#anyways imagine just seeing him buried in sand like this

[bloobluebloo]

Do you guys want to know the secret to my wife Ganondorf’s flawless skin? To how he manages all the daily aches and pains that come with his strenuous training regiment?

Sand. Bath.

[erwinsvow]

rafe’s always touching you.

the first time he did it was on your first date—dinner at a fancy restaurant on the beach followed by a walk on the soft sand. he picks you up in his truck and you’re wearing something pretty and short, how you guessed he’d like. rafe keeps a firm, yet gentle grip on your thigh while he drives.

you wonder if it’s a little forward for a first date—because after all, it’s only been a week since you first met him at the beach, when he bought you a lemonade and talked to you like he already knew everything about you, before jj interrupted. 

rafe parks his truck and hops out while you pull down the mirror in his passenger seat so you can apply another layer of lip gloss. you haven’t even undone your seat belt when he swings around, opening the door for you. you smile at him sweetly, thinking about how he’s such a gentleman. another thought floats around your head—how wrong your friends were about him. 

he takes your hand into his to help you get down, and his other hand floats around your hip incase you stumble. holds onto your wrist while the two of you walk into the restaurant, presses his fingers into your shoulder after he finishes pushing in your seat for you. during dinner, you’re sure he’d find some other way to touch you if you weren’t already playing footsie with him under the table.

after dinner he takes you for ice cream and keeps his arm swung around your shoulder while the two of you walk around the beach, watching the sunset. when he kisses you, he puts both hands on your face, holding you between them while your lips are attached to his. 

maybe it is a little forward, but you never think about it again—that’s just how rafe is. warm to the touch, deeply possessive, he likes making sure everyone knows who you belong to. you don’t dwell on it much, in fact, you like it, more than you could have imagined.

he guides you with one hand on your lower back, moves you through the crowd at the country club. everyone gets out of the way when he’s walking by, anyways, but he likes to make sure you’re not getting pushed around by some drunk idiot or star-struck waiter. with him always by your side, you feel safer, protected, at peace. no one tries to bother you anymore, with annoying boys turning around the second they see who the arm around your back belongs to. you think even adults are treating you better, with the way the lady at the shop runs around trying to cater to you, the way the waiter at dinner dashes to get you another lemonade.

you feel bad, since it feels strange. you don’t want to be treated any differently. but with the way rafe spoils you and how nice everything with him is, you wonder if you could get used to this.

you accompany him to house parties, hand rubbing your back soothingly while he’s drinking a beer. you’re half asleep on his shoulder, not used to these types of kook parties where everyone is snorting powder off of glass and mirrors instead of smoking on the beach. one of his friends says something that you can barely understand in your sleepy state, but you see him gesturing at you and hear a laugh. it’s almost automatic—rafe’s touch gets harder by tenfold. he says something low and quiet. “why’re you even looking at her?”

“just a joke, rafe, take it easy-”

“get the fuck outta here before i put your head through the table, asshole.” 

you keep him company when he’s working, or at least doing whatever it is that he calls work with barry. you sit on the couch, legs sprawled across his lap and his hand on your ankle, fingers messing with the little anklet he got you—no R pendant matching the one around your neck but rather a pretty yellow stone, rafe’s birthstone. your nose is buried in your book, flipping through the pages when you hear something that catches your attention.

“you really wanna have this talk in front of your girl, country club?” 

you could try to be inconspicuous, but it wouldn’t work for a second. rafe would see right through you if you lied to him, and as a result, you’ve never even attempted to do so.

you lower your book so your eyes are visible, glancing between your boyfriend and barry. rafe turns to look at you, fingers still on your anklet. you worry he’ll break it with the way he plays with it. then he turns, pulling out headphones from his pocket and offering them to you. you look between the two boys one more time, wondering if you should say something. you ultimately decide against it.

you put them on and blast the music, going back to your book. you only look up one more time, when rafe is gripping your ankle so hard it hurts. you jerk your foot against him, making him loosen his touch. he rubs the skin he’s just bruised the rest of the time you’re there.

when the two of you are walking back to his truck, probably headed back to his place for the night, he brings you in for a hug the way always does, arm around your neck, pulling you close. he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“you were real good in there,” he murmurs against your hair. you’re a little confused, looking up at him for some clarity. 

“hm?”

“nothing, kid. get in the car.”

he drives you home, fingers tapping on your knee the whole drive. when you get to tannyhill, he doesn’t even let your feet hit the ground before scooping you into his arms like a bride, carrying you up to his bedroom. 

he holds your hair when you get on your knees in front of him. he grips your thighs when he eats you out. but you think your favorite touch from rafe is when you’re in his lap, your tits against his chest, his arms wrapped around your back, foreheads touching and lips glued together, when every part of you is touching every part of him. 

when the two of you are done, you collapse on the bed next to him. he moves your head so you’re laying on his chest, hand resting above his heart, legs tangled with his, fingers playing with each other.

yeah, you think in your fucked-out state. i could get use to this.

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 2

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Index

---

Let me introduce you to our cowboy, as he takes a trip

CW: injury and description of broken bones

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A lonely cowboy trudges through the desert, bleary-eyed and hatless. His name is Jimmy.

He woke up not too long ago, face down in the sand and alone. The grains refuse to budge from their places buried between the colourful feathers on his face. With a sigh, he stops trying to scratch at the feathers to dislodge them, resigning himself to the permanent itch. It wouldn’t have helped for long anyways, the wind would soon blow more sand back into the gaps in his feathers, along with just about every other part of his lanky body. Jimmy coughs, dust coating the back of his throat. He pulls up his red bandana, from where it rests around his neck, to protect the lower half of his face. He’s not a stranger to waking up in the desert, it’s always been tempting for him to nap between the dunes, shielded from the winds and the distractions of Tumble Town. These are not those dunes. The land is flat, aside from a cracked layer of earth. The sun beats down on every surface, with next to no trees or bushes to offer much needed shade. Jimmy frowns, trying to recall the events that led him here. He must’ve fallen asleep on his horse and fallen off. He had been riding for a while… and it wouldn’t be the first time. Although, how he didn’t wake up when he fell is still a mystery to him. Maybe he fell head first. The horse must’ve wandered off while he was out… with all his belongings attached to their saddle.

And then there’s the beeping. It started off infrequently, only sounding every couple minutes. Jimmy thought he’d imagined it at first, that maybe he got heat stroke from sleeping under the sun for so long, but he reasoned that it’s far too consistent to be a hallucination. He’s not sure if that even makes sense, but it’s clearly speeding up and slowing down depending on the direction that he’s walking, so he’s sure that it’s leading him somewhere.

His running theory is that, somehow, the beeping is leading him to his horse, who, hopefully, has not managed to lose his stuff in the middle of this vast desert. Or, if not his horse, then whoever has found his belongings. If that’s the case, he hopes they’re friendly— he’s been robbed a few times and he’s not all that excited to add another experience to the list. Jimmy’s second, and just as unlikely, theory is that he’s being led towards water. That somehow he picked up some kind of water detector and managed to forget about it. He thinks this one might just be wishful thinking… or both of them may be.

