nose, before chewing out Buckley, “now why’d yew hafta go and do that there Buck- Buckley. Coulda just asked ‘S plain rude.” He stands tall over Buckley as he walks over with food. Buckley sees genuine anger appear in the eyes of the man towering over him before it fades to a smile and he pats Buckley on the back, “Not that yew’ll mind soon,” laughing, “I’m sure after a week here there’ll be at least this much laundry!” He rolls his eyes at this and begins to ask Beau about the ranch.

“How long have you been visiting here Beau?” Beau smiles and answers as he puts the bowl down, “I've been here for years bud! Originally was just a visitor but I loved it so much August went ‘n hired me and I’ve loved it ever since.”

Buckley’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he starts to eat, “I see, so you worked here while doing your studies?” Beau just briefly looks in confusion before bursting out in laughter, “my studies? As if kid, I ain’t a city boy like you ha! Anythin’ I need to know I learned from August! I’m sure you’ll learn a thing or two from him as well, certainly already eatin’ like a country boy haha!”

Buckley looks down to find he’s already nearly done with this bowl that had enough meat to stuff him two times over and burps in embarrassment. How could he possibly have scarfed it down so quickly without even noticing. Beau laughs once more seeing how embarrassed the newbie is and goes on to explain exactly how things work around the ranch. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow but I’m sure you won’t do nuthin’ too hard. Probably gardenin’ s’where he usually throws weaklings like you. Oh, uh sorry ‘bout that Buck- ah! Buckley.”

Buckley smiles kindly at his roommate as he stumbles through this attempt at helping. It’s not like he minds being called a weakling, and if all he has to do tomorrow is garden he certainly won’t mind. He yawns as he continues to listen to Beau, slightly tilting over as he starts to fall asleep. Surely there wasn’t something in that chili, he thinks as he tries to stay conscious. Seeing him begin to drift asleep Beau goes to catch him and carry him to a bed, “boy all that eatin’ sure tired yew out huh. Dontcha worry kid, I’ll wake yew in time for chores tomorrow.”

In his presumably chili-based stupor Buckley dreams only briefly. He’s back in the office watching as papers and contracts pile up on the desk. Phones ring incessantly and a crowd of people demanding things of him as they walk towards him shouting. He turns over in bed uncomfortably as in the dream he turns to look out the window and sees an open field with horses running free. He sees Beau riding a stallion and motioning for him to join. Or it looks like Beau? He looks larger, his beard has filled out. Before Buckley can even think to react he’s awakened by his roommate, blushing as he realized he dreamed of him beckoning. There must have been something weird in that chili.

Day Two

Hearing August downstairs Beau sprints out the door to hear the day's orders. Not having the awareness, or at the moment desire, to rush to attention Buckley takes his time getting ready. As he changes into an outfit to garden he finds himself thinking of his roommate. Didn’t Beau seem taller standing over his bead to wake him up today. He sure didn’t have that beard yesterday, though he did in the dream. God, did that shirt really flatter his pecs as well. Buckley finishes getting ready and struggles to shift his attention from the warmth growing in his crotch. Maybe there’s something to be gained from visiting this ratty camp after all.

Stepping out the door he bumps directly into August who just grunts in response. Buckley falls backwards to the floor and the Stockman just glares down at him as a command issues from deep in his chest, “Be ready tomorrow morning. Don’t care who yer daddy is, I ain't gonna let some city pansy sit around and distract my boys. Today yer gardenin’ do good and maybe you’ll get to try some real man’s work tomorrow.” Buckley recoils as August spits on the floor next to him, sneering down and grumbling about how much he hates city tourists. Buckley grits his teeth as a strange new feeling begins to grow in his chest.

Rather than the persistent voice in his head demanding he just back out of this hellhole, after bumping into the Stockman he finds himself wanting to prove the old man wrong. He rolls up his sleeves and rushes to the vegetable garden and gets to work. He doesn’t question how he knows the way or how proficient he seems at harvesting and tending to the vegetable garden. His mind grows pleasurably numb as he roots out weeds and plucks out food enough for tomorrow's dinner. He feels his mouth water in excitement at the upcoming meal as he wipes sweat from his brow, getting dirt all over his face and jarring him out of his apparent trance state.

Buckley looks out in shock at the garden that he has somehow expertly cared for. There’s a large basket full of greens ready to be washed and a pile of trimmings as proving h that he’s even pruned the garden. He stumbles back knowing he couldn’t possibly have done that to any degree of success, with any amount of self-interrogation he would find that even greater than shock was a fear of disappointing August. His mind recovers both from the numbness and the shock as he goes to check whatever damage he’s done. Looking closely however he is filled with a degree of pride in his work, he’s really done a superb job here! He grins to himself seeing what adept work his hands have worked, consciously or not. No real surprise though, after all he’s been doing this for- Uh, well this can’t be the first time he’s gardened right? Did his dad teach him how to do this? He must have. Buckley wipes dust from his hands as he looks out to see whatever work the other ranch hands have gotten done.

His gaze turns strangely wistful as he sees them herding the animals through the pasture. Just like in his dream he sees Beau atop a stallion controlling the beast like the paragon of a ranch hand, sweat dripping from his brow as he pulls down a bandana to smile and wave at Buckley. He starts to shout “Hey Buck-” before being interrupted by a sharp whistle from August standing at the edge of the field. Every man, Buckley included, knows that must mean dinner’s ready. He rushes to change into something not covered in dirt and finds an outfit on his bed, he didn’t remember packing this ratty tshirt or hat, maybe it’s Beau doing a favor. Regardless he throws it on so he can try to make it on time to dinner.

Arriving just in time the Stockman gives him a curt nod and gestures to the empty seat next to Beau. He happily sits and meets the other ranch men. He can’t feel deep inside that something about these boisterous men should put him off but the thought slides off his mind as their energy only riles him up more. The oldest ranch hand shouts over the rest to chat with Buckley, “Now Buck, you shoulda seen Beau when he first started workin’ here. Was a beanpole of a kid he was and look at him now!” Beau looks away from Buckley as he tries to hide his embarrassment, this however only highlights the power of his traps and neck that only entices Buckley more. Staring at his roommate he doesn’t even think to correct the old man for calling him Buck.

One of the other ranch hands tosses Buckley a beer, normally he would never stoop to drink the swill but if there’s nothing else handy he might as well. He finds himself thinking that he could use the calories, as if that’s something he’s ever been concerned about. Buckley starts to down the bottle before Beau puts his arm over him and shakes him shouting, “Look attcha Buck, er Buckley, already one of the guys! And what’d I say yer already less prissy, got some dirt right on yer face.” Beau goes to do Buckley a favor and wipe it off when he finds it's not dirt but sideburns growing on a face that was unmissably clean-shaven this morning. Buckley feels it too and quickly goes to rub his cheek in shock.

At the head of the table August sits silently and takes in all the chaos happening in front of him. His small horde of ranch hands all scarfing down their meals and chugging their beer so they may get back out there and finish their chores. He rubs his gray stubble as he appraises the spirit and physicality of the men before him. His eyes shift to Beau, pleased at how well he’s already filling out his clothes, clearly ready to move up a size or two.

He then looks towards the freshest meat sitting next to Beau. He was impressed with the work the kid got done, not of his own accord of course, August’s eyes sparkle imperceptibly as he feels proud of his own work spurring the man to be better. This ain’t no place for some city boy, but Buckley’s already starting to carry his own weight. August wanted to see just how fast he might go beyond that. He’s Austin’s kid after all August thinks before grumbling to demand the table's attention as he walks to stand behind Buckley. “Tomorrow. Buck’ll join the rest of ya in the fields. Ya’ll go on and show him the ropes then. Needs to get rest so he can start real work. He’ll go on and turn in now.”

Buckley starts to speak and protest, not of the opportunity but of being told to turn in early. He opens his mouth to speak but turning to look at his Stockman he feels the weight of sleep overcome his mind. His eyes grow heavy and his stomach grumbles. Bickley turns to find that he has well finished his dinner. All the other ranch hands have vacated as he sits in front of a few discarded cans of beer and multiple servings of the meal, August pats his shoulder and dismisses him, “see ya tomorrow youngin don’t let me down. Don’t let your old man down. Become the man you ought to be.”

