#andrews mouth: die

[kazoo-the-demjin]

Andrew: When I was your age-

Neil: When i was your height

[wickedwitchofthewesninski]

The verse

"This will be my last confession: I love you never felt like any blessing"

Is so fucking Neil Josten coded

[madnessiseverything]

between two stools, one falls to the ground

Then:

You go into the summer full of joy and star-struck eyes, palms turned upward to cup each moment in your eager hands so that it may leave a mark. Film stars, book authors, a castle older than your town—it’s too big to carry on your own.

But you’re not alone, you think with giddiness, you have your friends who gaze up at the future right by your side, who will carry it with shoulders and voice that will make it seem like there is no burden at all. Your hands don’t even shake. You smile.

Now:

Your friends tear at each other with claws and teeth too sharp for their exposed underbellies. Again. You watch with outstretched hands and parted lips, silent now that words have turned sharp above your head. You watch blood and poison drip down their throats in rivulets, while brimming tears refuse to fall across the wounds they leave on each other in your sight.

One on the right, the other on the left, both standing tall while you sit quietly in between, forever the mediator even when they refuse to look your way, having bitten off more than they could chew yet never daring to ask for help. You wonder if they even remember you’re there to help. You wonder when you turned see-through, muted, when they forgot that you are bleeding out with them.

One’s fingers stained green, stolen dust rubbing off with every move he makes to reach across the gap. The other’s forearms streaked with remnants of red that he could not get off no matter how hard he tried.

And you right there, looking up, clutching your legs, wishing things were different. Wishing it was easier—no middle to be caught in, no slow ripping of your seams as two stubborn boys tug hard in an effort to get away from the other yet forever caught, incapable of letting go. One sits alone, the other refuses to follow you when you stretch yourself to bridge the gap—and you freeze, now on your own, because choosing between them seems impossible in the tangled mess you have become. It was never meant to happen.

Your hands shake under sudden weight, your voice curls up in your throat, cowering. You dream of blood, of bubbling accusations, screaming. Drowning, drowning.

What will come to pass:

‘We have no time for this’—it’s hissed, anxious, evasive. Looking down even though you’ve grown taller recently, urging strife to be pushed away as though it was a mere inconvenience. You’re not sure your seams will ever sit right again, stretched and loose from the distance they made you cover.

‘We will make time for this’—you stand your ground.

You are tired of the running, hiding, simmering. You are tired of waiting for things to explode, to collapse around you like the old glass still strewn about your bedroom floor. You will make time. Peril sits like a vulture at your neck, bearing down, but your lips are stained with soot and corn syrup, your shoulders and waist painted bright under any black light. You will make them make time for this.

And between panic, darkness, locked doors and tunnels, between protective arms, matches and love, you slot back into place—in the middle still perhaps, but framed rather than torn apart, a puzzle piece that found its home in shaky fire light and the rising sun. Your hand doesn’t shake when you hold it out, steady when it shows the trust cradled within. Your friends grab on, the weight turns unshakeable between you three.

You smile, and jump.

[vanlegion]

It’s my JAM

"The Perfect Poly Throuple doesn't exi-"

*ahem* Maybe a topic for High School or HR... (Hell even most adults are still learning, I know I always am. Anywho, shout out to my PolyAm peeps! Awoo Awoo Aooo! POLY WOOOLLFFF!!)

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MASTERMIND- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Boyfriend! Bucky x Virgin! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: you had never been interested in sex, or men for that matter- until you met bucky. now bucky and you had been going strong for months, and there's no one else you’d want to lose your virginity to. now the only challenge was making it seem like you were experienced...

Warnings: SMUT, reader losing her v card, dry humping, teasing, lots of pet names, PRAISE kink, slight playful choking, size kink, breeding kink if u squint real close, aftercare, reader has some anxiety, bucky being a really, really big sweetheart and a charming gentleman. seriously would die for this man.

“so i told you none of it was accidental, and the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me. i laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk on your face, you knew the entire time... you knew that i'm a mastermind and now you're mine.”- mastermind, taylor swift

Tonight was the night. 

It was the night that would change your life, the night you would be thinking about each time your head hit the pillow, and when you’d wake up in the morning. 

The clock continued to tick slowly, almost mockingly as you waited, fingers twisting themselves into a knot. It was life-changing for you, but the same for anyone else. Everyone else continued with their lives, all in their own little fantasy worlds, with their issues and desires. 

It was confusing to think about, to wrap your head around. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, just for anyone to hear you, so they could offer their advice, or not care at all.

 Hey world! I’m a virgin, but my boyfriend doesn't know that! How do I go all the way with him without making it awkward?

But you kept your mouth shut, as you always did about things that mattered most to you. 

You sat and waited, like a patient in the waiting room, desperate to get seen. The door remained shut, the doctor refusing to come out. You knew Bucky wasn't supposed to come to your place until later, but the anticipation was killing you. 

It fired a pit in your belly, causing you to feel almost lightheaded as you waited, re-churning old worries and anxieties around in your mind like butter. 

You were in university, had been for some time now- but you were still a virgin. It made you feel stupid, even though you knew it didn’t matter. Virginity was a social concept. 

It was stupid, and dumb, and anyone could do what they wanted with their body whenever they wanted. Despite this, you still felt bad. Memories of your high school friends giggling and rushing to tell you of their sex lives haunted you, and even though you knew it probably was shit sex, at least they were getting some. 

You were surprised Bucky hadn't pushed the matter, regardless of the fact the two of you had been together for a few months now. They were the best few months of your life, and he had never made you feel so safe and comfortable in your own skin. 

So why was this so nerve-racking? 

He was obviously waiting for you to make the first move, to make sure you felt secure with his intentions. You hung your head low, hands coming up to rub your tired eyes as you sighed in the quiet. 

This was stupid. You were being stupid.

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

“This is stupid.” Bucky called from his spot on the couch, banging the remote with his hand as his head slouched back over the couch back. 

The internet had gone out for the second time this week, your landlord refusing to call the company no matter how much his residents complained. You watched the Netflix Error screen pop up on the screen again, the loading screen making Bucky's eyes roll along with it. 

“Trust me baby, I know.” you said, popping a blueberry in your mouth, its sweetness exploding in your mouth. 

“I guess we won't get to see Andrew Garfield's beautiful biceps after all.” Bucy hummed, tossing the remote so it buried itself in the cushions, a chore the two of you would have to complete when he’d want to watch cartoons with you in the morning. 

It sounded lame, but the amount of happiness you got from eating sugary cereal and watching old shows you both watched as kids was exhilarating. 

Bucky reached his arms out, an indicator he wanted you to curl up in his lap, a silent order you happily obeyed. “I guess not.” you pouted, trotting over to your personal teddy bear, breathing in his calming cedarwood scent. 

His skin was warm to the touch, fingers reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear- lingering just a little longer than they needed to. You smiled as you looked up at him, your legs straddled across his lap, arms linked loosely around his neck.

 It was a position you often sat in, his need for personal touch consuming every waking hour when the two of you were together. But this time, it felt almost different- in a way. 

There was a secret message intertwined into your touches as you rested your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling the side of his neck as you hummed softly. You breathed him in, utterly consumed by him as his hands found their place at your sides, repeating the same soothing strokes up and down your body. 

It was delicate, but you were hungry. 

You didn’t know how to approach this, this overwhelming urge you were feeling. 

How was this supposed to start? 

You didn’t want to outright tell Bucky, because that felt too weird. Too naked and vulnerable for your liking. You had to hint that you had done this, and that you wanted to do this- because you did.

 But you were inexperienced. And you knew that Bucky had experience- which made you feel even more stupid if you messed up. 

You were frozen, a realization hitting you all at once that you didn’t know how to even begin to approach this. The endless hours of planning this, planning exactly how and when, and who did not compare to the actual moment at hand. 

Bucky sensed this, as he always did- picking up on your sudden small movements. A catch of a breath, a fidget of the hands, the continuous tapping of a foot never got past him. “Sweetheart?” 

“Hmm?” you poked your head up, meeting his soft gaze as he studied you intensely. “What’s going on inside that pretty little mind of yours hm?” he asked, large hand coming up to cup your cheek as if the thoughts would trickle out into his palm. 

You gnawed on your lip, teeth digging into the flesh as you debated. 

Hold it off. You will sound like an idiot. Don’t even think about mentioning it.

 “M’just thinking.” you smiled, yet it wavered. 

“Just thinkin?”

 “Just thinkin.” you replied, thankful he didn’t push you further. Instead, he just kissed you- lips soft and inviting against yours, tasting of peppermint. You moaned, body leaning closer to him on instinct, hips rolling against him. 

“I’m gonna find out what's on your mind eventually.” he whispered, making you shake your head in response, a coy little smile plastered across your face like a mask. 

“Maybe.” you teased, kissing him again to shut him up. It was a little game you liked to play with him- fighting for that sense of dominance, though deep down you knew he always possessed it. 

Bucky’s hands roamed, making you shiver with excitement, his hips bucking up in sync with yours as the minutes dragged on. It was hot and heavy, gasping breaths and teeth and tongue. 