There’s only one way to find out, and he’s familiar enough with this type of environment to know that meaningless wandering isn’t going to help him.

The beeping increases steadily the further he treks across the sands, dragging his sore, bird-like feet. The makeshift shoes he cut from an old pair of boots, so that they could fit, do a poor job of protecting him from the scorching earth. The more wiry trees and bushes cross his path, the more certain he becomes that he’s in a completely different desert than the one he calls home. He’s never been much of an expert in flora, but he knows he’s never seen these plants before. Their branches are thorny and muddy red, unlike the ones he’s used to. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s seen a single cactus. He probably would have tried to cut it down to see if it was edible if he had.

Despite the beeping leading Jimmy in a straight direction, he has to carefully wind his way through the desert, walking around the trenches that split the ground for miles. He almost broke his ankle in one of the shallower cracks earlier when he misjudged its depth. He pays more attention to them now, observing as they slowly grow deeper and wider, creating the chasms that lead on and on until into the dust clouds and heat waves.

Jimmy misses his hat. He will never again take its wide brim for granted, and how it blocked the harsh sun. His eyes hurt. He thought he’d have more time before the sun reached its peak, but the star moved much faster than expected. Jimmy is tempted to reason that the difference is because he’s on an entirely different planet, rather than just an unfamiliar part of the desert. A planet that rotates significantly faster than the one he calls home. But he’s not thinking that, because how could that even happen? How would he get back home? No, he lost track of time. He’s just been walking for longer than he thought. Jimmy has been living in the desert for years now, and has grown used to the heat— the feeling of feathers damp with sweat and covered in sand is a familiar sensation— but the temperature is starting to get to him. The lack of shade and water make it impossible to find a moment of relief.

The beeping grows faster, and he searches for a change in the landscape around him. The ground remains an empty plane, with nothing but the deep, wide fissures marking its surface. He’s starting to hope the beeping might be leading him to a settlement, rather than his horse. At least then he'll be able to get out of the sun.

Zoning back into the beeping, Jimmy realizes it’s slowed, a notable gap forming between each sound. Whatever he’s been walking towards must’ve changed directions, or maybe he just walked past it somehow. Looking around, nothing has changed. He hasn’t even seen animals skittering across the sand, no lizards— or alien lizard equivalents— basking under the hot sun. Trying to reorientate himself, Jimmy begins to test the beeps, listening for which directions make it speed up. But it keeps shifting. The beeping then speeds up to its fastest speed yet, the separate beeps bleeding into one sound before stopping completely, only for it to start up again a moment later. Maybe it’s leading him somewhere vertically? He looks up.

He starts walking, keeping his eyes on the sky, hoping it might reveal something new to him, but he foolishly loses track of the topography. Before he knows it, one foot sinks into unsteady ground, then the other finds nothing but air, and he’s falling.

Reflexively, he holds his arms in front of him, hoping helplessly that it will slow his plunge into the cavernous ravine.

An old reflex cries out. One long forgotten and useless. He tries to listen.

First there’s the hiss of sand, pattering over the surface below. Then a sickening crack as Jimmy lands on his outstretched arm. Pain shoots through his side.

He opens his mouth to yell, but he’s interrupted by another scream, next to him.

Scrambling to the wall and clutching his injured arm, Jimmy’s mind works on pure adrenaline as he tries to push through the pain, and wills his vision clear enough for him to see his new company.

The figure curled on the floor mirrors him, clutching their own arm to their chest.

Their body is covered in a light yellow fur, which darkens to a reddish brown at the tips of their limbs. Their fiery hair and tail flicker wildly with distress— a blazeborn. They’re wearing a torn sleeveless shirt, with a thick, dark coat tied around their waist. Why anyone would carry a coat like that out here, Jimmy cannot understand.

Their bright yellow eyes are wide like suns, shining right at Jimmy. They let out a quavery wheeze.

Jimmy shakes his head, fending off the delirium.

He coughs a pained, bitter laugh. His ribs ache. “...Hello?”

“Are you okay?” They manage back, looking and sounding like they’re in just as much pain as he is.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy nods pointedly to their broken arm. He can see its misshapen form from here. He doesn’t want to imagine what his own arm looks like.

The blazeborn shuffles tentatively towards him, making sure to not move their arm.

“I don't know- I don't know how it happened. You just fell and then I felt-”

Jimmy's eyes snap open with the realization. “Did I fall on you?! I’M SO SORRY!!”

“No no, you fell nowhere near me-” they shake their head, whining slightly, just as Jimmy feels a pulse of pain and bites back a wince himself.

With that, the look on their face morphs from concern to confusion. They shift closer to him, close enough that Jimmy can see the slight blue wisps in their warm flames. This might be the first time he’s been this close to a blazeborn. He always thought they’d give off more heat than this.

They don’t meet his gaze though, their attention directed elsewhere.

Gently, they pull their good arm from where it rests on their chest. Before Jimmy can question them, they tap his injured arm. A bolt of pain shoots through his body— he pulls back violently.

“OW!! THAT HURTS!” he yells, but his anger dissipates once he spots the blazeborn grimacing from their own pain. They blink rapidly, fighting through the daze. When it passes, they focus on Jimmy with an apologetic expression.

“This sounds crazy, but I think we're- connected.”

“What?! What are you on about?” Jimmy barks, confusion and pain leading easily into anger.

“Look, if I-”

Jimmy catches them by the wrist as they make another move to prod him.

“If you poke me one more time I swear-” Jimmy threatens in his best attempt at an authoritative tone, tightening his grip on their arm, challenging them.

They pause, considering him for a moment. Their eyes, without a trace of fear, flick down to Jimmy’s arm before returning to meet his gaze. They seem to be more intrigued than anything.

“Okay, okay, how about you poke me, then.” They direct his hand over to their injured arm.

"W-why?" Jimmy squawks, resisting.

“You'll feel the same thing. If my guess is right, at least.”

The way they laugh afterwards doesn't exactly fill Jimmy with much confidence. It reminds him of a mad scientist excited to test their hypothesis regardless of their questionable, painful methods. The logic makes his head spin; the stranger’s certainty is a jarring contrast. He feels like he’s out of the loop about something.

”....Okay. Are you sure?”

They grin wildly at him, their sharp teeth on full display.

“Go ahead, I'm giving you permission.”

“HM.” Jimmy hums with audible suspicion, baffled as to why someone would willingly feel that kind of pain. Stumped, he grants them their wish. As gently as he can, he pokes them.

His own arm blooms with pain. The same white hot pain. He pulls back, gasping, faint from the unexpected sting.

“What- WHAT THE HECK-'' Jimmy cries, hugging his arm closer to his chest. Nothing touched him, but that’s not how it felt. His poor arm pulses with pain, and he stares at the blazeborn.

They huff out a couple unsteady breaths, clearing their head before meeting Jimmy’s stricken look with another weak grin. How someone can smile in this situation is beyond Jimmy, and how this stranger’s grin grows wider with each passing second is completely unfathomable. Finally, they explode with laughter.