Buckley stumbles up the stairs drunkenly and bloated before collapsing into his bed once more. Immediately drifting to sleep he feels his body lie there dead as a rock as a pervasive soreness and itch fills his subconscious. This easily shifts to a primal lust-filled hunger. The feeling of his chest itching against his bedsheets becomes grinding against Beau’s body in his mind. His stubble pushing out into a scruffy beard in the waking world goes unnoticed as dreams of his tongue forcing itself into his roommate's mouth, knocking the hat off his head as he throws all his weight against him. The musk of many hard-days work and that of a lustful slumber merge as a copious amount of sweat swiftly stains Buckley’s sheets.

The ache in his stomach begins to dissipate as his body forces itself to grow. He humps his bed as he does Beau in his dream, each time his arms press larger. His scrawny chest begins to grow real weight, each grind into his bed straining his new t-shirt as it too begins to change, revealing the growing pecs as well as hair pushing out all over his chest, and a forest that is never to smell fresh again growing in his pits. His cock was already filling his jeans when he collapsed into the bed, as his jeans grow to accommodate his growing waistline they struggle to keep up with the constant surges of growth in his crotch. He moans loud enough to wake his sleeping roommate as he loses control in his dream. Beau smirks to himself as he knows what it’s like to get so riled up and palms his own cock wondering what Buckley’s dreaming of.

Day Three

Buckley awakens at the first light of day, his hand shoved in his pants covered in still drying cum. He hops out of bed wiping his hand on his sheets and he tosses on a hat before racing down the stairs, excited for another- No. his first day on the ranch outright. He passes some new luggage in the living room, just like that he had brought all that time ago. He briefly tries to remember why he didn’t think to grab clothes from it this morning before remembering instead he wasted time watching Beau stretch and get ready. He meets August on the porch who hands him a mug of coffee and sending him off towards a stable.

Just as the day before Buckley’s eyes glaze over and his mind is overcome with a comforting thoughtless buzz as he starts going about acting with an unconscious precision. He pulls all the levers and gates to release the cows to graze. He wanders around checking for any peculiarities of the stable, confident he would notice anything out of place, his foggy mind obscuring his personality growing brasher and more self-assured by the second. He meanders alongside the cows, petting them all in the right spots as if he reared them himself. He feels his lips move without his input, calling specific cows by name, recognizing them as soon as their names leave his mouth.

While his mind remains adrift he finds himself thinking once more of his dream and Beau, his Beau? He tries to maintain focus on inspecting the cows, but as his pulse quickens as the thought of disappointing August hits him like a shot of adrenaline, he is no longer able to move unknowingly as his thoughts race and his hands shake as he remembers. He stares at his shaking hands as they are unquestionably too large, dark hair crawls up from his wrists making way to soon grow onto his upper arms. He sees the muscle filling his biceps quiver and flex as he ambulates at all. He puts his face in his hands, feeling the beard scratch against them, as he tries to recall further. His shirt suddenly itches beyond imagination and it tosses it to the floor, baring his chest as it expands even more powerfully with each heaving breath. Hair thickening in dark waves down the whole of his torso.

His ears ring as if there was an explosion as he struggles to stay standing, this isn’t who he is. Right? He’s been here for like a week? His mind blaring as it contradicts itself saying he has been here even less than that but also so much longer. Buckley stamps his feet down in rage as he tries to remember any truth at all. He, he was supposed to train to be a rancher today, right? But it can’t be his first day, he did his part like he’s a professional. He is a professional no? He’s been doing this for- He can’t remember, he was gardening just yesterday wasn’t he?

Buckley scans the farm looking for Beau, or August, anyone who can offer some immediate answer. Instead the only figure he can see is one he can’t recognize, some kid that’s doing the gardening. Buckley sees him grimace as he makes his way through the garden, harvesting quickly but efficiently. He rolls his eyes, sure that he could do a better job than whoever that little bitch is. The thought that he is a spitting image for the man that Buckley was not but twenty-four hours ago does not even begin to occur to him. For Buckley is not that man anymore. He looks down to see veins trailing across his arms, pumped from the effort of moving hay bales and readying all the dairy cow equipment.

August whistles once more calling everyone inside for dinner, this time Buckley can’t bring himself to care enough to change or even throw some deodorant on. Beau’s prediction of it being one week before the man would put work before hygiene has been blown out of the water, but neither could begin to recall. For this is who Buckley is, this is who he has always been. At dinner he is sitting directly across from the new gardener, Colton.

He stares daggers into him as the crew begins to dig in. He isn’t quite sure why he feels such rage at the weak man across from him, but it only grows worse as he starts to scarf his dinner. Words that August never even said to him echo in his head as he stares at the young man eating, this ain’t no place for a city boy. Seeing his roommates eyes darken under his thickening eyebrows Beau hits him in the shoulder, “Hey now play nice, Colton’ll be staying in our room so y’all two need to get along, right Buckley?” Averting his rage at the anxious twink across from him Buckley takes sudden umbridge at being called Buckley.

“Y’know, I think you may have had a point yesterday, Beau. Think it’s fittin’ if I just go by Buck.” Beau smiles at his roommate, playfully punching his arm before pulling him into a side hug. Neither man notices as an accent has suddenly imposed itself onto Buck’s voice. Across though Colton rolls his eyes as he sees the cowboys staring at each other so intently, more focused on them than the haste at which he is cleaning his plate.

Tonight, rather than sending one ranch hand to get some rest, August decides to treat his crew and give everyone the rest of the day off. To celebrate, all indulge in even heavier drinking than usual, Colton as the newbie is required to prove himself to the other ranch hands as Beau grabs a couple six packs and motions for Buck to follow him. The two head off towards a quiet corner of the ranch, where August would not be able to watch and the two just sit together and talk. There is a palpable gravity between their bodies as they sit and watch the sunset. Buck wants nothing more than to give in but his mind is suddenly murky once more. He struggles to ask Beau, “Beau, what, or how long have I been here at the ranch?”

Beau tossing back the last of a bottle just looks coily at his partner, “Now yew know as well as I do hon-”

“No! I just want you to tell me.”

Taken aback Beau opens a bottle and offers it to Buck before continuing, “Well, y’see it’s just a little foggy ain’t it?” Buck’s eyes widen as if he’s cracked a case before saying as much though his mind is thrown into disarray as Beau goes on, “I remember you being new, but also, you’ve done worked here for years Buck?” The words hit Buck’s mind like a hammer on the anvil, the idea of him working at this ranch searing red hot into his mind as he coughs up the beer he was drinking. His eyes glaze over immediately as he drops the beer bottle, he doesn’t remember anything else of the night, at least not in the conscious world.

The last words of reality he remembers; Haven’t you worked here for years Buck. what is his mind to do besides stew on them, now given total creative liberty. He remembers first coming to the camp, he was the weak scrawny dweeb, but that was a time so far removed from the present that it may as well not be him at all, he was surely a teen at the time anwyay yeah? In his dream he remembers meeting Beau very soon after, the two hit it off immediately and become the exemplar ranch hands they clearly are today. Bizarrely he remembers seeing his father with August, but this is, it’s a dream? Surely his subconscious is just throwing spaghetti at the wall. He sees himself caring for the cows, feeding chickens, showing Colton how to garden. He sees Beau tending to the stallions, helping out in the kitchen, repairing the stables as is often needed.

He sees wrinkles start to appear in the corners of their eyes, white hairs start to speckle his beard as the years fly by in his mind. He watches as both he and Beau grow and maintain their bodies, every day working hard for the ranch, for August and Austin, and becoming the ideal that any cowboy, that any man should be. He remembers playfully mocking Beau as he went in to get another tattoo. He remembers Beau teasing him for the pride he takes in sculpting his body, and for plucking out his gray hairs. He is taken back to the first time they had sex, taking an uncharacteristic break from working in the stables to fuck behind the pens. His mind is filled with encounter after encounter, day after day of working hard together and retiring each night to the same room. He sees himself now, body still, lying in a bed next to a man he has clearly loved for longer than the entire life he lived before the ranch.