But this, this was about as far as it had gotten with you two. This teasing, this edging and dry humping until someone spilled in their pants. 

But not tonight. 

You didn’t think you could leave it at this tonight. 

You decided to take a risk, bringing your hand down to rub across the smooth planes of his stomach, brushing your fingers across the bulge in his pants, making him hiss.

 “Doll if you keep doing that I dont think I’m gonna be able to control myself.” he growled gently, forcing your eyes to meet his own predatory gaze. 

“I don’t want you to.” you breathed, a hint of a whisper that seemed to blend with the heavy pants, the rise and fall of his chest. An eyebrow was raised, hand sliding up to fit perfectly around your neck as if it were a choker. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you pretty angel?” he asked, making you nod. 

“Yes but- but I’ve never-” 

He stopped. Instantly, his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your heated cheeks with such delicately it was as if you were a petal upon a blooming flower. 

“Woah, woah lets step back for a second angel. You’ve never… you’ve never been intimate with anyone before?” 

You shoke your head. 

This was embarrassing. Holy fuck this was embarrassing.

 “No I haven't. I know it's embarrassing and totally lame, I understand if you dont want to do anything anymore.” All he could do was shake his head, shushing your words. 

“It's not embarrassing at all. It's kinda hot actually, that I’m the lucky one to get you like this. But angel, are you sure you want to do this… with me? You want it to be with me?”

 “Yes.” 

Because truth be told, you couldn't imagine doing it with anyone else. You wanted to be Bucky, more than anyone else. 

“We can stop at anytime, okay? Don’t feel like we have to do this, or it’s too late to say no. You want to stop, we stop- no questions asked. And tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, please.” he insisted, making you giggle as he kissed your lips gently. 

The breath was stolen from your lungs as you were suddenly swept upwards, definitely gravity as Bucky picked you up in his arms. You wrapped your limbs around him tightly like a koala bear, curious as to where he was taking you. 

“Where are we going?” you asked expectantly, watching as he made his way to your bedroom- to the layers of blankets the two of you had tangled in so many times before. 

Never like this though. 

“I’m not allowing your first time to be on some silly couch angel. I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he cooed, laying down upon the sheets, standing over you with a gleam in his eye. 

“So now what?” you breathed, scared on how things would play out next. You weren't quite sure what exactly you truly liked yet. You knew you liked when Bucky was gentle with you, when he would whisper sweet praises in your ears and when he would coax you to an orgasm. 

But during actual sex? It was a clean, blank slate. 

“Can I take these off sweetheart?” he pointed to your sleep shorts, butterflies in your chest fluttering so hard you could hear them faintly in your ears. You nodded, too scared to say anything, too scared to even breathe in case you woke up and this was all a dream. 

Bucky's hands were soft as they slid up your thighs, and you lifted your hips slightly to assist him as he slowly tugged them off- savoring the moment as much as you were.

 “There we go.” he smiled as he tossed the shorts to the floor, watching you eagerly slide the shirt off your head to reveal yourself to him. 

All that was left was a small scrap of fabric covering you, one that was getting wetter and wetter with each passing second Bucky looked at you like that. 

Like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. Like he was mesmerized, like he was hungry and only you could satisfy them. You couldn't help but laugh nervously as he took you in. 

“S’beautiful. So, so so pretty, such a pretty girl.” he babbled, raising your leg to rest over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh all the way to your ankle. You couldn't help but let your hands slide up to cup your breasts, closing your eyes in pleasure as you toyed with your nipples.

 “That's it baby. Do what makes you feel good.” he groaned, rutting himself against the bed frame as he watched you play with yourself in rhythm with his kisses and scrapes of his teeth against your skin. 

“I want you Bucky. Please, want you so bad.” you begged, one hand reaching down to run your fingers through the silk strands, getting lost in the ink.

 “Yea? You ready sweetheart?” 

“Please.” was all you could whisper, watching with delight as he rose to his full height, towering over you as he undressed himself for you. His shirt was tossed with your shorts, lost to the memory as his belt unbuckled. 

This was happening. This was really, truly happening. 

So many emotions were rushing through you like a freight train, anxiety, excitement, passion. It was overwhelming, but Bucky understood this. 

“We can stop at any time. We can stop right now if you want, baby. I know it can be nerve-racking.” he assured, wanting nothing more for you to be comfortable and happy. Your happiness was his. It was something he often told you, and it brought nothing but a warmth that spread through your body. It felt nice to be cared about, to be looked after and cherished. 

“I want this.” you murmured, desire laced in your tone as he leaned over you. 

“I want this too. I’ve wanted this since the moment I’ve laid on that gorgeous lil body of yours.”

 “Pervert.” you teased, his laughter echoing throughout the room before he peppered kisses across your cheeks, causing your to squirm. “You’re such a minx.” he cooed, kissing you once more on the lips before he slid your panties down your thighs, over your thighs and toes before they were also, like everything else- forgotten. 

Your breath seemed to get caught in your throat. The gentle pitter-patter of rain that slid down the windows echoed from the end of a tunnel, the candle you had lit a while back seeming to glow just a bit brighter to highlight the wanderlust in Bucky's eyes. 

“Please.” was your only confirmation, your form of consent as he entered you slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening as you clawed his biceps. It was an unfamiliar feeling, intrusive as he moaned softly. 

“Shh, just relax angel. Good girl.” he praised as you exhaled, wincing slightly at his size as he stretched you out. 

He was big. You had known this, but it was different with him actually inside you. 

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked, concerned. You shoke your head. “No, no I’m okay. Just feels weird is all.” you whispered, moaning slightly as he filled you even more, bulge appearing from your stomach. 

“You're doing so well for me sweetheart, so so well. M’so proud of you darlin.” he cooed, making the fire in your belly flame that much higher. 

Bucky stayed inside you, unwilling to move for a few minutes until he knew you were comfortable. Your nails began to declaw from his arm, little crescent moons doting his muscles as your breath filled your lungs easier. 

“Can I move?” he hummed and you nodded, the feeling of pain morphing into some form of pleasure as he shifted. 

“Oh fuck-” he moaned, his forehead brushing against yours as he rocked his hips, causing your back to arch, chest brushing his. 

“Bucky oh god..” you drawled, finally understanding. 

So this was what the hype was about. This is what people lived for, people died for, people killed for. This sense of connection, the closeness you reached, the feeling of bliss. The feelings that sparked inside your core that were new, something that made your head spiral. It was like Bucky had you under some spell, like this was some sort of daydream your body felt so tingly. 

“You're so wet angel- n’ so tight-” he gasped as he filled you to the hilt again, finding a gentle, easy rhythm that sent you to the heavens. You were mindlessly babbling, no words coming out of your mouth coherent as your eyes rolled. 

“I- love-you-mghm.” you moaned with each thrust, your body jolting as the bed rocked from Bucky's movements. His hand pinned yours above your head, a makeshift handcuff as his lips found yours again, silencing your whines.

 “I love you so, so much darlin, so good to me. Just let go for me baby, let go.” he whispered, your body following his commands as you felt the coil break, release washing over you as you clamped down on his cock.

 “O-Oh god-” you panted, hiccuping on your noises as you struggled to catch your breath. “Good girl. Good, good girl.” Bucky coaxed you, riding you through your orgasm. 

You sensed his breath hitch, his noises getting louder with each shift of the bed frame- and you knew he was getting close. “Inside. I’m on the pill.”

 “Oh god baby shit shit shit-” he panted, your words turning him on even more than he thought was possible. His grip tightened around your wrists as he came inside you with a growl of your name, possessiveness seeping out of him from the way he kissed and bit along your collarbone. 

You felt full and warm, Bucky’s chant of “I love you, I love you oh god I love you” against your skin making you giggle. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” you smiled. 

“Thank you for being the most wonderful, most beautiful girlfriend in the history of the universe.” he teased, freeing your hands from his grip so you could run your fingers through his hair once more, cupping the sides of his cheeks as he always did to you. 

You winced slightly as he slowly eased out of you, feeling his cum slowly seep from your abused hole. “I know pup m’sorry, I promise you're okay.” 

He kissed you not once, not twice but three times as you pried your squinted eyes open, your body slowly relaxing as he stood. You stared up at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan spin as the cool air washed over your hot and sticky skin. 

Going over so many things in your mind, relief spilling through each aching muscle. You had lost your virginity- and there was nothing to be scared about. It wasn't so much the actual sex you were worried about- more so the stigma you were worried you'd inflict on yourself. Scared you would do something wrong, or worried Bucky would look at you differently after hearing you had never done it with anyone else. 

Of course the thought were irrational, you knew this now looking back on them but they were still valid nonetheless. 

Bucky's footsteps snapped you out of your trace, and you now realized you were too deep in thought to even notice him leave the room. A smile was plastered on his face, baby blues seeming to glow brighter than they had all night- if that were even possible. 