“AHAH- Welp, this is definitely a weird situation!”

“How-” Jimmy falters, his worry deepening. “Who are you?”

The blazeborn casually pushes themself up against the wall, sitting down next to him. They wipe the sand off their hand onto their coat.

“No idea, and the name’s Tango.”

He smiles up at Jimmy, more genuinely.

“…Jimmy.” He replies, finding the time to properly take in Tango’s appearance beyond the minimum.

Jimmy’s eyes flicker to something tied at the blazeborn’s waist. It was a pair of big, bulky boots. He watches Tango kick at the dust with his bare feet. No wonder he isn't wearing them. They look more suited to insulating the cold and snow, rather than the scorching heat of a desert.

An awkward silence falls over the two, both of them trying to process their situation, and grimacing internally from their pain. Jimmy rests his tail over his own feet, fanning the end towards him to battle the heat. He's not particularly sure what to say, especially to a stranger who is, by some unexplainable magic, connected to him. Fortunately for him, he doesn't have to go first.

“So, Jimmy… What got you here?” Tango breaks the silence.

“I fell.” He replies dumbly, not registering the question completely.

Tango spits out a laugh. “No, I mean- in this desert.”

Jimmy shrugs, recalling all he can. “I don't know… I don't remember.”

He’s beginning to accept that maybe his horse and all his belongings aren’t on this planet at all.

He yawns, “I was just following the beeps-”

His head slips against the wall behind him, neck lolling as a wave of exhaustion hits him.

“Hey, hey, buddy- stay awake for me.” Tango reaches over, snapping his good hand in front of Jimmy and chuckling nervously.

“Mmm… sorry.” Jimmy rubs his eyes, blinking blearily at the blazeborn. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same.” Tango affirms. “I was following the beeps through the caves and ravines, and then I stumbled upon you- or more like, you stumbled and-” Tango gestures to the top of the ravine, reenacting Jimmy's fall with his hand, complete with cartoonish sound effects.

Jimmy, too worn down to feel insulted, just laughs.

“You think the beeping was leading us to the same thing?” He enquires.

“Probably- or probably to each other, actually. ‘cuz we're linked somehow!” Tango decides, seeming far more alert than Jimmy.

“Who… would do that? …why?” Jimmy asks hazily, stifling another yawn.

Tango lowers his gaze, brow furrowing. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he sinks deeper in thought, mumbling like he’s debating something in his mind.

Jimmy frowns as the moment stretches on, and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Tango interrupts him.

“I think I might have an idea why I'm here.”

“Oh?” Jimmy tilts his head.

“You work with dodgy people, you get into dodgy situations.” He states bluntly, like it’s a matter of fact.

“You- you’re not a robber, are you? Or a murderer?!” Jimmy tenses, not-so-subtly shuffling away.

“Oh, no no- nothing scary,” Tango snorts, offering Jimmy a disarming wink.

Jimmy’s not convinced. He studies Tango wearily.

“I mean-” Tango elaborates, “I'm actually just an architect of sorts. That's not scary.”

“Could be!” Jimmy argues, “You could be making dungeons and torture chambers!”

Tango snaps his mouth shut with a squeak, a chuckle stuttering through his teeth.

"…yeeaah. Nothing like that." He assures vaguely, trying to emphasize his words carefully.

Jimmy squints at him, humming in agreement despite his suspicion. He goes to move so that he can face Tango straight on, but in the process, bumps his elbow into the stone wall.

Both Tango and Jimmy immediately curl into themselves. “Ah- ow ow ow ow.” They murmur in sync.

"Oh, yeah,” Tango wheezes breathlessly, “We should probably do something about these.”

Jimmy makes a small, sad noise to himself. He’s gone a long time without having to deal with a broken bone, and he had been hoping to keep it that way. He looks helplessly at his arm, and Tango follows his gaze.

“Can I see?” Tango asks, in the calmest voice he can muster, though the tension around his eyes betrays his own unease.

Jimmy just nods and moves closer, more carefully this time.

Tango leans over as Jimmy lifts his arm delicately.

“Hmm.” He ponders over the mangled limb. “Haha.” He concludes flatly, “It looks like we might have to set them.”

Jimmy pulls his arm back. “I don't want to do that. You know what, I always wanted a wonky arm, actually.”

“If it's any comfort, you won't be alone in the pain.” Tango tries with a weak smile.

Jimmy pouts. Conceding slightly, he asks “Are we going to do our arms at the same time?”

“Void, no.” Tango laughs dismissively. “That sounds like a horrible idea. The universe might just implode.”

“What?” Jimmy snaps, shooting Tango a concerned stare. Tango rolls his eyes.

“We'd most likely both feel twice as much pain, buddy. That's what I mean.”

Jimmy’s face tightens with anxiety, and he makes another move to scoot away.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Tango placates, looking around helplessly. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out two torn pieces of fabric. They look like they used to be the sleeves from his t-shirt.

Tango hands one to Jimmy. “Bite down on this?” He offers.

“Don't happen to have any form of painkillers, then?” Jimmy pipes uselessly.

Tango notices the way Jimmy eyes the dirty fabric. He shrugs apologetically.

“That's all I got, sorry.”

Jimmy sighs, willing himself to accept his fate, and clumsily folds the fabric with one hand. He tentatively places it in his mouth.

“So… who first?” He mumbles defeatedly through the fabric.

“Hmmm… you!”

Before Jimmy can process what’s happening, Tango snaps his arm back into place.

[joshsjipple]

Safe Measures

JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER

A/N: Hey beauties! I hope you’re all doing fantastic! I love you all, hope you enjoy some josh!

Word Count: 3.1k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI! explicit sexual content, pain kink, small sir kink, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), slapping, choking, p in v, oral sex (f recieve), praise, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, exhibitionism, squirting, language, dom (m) sub (f).

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

You stare at the man hunched over his notebook in front of you. His eyebrows are furrowed, sand-colored curls dusting over them. He pulls his bottom lip between his perfectly white teeth, tugging on the skin as he intensely studies his material.

You shift in your seat quietly, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. You lazily drag your eyes over your book just incase Josh is disturbed by your movement and tosses a glance your way. You doubt he would even care but you do it anyway.

Eventually, your eyes find his face again. His dark eyes glare into the pages of his anatomy book as he mumbles under his breath. You watch his fingers twirl a pen in circles and for a brief moment your mind attempts to imagine what else he would be good at.

You swallow and squeeze your eyelids shut in hopes of shooing the thoughts away before your whole chair is soaked. When you return to Josh’s insanely sculpted face, he is furiously jotting down notes.

Dressed in a white t-shirt, his arms are in your line of sight. You watch the muscles in his hands that run all the way up to his bicep emerge from their hiding spot.

You shift in your seat, rolling your hips in a motion that will only satisfy you for a minute. Your chair creaks from under you and you grit your teeth. Josh pauses and tilts his head slightly upward, just enough to give you the death stare of your life. You only give him an apologetic smile and mentally curse yourself for getting turned on by him being upset with you.