Day Four

Thus is how awakens. Nude in his thankfully private bedroom with his partner, his lover, Beau. He brushes Beau to help him awaken as he throws on some comfortable clothes for another day of work. Scratching his beard and offering a large dad yawn he makes his way to the common area where he sees Colton already dozing once more, lazy freeloader. Inspecting the new kid though he is pleasantly surprised to see that he must be going through a growth spurt, his midriff is exposed and he seems to be scratching his chest in his sleep. August must really know what he’s doin’ hm.

Speaking of the devil August rounds the corner and looks to Buck with a twinkle of pride in his eye. Both for the work he has done and will continue to do, and at the vitality and virility of the man before him. His father would be proud. Beau soon follows after, squeezing Buck’s shoulder and tossing his forgotten cowboy hat on the couch next to him, his scent in the air as he stomps by is more than enough to get Buck to think with his balls. Before he’s too far gone though August clears his throat and goes over the plans with the two clearly seasoned ranchers.

Buck squeezes Beau’s ass as he heads out to the pastures, excited to prevail through another day at the ranch. He feels an outpouring of gratitude towards his dad for bringing him to this place. It made him who he is and he is more than eager to show other men exactly what they can be. No, what they should be.

#male tf #cowboy tf #masculinization #age progression #mental change #muscle tf #male transformation

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veritas-scribblings · 3 months

Text

brain - @jegulus-microfic- words: 1,008

[follow-up to 'achieve']

The world is a little bit woozy when James wakes up. He’s not in his own bed. This, he can sense from how everything around him feels slightly wrong. The sheets are firmer, scratchier. The pillows are hard and lumpy, not the soft feather-down ones Regulus is so fussy about having.

There are voices around him. Voices he doesn’t know. Some distant. Some closer. And there’s Marlene’s voice close by, and James is sure she can’t be in bed with him. So maybe James is dead, and maybe he’s in hell. And if James is dead and this is hell, then of course Marlene would be here to greet him.

‘Wakey wakey.’ Marlene prods him directly in the face.

All James can say is, ‘ugh.’ It’s a sound that he makes from the very depths of his soul. With being awake has come the Hogwarts Express of all headaches chugging through his brain.

‘Took a bludger to the head,’ Marlene explains when James fully wakes and the room comes into view as much as it can without his glasses. It’s not his bedroom. Not even the first aid rooms in the stadium. It’s not even a room. ‘On-site healers couldn’t wake you, so they brought you here. They still need to do a cognitive assessment to make sure you’re not brain damaged. Your man is outside making a fuss right now. Probably wants to get you some fluffier pillows or something.’ Marlene snickers.

Of course Regulus is making a fuss. James squints. Without his glasses, Marlene is a slight blur. She’s seated by his bed, feet propped up and draped across his legs. ‘Did we win?’ he groans, reaching up to rub his temple in a bid to soothe the throbbing.

‘Nah. Regulus had a fit when you fell. He tried to call the game off, but they wouldn’t cancel it, so he went and caught the damn snitch to end it all. We lost by 10 points.’

Before James can say anything, Regulus bursts in through the curtains around James’s bed and hisses, ‘Incompetent idiots!’ His voice is low, quiet as not to disturb James. ‘Apparently they’re busy. They’ll get to him when “when they can”. We’ve been here for almost a fucking hour and they’ve yet—’

Regulus falls silent. He stops by the bed where James is struggling to sit up, fighting against the dizziness and the sharp knife-like pain that stabs through his temple at every movement.

In the smoke and the fog of it all, Regulus is a sight, a vision. A lovely, messy sight, all angry and fussy. He’s still in his quidditch gear, James can tell, though without his glasses he can’t see Regulus clearly enough and that really is a travesty.

It had been raining during the match, James remembers. The torrential sort of rain that James had barely been able to see through, though this hadn’t bothered him, as not being able to see Regulus well would mean he would be less focussed on where Regulus was and watching Regulus fly, and more focussed on the game. James had known, however, that Regulus would be angry about it, and anger normally drives Regulus either to hyperfocus and over perform. Or it just throws him off his game. It is always a 50-50 gamble either way.

They’d been almost 100 points up against Puddlemere United and into the third hour. If James’s memory serves him—and he can’t be so sure—Noonan, the Puddlemere beater, had hit a bludger directly at him to prevent him from scoring a goal.

James makes a startled sound when Regulus leans down, grabs the front of his hospital gown and pulls him up into a fierce, desperate kiss. The sudden movement feels like another bludger rattling around in his head, and Regulus’s lips are the balm that soothes the pain and the discomfort.

Regulus mumbles something unintelligible into the kiss before pulling back slightly and nuzzling gently against James’s cheek. ‘You’re awake,’ he whispers, and then, ‘I’m wet and gross,’ a slight disgruntled whine, as James tries to pull him down onto the bed with him.

‘So use a drying charm.’ James tugs the front of Regulus’s shirt. Up close, Regulus comes into view and he’s breath-taking. His hair, normally loose curls, is damp and a little windswept, sticking up in places. Beautiful. So very beautiful.

‘James—’

‘You can never be gross.’ James smiles slightly. ‘I’m injured. You have to do what I want and I want to be held and kissed better.’

Sighing, Regulus goes down with some reluctance and tucks himself under James’s arm. He holds James tightly, as James had requested, and kisses him slowly, his hands cradling James’s head like James is fragile and might break apart.

It’s then that James realises Marlene has left and they’re alone. As alone as they can be in a little room made of fabric curtains, surrounded by other bed-ridden people in little rooms made of fabric curtains.

‘You had to go catch the snitch, huh. You couldn’t have let us have the win?’ he asks, trying to look as pitiful as he can.

Regulus snorts. ‘As if. You don’t get a pity win just because you’re injured.’ He lays his head down on James’s shoulder. ‘Noonan’s getting a 5-game suspension for intentionally causing bodily harm.’

James frowns, pulling Regulus closer and squeezing him slightly. ‘And?’ he asks.

‘And…?’ Regulus tips his head up and licks at James’s lips with just the tip of his tongue, the way that he does when he’s trying to distract James or seem all innocent.

‘Come on, love, I know you too well. What did you do to Noonan? Nothing illegal, I hope.’

When Regulus smiles, it’s a conniving smile. He snuggles into James’s chest. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Maybe he’ll also be laid up with a mysterious illness. Playing in the rain like that, one has to have a strong constitution. Noonan has always been a bit…weak.’ He presses a kiss under James’s chin and hums quietly. ‘Serves him right, if you ask me.’

#harry potter #fanfiction #myfanfiction #microfics #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #myjegulusmicrofics

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th3secr3th1story · 1 year

Note

getou reacting to you having a mental breakdown/crying

geto reacting to a breakdown

of course, thank you for the request! hope you're ok

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst ig, first time writing in present tense wheww yazan dont fuck it up..., soft!geto, reader is stresseddd about life, crying, established relationship, no prns used, if u see any typos IM SORRY. i proofread but it's late and im tired!

words: 1,026

some days are harder than others. ups and downs are normal (and expected), but knowing that doesn't make difficult times any easier to manage.

you're a strong student, there's no doubt in that. you consistently perform well in all your assessments, sparring sessions, and missions, but sometimes it feels like the better you perform the better you're expected to do.

that day, geto is able to tell something is off. you didn't participate as often as you usually do in class, your typically composed expression seemed strained, you ate your lunch slower than usual, and despite beating him in a fight, you seemed less focused.

"are you okay?" he asks as the two of you walk down the hallway, turning your face gently to look at him.

"yeah, just didn't sleep too well last night," you smile, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand before quickly heading off to the bathroom.

despite being in a relationship with geto for over a year now, vulnerability is still challenging. not to say you've never confided in him, since there's no one you trust more, but putting thoughts into words never comes easy.

you don't know how you make it through your last class. just the thought of all your homework, your upcoming mission, the fact that it's only october, if you're really going to be risking your life for a living--you can't wait for the school day to be over.

once the final bell rings, you gather your things and leave the class, not stopping to thank the teacher or say bye to your friends as you normally do.