A damp facecloth was in his hand and you watched as he sat down beside you, bed dipping slightly as he brushed the warm cloth between your inner thighs. “So that happened.” you said, as if you were stating a fact at a business conference. 

“So that happened. Are you happy that it happened?” he asked and you laughed, hiding your face behind your hands. 

“So happy it happened. I wanted this to happen.” you confessed, snuggling into him as he lay down beside you, capturing you in a soft embrace. He kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you tightly, as if he were scared you would let go. 

“You’re a mastermind.” he chuckled, the happiness rushing through you so contagious you wondered if everyone else in New York could feel it. 

You hoped they did. 

You knew they had other plans, other dates and things to stress about, but you hoped just for one second- they could feel the whisper of your giddiness in the wind. It was the kind of giddiness a child got when they ran downstairs on Christmas, seeing Santa had left them one cookie, but enough crumbs so they’d know he was there. 

It was the kind of giddiness you only got when you were with Bucky, in his arms. 

“What’s on your mind?” he’d ask again, later that night when the moon was high, sleep threatening to tug you under its waves. 

And you’d tell him. 

You’d tell him every little thing, about how much you loved him, how much you cared for him- how the feelings you had for him were like no other. And he’d kiss you again, drunk off the taste of you, until your lips were swollen and any worry you had were left far behind. 

[mediumgayitalian]

“Sit down, Solace, you pain in the ass, I’ll get it.”

Will huffs moodily, trying in vain to continue hobbling towards the cupboards against the infirmary wall. Nico has to physically wrestle him back to his cot, which in theory should be way harder, but luckily he’s weak enough from the pain meds that once Nico manages to shove him against the cushions, he can’t get back up.

Ha. Karma.

“You can’t get it,” says the most dramatic drama queen alive, dramatically, “on account of you not know what ‘it’ is.”

Nico smiles patiently. It resembles, to the outside eye and perhaps the inner one also, the bared teeth of a grinning shark. “Tell me, then.”

“No.”

“Then tough shit for you.”

“I’m just gonna wait until you’re turned away again,” Will calls against his retreating back. Nico flips him the bird. “So this was futile, really.”

He’s stubborn, but he’s not an idiot, Nico reassures himself. Surely, the many years — formative years — he’s spent as head medic have made him smart. Surely, Mr. Nagging Nag shall heed his own advice, lest the entire camp descend upon him in swathes of shrieking, not quite righteous fury, intolerant or hypocrisy. Surely.

He hears the creak of a rickety bed, a thunk of something hitting the wooden floorboards, and a soft oof.

He closes his eyes and exhales deeply.

For fuck’s sake.

When he turns around, he sees William Andrew Solace, Best Healer in Generations, Paraded Progeny of Apollo, Also Notably Naomi Solace’s Son, That’s Kinda Sick, Isn’t It, sprawled on the floor, ridiculously long limbs outstretched, attempting to wiggle across the floor to the cupboards.

“Solace, I am going to kill you.”

“Some healer you are,” Will mutters, as if Nico is not playing healer right now purely because he is the only one in the entire camp with a half a chance of wrangling the dumbass head medic himself. He continues to wiggle.

Wrapping a hand around his uninjured ankle, Nico drags him bodily back to his cot, ignoring the shrieking.

“One day on bedrest, you dipshit. One. Day. That is all anyone is asking if you.”

“My binder!” he insists, because he is difficult. “I don’t need to sit down and do nothing, I need to run my infirmary!”

“You need to sit the fuck down and heal your body before it schedules healing for you,” Nico snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Will, does it matter to you at all that other people would like to see you safe and healthy, even if you couldn’t give a shit?”

For a glorifying moment, Will stares at him, eyes wide, face frozen. Nico meets his gaze, glaring, his own chest heaving where Will appears to have held his breath.

Then, Will bursts out laughing.

“That!” he says, wheezing. “That is what I have been trying to nail through your thick skull! Karma, you little turd!”

Mouth opening, and closing again, it’s Nico’s turn to freeze.

“Oh, gods.”

The horror in his voice is tangible. Will laughs harder.

“Oh, gods, I’m becoming you.”

He stumbles to the closest cot, sitting down quickly before he gets any dizzier than he already is. Nausea builds up his throat.

Gods, that was a direct quote.

“Not so fuckin’ easy to wrangle you clumsy shitheads, is it!”

Nico cradles his head in agony. No. No! It can’t be! He refuses to lend any credibility to Will’s mother-henning! He is obnoxious, and overbearing, and hell-bent on restricting Nico’s freedom; there is no way Nico is emulating him right now, because that would mean he has a point when he’s bossing Nico around, and — no. Cannot be.

“I told you,” Will says, smug as a godsdamn rooster in a hen house. (Oh, gods, now his stupid cowboy idioms are ringing in his head? He needs to spend less time with Will. Better yet, he should take another dip in the Lethe — willingly, this time. Anything is better than this.) “You clumsy fucks are the sole reason I am going to die from stress-induced heart failure at twenty-two, and then I am going to resurrect myself as a ghost through sheer stubborn will alone to haunt each and every one of you for eternity.”

Nico chooses to focus on the part of the sentence that he can conveniently argue with. “You don’t get to call anyone a clumsy fuck, on account of you shattering three bones in your ankle because you stomped your foot too hard when you were trying to make a point.”

“What was the point I was trying to make, again?”

Nico keeps his mouth shut.

“Something something reanimating entire dragons to scare the shit out of Cecil is going to drain you to dangerous levels of energy and make me have to drag you from the brink of death yet again something something.” He pauses. “Even if it was really funny and he nearly actually pissed himself.”

“Well, whatever,” Nico says, elegantly changing the subject. “You’re an idiot, and if you don’t let yourself heal than you’re worse than the rest of us and can never lecture us ever again. So. And I’ll rat you out, too, they’ll believe me.”

Will glares at him. Nico glares back.

“Get some rest,” Nico orders, still glaring. Will pulls a face and repeats his words back to him, mockingly.

“There’s a difference between me and the rest of you idiots,” he grumbles, petulantly ripping loose the blankets and shoving himself under them. Nico smacks his hands away, tucking them around him for him, checking his pillow, and then his forehead for good measure, just in case his stupid ass somehow gave himself a fever. Will squirms, just to make things difficult, so Nico, as acting healer in the room, has to smack him. “I can feel my limits.”

“And yet you pirouette right on over them. I think that makes you worse, actually.”

Will, son of the god of truth, has nothing to say to that.

“Stupid,” Nico says, fondly, squeezing a gentle hand in his cheek. “Sleep, okay? You can go back to being dictator of the infirmary when you’re healed.”

“Tomorrow,” he insists.

Nico rolls his eyes, smiling, and pulls his hand away. Will darts out and snatches his wrist before he goes far, eyes pleading, and Nico caves immediately. Will’s skin is warm, and smooth.

“If you’re healed by then.”

He traces his thumb across Will’s freckled cheekbone, shivering slightly as his long eyelashes tickle the tip of his fingerprint.

“Mhm.”

He’s already puffing out small, quiet snores, head lolling against Nico’s hand, body exhausted from working overtime to try and heal.

Shaking his head, Nico ducks down, pressing a kiss to the space between his eyes before pulling away. He watches him for a moment, peaceful, face smooth and un-creased, delicate cupid’s bow pink and poised, skin spattered with paintbrush freckles. Heart skipping, he can’t resist another quick peck, lingering, at the top of his nose, the middle of his cheek; again at the dip of his brow. It furrows, briefly, under his touch, before relaxing again.

“Goodnight, Will.” He brushes a knuckle over his cheek. “Thank you, you dork ass.”

[nfwmybaby]

to be alone (with you)

_↷pairing: andrew x reader (tried my best to make reader as gender neutral as possible) ˎˊ˗

_↷word count: 1.3k ˎˊ˗

_↷warnings: cigarettes, making out ? ˎˊ˗

♡┊͙thinking about sharing a cigarette with him!! first fic pls go easy on me 😭

“I love you too, Andrew. And I love being alone with you as well.” You take a hit of the cigarette you stole from Andy’s right hand. You don’t know how long you stayed in that position for. How long the soft shake of the trees and the quiet of your heart beating played a soundtrack fond to Andrew. He could die, then and there, and he would not care if heaven and hell existed afterwards, because he’d already experienced something greater than heaven— you.

The sound of music and conversations surrounded the house. It carried itself through every hall, every room, only to be let out by the opened windows, and even then you could hear it from a mile away. Thank goodness Andrew’s house was miles away from the rest of civilization.

“Y/N!” A person calls for you, snapping you out of your thoughts, “Andy went to hide away in one of the rooms again!”

Christ sake.

Why had you even accepted the invitation to the outing knowing you would just be put on Andy-watch? As the constant chatter of people were starting to make your skin crawl, you were albeit a little thankful to be given the perfect chance to crawl away. You understood why he would leave his own party, some people started getting way too much. Still, couldn’t he have told you as to where he was going?

“Alright I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you! And tell him Alex is one minute away from leaving if he’s unattached from Andrew any more.”