Josh continues jotting down notes and you continue pretending to help. You brush your hair over your face to make it appear like you’re studying as well but in reality you’re watching him. He’s laser focused on his notes. His red tongue darts out from out of his mouth and rests between his lips. His jaw—already freakishly chiseled— clenches at his work. He tilts his head, hands still writing, and mumbles under his breath. You lose yourself when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Under the damp glow of the desk light, the slight trail of saliva coating his flesh adds to your fantasy.

You shift in your seat again, another squeak accompanying you. He doesn’t look this time. Or the next time. Or the time after that. By the 3rd time you’ve caused the painful screech of the chair to echo through the room, his eyes flick up to yours again.

“Are you just going to sit there and make noise all night?” He quips, letting his pencil roll into the crevice of his book.

A bit startled, you take your time to reply. “Sorry.”

“Is something wrong with your chair? How many times do you need to readjust yourself—”

His words trail off making you bury your hands in your lap as a brief wave of silence washes over the two of you. The air is thicker now, like he’s somehow trapped in your mind, reading your thoughts and seeing your imagination. You feel hot and red, your core damp between your legs.

“I see,” he says after a few moments of impending torture.

He clears his throat and rests his arms on the edge of the table. Your eyes flick from him to the floor, undecided on where to stay. The table squeaks when he leans forward to close some distance between the two of you.

Immediately your eyes find his.

“What?” You spit out after he fails to speak.

His eyes dart across every inch of your face, inspecting and soaking up every pore. He reads you like a book, every word, every line, every individual character. When he’s done, he smirks and uses his thumb to gently circle the skin on your chin.

“Josh—”

“Hm?” He asks, his voice silky and smooth. “Something bothering you?”

Your lips part and his eyes watch them closely. “What do you mean?”

He playfully rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in the process. “Don’t play games. I’m not in the mood, mama.”

The nickname sends goosebumps cascading across your skin. Your eyes widen but you quickly recover. The rest of your body is flaming hot and you squeeze your thighs again.

“There it is again,”

“Sit back down. You’re imagining things,” your voice shakes.

“I can feel your body heat from here. If I had a marshmallow I’m pretty sure I could roast it,”

Your cheeks are flaming as you choke back a laugh. He giggles softly, the most gentle thing you’ve ever heard him release. Your breathing hitches as your eyes connect again. It’s now that you can see the lust and desire that drowns in them.

His fingers—perched on your chin— drag your face upwards slightly to meet his lips. They brush against yours at first, along with his nose. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses them against you more firmly. His lips are warm and soft as they gently work across yours. He opens his mouth just enough to give you a taste of his saliva. It’s sweet like honey, making you want to drown in the sticky liquid until you’re covered in nothing but him.

When your mind finally processes what the fuck is going on, you pull away first. Despite only kissing for two seconds, you’re extremely out of breath. Then again, maybe it's his hand cupping your cheek that has you spiraling.

“Josh we shouldn’t,” you say unconvincingly.

“Why not?”

“We’re in a library.” You scoff.

“A private room. The hallway lights are shut off, they forgot about us. If someone comes up the stairs they will flicker on and we will know,” he talks softly into your face, thumb still stroking your skin. “Besides, I think it turns you on a bit.”

“What?” You respond rather quickly.

“You’re panting and I’ve barely touched you.” He blushes even though his eyes are filled to the brim with cockiness. “You like the idea of being seen doing something we aren’t supposed to?”

Caught in your own trap, you swallow and hunt for something else to say. “What about anatomy? We have a test tomorrow and—”

“Okay. We’ll study.” He agrees but he doesn’t move. “But first can you stand up for me?”

Confused, you rise to your feet. Josh sits on the edge of the table, a shit-eating smirk on his face. Quickly, his hands fall on your waist. He pulls you into him, parting his own legs to grant you access. You don’t protest despite your words from a few seconds ago. When you’re standing over him, you bring your hands to his hair. You can’t help but softly fluff his curls. He whines slightly when you accidentally tug on a few strands, making your knees wobble. With his big brown eyes staring into yours, you lean down and kiss him again. You’re so desperate to feel his skin against yours again. He smiles against the kiss, his hand finding its place around the back of your neck. His other hand wanders down to your ass and squeezes it. You reply with a soft moan and reward him with a light tug of his hair. With that, his hands dart to the front of your waist to work insanely fast undoing the buttons. Then he pushes you backwards a bit, giving him room to stand in front of you.

He spins you so the back of your legs are pressed against the table as his were a second ago. His tongue enters your mouth, exploring the area as his teeth pulling on your lip. He begins to work your pants down until they rest on your knees. Swiftly, he spins you around so your back is pressed firm against his chest. You feel his breathing hitch as his hand wraps loosely around your neck. You feel yourself begin to spill down your leg and with a whine you say:

“Harder,”

He obeys quickly, squeezing with enough force to knock the wind out of you but careful enough he doesn’t hurt you. His breath dances across your skin as his mouth nears your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you into this table. But first I’m gonna play with you.” He rasps.

With no warning, you’re bent across the table. It’s cold pressed against the thin material of your shirt, making you yelp in pleasure. The hand that Josh used to guide you into the position dances down your back before smacking your ass cheek.

“Oh fuck!” You moan.

“Oh yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He smacks the same area again and you cry in pleasure.

He sinks to his knees, pulling your panties and pants all the way off your feet. His hands massage your calves as he kisses up your body, worshiping every inch like it’s sacred. His warm tongue arouses you as it drags across the back side of your legs. You’re already squirming.

His hands sit between your legs now, gently prying them apart to his liking. Josh takes the tip of his finger and drags it through your folds and your body jumps at the contact.

“You’re soaked. So fucking wet for me, yeah? Tell me how wet this pretty fucking pussy is for me.”

You gather your strength. “So wet for you. Please do something.”

“How could I ever say no,” he says in a soft tone.

When his tongue licks a stripe through your folds, you feel yourself begin to evaporate. Flattening your hands on the surface, you allow the pleasure to engulf you. His tongue, as soft as silk, toys with your clit. He swirls the flesh in his mouth, repeating every motion that makes you whine into the room.

His fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, holding you open for his own pleasure. He eats you out like it’s the only thing he has ever wanted to do. He flicks your bud with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth with his lips. He kneads it between the skin, earning pathetic whimpers from you.

“So good, Josh. Just like that,” you encourage, reaching behind to wrap your hands in his hair.

He moans at the praise, sending vibrations straight to your clit. Fire burns in your core and your teeth violently attack your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming. When he inserts a finger, you know you’re a goner.

You’re grinding against his face, cursing and moaning with every stroke his tongue makes. He continues to make noise into your pussy, getting off on your own enjoyment. His tongue toys at your entrance, circling the hole wishing it was his cock. You grind onto his tongue, ecstasy taking over your body as you ride out your orgasm. You eyes go black, stars shooting. Electricity spiraling down your body, making your legs fall limp. Josh catches you and holds you above him, using your weakness of knees to his advantage. You sit directly on his face, giving him better access to your dripping cunt. You ride out your orgasm, cursing and chanting his name until you physically cannot form any more words. When you’ve finished, he removes himself from under you but keeps his hands tightly wrapped around your legs. You pant as he stands to his feet, hands gripping your waist so you don’t fall.