"what's up with y/n today?" gojo questions.

that confirms geto's suspicions. something is wrong, and he's ready to help.

once you reach the dorm, you shut the door and flop down onto the bed with a sigh.

"is it always going to be like this?" you wonder, feeling the stress from the day pressing down on your chest, practically suffocating you.

before you know it, half an hour of staring at the ceiling has gone by before a knock shakes you out of your thoughts.

sliding the door open, you see geto standing there staring right at you with his hands in his pockets.

"hey," he says, breaking the silence.

"what're you doing here? is everything okay?" you question, beckoning him in.

"you've been acting off today. even satoru noticed, which is definitely saying something since he's always in his own bubble," he grumbles the last part, smiling a little.

"what's going on? i need you to talk to me," he continues.

sitting down on the bed, you sigh for what has got to be the thousandth time in the last 12 hours and try to figure out how to formulate your words.

"today was just hard, i guess? i don't really know," you mumble, not even sure of what to say.

"what do you mean?" he asks, encouraging you to open up, sitting down next to you and placing his hand on your leg.

"i just feel like there's a lot of pressure to do well, from my parents and teachers," you respond, not sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

"like, the more missions i come back from successful, or the more projects i do well on, the better i feel like i have to perform. which of course isn't a bad thing--i mean it's probably a good thing, actually," you start, feeling the familiar stinging of your eyes.

"but it's still kind of tiring because i feel like i can't really catch a break. like, once i finish something, there's always something else waiting for me," you stop for a second to sniffle as the tears start to fall, quickly wiping them away.

geto scoots closer and wraps his arm around you, rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

"and i get this is the life of a jujutsu sorcerer and i just have to suck it up and get used to it, but it's hard, you know? i don't know how to get my shit together."

your breaths are coming in quicker now, placing your elbows onto your knees so you can lean into the palms of your hands.

"i'm just tired, suguru. really tired," you choke.

"i feel like i'm going insane. i mean, what if i fuck up my next mission and then that's it?" you ask, letting silence wash over the both of you as you cry into your hands. you shake your head, feeling the embarrassment push through you.

at first, geto doesn't say anything, processing your words, before he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly and letting your tears fall onto his shoulder.

"i get what you mean, y/n. you're not crazy," he whispers into your hair, rubbing your back as you continue to cry hard.

"you keep talking like you're alone," he continues, "but you're not. satoru's here, shoko's here, baby-" he turns your head so that you can look at him, "-i'm here."

"expectations are challenging, and they can definitely feel suffocating. but you're more than a failed mission," he whispers softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"mistakes are inevitable, and yes, failure is always a possibility. it's unrealistic to expect yourself to complete every single mission perfectly, you know. i doubt anyone ever has."

"but what if i disappoint everyone? i don't want to be a failure," you whisper, shaking your head as you look away from geto.

"listen, it still doesn't mean you're weak or incapable. you're the strongest person i know, and your dedication to everything you do just proves that," he smiles, pulling you in so you can rest your head on his shoulder again.

"stronger than you and satoru?" you ask, finally smiling a little as the tears begin to subside.

"way stronger," he responds, kissing your forehead before pulling the two of you down to lay on your bed.

"wait, i have homework, suguru-"

"just for a bit, baby. i know how tired you are, it's okay," he whispered, pulling you in closer and beckoning you to finally close your weary eyes.

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randomthefox · 1 month

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I really wasn't expecting to like Sage as much as I did when Frontiers came out. And seeing how other people wildly and radically misinterpret her character doesn't impact my opinion of her character, but it DOES make me slightly more aggressive in asserting what I KNOW her character to be in the face of people trying to portray her to the contrary =P

Particularly what people don't seem to get is her feelings of wanting a family and to see Eggman as her father. For one thing the REASON she started developing those feelings in the first place: they only started being something she was interested in BECAUSE of her experiences watching Sonic first hand. Witnessing the power of love that he displayed with his friends. Sage was programmed (BY EGGMAN) to think Love is stupid, and to only trust in cold hard data.

But Sonic defies her data, and overcomes what she believes to be the impossible based on that data. This fascinates her, thus she starts interacting with Sonic (tersely) across the islands. But she essentially thinks that she's not "allowed" to see Sonic as anything except an enemy and obstacle. That is until Eggman indirectly gives her permission to see Sonic as someone who is worthy of respect and admiration.

It is only then that Sage starts taking a keen interest in Sonic to try and learn from him. And she discovers the power of love that he has with his friends. Sonic himself attributes his success to that. And she is VERY interested in this power of love he speaks of.

And this is the crux of it. Sage now views love as a source of power. Power that can be used to Protect.

The domino effect is simple: Sage initially sees Sonic as a frustration and a nuisance because that's what she thinks Eggman classifies him as. When Eggman reveals he also respects him as a powerful adversary, she starts appraising what makes Sonic so powerful. And when she understands that a source of power for Sonic is a family born of love, she WANTS it.

But why does she want it? Because What If Robots But People? Is she Pinocchio desperate to be a real boy? HELL NAW

She wants the power of love so that IT CAN BE USED BY THE EGGMAN EMPIRE TO HELP HIM CONQUER THE WORLD!

Love is a RESOURCE that they can HARVEST and EXPLOIT. Love can provide them with POWER that can help Eggman achieve his greatest desires. If they can fulfill the status of being a family like what Sonic has with his friends, then they can use the power of love that always allows him to succeed for themselves!

If Love is Sonics greatest weapon that allows him to do the impossible, then Sage will cultivate and develop that sense of love with Eggman so that HE can do the impossible as well! So that they can benefit from that same power! THAT'S why she wants to be father and daughter with him, not because she is an uwu sad girl who is desperate for his affection (she KNOWS that he is not that kind of person) but because she thinks in her fucked up ass data prioritizing computer brain that if they play out the roles of being father and daughter that he'll be able to utilize this vaunted power of love to his own ends! And deep down she knows that they can't and won't ever have the GENUINE and SINCERE relationship that Sonic has with his friends, but she still longs for it because she understands now the benefits it will provide.

Everything she does to try and achieve this end, of emulating a family born of love, is performative. All of her acts and desires of imitating what she sees other family units doing is just playing out what she has assessed with a surface level appraisal to be things that families are "supposed" to do. She is a mannequin pretending to be human because she thinks that doing so will help Eggman take over the world.

Look at the complete LACK OF EMOTION on her face as she constructs an Eggman snowman. She isn't doing this out of mirth or joy or as a display of sincere affection for her father. She saw the Koco doing it as an act of love, so she's imitating them. Because she wants to try and do what loving families do. Because THE POWER OF LOVE is something that defies all of her data based parameters.

It's actually VERY FUCKING CREEPY when you think about it. Sage would fucking skin someone alive and wear it as a costume if she thought that it would achieve becoming a "family born of love" all for Eggmans sake. Sage wanting to do more family activities with Eggman for Christmas isn't cute wholesome uwu daughteru behavior. She's literally trying to game the system for selfish reasons to help enable a world conquest. It's like how people will pretend to be married for the sake of getting a green card? That's what Sage is doing. She's being a Green Card Daughter so that the Power of Love will give Eggman a free pass.

Sage is fucked up and I love her, and everyone else who thinks they love her is loving her WRONG because they don't recognize any of these things.

#sage the ai #sage robotnik #sonic frontiers #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #eggman #dr. eggman

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months

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Every Baby Needs a Daddy extra

Epilogue / Part 1

"They're stocks are dipping again and after I invested so much."

"Well you know what they say about those types."

"That's no good Quincy, you've gotta pull out while you still can."

He got stares. The same ones as always but even so, Steve pushed through it. "There's no shame in taking your money and putting it in a more stable venture. What you're doing right now is too risky."

A scoff. A gentle one, but a scoff all the same. "Steve, darling, you needn't worry yourself with that. I'll still be in the green."

"He's worried about that wedding budget."

"And of course, nurseries aren't cheap, nor are the nannies."