You joke, “Fucking boyfriends” And with that you walk away, grabbing a plate of brownies before pulling out your phone to open Andrew’s contact up.

The people are looking for you

Are they sending you to look for me again?

Yes.

I come alone.

Baring peace and some brownies, if you let me

🧐

Is it the brownies I like best?

If you mean the ones I make, yes!

Peace offer accepted.

I’m technically outside.

Have fun trying to find me <3

Oh my god you hate to see me

Quite the contrary, I love to see you, especially when you’re all annoyed

I hate you, Andrew John Hozier-Byrne.

Yeah, Y/N M/N L/N, sure you do.

*message disliked by Y/N*

Good god. You were going crazy looking for him with only his vague ass hint. With the opening of his bedroom you were instantly greeted by the smell of cigarettes and a glass slide door revealing the balcony. There sat the person you had just been looking for, his back facing you. As he turned his face to meet you, a sly smirk grew, bringing the cigarette that rested on his left hand to his mouth,

“15 minutes! You had me waiting for you for 15 agonizing minutes.” He pats the empty chair to the right of him, gesturing for you to sit. You oblige, making your way towards him,

“It’s not my fault you didn’t tell me where you were. ‘I’m technically outside’ had me lost and confused.” You rested your brownies next of the ashtray on the table in front of you both,

“Where’s the fun in that? Plus. I am technically outside. And this is, quite literally, my bedroom. Why would I be anywhere else?” He teases.

You scrunch your face, getting more annoyed with him with every breath he takes, “You know, maybe downstairs, at the party you decided to host? You’re so lucky you’re pretty”

“Aw. You think I’m pretty.” He tried to cover it up, but he couldn't, the paleness of his skin was immediately greeted with a soft blush when the words left your mouth.

“Shush now, Andrew. May I please have a hit of your cigarette?”

He thought for a minute, his eyes darting between the cigarette and the soft pleads of your eyes, “You ask so kindly, but I don’t want to share till you confirm you think I’m pretty, you pure feek.” He takes another hit off his cigarette, but before he can exhale away from you, your body finds itself moving without much thought. Your hand softly guides his head back towards you, a shaky exhale being forced out of him as you lean in close enough to practically feel him exhale. The smoke fills the distance between you two, and without breaking eye contact with him (despite his eyes being glued to your lips at this point) you inhale the smoke he exhaled from his last hit.

“I think you’re a total ride.” You say as you guide the hand with the cigarette to your lips.

“Y/N.” The desperation seeped out of the call of your name like a plea. His hand takes back its control despite it unknowingly still on eachother.

You blow out the smoke, “Andrew.”

He watches you closely as you inhale and exhale, “Christ. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I know, quite romantic, isn't it?”

He laughs, that intoxicating sound that could have fooled you for a siren, “Death by your hand. Put it on my gravestone.”

You two laugh at the thought for a minute, but when the laughter subsided, you’ve come back to the realization his hand still held yours. It felt nice, right, even, like that's where it should always belong. Or maybe it was just the prior drinks you took a short while ago finally catching up and making you crazy. Either way. His hands were soft, a stark difference to the vast amount of guitarists you’ve met with rougher hands. They were also long and slender, cuppings yours with no problem. He must’ve noticed you staring as he switched the hand that held the cigarette to the other. With his now open left hand, it found its way to your waist, tugging you only soft enough to get the message to you. You happily oblige to his unspoken ask. You stood up slowly, taking a step or two before reaching Andrew's chair and then straddling him beneath you, his hand hadn’t left your waist for a second. Even sitting down he was still taller than you.

“You look divine like this, my love. As close to me as can be. Away from the rest of the folks.” He grins that stupid smile you fell in love with long ago. You shake your head at that, leaning in to kiss him. He happily leans towards to meet you halfway. “I love being alone with you. I love you.” He pulls away and buries himself in the crook of your neck.

“I love you too Andrew. And I love being alone with you as well.” You take a hit of the cigarette you stole from Andy’s right hand. You don’t know how long you stayed in that position for. How long the soft shake of the trees and the quiet of your heart beating played a soundtrack fond to Andrew. He could die, then and there, and he would not care if heaven and hell existed afterwards, because he’d already experienced something greater than heaven— you. The sound of your voice had pulled him out of his thoughts like new music to his worn ears, “Andrew. Your stomach was rumbling.” Oh. When had it done that? He wonders. “Here. The brownies I made for you.”

He smiles and thanks you before immediately eating the plate full. Had he been this hungry and hadn’t known it? Oops. Guess he was too distracted by you. You took the last hits of the cigarette as it reached its end, putting it down on the ashtray, returning back to watch Andrew finish the brownies. You place your hand against his cheek and rub the crumbs off the corners of his mouth. His eyes turn soft with a small pleading look on them as your thumb stayed still on his lip. Placing a delicate kiss on your thumb, "Kiss me, please baby?"

You giggle, happily agreeing and leaning in to kiss him. The grip he had on you tightened. Even more when you went to pull away, “As much as I love being alone with you, Alex threatened to leave if he wasn't reattached to you.” You place a small pecks on the corners of his lips. He smiles at what you had said and done, loosening his grip just a bit,

“Can you promise me I have you the rest of the night?” He burrows his head back into your neck.

“I promise you I won’t leave your side.” You reassure him as your hands play with the curls of his hair.

You hadn't thought it was possible, but he had melted more into you, "Thank you for everything you do for me, Y/N" He murmurs softly into the skin of where your neck and collarbone met.

"You know you don't have to thank me for anything, Andy." He starts to slowly rock you both from the left to right, his arms around your waist, tight to make sure you don't loose balance and fall. And because he wanted to be in the comfort of your arms for longer, milking the feeling as much as possible.

"No. I'll spend the rest of our lives thanking you for everything you do. I'll love you for anything and everything." He finally leaves the comfort of your neck, pulling you in to kiss you again. You could feel him pour every emotion out to you in that minute.

You understood him. He understood you. That’s how well you two worked, words left unspoken could be heard, and words that were let out were messages received, no matter the phrasing. He wasn’t too happy about rejoining the crowd, but that didn’t matter, not when you kissed him so softly as a promise to what you had said earlier, and especially not when his hand was holding yours. He couldn’t care less as to where he was as long as it was next to you. Though he much preferred being alone with you.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Hope you guys enjoyed !! Please lmk what you think ☻

Also inspired by this version of To Be Alone ^^

[veviventie]

(this is a hc but i will stand by it till i die)

i dont care what you guys say. this guy is not as "innocent baby uwu tuna mayo" as you think. i stand by the fact that he 200% has 12 year old boy humor.

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣:

laughs at skibidi toilet and gyat jokes (me 2)

plays mobile legends and valorant. i will stand by this till i die

uses his cursed speech for some of the stupidest things like asking someone to twerk

mf put a bowl over his head and cut his hair using it as a guideline and thought it looked hot (it does)

he is the most annoying person online i can tell

type of person to send you 200+ links of the smurfcat

he uses eyeliner to make his mouth marks cooler and more evident. argue with a wall.

bro probably watches andrew tate and dedi corbuzier podcasts

ok but he probably listens to newjeans

looks like a nwjns fan to me or red velvet idk

def will annoy you and the moment you snitch on him he'll go act cute to get out of trouble

bro sticks out his tongue too just to make you more pissed

goes to the gym just to flex his muscles on everyone there

has a sleeper build dont argue with me

curses every 10 seconds

takes 209340194 minutes in front of the mirror drawing lower lashes on his eyes like those douyin girlies

i hate him sm (i love him)

[katheriensapple]

I think it’s a testament to Nemlei’s skill as a story teller and artist that even people who hate the subject matter are so obsessed with the game. They keep interacting with it nonstop even though they’re fuming at the mouth from all the constant copium because the incest is an integral part of the game whether they admit it or not

I couldn't have said it better 👏👏

Anti's coping is always a fascinating thing. You can basically smell the self-deception in every one of their comments. Nemlei is a genius, of course, and this a HUGE ccomplishment (getting Antis obsessed with an incest game of all things!)

I've seen people say that the burial ending is a joke (because of incest), which makes no sense. We played the same game? I've seen others claim that the decay ending is the good ending, which convinced me that we indeed played different games.

Burial-incest is the happiest route, we see Ashley and Andrew at their best. No more 'toxic couple-like' fights, they really act like siblings, joking and playing (like when they trow their parents' bones into the river) and even Andrew's shock isn't that serious (Ashley doesn't get choked again).

Decay is a tragedy. No matter what you choose, they'll both die. I've seen people say that Decay is about Andrew breaking free from their abusive dynamic, but no, not really. Decay is about Andrew giving up, accepting that there's no way out, no way out but death. If Ashley has bullets but chooses not to shoot, he makes it clear that he'll follow her. They'll be together, in love or in a unmarked grave, no matter what.

and these are just some of the bizarre interpretations that happen when you cope so hard you basically distort your own memories of the game just to avoid breaking your illusion.