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

“So pretty when you cum on my face. It’s unreasonable to think I’ll have to eat anything besides that ever again.” he coos, helping you onto your back.

Laying in front of him, he kisses your neck. You expose more flesh to him by removing your shirt. His hands quickly find your breasts, squeezing the fat softly. His thumbs spin across the peak, making your mouth fall open in pleasure. His hard cock is pressed right over your soaked cunt and he rolls his hips into you. Still sensitive, you yelp into his shoulder.

“You sound like heaven,” he whispers. “Keep singing for me, yeah? Be a good girl for me.”

“Josh— I need more,”

He tilts his head and slowly grinds into you, making your eyes roll back. “Really? You hated my guts ten minutes ago.”

“Well now I want you in mine so don’t screw this up, okay?” You try to sound confident with your words as if you’d truly get up and leave.

Josh only laughs at your words and rolls his hips again before wrapping his hand firmly around your neck. He squeezes, making you lose your breath. Despite his tough exterior, you know he wouldn’t dream of hurting you.

“That’s not how this is going to work.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval that makes your cunt cry. “You’re gonna shut this pretty little mouth of yours and take whatever I give you, okay?”

“Yes,” you answer when he lifts his hand.

You’re shocked and completely aroused as he brings his hand across your cheek. It stings enough to make you moan. You never knew you were into pain during sex, but you’d let him do anything to you. The way he does it, so careful yet firm, makes everything feel so intimate. It turns you on more than you’d have ever thought.

“Yes what?” He quips.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Pushing himself off of you, he works his jeans off. Pulling them down just above his knees, you’re able to marvel at him. He’s rock hard, straining against his boxers. A small wet spot rests on the fabric from where his precum leaks. You watch him wince as he pulls down his boxers, his cock bouncing up. Noticing your staring, he smirks and takes himself into his palm.

“See something you like?” You lick your lips. “Ask nicely for it.”

You’re a bit taken back by his words. You’ve never had to beg for a man, especially in a sexual scene. Your cunt throbs with anticipation. Josh is bringing out a side of you that you didn’t know existed.

“I want it,” you start, holding your tongue in fear of embarrassing yourself.

“What? I can’t hear you, mama. Gonna have to speak up.”

Mama.

“I want your cock, Josh. Want it so bad,”

“Keep going,”

You watch his fist work over his length, stroking slowly and squeezing as he nears the tip. With your legs spread, you slide your fingers over yourself.

“I need you to fill me up, baby. God you’re so big and perfect. Please fuck me. I want to feel you in me.”

Josh watches you play with yourself, hand gradually picking up the pace on his cock. He watches you, eyes flickering to your face and then back down to your pussy as you speak.

“Let me suck it,” you whine pathetically.

“If you do, I won't last. Bend over this for me.”

He taps on the rim of the table and backs away. You scramble off the table, doing exactly as you’re told like a dog. Bent over the table once again, your nipples are rock hard.

“You’re perfect,” Josh says, lining himself up. “So pink and wet. All ready for me.”

He pushes the tip in, a hand squeezing your hips as the other guides himself in. He lets out a shaky breath as he slowly eases his way into you.

About halfway, he stops to speak, “You’re so fucking tight and warm. It’s like you were made for me.”

“More,” is all you say, cock-drunk.

Mercilessly, he slams into you, making you launch forward. Your breasts scrape across the table, making you whimper. His hands wrap around your waist and tug you back to him. He stretches you so deliciously as he thrusts in and out of you at a steady pace.

“Oh. My. God.” You cry with every thrust.

“Feels so good, mama. So good.”

Your eyes screw shut as he quickens his pace, skin on skin filling the room. “Tell me more.”

“So soft, like silk. So fucking tight, squeezing my cock so perfectly. Fuck. I’ve thought about this for so long—bending you over a table and fucking you senseless praying no one walks in—or maybe praying someone does walk in.”

You tighten around him at the thought.

“I knew you liked it. You want someone to see how good I fuck your pussy? How I make you beg for my cock to fill you up? You want someone to see how slutty you are?”

His hips buck violently into you, hands finding your throat to pull you up. Strained, your back is against his chest again. He continues fucking you as his lips enclose around your ear lobe.

“Answer me.”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!”

“Yes what?” He sucks on your neck.

“Yes I want to be seen! I want everyone to know who’s cock I’m cumming on!”

“Oh, God.” He pants. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he attaches his fingers to your clit. “Need you to cum on my cock. I’m so close.”

“Me too. Keep going.”

“Ah, fuck. Where do you want me?” He says as his thrusts become sloppy.

“In me. Please.”

“So hot when you beg for my cum.” He cries as he falls over the edge.

You join him, crying his name as your legs shake. You feel him in you, squirting his cum into you. He whimpers and cries, making you explode again.

“Oh my god,” he whines, his hips gradually slowing. “Have you done that before?”

You heave in front of him, oblivious to his words. After a few minutes of nothing but you and Josh’s muffled breathing, he removes himself from you. He takes a step back until his entire torso is exposed to your eyes. Your jaw drops when your eyes find his shirt completely soaked.

“Jesus…”

“It was hot. I didn’t know you could do that,”

You quirk your head. “Me either… sorry.”

“Fuck. Don’t apologize,” he smiles, grabbing your hand to help you off the table.

“So now what?” You ask, cheeks red. “I’m too messy to put my clothes on like this.”

Josh nods as he examines your body. “I’ll go downstairs and bring up some paper towels. I’ll make sure the place is empty before you come down.”

You can’t help the bubbly laugh that fires in your chest. “If anyone was in the building, I think they would have heard us.”

“Probably, yeah. But for safe measures.” He shrugs.

“Yeah. Safe measures”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[whoahoney]

Based off this lovely thought that got deleted bc my dumbass posted the draft instead of saving it 🥲 anon, I hope this finds you!!! Please tell me if it did 😭💖 this could’ve been a mini series I think but I’m too lazy to spread it out!

Anyway, here’s my rambling imaginings 💖

Warnings: fem!reader, quite a bit of angst, a lot more fluff, some wine drinking and allusions to spice.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hate to say it, but you’d been dreading this.

The news had been exciting when they found out about the tour. You, too, felt that exhilarating burst of energy hum through the room as the tour manager began the breakdown of the cities they’d see and the venues they’d play.

You’d hardly heard the shouts of joy around you, but you did see Jake’s face. His eyes so wide and bright, his smile stretched so taught across his mouth, his cheeks must’ve ached. You’d never seen him so happy as he threw his arms around Josh, clapping him on the back. Sam and Danny bounced over, already deep in eager conversation about Milan and France.

It was everything they’d been dreaming of.

Everything Jake had been dreaming of.

The four of them were a tight clump, muffled chuckles and words were exchanged as their parents joined in their embrace with pride and tears. Your heart swelled at the sight, being able to be here for it, to watch them celebrate, to see their dreams come true before their very eyes.

A world tour.