"Now I can handle a nanny, I assure you."

Steve walked away from the boisterous laughter, grabbing a drink from a serving tray. It didn't matter that he had attended the same colleges as these men, or that he had his own family money. He was an eligible omega. And that meant he got to attend these social gatherings just so he could be inspected and judged as good marrying stock. Someone with a good name, who knew the rules of their society, and could have one or two pups.

His opinion or business savvy didn't matter here, never would.

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

"Stevie which one? Red or black?"

Steve looked up from his phone. Eddie was getting his makeup done in the chair and the stylist was holding up two sets of earrings. One was a pair of black pearl earrings, the other was a single ear cuff in the shape of a dragon with rubies studded along its back.

"The dragon one obviously, right?"

"But Gareth's also got a one on his bracelet. You don't think that's overkill?"

Steve smiled. "Baby, overkill is your middle name. Plus, your fans go wild every time you match with someone."

Steve was proven right when that night both #CCTwins and #THEEARRING trended to the top.

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

Steve mostly kept his distance from serious band matters but sometimes it was unavoidable. Like right now, 3/4 of the band was split across the country for various reasons. Gareth was the only one still in the house. So when Steve felt clingy, he found his way onto his lap, Zoom call be damned.

He was only half paying attention to the conversation, nose buried deep in Gareth's neck, considering bringing up the subject of cockwarming when he started to hear the others on the call get frustrated.

"Are you really sure there's nothing you can do?", Chrissy asked.

She was talking to an event coordinator and Steve remembered that they were planning their next tour.

"I understand that Hawkins is sentimental for the band. But it just isn't feasible. There aren't any eligible venues and most of your audience isn't going to migrate to a one horse town for a concert there."

"Are you stupid?", Steve spoke up, turning around in Gareth's lap. He eyed the man, strong jaw but weak in resolve it seemed. He didn't reply at first, apparently waiting for someone else to jump in. No one did, so Steve kept going.

"Hawkins might be small, but it's not like there's no place for them to play. It's a summer concert and there's plenty of outdoor venues for you to choose from. They literally have a whole carnival for the Fourth of July. If you're worried about attendance, just put the band's name in to perform there."

Shocked out of his stupor, the coordinator finally spoke up. "I'm sorry and who are you to be giving me this unsolicited advice?"

"You shut your damn mouth", Eddie growled. It made Steve shiver a little, even through the computer. "He's right. If we have to perform in a goddamn high school gym, we'll be in Hawkins. Now you can get a piece of that pie as our planner, or we can just take our bus down there and do a free show. Your choice."

"You're taking ideas from him?" There was an undertone there. Whether Steve should be ashamed for being an omega or being a sugar baby, it was hard to tell. But he cared not for either.

"I have a degree jackass. And part of what I learned is risk assessment. The only risk here is if you don't get the word out. People will come. You just need to tell them when and where."

"You heard him", Jeff said. "Make it work or we will."

The coordinator went offline. Chrissy did too after saying her goodbyes. Eddie, Jeff and Grant stayed on. Eddie made a show of standing up and unbuckling his belt.

"Well, that was just about the hottest thing I've ever seen. And our baby got us what we wanted. He deserves a reward, don't you think Gareth?"

Steve felt hands on his hips, and they started to rock him back and forth. He leaned back in Gareth's lap, ready to put on a show for the other three...

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

Eddie's body felt electric. If you told him back in high school that he'd have a crowd jumping at an Independence Day fair, he would've thought they meant some alternate version of him that got into country rock instead. But no, the good people of Hawkins, as well as a decent number of out-of-towners screamed at the top of their lungs for Corroded Coffin tonight.

He was still feeling that buzzing of nerves as they got off stage and went to the trailer designated for the band. He got through the door first and beamed.

"There's my sweetheart."

The rest of the band came in and shut the door quickly, preserving Steve's modesty. He had been in the audience, watching each of the members in their element. But as it came to a close, he left to go and prepare in their trailer.

He was laid out on the couch, bare from the waist down, two fingers deep already. Eddie knelt next to him and lapped at his mating bite, causing Steve to whimper. Eddie stroked his hair.

"Who was the mvp, baby? Who gets to taste you first?"

Steve's hand slowed down and then he pulled his fingers out. "Daddy always get the first taste", he said as he held his slick soaked fingers up to Eddie's mouth. His alpha sucked them down, moaning gratefully in appreciation.

"But the mvp of the night was Grant", Steve said, thinking back to the bass solo he did in the middle of "Swallow Me Whole". Those licks were so dirty, Steve had started to get wet right there in the audience. He spread himself a little more as Grant came over and lowered his head between his legs.

After a performance, they were all notably sweaty and the scents in this small space made Steve's head spin. He watched as Grant licked and sucked on his pussy lips, kissing it like it was Steve's mouth, loving on it like there was no greater blessing. Steve licked his lips and right on cue, Gareth was there, pants already down. He had grown some since the first time Steve had seen him fully bare. Apparently exposure to omega slick was great for bottom growth.

Steve sucked him down, eyes rolling back when Gareth grabbed the back of his head. For a second they focused just well enough to see Eddie, hand around his cock as he pumped and Steve couldn't help but cum. He was doing so good. He was making his pack happy

Grant pulled off and away and Jeff was there, rubbing his tip against his clit, driving him wild even though he'd just came. He rocked against it, begging to be filled. Jeff obliged and it was a good thing there was an entire town entertaining themselves with carnival games outside.

Eddie came over and gave Steve a tender kiss on his temple. A stark difference from the way both Gareth and Jeff were rutting into him right now.

"Pretty baby, so perfect. You're ours forever and we're never letting you go."

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #corroded king #omegaverse #a/b/o

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carriagelamp · 9 months

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A few days late, but I'm lazy...

My favourite books that I read during 2023!

I got really lucky this year, I read some ridiculously good books, to the point that I had a really hard time narrowing them down. And I cheated on a few and bunched them up so I wouldn't have to choose 🙃

I did more detailed assessments of the books in my month reviews, but for anyone that's interested in something I read, here's a quick description:

Annie: An Old-Fashioned Story by Thomas Meehan -- A novelization of the Little Orphan Annie story, close related to the film musical including references to the songs. A charming read that captures the enjoyment of the film but adds a lot more details into the struggles and hardships Annie would have gone through during life on her own in the Depression.

Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfeild -- Three girls from a poor family in London end up being welcomed to a ballet academy where they have the opportunity to learn not only how to dance, but to begin attending performances that let them earn money for their family. Follows the heart warming adventures of sisters with a nice balance of financial hardship and obligations during the Depression.

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle -- A possession horror based around religious trauma and sexual identity. Fantastic prose and genuinely chilling at points without ever feeling hopeless. Here the demons that start stalking people in this God-fearing Montana town are both metaphorical and literal.

A Christmas Story by Jean Shepherd -- A collection of radio stories that follow the childhood misadventures of Ralphie; these stories would go to make up the classic film A Christmas Story, and Shepherd's hilarious, clever prose makes it a very fun read whether you know the film or not.

Doctor Who: Scratchman by Tom Baker -- I actually read a number of pretty good Doctor Who novels this year (13 Doctors 13 Stories, Time Lord Fairytales, Silhouette) and even a Torchwood one (Skypoint) but Scratchman was probably my favourite of the lot. The Fourth Doctor, Sarah, and Harry find themselvese in a horror adventures as they try to defend a host of villagers against an invading force of evil, skeletal scarecrows that are attempting to infect the humans around them.

Dogsbody by Diana Wynne Jones -- The star Sirius is accused of killing another luminary and losing a powerful instrument called a Zoi. His sentence for this crime is to be stripped of his powers and cast down to earth, to spend one lifetime living in a humble, mortal form - that of a true dog. If he can survive and find the Zoi within that lifetime, he will be welcomed back to the cosmos.

Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire -- A novella that explores the rehabilitation of children who had been chosen, who found a doorway and stepped into another, strange world. Adventures done, they now need to acclimatize themselves to living in the rigid confines of the real world.