[mostlymaudlin]

"devotion"

andreil, rated t, <500 words / series: flashes of intimacy

Neil sees Andrew across the dining hall first, but it doesn’t take long for Andrew’s eyes to meet his as he scans the room. Andrew swipes his card, then takes a circuitous route to the buffet to pass by the table Neil shares with Nicky and his vice captain, Vanessa. Knuckles brush across the line of Neil’s shoulders, and he tips his head back to watch as Andrew passes by. He only has fifteen minutes between classes on Tuesdays, so he’s just here to grab food and go. 

Vanessa pretends to gag, and Neil throws a french fry at her. Vanessa catches it in her mouth, because she is a freak. 

“Let them be cute,” Nicky admonishes. “You don’t know what they used to be like. I was convinced it was a hate-fucking thing for months.”

“Okay, but Aaron says you were the most oblivious about them,” Vanessa says to Nicky, stealing another of Neil’s fries. (Neil doesn’t complain — his plate is full of them.) “He says you were so focused on Neil’s sexuality that your gaydar broke.”

“Please tell me Aaron actually used the word ‘gaydar,’” Nicky says.

“Indeed,” Vanessa says through her chewing. “He said it in a mocking way, if that makes more sense. Full of negative connotation.”

“You know, I’ll take it,” Nicky says. “The point is: I was wrong. Neil and my dear cousin fell in love at first sight.”

Neil snorts, remembering how he used to fantasize about punching Andrew in the face. “Hardly.”

“They can be in love away from me,” Vanessa decides. “I’m too lonely to witness the cuteness.”

“We aren’t cute,” Neil says, wrinkling his nose. 

Vanessa shakes her head. “You’re right — you guys are on a different level of sickening. It’s the devotion of it all. You’d, like, die for each other.”

Neil is saved from responding when a plate of baby carrots and hummus drops down onto the table in front of him. Andrew’s hand falls to Neil’s shoulder as he leans in from behind Neil to whisper in his ear: “French fries are not a meal, rabbit.”

Andrew brushes his mouth against Neil’s cheek, and then his warmth is gone. He’s already walking away, face forward, by the time Neil can turn his head to look. 

“Devotion!” Vanessa repeats, flinging her hand at the plate. 

Neil raises an eyebrow at her. “Carrots are a sign of devotion?” 

“They symbolize the long, healthy life he wants to live with you,” Vanessa says. She drops her face down onto the table. “Meanwhile, I will die alone.”

Nicky pats her shoulder. Neil’s eyes are drawn across the dining hall again. Andrew glances over his shoulder just before he gets to the doors, throwing up a middle finger when he sees Neil already looking. 

Neil smiles. Devotion. Sure. They can call it what they want. 

this series is on ao3

[meridasthoughts]

neil doesn’t cry

like ever

tortured? nope

kidnapped? either

you name it, he doesn’t

and neither does andrew

that is why andrew after his last game at palmetto didn’t know how to react

for the last match of the season all the upperclassmen went to watch the game and at the end after the foxes fourth consecutive, and for andrew last, victory they all rushed onto the field to celebrate

after the usual shaking hands with the opposite team, some celebration with the crowd and an unusual refusal from neil to do press duties, they all file back in the changing room to get ready for their night in columbia

at that moment they had already finished the game a good hour ago, they were all showered and ready but still in the stadium because neil still had to get out of the locker room

but since neil abram josten is famous for his fast plays, his smart mouth and a fucking gigantic red target on his back that says ‘hurt me’, and the last time he took too long to get ready he actually received a phone call informing him he was about to get kidnapped, andrew felt the urge to go check on him

it didn’t take long for andrew to notice no one in sight, it took him even less to hear the muffled sobs coming from the showers

and that was unexpected

they would have known if there was someone else other than neil in the changing room since they were waiting right outside the only existing entrance

so he quickly ruled out the option of neil being attacked

the only other option was that he got seriously hurt during the game and that for some absurd reason andrew didn’t notice, so when said that andrew bolted toward the sound it was not an understatement

he was there, fully clothed and washed, crunched on the floor, hands covering his face and at the same time trying to muffle the sounds

there was no blood in sight, which made andrew tick the first point off of his mental list

he called neils name to let him know he was there, since he gave no sign of noticing, and quickly crouched on the ground in front of him, hands trying to unfold all of neil’s limbs to tick all the other points, no blood, no bruises, no articulation twisted in opposite direction and no sign of pain when his hands grabbed

neil was a little taken aback by the sudden presence of somebody else, but quickly recovered when noticing what andrew was looking for

‘i’m fine’ the murderous glace andrew shot him made him elaborate further on his condition ‘i’m not hurt’

regardless andrew finished his inspection, he lied no trust in this man when talking about his well being

being satisfied with finding nothing he finally raised his eyes to meet neil’s stare, the ‘what’s going on’ was implied

‘I-‘ neil lost his words, he was not used to all this display of emotions, and the irrational reasoning behind it ‘I don’t want it to end’

all andrew could manage was a sigh, all the retorts about his exy hyperfixation dying in his throat. he didn’t need neil to further explain, if the end of university almost affected andrew, he could only imagine how hard it must have been on neil. he was the youngest of the original foxes, and although the new foxes were alright, the bond that the original nine had was incomparable

the foxes were neil’s first, and only, family, he agreed to die, instead of running away just to keep playing with them

andrews thumb gently brushed neil’s cheek to get all the tears streaming down, which apparently just had the least desired effect, because it just made neil cry harder

andrew gently grabbed neil’s neck and pulled his face in the crook of his neck, neil was not late to grip his arms around andrew

[justonemoregayboy]

Facial is the best

Pairing: Archie Andrews x male reader

Series: Riverdale

Warnings: Smut

word count: 1042

Requests are open🖤

English is not my first language sorry if there are spelling mistakes enjoy Reading

 “...Please, Y/n, please. Just let me, come on, just this once, please?” Archie gasps above him, stroking his cock in quick, ravenous strokes as Y/n watches, already exhausted from his own orgasm.

This isn't the first time Y/n has heard the other guy beg him, it's not the first time Archie has begged him to let him cum on his face, but it's the first time he's wondered why Archie seems so hungry for it in instead of just saying no point-blank. It looks so unhygienic, not to mention disgusting, and Y/n can't figure out what makes Archie so willing to beg for it.

Archie never begs.

"Why do you want it?" Y/n finds himself asking, eyebrows raised lazily as he watches Archie more or less sob in delight above him. His hands are slowly stroking Archie's muscled thighs where they straddle his waist, but his eyes are focused on his boyfriend's face, watching as Archie's mouth drops open on another moan as he fucks his own fist. .

"Guh-fuck-it would look so good in it-covered in it," Archie gasps hoarsely, clenching his fist around the base of his cock to keep from coming as he thinks about it. “Fuck, you'd be so pretty, just using my cum. Looking so beautiful, looking like mine. I want to make you mine, can I? please y/n? Can I make you mine? Please pretty pretty Y/n please can I make you mine? I want I want-"

And fuck, if he's not making Y/n stupid with arousal listening to Archie beg like that. Hearing him wanting to claim Y/N like that… he's making his spent cock tingle with the need to harden again, even if it's only been a few minutes since he gushed down Archie's throat.

Why had he been so stupid and he hadn't asked his boyfriend why earlier? Why had he spent weeks telling his boyfriend no when the reason Archie wanted him in the first place was so devastating?

"Yes?" Y/n gives Archie a tired smile. “Do you want to make me yours? Do you want to mark me? Let everyone know that I'm yours?

"Fuck y/n, yes please, fuck yes please!" Archie curses above him, hips stuttering forward through his clenched fist. "Please, I want, can I?"

It's not even a question on his mind anymore, Y/n just wants it to happen yesterday as he listens to Archie spit every pleading word out of his mouth. The thought that just minutes before sounded positively unpleasant now sounds promising.

"Yeah, yeah, let's go," Y/n agrees, reaching out to cup Archie's butt and urging him forward, closer.

"-In fact?" Archie with his pants off, puzzled. His eyes widen and stare at him, his hips stopped where he had been furiously fucked through his own fist before. You will leave me? Can I- just- really?

"Yeah, come on," Y/n encourages, trying to drag him closer with he hands, "come on my face, come on, do it."

At first, Archie just stared at him for a moment, not believing what he was hearing, but then he just lunged forward, smashing his lips against Y/n's desperately. Y/n doesn't even have time to recover from the shock attack before Archie backs away again, crawling forward and once again stroking each other, only this time much closer to Y/n and with his penis pointing towards the swollen kiss. of T/n. His lips instead of he own muscular stomach.

"Mpfh," Archie groans as his hand flies over his cock, needing to squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn't die from how good it feels, how beautiful Y/n is beneath him. "I'm going to paint you so beautifully, I'm going to make you look so pretty, I'm going to..." And then he comes; thick streams of cum shoot all over y/n's beautiful face.

Y/n can feel the first string land on his cheek before he can squeeze his eyes shut, and just in time too, because right after he can feel something hit his closed eyelid, and he winces from how dirty everything is.

When Archie finally drops his shrinking penis from his hand, when he finally opens his eyes again, he can't help but catch his breath for a moment.