They’d just finished their last one, barely even unpacked. And now he’d be gone again.

Your stomach sank heavily, like a rock into quick sand, guilt churning deep within you; how could you be so damn selfish? This is everything he’s ever wanted and you’re thinking about yourself, again.

You keep the smile on your face, your hands knotted in your lap until Karen turned to you, eyes rimmed in red as she wiped at them, “Oh, honey, get on up in here—what are you doin way over there!” She chuckled as you blushed and made your way over to the unwinding arms, the layers of bodies falling away as Jake let go of Josh and looked to you.

One side of his smile hiked up, and you could see he’d clearly shed a few tears of his own as he wiped a fresh track away and passed it off as tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You don’t hesitate to reach for him, chuckling softly when he yanks you into his chest and wraps you up tight.

You breathe him in, and swallow a hiccup—his neck a heady mixture of his warmth, sandalwood, and something deep and spicy that always cut through you. Tonight you clung to it like a safety blanket, thinking of the nights you spent in his bed without him, nose buried in his pillow as you tried not to cry like a lovesick fool.

“It’s really happening.” He whispers against your hair, running a tender hand down the back of your head.

You nod, “Better believe it, rockstar. You deserve every bit of it.” You squeeze him a little tighter before pulling back, already feeling the swell of emotions brewing within you.

For the rest of the visit with the managers and family, you sat quietly next to Jake, his arm slung around you holding you close, his other hand on your knee. He noted how tightly your legs were crossed and how you picked at your nails unflinchingly, not much to be heard from you.

Jake knew he didn’t need words from you to know you were okay, but every bit of his intuition told him something was up. He’d worried about leaving you alone so much. About how tiresome it must have gotten to be in a relationship over the phone for the last 8 months. Even missing your first anniversary while he was in Chicago.

He wondered if maybe your feelings were fading, that maybe he’d thought wrong about claiming all life had to offer him—that he couldn’t have both love and fame no matter how many times he convinced himself that maybe it’d work with the right person, and he was well passed sure that he’d found that person in you.

“—But until then, you guys are free. So use these next couple months to your advantage!” Aaron clapped and rubbed his hands together, eager for the next time they would hit the ground running.

Jake shoots you a familiar glance, his eyes asking, ‘are you ready to go?’

You nod and stand with him, bidding the family a good night before you were in Jake’s car headed back to his house.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The ride was quiet, almost tense. Jake thought maybe you were biding your time, wanting to be careful with your words and say the right thing as you always did. His chest tensed and he turned up the radio, so maybe the pressure to say something wouldn’t be so bad.

You were thankful for the Jefferson Airplane coming through the speakers, Today lulling you into a hazy calm as you stared out the window at the dark tree line. Jake snuck a glance at you every once in a while, trying to figure you out in a way he never had to before.

When you reach the long driveway and park, he turns to you expectantly. Your eyes dart away from his, scanning the car for anything else to look at besides his pretty face that made you wanna crumple like old paper.

“What?” You ask barely over a whisper.

“That’s what I’m wondering, myself.” He says casually, running his index finger down your cheek. “Talk to me.” He says softly.

You swallow and shake your head insistently, “Nothing, babe, I’m just tired. S’been an exciting day.” You chuckle and meet his eye with a soft smile that told him you were okay. You kissed his palm that now cradled your cheek before he could ask anymore questions. “That’s all.” You assure.

Jake nods and swipes his thumb across your cheek one more time before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours chastely—once, twice, three times, before pulling back and appraising you.

“Let’s get inside.” He whispered, suggesting a hot shower as you open your door and comically rush ahead of him just to hear his boisterous laughter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It hadn’t been long since Jake had fallen asleep, his hair still damp from when you washed it for him, bergamot and rosemary shampoo the two of you shared lingered in the air around you. The light of the moon kissed his nose, his blanket tucked up over his shoulder. He was always beautiful, but when he slept he looked prettier than a Grecian bust.

You couldn’t sleep no matter how tired you got, and staring at the object of both your affection and agony wasn’t helping. You snuck out of bed, pulling on the cozy robe he’d gotten you the first night you stayed with him, and made off to the living room with your phone.

You’d become quite familiar with the space despite not getting to share much time with Jake in it. He’d asked you to take care of the plants and his cat, Percy, reminding you to send him pictures and updates whenever you were over there.

Really, he just wanted to see you in his house like it was your own. When you sent him snapchats looking all cute and sleepy in his bed, it did more for him than he thought possible. He’d told you to sleep on his side so that when he got home his sheets would smell like you, and you had no objections to his request.

Since the start of Dreams in Gold, you’d practically lived here, waiting for him to come home.

Your steps were light and slow as you crept down the hall, the quiet chatter of the forgotten TV was directed around a beautiful Asian dish being made on the screen. A single lamp was lit and the orange glow filled the room and part of the kitchen.

You spy your AirPods on the island and plop down in a chair at the counter, another soft light just barely illuminating the kitchen, emanating beauty and nocturnal comfort.

You tuck an earbud into your ear and open your music, trying to piece together the genre that would make the ache go away, nothing too slow or sad, nothing too loud— and then it hit you with a small smile.

You search up the 50s Greats playlist and hit shuffle, sighing in content when the sound of Unchained Melody began. Your mind went peacefully blank, and you laid your head on top of your folded arms.

And then you spotted the wine fridge.

The idea sounded lovely, a glass of fancy red to make you sleep? Yes please.

You tucked the other ear bud in and went about pouring yourself a generous amount of drink in a long stemmed glass Jake brought back from a vineyard he doesn’t remember visiting.

You took a generous gulp and tried not to gag at the bitter taste. It burned all the way down but not with a bite, a slow bitter curl coated your tongue and throat, insisting on more and more to be drunk.

So you do, and finish the glass before tucking your knees to your chest.

Your head was heavy, and just as Can’t Take My Eyes Off You begins, you notice the cooling tears that had fallen down your cheeks unknowingly. You sniffle and then hiccup, twisting your empty glass and considering a refill as Jake shuffled out of the hallway, his pants slung low on his hips and his shirt missing.

He rubbed his eyes and squinted around the room, spotting you after you sniffled again from your place balled up in the chair, your face buried in your knees.

“Hey…” he whispers, not noticing your headphones until he wraps his arms around you and you jump with a yelp. You rip out your AirPod and face him with flooded eyes, in the midst of your cry. “Baby!” He coos in surprise, “What’s wrong?” He pulls you back into his chest, his fingertips at work against your scalp.

You shake your head, “I… I-It was just a bad dream. I’m okay, I promise.” You sniffle, staring at his chest and not his face. His hands cupped your chin and made you meet his eye.

“Look at me.” He said with quiet and loving firmness. You lock eyes with him and take a deep breath through your mouth as he does. “I know you haven’t been to sleep.” He said knowingly. You close your eyes in embarrassment. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong…” he whispered, “—Before I start making assumptions.” He finished as if he hadn’t already formed them from the moment he saw your face at the studio meeting.

You stare at him for a moment, your tipsy brain swimming with swollen emotions and bruised self image.