Grandpa's Great Escape by David Walliams -- A hilarious and surprisingly heart-warming story about a boy and his grandfather who was a flying ace during the war. With his mind beginning to fail him, the grandfather is sent to live at a sinister and definitely evil old folks' home. Only Jack can save him.

Hazel's Shadow by Nicole MacCarron -- Hazel has always been plagued by strange visions - the ability to see and speak to ghosts, as well as the knowledge of a strange, nameless horror living in her grandmother's house. Things come to a head though, when a sudden, zombie-like illness explodes through her town leaving only a few left alive, too many ghosts to count, enemies at every turn, and the shadow waiting for them.

Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree -- (as well as it's sequel that came out later in the year, Bookshops & Bonedust). This was such a pleasant, low-stakes, domestic fantasy about Viv, an orcish ex-mercenary who has decided she's tired of fighting and would rather settle down and open a coffeeshop. One of the sticking points being, of course, that no one knows what coffee is.

Love Beyond Body, Space & Time by assorted authors, anthology -- An Indigenous queer sci-fi anthology with a really excellent collection of stories, including an author I already knew and loved! The stories explore a wide range of gender, sexuality, magic, machines, and ways of being, I highly recommend picking it up!

A Marvellous Light by Freya Marske -- Robin, a young baronet, thought he was being shunted into the most out of the way and miserable public servant position imaginable. He expected things to be tedious but necessary. He did not expect to suddenly learn that magic is real and to be tangled in its machinations in a potentially lethal way.

(MDZS) Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu -- Rejoice, because the feared Yiling Patriarch, the necromancer terror who slaughtered thousands, is dead! And has been dead the past decade. And is now very, very confused to wake up in a new body that isn't his, in a room he's never seen before, and to be thrust into the middle of a murder mystery where everyone would want him dead if they were to learn his real identity.

Moominland Midwinter by Tove Jansson -- Moomins hibernate through the winter, that's how it has always been for them. So when young Moomintroll wakes and finds the rest of his family still fast asleep, he's left feeling lost and isolated in this new, strange, snow covered world beyond his door.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers -- (and its sequel A Prayer for the Crown-Shy) A very gentle, compassionate sci-fi novel that explores a world humans have created post-climate-crisis. Life is different, the past distant, and a young tea monk never expected to run into an actual robot, who had so long ago left humanity to live their own secluded life in the wilds. Now they're both struggling to answer the question "What do humans need?"

The Radium Girls by Kate Moore -- (and Kate Moore's other book The Woman They Could Not Silence) The Radium Girls is a narrative non-fiction book that looks at the lives of the girls who were paid to paint luminous watch dials using radium paint. It explores the horror, exploitation, and suffering that came from work place negligence and the world's gradual learning about what exactly radium can do.

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston -- Presidential son and British prince are forced together for the sake of publicity - to prove that they don't actual hate each other and aren't going to cause a diplomatic incident. They cause a whole new and exciting diplomatic incident by falling in love! Do not read this for the politics, but it did end up being way way better than I expected, this author creates quite compelling characters.

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett -- Sour, spoiled, and ill Mary is sent to live with her distant uncle on the Yorkshire moors. Set to be as contrary and unhappy as possible, little by little Mary begins to come out of her shell as she experiences nature, play, and love for perhaps the first time in her life.

System Collapse by Martha Wells -- Newest Murderbot book!! Murderbot, ART's crew, and the humans from Preservation are doing their best to defend the colonists on a plant that's cursed with a strange, alien plague from being consumed by the more immediate threat of corporate slavery. Something, however, seems to be wrong with Murderbot and its worried that if it can't fix the problem soon, it may cost its humans their lives.

(TGCF) Heaven Official's Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu -- Xie Lian is a god. Was a good. He has ascended to godhood twice, and been banished back to earth twice. Once a favour among the gods, he is now a laughing stock, a scrap-collecting god who has been forgotten by almost everyone. So it is with some shock and exasperation to all involved when he ascends for a third time.

This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone -- A ridiculous poetic novella written through improbable letters that are written between two time travels on opposites sides of a time war. Seriously, this is probably the most beautiful book I read this year, go read it, the hype is justified.

Wave Me Goodbye by Jacqueline Wilson -- As World War Two rages, Shirley, like many children of the time, is sent from her home in London to be housed by a foster family in the country in order to avoid the Blitz. Put up with two boys in the strange, mostly empty Red House, Shirley has to find a new life for herself out in the country.

When The Angels Left The Old Country by Sacha Lamb -- Uriel the angel and Little Ash the demon find themselves drawn from their usual lives when a young girl from their shtetl goes missing after emigrating to America. Both with their own reasons for wanting to leave the old country, they set off on a sea voyage that will change everything for them.

Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame -- The classic stories of Rat, Mole, and Toad. The story begins when Mole, venturing out of his little burrow, meets Rat and winds up living with him in his little home by the river rather than returning to his own, lonely, little hole. From there they have a variety of domestic adventures over the seasons, most notable being Toad's ill-fated obsession with motor cars.

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fieldghoul · 1 month

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I happened to read this interview where Alex Ross Perry (co-director of Rite Here Rite Now) was talking about his Videoheaven and Pavements projects, and this quote jumped out at me:

Cinema Scope: There’s a line that keeps popping up in Videoheaven: “The movies talk about themselves.” I like this a lot, and it’s interesting that a filmmaker like Brian De Palma was ahead of the curve in assessing the symbolic or semiotic potency of the video-store space, whereas later on it served mostly as a backdrop for romantic comedies. It was a way to hint that the characters had inner lives, and taste, but rarely to the point where they genuinely talk about movies. It’s like a weird uncanny-valley thing: I remember always wondering what the characters on Friends would say about La Dolce Vita (1961), the poster for which is hanging in Monica’s apartment, or if the version of Die Hard (1988) they rented had actual profanity in it… Alex Ross Perry: Well, this is something that only people like us would ever think about. If they rent Die Hard on Friends, but then Bruce Willis appears in a later season as Ross’ girlfriend’s father, in this world, is there simply a guy who looks like Willis and has his mannerisms, and so on? And has he ever seen Die Hard? This question is of course made text in Last Action Hero (1993), with the Stallone Terminator 2 (1991) gag. To say nothing of the now well-known and HD-enhanced fact that on Seinfeld, Jerry owns Child’s Play 2 (1991) and Arachnophobia (1990) on VHS, along with Pretty Woman (1990), which stars Jason Alexander…I’m reading too much into all this, but so would a De Palma character.

(For some broader context -- Videoheaven is an as-yet unreleased documentary about video stores, particularly as they're featured in film.)

But it made me think, it's funny, isn't it -- the VHS tapes in Rite Here Rite Now.

Some of them are vague -- for the two box sets next to the TV, the top one has a logo that was used for Prequelle Exalted version, and the bottom is the logo for either Impera (possibly Phantomime, it's hard to tell which with the color grading in the movie). I don't think anybody has definitively figured out what Ghost In the Trees means, but Haze Over North America Tour 2013 was a real tour that happened, but no audio or video of it was ever released (at least, not in our universe).

On the table, we have one more box set with the If You Have Ghosts logo and art, and we see tapes of the Chapters videos. New Blood, Tax Season and Meanwhile in Dublin, are shown up close, plus Nap Time is on the desk in front of Sister Imperator.

The fact that the Chapters exist on VHS is what's so weird. There's really no way to reconcile the existence of these tapes in the Ghost universe with the way most people would have understood the Chapters up until now. I think the default interpretation of a piece of fiction is that it is true in its own reality -- i.e. in the universe where Cardinal Copia is himself, and not Tobias Forge in a mask, the Chapters are something that actually happened. It's much weirder to see it it as some kind of meta-fiction, where it's a scripted production put together and released by these fictional characters. But Rite Here Rite Now is a movie about Copia and Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil and not the actors that play them - how could the chapters possibly co-exist with the characters in-universe?