Y/n is absolutely awesome.

He has been fucking everywhere; over both of his cheeks, covering his nose, his chin, his forehead – he's cum hanging off his damn lashes, and it's cum all over his beautiful red-bitten lips. Archie can't help but moan as he sees how Y/n licks his bottom lip to pick up the thick liquid, he can't help but catch the boy in a dirty wet kiss as he watches him swallow.

Taking Y/n's jaws in his hands, Archie couldn't help but play with the cum on his boyfriend's cheeks with his thumbs, simply smearing it all over the pink skin before licking it all off.

Y/n flinches when he feels a tongue on his face, and groans when Archie kisses him again, sharing the salty cum on his tongue with an overeager Y/n. Burying his fingers in Archie's hair, Y/n lifts his hips into empty air, coming back from the sheer filth around him.

"Did you just-?" Archie asks, and Y/n nods, exhausted. Archie smiles. "Fucking amazing."

Y/n just rolls his eyes before weakly pushing his boyfriend away, snuggling up close to the big football player.

"Does this mean I can do that again?" Archie asks smugly, his hands running over Y/n's sensitive sides.

"It means you should get me a wipe," Y/n replies, tired. He is more than ready for a nap. "I feel ridiculously dirty." There was sweat, semen, and other fluid caked all over him, but since Y/n doubts he can stay awake for an entire shower, a washcloth will have to suffice.

“You're ridiculously dirty and amazing,” Archie smirks, but dutifully goes in search of said wipe.

Y/n hums as Archie cleans it up, hands catching the bigger boy as he throws the rag over his shoulder, and sighs as he sinks against Archie's body.

"But yeah," Y/n says a few minutes later, when he's almost asleep. "We are definitely exploring this again."

He can feel Archie moving his arm to his side, but he's already asleep before he can reprimand him.

[calixcem]

Some post Tsc thoughts! spoilers under the cut :)

I have so many annotations in this book. (668 to be exact), so im just grazing the surface of everything with this one sooo part 1 perhaps?

-Kevin and jean. Jeans unrequited crush on kevin. I need to know more about this and I hope Nora delves into the semantics in the next book.

-Also how this relates to Kevin day famously saying it was easier to be straight. I figured this was a common thought among the ravens or at least Riko’s court,but Jean doesn't mention it once throughout the entire book. He brings up his attraction towards men multiple times ,and there was never any denying it. It was just something he accepted, so how did Kevin get the idea that it was easier to be straight and Jean didn't? Did Jean ever think this way and eventually changed it down the line or what?

-Im a sucker for found family and Nora really delivered with this one. Laila,Cat, and Jeremy are making it known to Jean that they’ll always be there and genuinely want to help him. The dynamic between all of them is so tender and I think it’ll be so healing for Jean. 

-Also I hope we see more of the floozy squad in the next book! 

-I need them to convince Jean to try boba at some point, and i really hope his relationship with food gets better. I really love that he’s cooking with cat and I really hope it develops into one of his hobbies outside of Exy. Let this boy live a little!

-speaking of hobbies: Cat teaching Jean how to ride a motorcycle?? I just feel like it would be beneficial(not to Jeremy’s heart but thats ok) 

-This specific moment with cat and jean 

she ran down to the tide to rinse it off with childish glee. Jean obediently inspected it when she brought it back, and she tucked it into his breast pocket with a cheerful “For you!”

Small things like this just really show how much they care about him.

- What’s up with Jeremy's family?? I really want to know what happened to where Jeremy “tore them apart” like what was the scandal his freshman year??? It was mentioned briefly but then Jeremy just decided it wasn't worth mentioning again considering all that was going on? The biggest “im fine” in history fr. Also when Cat is telling Jean about everyone’s siblings she mentions how when you go over 4 kids there's bound to be one asshole, but she only listed 4. So did one of his siblings die?? I might be reading too far into this but! Or it could be that one of them cut off all ties to the family after something happened? I don't know but I’m excited to read more about it in the next book!

Jeremy has—three. One sister, two brothers. The older brother’s an absolute tool, but there’s bound to be a jerk or two once you pass four kids.” Jean idly wondered what she’d changed at the last minute and why,

- The constant touches everyone gives Jean to ground him and make him feel loved just makes me so happy. 

- also jean constantly touching jeremy’s chin to get his attention??? Hello? 

A hand on his chin startled him into looking up. When he met Jean’s eyes, Jean only said, “Focus on what’s important.” “I am,” Jeremy said. Jean opened his mouth, closed it again, and let go of Jeremy without a word. Jeremy snagged his arm when he started to turn away. “Who did this to you?”

This line in particular really hit me.

-just jerejean in general honestly. The way Jeremy genuinely cares about him and wanting to help him heal 

You are going to be my success story: Jean Moreau the person, not Jean Moreau of the perfect Court.

“Will you help me?” he asked. “Anything you need.” “A blank check is a dangerous thing to offer.” “Try me,” Jeremy said. “I can afford it.”

-neil. Bro was just being a menace and seeing him from an outsiders pov makes me realize just how unhinged he seems to everyone. But him ordering that hit on Grayson without a second thought? Iconic. As everyone else is saying he dropped by to serve cunt and then left. 

-Jean dropping the most poetic line about Neil and Andrew’s relationship and then just not thinking about it ever again is so wild lmao.

Jean noticed how Andrew and Neil moved like they were caught in each other’s gravity, in each other’s space more than they were out of it, cigarette smoke and matching armbands and lingering looks when one fell out of orbit for too long.

-The parallels between Jean and Neil and how they dealt with things. I don't know if you can really call some of them parallels but they are connected in my head bro. 

-JEANS SISTER. Oh this shit hurts from the faint memory we get to the end when we find out that she's dead??? Nora you're paying for my therapy oh my god. And when Jean is mourning her the snippet of the memory of stitching up her dress that she’d get caught in the blackberry bushes???? He genuinely loved her and just when he’d be getting to a point to where he’d feel safe enough to try to get in contact with her again to find out his parents sold her off and she died because of it???? Yeah bitch burn your family to the ground. I hope we get more memories with her in them. 

[emry-stars-art]

I didnt mean to rediscover how much I like brainstorming and world building stuff but here we are - this time it’s (mostly) pirate Neil and shark Andrew flavored!

@tell-me-your-vision had some very good tags on the last post like this so of course I started thinking harder about it lol, you all know by now that the best way to get me to draw more is to leave ideas and questions in your tags 😘 it’s very interesting figuring out what parts I want to be drawn directly from the source animal and what I want to have artistic liberty with! Sometimes you just gotta say “it’s this way because I decided it is” and offer no more explanation, not even to yourself.

That being said. If the snippet interested you, find more of the unfinished scene here :D (and if you want to leave a comment… 👀)

I don’t know how clear this image is going to end up being, so here’s the important notes typed up:

Does [Andrew’s] missing fin cause maneuverability problems? Yep. Fins keep the body stable and streamlined in the water. No fin/half detached fins means Andrew spends a lot more energy to be equally as efficient while swimming. (That’s part of why he had more upper body strength than most mers.)

Does jelly Neil feel pain like humans? Not at all. Pain vs nociception - the detection of averse stimulus. So Neil can sense and respond to ‘painful’ stimuli, and he does feel some pain like a person would in his upper half, but it’s mostly just a sensation that he responds to. (This is dangerous. Less pain means he doesn’t realize how dire a situation may be.)

A second eyelid - like a crocodile/etc; a clear secondary eyelid that closes horizontally beneath the primary eyelid, developed to keep the eye safe and clear underwater. Why jelly Neil rarely ‘actually’ blinks

Pirate Neil’s prosthesis. Most of it is always hidden under clothes; it’s made of leather, copper, rubber, and cumaru wood. It was given to him by Stuart as soon as the man found out that Neil had lost his leg, and Stuart had it custom made through his vast connections. At one point in the timeline, Neil angrily takes it off to show a wary and lashing-out sharkDrew that he has also once been on the wrong end of a ‘whaler’s’ knife.

The tiny two panel comic in the bottom right corner: pirate Neil says “stop trying to stab me in the leg” while sharkDrew was fairly certain he just took out this pirate’s kneecap with his sharp rock

The snippet:

“And it was terrified. It’s second eyelids fluttered, it’s eyes were hazy. It held the rough stone ready in case Neil tried to get close again. It still wasn’t breathing right. It was still bleeding.

“Okay,” Neil said softly. He held his own hands out a little to the side. “I’m not going to hurt you more.”

The shark snarled, though it’s mouth never opened.

“I didn’t hurt you in the first place. They’re still finning mers?”

Neil tried to step in, slowly, and was met with another vicious swing. He was ready this time, avoiding the sharp stone neatly.

“Hey, thing. Keep moving like that and you’ll bleed to death.”

Another attempt, and another swing. Neil looked at the place it’s fin had been, now a horrible, gaping wound on its back. He could see the meat beneath the blood. If he didn’t help soon, the shark would go into shock, if not simply die here on the rocks.

“Do you even realize what’s at stake for you?”