“Everything.” You whisper before shaking your head, “And absolutely nothing. Truly.” You clamp your eyes shut in confusion. “It’s gonna be fine though.” You assure quietly, both yourself and him.

Jake puts a hand on your shoulder, keeping the other on your face. “Is this about the tour?” He asked quieter than before, his tone void of emotion.

You hesitate before you nod, and he mirrors you when he sees your answer, and you feel fear strike through you like a crack of thunder. He tsks and you feel his fingers squeeze your shoulder before rubbing it lovingly, “Whatever you’re thinking… I just want you to know… whatever you want, I want too.” He said directly into your eyes.

Your brows pinch before you shake your head, “What?”

He shakes his head and casts his gaze low, his mouth flat and eyes still empty, like a stone wall was put up to guard the windows you’d so easily peered into before. Was he angry? Was this what it looked like for him?

“I should’ve thought about what it would mean for you— me being gone all the time.” He said lowly. “I don’t blame you for getting tired of it, I really don’t.”

“It’s not that I’m tired of it, Jake.” You finally say. His eyes find yours again and you place the AirPod in your hand on the counter to cradle his face as he had done yours, “I love seeing your dreams come true. You are magic out there, baby—I will never get tired of hearing all the stories you have or the feeling I get when you call me on the road.” You ramble, thinking out loud more than anything.

“I’m just… scared.” You realize. Jake flinches back a little in confusion, “—scared of everything the world has to offer you—Everything I don’t have—it’s out there. And you have every opportunity imaginable, now. And yeah, I miss you like crazy, and I get bummed when I realize I’m watching your life happen through a phone screen, but I love seeing you happy even more than missing out makes me sad.” You shake your head emphatically.

Your phone lights up and Jake catches a glimpse of the album currently playing and forgotten in the AirPods. Jake looks back at you and picks up the loose ear bud, tucking it in his ear before reaching for your phone and unlocking it.

You chuckle in disbelief, tears still rolling down your face as he scrolls through the playlist and selects We Belong Together by Los Lobos and sets the phone back down, adjusting the volume with his slick smile that told you everything was about to be fine.

“The world?” He asks as he pulls you to your feet and places his hands around your waist. You drape your arms around his shoulders as you’d done countless times before and waited for him to continue, “I have it. Right here.” His fingers worked under the back of your shirt to graze your skin lovingly.

You scoff as he begins to sway you both side to side, his eyes boring into yours with unwavering confidence in his words. “I’m serious.” He says before releasing one hand from you and raising the other to have you spin, which you obliged with an adoring eye roll.

“You say that now, but—“

“No, no buts.” He shakes his head and begins swaying you again, “I don’t care what’s out there when I already have everything I’ve ever wanted right here at home with me.” He pulled you close and kissed your neck, the affection sending more tears prickling at your eyes and a wistful sigh

“Jake—“

“Shhh…” he whispered in your ear, tucking your head into his shoulder, “You’re mine. And I’m yours.” He said. “Nothings going to change that. Not as long as you want to be with me.” He stroked your back reassuringly as more tears fell down your cheeks.

“I always want to be with you.” You whisper pathetically, letting your forehead thunk against his chest.

You feel him chuckle against you before he kisses your head, “And I with you.” He says like a guy with a plan before he spins you, smiling at your own sleepy smile and closed eyes as you begin dancing with him properly, hips swaying and bare feet shuffling across the cold tile floor.

You giggle, “I can’t believe you like me that much.”

Jake snickers at your flushed skin, happy to see you so light after the heaviness that followed you today. He missed you. This.

Jake loved dancing with you. Whenever a song called to him, he was quick to sweep you up in a waltz and relish every smile or giggle he could pull out of you. When you started staying the night with him, you guys would take turns playing music, which quickly evolved into Jake playing beautiful melodies he said reminded him of you, songs he’d heard and longed to share with you in a close dance.

To think of it, everything made him think of you, he realized as he swayed with you in his arms. “More than you know.” He mumbled, spinning you one more time before wrapping you up and resting his head against yours, singing the rest of the song in his low velvety voice.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There were only two weeks left til the band left for tour.

After your conversation with Jake things felt better. The dread hadn’t loomed over you like you assumed it would, and things with Jake were as good as ever, no holds barred anymore. You were quick to tell him your thoughts and feelings, even more so now than you had before, and seemingly, so had Jake.

You worried you’d lose that once he left, though. That it would be something you had to work and build at when you’d get back together.

During Dreams in Gold, you made three shows, and got two weeks with him in the middle of the tour, uninterrupted—which was nice! But it was different than seeing him every day and falling asleep next to him at night.

Today, you were at the studio to go over more details and itinerary for the first leg of performances in the states.

You and Jake showed up only 20 minutes late with matching iced coffees, Sam scoffing when he saw you didn’t bring him one of his own.

“This is what I get for being here on time!” He flopped into the couch and looked at Danny, who was just reentering the room, “They got Scooters!”

Danny’s eyes widened, “That’s so uncool.” He playfully seethed before whipping out his phone and muttering something about delivery and a cookie.

Jake obnoxiously slurps the emptying drink with eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam lurches to his feet and storms over to his brother to snatch the empty cup and throw it in the trash. “Not on my watch.”

Wordlessly you hand Jake yours, still half full, for him to take a sip just as Josh strode in. “I made it! Can we get a time stamp?” He asked the room around him.

“It’s 9:37, Josh.” Aaron marked from the other side of the room as he prepared itemized sheets for everyone. Josh nods with an easy smile. “We were due to meet at 9:00.” Aaron amended, wiping the smug smile off Josh’s face.

“Oh. Well, we’re all here now, right? Let’s start! Whatcha got for us?” Josh leaned on the table and listened intently.

The group gathered around the table and took a look at the papers in front of them, getting handed your own with your name at the top for whatever reason. You miss the expectant look from Jake and Aaron but you read the pages carefully, seeing where this adventure would take Jake this time.

Back through the states, most he’d seen before, and then the countries— the Netherlands, Germany, Ireland, Spain, Portugal— places you’d dreamed of seeing long before you dreamed of Jake Kiszka.

You sigh, softly and dreamily as Aaron talks transport for their European leg; plane rides and first class tickets, excursions to the Louvre and Stonehenge, and lodging and hostels.

“Is the little place we have for our week in France the same one we used for that little getaway we took a couple years ago?” Sam asked with excitement.

Aaron nodded as did Jake, “Yep! Oh, Jake, I put you guys in the empress suite like you asked. I’m still waiting on confirmation at two of the other hotels, but you guys should be set with a master suite wherever we’re staying.” The manager looked from Jake to you as he spoke, your confusion stirring, was there a mistake? Are he and Josh sharing rooms?

Jake looks to you with expectant eyes, as if waiting for your thoughts. He smiles and nudges your shoulder when you don’t answer, “What do you think?”

“About what?” The group breaks into laughter as you look at Jake for an explanation.

“About coming with me.” He took your hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. You softly gasped and looked over the papers in front of you again, your own agenda highlighted in orange for when the band would be busy.

You look back at him in awe, “Really?” Is all you can muster in a ghost of your voice.