I always think that's a fun part of Ghost -- the veil between the universe of Ghost's lore and reality is often so thin. They come out to play in our world in the form of concerts, and it's not quite like meeting Mickey Mouse in Disney World where the costumed character's experiences have no bearing on the canon. The real life shows Ghost performs add to the counter Papa Nihil is keeping for Copia. The accolades that they allude to in the Chapters - the Grammy, the gold certification for Mary On A Cross, TikTok virality - all happen in real life.

For the record, I don't think we're meant to explain the tapes in RHRN, for the record -- my interpretation it is just a nod to what Alex Ross Perry mentioned in the interview. It is impossible to have a fictional storyline that takes place in the real world without running up against paradoxes you create.

Also, allow me to plug my own post, from earlier: besides the VHS I already mentioned, there are two others on the table that are partially obscured and unidentifiable - the one in the GIF above, with the Union Jack on it, and one other in an orange case that appears to say "Australian Tour" (the "tour" part is cut off in this screen cap, but is somewhat visible in the video). I can't tell if there's other text on the VHS cover, or if it's just graphics.

I can't figure out if it's young Nihil on the cover or a stylized version of Papa III -- but either way, Papa Nihil of course never went on an Australian tour in our reality (or, theoretically, in theirs - since, per Metal Myths, Nihil's version of Ghost "immediately disbanded" - not that Ghost is unwilling to retcon things) but neither did Papa III. There were plans for an Australian tour during Meliora era, but they fell through when Soundwave was cancelled in 2016. But I guess it's another point where their reality diverges from ours :-)

#ghost #ghost bc #ghost the band #rite here rite now #ghost lore #fieldghoul makes gifs #stuff in ghost videos

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w3bgrl · 5 months

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tea time w/ seung&joong — vlive highlights

t/n: english. satoori.

it’s about 8 PM KST when viewers tuning into todays vlive are greeted by cutesy animal crossing music paired an even cuter duo waving with tight-lipped grins. “hello!” they chirp as the live chat quickly fills with a myriad of different greetings. juyeon and seungmin sit for a moment in wait for more viewers to join, bobbing along to the music and making cute faces as they glanced over the comments.

“okay,” juyeon finally says after sitting long enough to garner a few thousand viewers “hello everyone! how was your day today? honestly, seungmin and i had quite a long day today, so we thought we’d go live together to have a nice, chill time with stay and wind down before bed. how does that sound?”

seungmin is already chuckling to himself at the implication in her words before continuing, “joona and i typically have green tea at the end of the day, so we’ve prepared our tea and locked the door to make sure this will be a relaxing live.” juyeon is now laughing as she lifts her own steaming mug to show the audience laughing alongside them.

“like an asmr live without the asmr.”

“right,” seungmin says as he looks down at the comments on his phone “we’ll just be chatting and hanging out until we finish our tea, so send in some questions.”

“noona do you speak gyeongsang dialect or jeolla dialect?” seungmin read the comment aloud as if for her to answer and then went right into his own “honestly, chu uses both at home. her jeolla satoori always comes out when she’s trying to butter someone up.”

juyeon chuckled at seungmin’s blunt yet true statement, listening intently as he continued. “the jeolla dialect is kind of…silly…sounding…but it also has a lower pitch than her usual speaking tone, so she convinces the members by making them laugh. it’s really a superpower. no one can say no.”

“as for gyeongsang…well, the daegu satoori is higher tonally but sounds very sharp and direct, so it’s like her mom voice — it usually comes out when she’s really tired or after eating a lot.”

“yah —” the older girl now looks up from the comments at him, eyebrows furrowed as she glares over at him only to earn an innocent smile in return. he was too cute to be truly mad at, but she could pretend! “what does that mean? your assessment is all wrong!”

seungpuppy simply giggles. “no~ whenever we perform on music shows and you’re sleeping in the waiting rooms you’ll tell us to be quiet like a mom. like…” now a full laugh slips out as he straightens out to mimic her “‘hold your tongues or i’ll do it myself.’”

“i’ve never said that!” juyeon’s voice had noticeably raised a few decibels, a note that made seungmin smirk “you’re such a liar!”

the devious younger boy laughs again “that is what you sound like, though.” having proved his point through seemingly premeditated jabs he moves on with utter nonchalance, starting a whole new anecdote after a comment caught his eye.

“juyeon what is your favorite color?” she reads aloud before whipping to seungmin, smiling smugly as she clasped her cup closer “seungmin-ah? what’s my favorite color?”

for a moment he simply blinks back at her. “well…” seungmin trails off, earning himself a raised brow from the older girl now sitting back in her seat. “well?”

“you like red — you always have red lipstick on.”

juyeon shakes her head with a soft sigh "i do like red, but not my favorite. my favorite color is a hard color to wear, it's more of an accessory color."

the younger boys eyebrows furrow as he thinks, head tilting to the side while his gaze panned to the live broadcast like the answer would be hidden in the audience comments. "you don't wear it often?" juyeon shook her head again.

"mmm...orange." "close but no." "salmon?"

finally juyeon huffs and a shrill whine escapes her throat as she moves her seat to fully face seungmin who, giggling at the audience to hide from her sharp eyes, glances over at the call of his name. "kim seungmin! how can you not know this? it was my phone case for 6 months!"

seungmin belly laughs at her conviction, "i'm sorry, i don't remember."

juyeon rolls her eyes as animated as she can before grabbing her phone, notably cased in a primarily red flower design, before smiling up at the audience. "everyone, it's yellow. please remember yellow as my favorite color since this kid can't."

“what’s mine then?” he butts in expectantly. juyeon simply sighs as she scrolls through the comments. “purple, of course.”

as juyeon's story comes to a close, a certain anecdote stands out to seungmin before a reminiscent smile dawns on his face. "noona," he says, catching the attention of the older girl "remember when it snowed?"

"recently?" juyeon asks. seungmin shakes his head. "last year, when we all went outside to make a snowman."

"ohhhhhh" she now trials off with a similar smile curling her lips, cheeks now a shade pinker than before "maybe..."

seungmin turns back to the camera upon juyeon's hesitant response and laughs as he reveals what it was that he'd been reminded of; "last year it snowed while we were all in the studio, so we went outside to play in the snow before we went home even though we didn't have clothes for the weather."

halfway through juyeon whines about what's coming next but she doesn't stop him, instead tuning in to listen attentively.

"so, we get outside and joona starts walking out in her slippers, but before she sees the ice she goes to grab a handful of snow on the sidewalk and ends up falling right on her back." seungmin laughs almost like a kid "but! the best part is, the way she fell — her legs came up and her slippers flew right off — they were up in the air for like a minute before they came back down."

juyeon now 'inconspicuously' sips her tea, eyes peering over the edge of the cup to the stays laughing at her misfortune.

"oh!" after a long pause of silence as they read the comments juyeon abruptly exclaims and straightens out, subsequently causing seungmin to nearly jump in his seat, eyes wide at her sudden burst of energy despite the relaxing tea.

juyeon continues with a devious smoothness to her tone "you and han went on a date the other day, right?"

said 'date' was a recent outing together in which fans spotted them eating one-on-one and ended up taking pictures with the stay through the window, leading to a viral interaction online and memes being sent to juyeon. one of these messages sent on bubble, however, pointed out a special detail within the pictures.

and yet, seungmin is oblivious as he mumbles, "yeah?..."

“did you have a nice time? was it good?” juyeon smiles. it would almost be creepy if not for how cute she was. “yeah…?” seungmin utters.

"what song were you listening to? was the sound quality good? comfier than usual?" she's now scrolling on her phone in search of something, eagle eyed stays pointing out the bubble colors. seungmin is still lost. "what?"

finally juyeon finds what she is looking for and clicks on it to show seungmin with a 'gotcha!' type look. "those are my headphones — the ones i cried about losing on bubble."

finally, seungmin now understands what was going on. those pink headphones, juyeon's precious beats that she used every day, were pictured around his neck in the photos posed with stays despite her reminding him to drop them off after vocal practice. he gulped.

“oh.” seungmin chuckled nervously “isn’t that funny?”

“mmhm” juyeon hums triumphantly “super funny.”

with one last sip of her tea juyeon loudly finishes her cup and sets it back on the table, garnering seungmin’s attention as he peeks into her now empty mug.