[turbulentscrawl]

Identity(V) Headcanons: Andrew Kreiss

This one is not a request, just the next in line for my general HCs! As usual, if you like my stuff, feel free to shoot me a request.

-Andrew is a very hot-and-cold person. Mostly cold. …Like 85% cold. But it’s hard to blame him when life’s given him nothing to really have faith in. Once upon a time he still believed that good people existed, but his faith just waned and waned, and that’s long been relegated to fantasy. It’s incredibly difficult to breach his hardened emotional walls now.

-He made a conscious decision to not care about others’ wellbeing years ago so he’s largely indifferent to happenings that don’t involve himself. He’s not interested in looking out for or helping people, defending or comforting them. He does his share of good when he puts them in the ground, and that ought to be enough. And if he takes them out again later…well, if souls are real they’re surely long gone, right?

-Everyone knows he’s got a nasty mouth, right? Andrew was rarely spoken to kindly when he was growing up, and he learned to take those words and turn them back on people to keep them away. If he was always going to be accused of being cursed or demonic or whathaveyou, why should he bother with decorum? He cusses regularly and has called people every cruel name under the sun at some point. The worst of it is reserved for retaliation against people who start talking shit first.

-Andrew is not a weak man. He’s tall and athletic, and he’s adept with a heavy-duty shovel. That is to say, he’s more than capable of defending himself. He strongly prefers to avoid physical confrontation, but he has spent years throwing around bodies and I can assure you it really makes no difference to him whether they still draw breath.

-When he does get along with someone, the old habits die hard. Andrew spends a lot of conversation time still tripping over his own tongue, rephrasing harsh things he says out of instinct to try and be gentler, and then getting visibly angry with himself. (He is also not great at hiding his emotions.) He’s constantly afraid that he’s going to run off the good things he has and be back to square one.

-In an effort to…make up for? Cover up? those snaps he can’t hold back, Andrew sometimes rambles for long stretches. These don’t happen in front of groups, but during one-on-one time with his loved ones. He’ll get onto some topic he’s familiar with (or not, if he’s desperate enough) and just run his mouth off like he’s trying to lure you away from a trap with a treat. He’s not above shoving an actual apology treat at people either, if one is available.

-While not always the best at communicating his thoughts, Andrew is very philosophical under the surface. He’s had a lot of alone time to think over the years, and he’s analyzed every angle he could come up with to rationalize and understand his lot. He would really enjoy having a friend or partner who is up for those deep, 2-am conversations about the meaning of life and the universe. His own views lean towards the despondent, but he’d like to hear something more optimistic too.

-Even when close with someone, Andrew doesn’t initiate many conversations. Unlike some of the other introverts in the manor, this isn’t because he’d rather be left alone but because he secretly likes when they seek him out. You coming to him is a very simple reminder that his company is enjoyable and desired.

-The best Love Language for Andrew is probably Quality Time. He would like any of them if it came from someone he genuinely learned to love and trust, but Quality Time is what you’d need to reach that cherished place in his heart. Andrew acts prickly as a defense mechanism, and he needs someone who’s willing to endure his snappiness and show him they wouldn’t prefer to spend their time and energy on someone else.

-Andrew is the type to admire things silently. He gives compliments very sparingly, so when he does give them you know he really means it.

-He is plagued by back and shoulder pains. It’s mostly from his profession, standing hunched over for hours on end, and it’s affected even his resting posture now. He doesn’t just curl in on himself as an anxiety thing, he is sore. Can the Baron please invite a chiropractor next? A masseuse? …Yoga instructor?

-He’s mostly nocturnal at this point. (The manor’s scheduling has messed that up, though.) It’s not just sun-sensitivity, but that he usually worked after sundown when people wouldn’t be around the graveyard to see him.

-He loves a good homecooked meal! The best foods are the ones prepared by someone who loves you, so he’d choose a mediocre dish at home to the fanciest restaurants in the world.

[mediumgayitalian]

previous chapter

———

“Take the exit here.”

“How come?” Nico asks, dutifully putting on his blinker and merging into the right lane. “We’re not even at half tank.”

Will clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s, uh, not for gas.”

A pause.

“Oh, Solace, you’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry!”

Nico throws his hands up, ignoring Will’s screech of both hands on the wheel, I value my life! “There is no possible way you have to piss already. You had half a slushie!”

“...Well.”

“William Andrew Solace, I swear to God.”

“I got distracted!” Will cries, eyes big and round as he pouts. “The Abstract Iron Centaur is a monument, okay, I forgot what the point of the rest stop was for.”

Nico groans. “I’m not sure you should be allowed to go to medical school. You’re going to forget a scalpel in someone’s lungs, or something.”

Immediately, he knows this is the wrong thing to say. The sheepish grin vanishes off Will’s face, replaced with something despairing, before it’s hastily shoved back on.

The winding road finally gives way to the advertised rest stop, partially obscured by a Welcome to Georgia sign with a modernist-style image of a peach that annoys him for no reason. We’re glad Georgia’s on your mind. (False. Georgia is never on his mind, except for how Will can’t say Georgia without slipping into his accent and Nico has to take that golden opportunity to mock him. And then die.)

“Right,” Will says finally. He forces a laugh. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, then gets out of the car without so much as a word.

Nico watches him go. 

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “Shit.”

He waits in the car as long as he physically can, which is anything between thirty seconds and four business days. A glance at his watch informs him it’s closer to two minutes. 

He kicks a stone across the parking lot, debating the implications of searching for his friend. It hasn’t really been that long, so he’s not sure it’s socially appropriate, and then he wonders when the hell he started caring about being socially appropriate. They are friends, after all, because in a group icebreaker question about siblings in seventh grade, Nico had growled none, on the account that she was killed by a drunk driver when I was ten and Will had laughed, brightly and morbidly, and said hey, my brothers were murdered, too! Twinsies! and killed the vibe rather brilliantly for literally everybody else in the room. 

He gives into his impulse eventually, striding onto the surprisingly soft grass and looking, halfheartedly, around the spacious grounds (he’d decided searching the bathroom would be a touch too far). His mission gets sidetracked, however, because the heat is less oppressive under the shade of tall, weeping willows, and there’s a small breeze, and he is struggling to shove his various musings into the Repression Box where they belong. 

Will, starts one of said musings, has been acting weird as shit long before he showed up at his house in the middle of the night.

It had started around January? If he had to guess. But Will is always kind of weird in the winter, so he hadn’t thought much of it, just offered to break into his house more often so he didn’t feel too suffocated. The usual. But the strangeness had persisted through the spring – the sudden drops in mood, the hair-triggers to clam him up. Both of which are usually a Nico thing. Will, more often, just shoves all his negative emotions down to the bottom of his soul until he gets one half-mark wrong on a test and sobs himself sick about being useless while Nico stands guard outside the bathroom door, agonised, unsure how to help. And then the two of them never talk about it again. 

Over the last few months, things have been a little less balanced. 

“Hey.”

Nico jumps. Will stands slightly, shoulders still hunched slightly, but definitely less cagey than earlier. He holds out a cup of coffee Nico recognises as from a vending machine.

“Hi,” Nico says softly, smiling tentatively. He takes the coffee. It’s black, and too hot, just how he likes it.

“You are going to stain your teeth,” Will observes, as he always does.

“Bite me,” Nico responds, following the script.

A genuine smile pulls at his face.

“You ready to get back on the road?”

“Yep.”

They fall into step in their hike back to the Jeep – Nico hiked farther than he meant to. Will’s flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the packed dirt of the trail is a familiar sound, and it eases some of his own tension, putting a bit more prep in his step. When he glances quickly over, Will is breathing normally, shoulders slack, much calmer expression on his face.

“You should let me drive,” he says as they approach. “You’ve been behind the wheel since practically dawn; maybe you should take a nap or something.”

Nico shakes his head, waving a dismissive arm. Frowning slightly, Will acquiesces, climbing back into the passenger side.

“I’ve had two coffees and half a slushie,” he explains, resting his hand on the back of Will’s seat. He cranes his neck behind him, careful of the family walking an unleashed dog as he pulls out. “I’m good forever.”

“Caffeine doesn’t work on you,” Will points out.

Nico pauses. 

“...True.”

He hadn’t realise Will had noticed, actually. Although he supposes it’s not too surprising – Will has known him a long time, Will is observant, and Will generally enjoys lecturing people about anything he can get away with, up to and including their general health and safety. Nico, in all his bad choices, is a favourite target of his. He can probably recite his solo midnight speed driving from memory.

“It’s just –” Will stops, waiting until Nico’s safely merged back on the highway before continuing. “It’s three and a half hours ‘till we get to Atlanta, Neeks, and it’s already three-thirty. We’ll have to stop again for food, probably, at one point, and we’ll have to stop for food, soon, and who knows what the traffic will be like –”

Carefully passing the person going sixty in front of him, finally breaking into open road, Nico takes half an eye off the road and digs through the centre console.

“– I mean, if it’s bumper to bumper, then what? It’ll be rush hour soon, shit, I shoulda planned for that, shit, do we have a jerrycan? We should have a jerrycan, remind me to get a jerrycan for the trunk –”

Finally catching sight of the CD he’s looking for (and barely managing to swerve and avoid a massive pothole that would have for sure cut their trip short, but he managed, so take that, Reckless Driving Lecture Will that lives in his brain, who’s God now), he hands it to Will. Still actively stressing about literally nothing, he opens it, polishing the disc on habit and sliding it into the slot without so much as pausing. 

Nico smirks. 

Yeah, maybe he knows his friend, too.

“– I mean, just blankets and a first aid kit is not enough. Really, we should have some provisions in there. Oh, and rope, ‘cause what if we get stranded in the mountains –”

The radio clicks as it reads the disc, then, suddenly and without warning, the stereo rumbles with heavy bass and pounding beat.

Will cuts himself off. “Hey, is this –”

Nico smirks wider. He chances another look away from the road, just in time to watch a magnificent smile break across Will’s face, wide and a little crooked, showing all his molars – a real one, the one he gets when he’s caught off-guard, the one that makes his hands fluttery.

“You’re playing In The Zone!” he exclaims, laughing delightedly. “Without complaining!”

Bingo, Nico thinks. 

“Technically, I didn’t play shit.” He gestures at the empty CD case in Will’s hand. “You’re just like a hermit crab. I hand you things, you hold them.”

“Shut up.” But there’s no bite to the command, smile still stretching wide. If Nico looks, he can see the tiny snag of his barely crooked front tooth, but he doesn’t look, because he doesn’t care about that, obviously. He has his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, fully focused.

Obviously. 

They do get into disgusting traffic. Will is distressed about it, up until someone cuts them off so closely they both nearly actually and genuinely die, and he is immediately lit up in a rage so incandescent Nico wonders if he will ever be able to look away from straining biceps and a clenched jaw ever again. More distantly, he wonders if and I hope you get three consecutive aneurysms and your family leaves you to fucking rot in a hospital bed, you leprous shitdick will be on loop in his head for the rest of time. He kind of wants to put it on a shirt. Will’s linguistic talents should be studied. 

“Stop thinking about it,” Will demands, socking him (hard! What the shit!) in the shoulder. His face resembles, quite exactly, the shade of the setting sun. “Purge it from your memory.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Nico responds, smirking.

“I wasn’t –” A pause. Nico bites back a snort. “Cutting people off is just so rude.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I mean! I mean.”

“Indeed.”

“If it was – an ambulance, or something, I would understand, but he cut us off just to get immediately stuck in the same traffic! I don’t understand the point!”

“Truly the behaviour of a leprous shitdick,” Nico agrees. His grin starts to genuinely hurt his face, but he ignores it in favour of snickering.

Will sinks into his seat, pulling his hoodie over his eyes. His ears, as usual, stick out a little, and they’re red, too. Nico nobly resists the urge to flick them. 

“I hate you.”

“I think you’re quite attached to me, actually. After all, I’m not a –”

“If I hear the word leprous come from your mouth one more fucking time, di Angelo, I’ll give you leprosy. For real. I’ll find it.”

Will probably could find a vial of pure leprosy somewhere, actually, so Nico shuts up. (He’s seen Will’s weird vial collection. Most of it is just, like, various bacteria, he’s pretty sure, but Will is kind of morbid and Nico knows his sense of humour is garbage because Nico’s sense of humour is garbage, and there is a reason they’re friends, and if Nico found a vial of leprosy somewhere he would keep it, too. Can leprosy be vialed? Who knows. Will, probably.)

Once he’s sure Nico is not going to tease him anymore about his temper tantrum, or at least for the moment, he turns back to his book. Every so often, he looks up, observes the three miles per hour they’re crawling, and sighs, loudly and lengthy to himself, muttering something about railway systems and zoning laws and government incompetence. Nico doesn’t ask. He was free from the jail that was history and geography lessons last month. He is determined to learn absolutely nothing for the next six months, at least. 

“I’m paying for the motel or hotel or inn et cetera,” Will says, randomly. 

“No,” Nico replies, easily. 

Will reaches out, calmly, and pinches him on the thigh. Nico does not yelp indignantly because he is a Man, and can handle Will’s weirdly pointy fingers.

“You paid for gas.”

“Yep.”

“And you have car payments.”

“Mhm.”

“And you bought Dunkin’s.”

“True.”

“Nico,” Will says exasperatedly, “this whole damn trip was my idea. Let me pay for shit.”

“I enjoy wasting my father’s money,” Nico counters, and Will pauses, considering. “Come on, commie. I know the idea of spending a banker’s money on stupid shit pleases you.”

He knows he’s starting to win, because Will sighs in a very particular way that Nico has identified as why am I letting this dumbass get away with this again, says, “Spending money is capitalist, Nico,” and turns, begrudgingly, back to his book.

Poorly hidden behind the pages, he’s smiling.

Nico tallies his victory.

The traffic finally eases by around eight o’clock. Victorious, surely, except that they’re still quite a ways from Atlanta. He considers getting off at one of the various exits promising shelter, and in fact decides he is going to, but for some reason, his hand never drifts to his blinker. Never turns the wheel slightly to merge, never eases off the gas. He keeps going, an going, and going, music playing softly, stars beginning to shine through the darkening sky.

Beside him, Will lets out tiny puffs as he exhales, even and sluggish.

“You are a grandmother,” he whispers fondly, shaking his head. In the quiet of the road, interrupted only by the whipping whipping winds – he should have pulled the roof back up when they were stuck, shit – and odd flash of headlights of a passing car, he lets himself soften, sighing back against his seat and easing up slightly on the gas.

Will glows, faintly, in the moonlight.

It’s funny, ‘cause he’s a sun child. Nico has teased him about it for years, in fact; his hair, his bright blue eyes, his stubborn clinging to his aesthetic of wannabe surfer boy. The gold ring he wears on his thumb, the sun pendant that rests on his heart. Swathed in yellows and blues and golds, all the time, with a sprinkling of bright green and neon orange just to remind everyone that yes, he is red green colourblind, and no, that will not stop him from making fashion choices. 

But the silver suits him. It softens him, instead of washing him out, reminding Nico that the sun shines white. The low light casts gentle shadows on his face, too, drawing attention to his strong brow and straight nose. 

Forcing his eyes back on the road, where they should have been the whole time, Jesus, he notices the giant green Downtown Atlanta sign, and follows its arrows. The first exit he sees, he turns, getting lost three times before he finds the hotel that was advertised.

Pulling into the largely empty parking lot, he shuts off the car, then turns to Will, screwing up his face. He has to wake him up, at some point. Obviously. Unfortunately he cannot simply melt into the shadows and reappear in a hotel room. As awesome as that would be, with his luck, he’d pop into an occupied one, and that’d be a whole host of problems. 

Deciding he’ll actually get them a room first, he heads inside, speaking quietly with the desk host.

“Single or double?” they ask pleasantly, voice similarly lowered for the hour.

“Uh,” Nico says, “double?”

The host pauses, eyebrows flicking up at his hesitation. “...Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Nico flushes. He adds, belatedly, “Please.”

Eyebrow raised in amusement, the host reaches into a drawer and pulls out two sleek key cards, tucking them into a little envelope thing and handing them over. “Room 409,” they say, nodding towards the elevator. 

“Thanks,” Nico responds, and walks out the door. He realises, as he exits, how much of a general failure he is at communicating with people who are not Will, and considers climbing through the window of his sixth floor room out of sheer embarrassment. The realization that he does not have the skill to drag Will up there with him is the only thing that stops him.

“Sunshine,” he murmurs, once he’s gathered their bags and some of the red has faded from his face, “we’re here.”

Will hums a little, voice gravelly. Nico’s lip quirk up.

“Where?”

“Somewhere to sleep.”

“‘M sleepin’ jus’ fine.”

His accent is so, so heavy with sleep, and it’s just – God, he wishes Wil hadn’t trained himself out of it. In Nico’s professional opinion, Will should talk like that all the time.

Authenticity, and all that.

“C’mon, Will.”

After another minute of coaxing – which Nico indulges purely because he knows for a fact Solace will have no memory of it in the morning, in any other circumstance he’d poke him awake – Will uncurls enough to stagger to his feet, stumbling as he gets out of the vehicle. For his own safety, Nico wraps an arm around his narrow hips, guiding him up to the room. 

“Mnhgh,” he mumbles, the second the heavy door closes behind them. He walks two steps to the nearest bed, face plants in the middle of it, and starts snoring, feet hanging off the end, one flip-flip still stubbornly clinging to his foot.

“Dork,” Nico murmurs. He gets ready like a normal person, tugging on a sleep shirt – might be an old one of Will’s, actually, because Nico certainly never bought a Shania Twain concert t-shirt – and wrapping up in the wonderfully plush blankets. “Goodnight, Will.”

He gets a snore in response. He burrows deeper into the covers, smiling, drifting off to the sound of his best friend’s rhythmic breathing.

———

next chapter