“you just now finished it?"

she hums in response. seungmin turns back to the live. "joongie must be sleepy from the tea, she drank it so slow tonight."

"maybe i just wanted to talk with stay longer than you." juyeon now butts the younger boy from the speaker's box with a smile at the audience "stay~ we've officially finished our tea, so you know what that means; it is time for bed! please rest well tonight thinking of joongie who loves you most!"

laughing at her triumphant end to the live that had her fighting to hold herself back from the monster seungmin on her left, juyeon begins to wave as she reaches forward, pushing said monster seung to frantically wave himself.

"bye bye! thank you for tuning in!"

#♡ billie #again not the happiest w this but i edited the photo so it had to be finished #also y’all loved the bangju post i didn’t like so maybe this is okay who knows #skz oc #stray kids oc #stray kids 9th member #stray kids imagines #stray kids #kpop added member #kpop addition #kpop oc #fictional idol community #thank u for ur time #♡ yamong

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noirandchocolate · 1 year

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RICE Alzheimer's Research Institute

Terry died on 12 March 2015, having given his PCA a run for its money. Open about his diagnosis, he has helped to unlock the secrecy and stigma that often surrounds dementia. His legion of fans is undoubtedly grateful that despite the inevitable progression of the PCA he was able to fight his ‘embuggerance’ and continue to produce a number of both well-received and well-reviewed books. Terry was also a great example to me in emphasizing how important it is that, in caring for people with any type of dementia, we always look for what people with a condition like PCA can still do, rather than what they can’t: by maximizing what is possible, a person can still live well with dementia for a significant time.

--Professor Roy Jones, Director of RICE (taken from “Terry Pratchett: His World”)

I wanted to post something for the Glorious 25th about the Research Institute for the Care of Older People (RICE) in Bath, where Sir Terry Pratchett received treatment for Post-Cortical Atrophy, the type of Alzheimer's disease that eventually took his life. From the organization's website:

RICE established one of the first memory clinic services in the UK in 1987 – a service which has since been widely replicated and is now considered standard and best practice by the NHS. In fact, RICE now runs the NHS Memory Clinic in Bath and North East Somerset on behalf of the local clinical commissioning group and local authority through a sub-contract with HCRG Care Group. To date, we’ve assessed, diagnosed, treated and advised 12,000 people with memory problems and their families in our memory clinic.

Most of RICE’s clinical services and research activities take place in our own purpose built, specialist centre located on the Royal United Hospital site. The building of the RICE Centre was possible as a result of generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations, and members of the public. RICE moved into the ground and first floor of the centre in 2008. Following the success of the DementiaPlus Appeal and further generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations and members of the public, RICE converted the attic floor in 2019 to create more office space. This has given us access to much needed additional rooms and offices which will enable us to grow and run more services and activities. We’ve worked hard to ensure that the areas of the centre visited by our patients meets their needs and we regularly receive feedback on how much our patients enjoy their visit to our centre.

RICE not only provides clinical services to patients, but also conducts research into aging and dementia, including performing clinical trials for new drug treatments for memory-related diseases and developing other "techniques for diagnosing, managing, treating and understanding dementia and memory changes in older adults."

Lady Lyn Pratchett is the patron of the organization, and the website includes a page about how people can donate funds or volunteer at the clinic and participate in fundraising events.

SO, if you'd like to help fund Alzheimer's research on this Glorious 25th of May--or at any time--in honor of the Man in the Hat, take a look!

#terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #discworld #the glorious 25th of may #research institute for the care of older people #alzheimer's #signal boosting is appreciated too!

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danrenouf · 11 months

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Colby always gets new programming for the rookies. Not, like, full-on, complete wipe and reinstall, but tweaks. Patches. Each rookie has distinct needs that require different responses and impulses. He’s used to it by now. It’s not like it hurts, anyway - his pain sensors only register physical damage.

With Sid coming in, though, the process of adjusting his programming is more extensive than usual. This rookie’s in the NHL, for one. Different pressure there versus Wilkes-Barre, or juniors.

He’s in the lab for weeks prior to the start of training camp, though. They don’t power him down while they’re talking about the process, so he knows why he’s been there for so long. Generational talent, they say. Face of the franchise. Other things, too, like. People-pleaser and sensitive kid.

Bots don’t ever get that kind of recognition, of course. It makes sense. The league tightly controls what bots can do on the ice, how well they can perform. Colby doesn’t have feelings about it. They’re a few years away from being able to program feelings. But he can turn data-points over, can prod at them with an approximation of curiosity, of empathy. Assess his own array of reactions to a sensitive kid.

He meets Sid at training camp, and the kid seems about as normal as a rookie can be, at least with the amount of attention he’s getting, which must mean the adjustments they made to Colby’s programming were successful. It’s not difficult to anticipate Sid’s responses or reactions. That comes later.

“There’s no way.” Sid is sprawled on his bed, laughing. Laughter means he’s relaxed and comfortable, which will equate to better rest. Better rest tonight will equate to better performance tomorrow.

Colby tosses the empty water bottle in his hand and catches it. “Sure it is. I’m going to bank this off the corner,” he points to the doorway corner of their cramped hotel room, “then the TV, and into the garbage can.” He’ll have to be very precise with the velocity and spin on the bottle, but there’s a more than sixty-percent probability he can make the shot.

Sid laughs again, getting pink in the face. “Okay, hot shot. Do your worst.”

Colby lingers on Sid’s face for a moment. There’s something there that catches him, makes it hard for him to select the right reaction. He winks, though, and turns around. He makes the shot.

“No fucking way.” Sid gets off the bed, bodies Colby out of the way for his own turn.

Colby leans against the wall and watches Sid evaluate his options. Competitive index. Strong driver of motivations. “You gonna pick something, there? Or are we going to stand here all night?” Friendship index. Strong driver of self-worth.

Sid points to the far corner. “Off the ceiling, off the desk, into the can,” he says. Statistically, the odds are very favorable for making the shot. Ninety-percent or more, as long as Sid doesn’t flub.

“Okay, hot shot.” Colby elbows him, which typically elicits a favorable response. “Do your worst.”

Sid’s focused now. Eyes tracing the path the bottle will take, hand tilting the bottle back and forth. Each brand of water is different, bottles having varying shapes and weights. He throws the bottle. It bounces off the ceiling, off the desk, and into the garbage can. A five degree angle change could have made it all go differently, but as it is, Sid whoops and throws his arms in the air, right in Colby’s face. “Eat that, buddy.”

Colby doesn’t need to eat. He must make a face, because Sid’s laughing at him, now. Sid’s face is very close, and the pink in his cheeks has turned into two deep spots over his cheek bones that would likely be hot to the touch, if Colby put his fingers there.

Sid blinks and starts to lean closer. Colby doesn’t have a reaction, models colliding and breaking. His culture and media database tells him him that there’s a high probability that Sid is going to kiss him, now, the way his eyelids have slipped shut again and he’s leaning up with his face angled at the right way to touch their mouths together.

The kiss is brief. There’s pressure against his mouth, and then the pressure is gone. Sid pulls back and looks at him. “Was that okay?” he asks.

Colby stands there, whirring through possible responses. He wasn’t programmed for this possibility, all of his code flexing to find a solution. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t—”

Sid’s backing away, though, hands pressed to his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Army. I forgot - I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. That’s stupid.” Colby knows how to react to this, how to pull Sid out of distress and back into comfortable territory. “Your breath wasn’t that bad.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

It doesn’t need to not happen again. It was just pressure on his mouth. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t cause damage to his body or his software. “It could, if you wanted to,” Colby says.

Sid stares at him. Colby can’t identify the emotion in his face. “I think we probably shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Colby says, easy. He throws himself down on his own bed and turns on the TV. “Think Ellen is on right now?”

Sid laughs, though it’s not quite normal. “Guess I’m about to find out.”

It takes Sid longer than usual to fall asleep that night. Anyone else, a human being, would have believed Sid’s performance. Things are never quite the same after that.

for @ticklefighthockey - just a lil variation on a theme

#hockey rpf #sid/colby

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