Jake smiled and nodded quickly, “Yeah, of course—I’m tired of leaving you.” He covered your hand with his. “Say you’ll come.”

You nod before you can speak and then kiss him right on the mouth. “I wanna be wherever you are.” You say with a cheek aching smile, a real one stretched wide across your face.

“And I, you.” He agreed, though he knew his words could never convey how much he shared the feeling.

But hopefully… the other surprises he had planned for the tour can say it for him…

-

-

[jacksprostate]

Can you talk about how fight club is the story of a deeply closedeted gay man the wake of the aids crisis? How do his anxieties about hiv manifest?

yeah sure! i feel like i've talked about it in bits and pieces in a few different posts which I'll link here but I'll also type up a little summary. Not operating on 100% so forgive me if it's a bit all over the place.

On the narrator and Marla wrt sexuality

On the Lou scene of the movie

The central obvious joke yet not really comparison

Anyway so. I'm going to focus on the book as always but lots still generally applies to the movie and in the above links you can see a bit about the Lou scene from the movie if that's your interest.

So first I think it's important to acknowledge the narrator meets Tyler on an empty nude beach. This has a lot of connotations for a lot of reasons. Nude beaches/beaches in general have long been a gay male hookup spot. The beach is empty — it's the 90s. Many, many people have died. The narrator chose to go there — an interesting one. Stepping out of bounds a little only to be reminded of the constant threat, by how no one is there. He just watches Tyler do his thing, doesn't engage. He keeps his foot, with the AIDS-like rash on it, buried in the sand so he doesn't start dying in people's eyes (and presumably so if he ever got the gumption, he could tap it). Even if you assume the nude beach isn't specifically gay, all these things still apply, and it's still his idealized man he hallucinated all sweaty and tan.

Kind of discussed in the Marla related link above but he's like, horrifically repressed, even if he WAS straight. He can't imagine himself having sex. But when he has Tyler have straight sex (see above link for detailed thoughts on that), it's Marla he's jealous of. It is literally written that way. He is jealous of Marla stealing Tyler's attention and ruining the vibe they had with just the two of them.

Something, something, elaborate rituals for the touch of another man. Getting a big rubbery one in response to Bob. Arguably it's about him getting off on misery but it's not like it was written with regard to Chloe. And Chloe— amyl nitrite/poppers are commonly used in gay bathhouses and stuff. Used in straight sex too but yeah pretty common... Back to Bob though, this mimicry of closeness with another human being  another man in particular, staring down the gun at a man who can't functional have sex like society expects him to anymore. 

He invents a club that word for word could be swapped with gay sex for a large portion of its introduction. He is desperate for the touch of another man even if violence is the only way he can get it. Sex would be violence, in an age of being terrified of AIDS. 

The constant underlying sharing of blood and spit and contaminating food etc. All these other ways HIV is spread. But at least it wouldn't be That way. If that's his destined way to die then at least it wouldn't be like that. Dark, but.

The fucking scene about his birthmark holy shit man. Essentially, the doctors thought his birthmark was a sign of, pretty much, Kaposi's sarcoma. The cancer overwhelmingly associated with AIDS, and he's a medical marvel. Because he'd be dying from an unknown horrific disease. Now he hides the birthmark, because that unknown disease is everywhere now. <-bastardization of a line from the book. And when people see that birthmark, he starts dying in their eyes. If he was openly gay in any fashion, he'd start dying in their eyes too. The same way.

There is, distinctly, a sense of a complete lack of actual functional future. There is a sense of complete lack of role models from the past. 

The environmentalist turn even in this sense. The burden of history. He was not the one who spread the virus. There's a lot of deep, deep self hate and internalized homophobia in that. In the single time the narrator mentions gay men, too — as gay men wanting children being the cause for why all the single mothers in the clinic Marla goes to  are dying of AIDS. But that's not true. Gay men, overwhelmingly, are not the reason it went from gay men to eventually reaching women. But what he repeats is part of the societal curse upon them, and what he repeats is a chastisement, look what happens when you dare desire anything. If you actually want to act on those perversions. You curse everything and everyone. Stay repressed, or you'll die and kill everyone.

He invents Tyler. "Perfectly handsome and an angel in his everything-blond way." He invents the perfect man, who also can never infect him. Who also pisses and spits in soups, god what a conundrum — society assumes you're evil, sick, and damned, but you're still their responsibility. How do they like it. I am not glamorizing the willful spread of disease lol I don't think it's ever a sane response but in fiction it hits that like... vindictive anguish. 

Honestly, even the section I just mentioned. Where Tyler rants to the union boss. You don't actually give a single shit about me and better yet you probably hate the living shit out of me. But I am still your responsibility. You have sucked me dry til I have nothing to love, and you have everything. And the narrator says he says the same thing Tyler said, but about contaminated food. The parallels, with how that would apply to people with HIV, especially gay men. There is so, so much emphasis on the narrator's blood and how it gets all over the Pressman hotel's manager.

Fight Club, Project Mayhem — they're the designs of someone who doesn't expect to live long. The home of people who don't expect to live long. Whether that's because medical care is too expensive or because you catch a blood infection or because the cops shoot you. 

And at the end, after everything has happened, after his manic pixie dream boy helped him martyr himself, what does he really get? Idk man. Drugs that will kill his sex drive. A deep fear of himself that now has evidence for how far he can fall. A deep disillusionment. No hate, but no love either. Still just empty, now knowing he has opened pandora's box, whether he intended to or not. He can't put it back. He tried. 

Idk. something to be said about all that. Probably a lot more as well but that's just off the top of my head.

[lousyxlassie]

𝙹𝙹𝙺 𝙼𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝: 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚞, 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒, 𝚃𝚘𝚓𝚒

𝙰/𝙽: 𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!!

➪ Satoru LOVES the beach

➪ he's definitely the type of person who will swim out as far as possible

➪ says he's "becoming one with the ocean"

➪ has mentioned something about being a mermaid once or twice

➪ has had a few lifeguards scold him for going too far but you know he doesn't listen

➪ it's not like he's going to drown anyway

➪ does not tan easily I fear but could you imagine a sun-kissed Gojou?

➪ *muah*

➪ perfection, truly

➪ he still tries

➪ luckily he doesn't get sunburned easily either

➪ also wears above-the knee swimshorts with funky prints on them

➪ and I know he wore a jacket in that one scene but EYE like to think that he doesn't

➪ glasses are still a must

➪ and maybe some goggles too

➪ he'll build sandcastles

➪ yes his are always perfect everything this man does is perfect

➪ and beat you in volleyball over and over and over again

➪ he's even made a wager with you before: loser gets buried

➪ and even though you knew that you were going to lose, seeing how much fun he was having almost made you forget the punishment

➪ but alas, into the sand you go

➪ he packs it DOWN like it's actually hard to move

➪ the man is laughing and teasing you the entire time

➪ "I'm getting sleepy, I think I'll have to dig you up tomorrow"

➪ 100% ate food in front of you while you were buried

➪ don't worry, he'll drop some into your mouth if you beg him

➪ just yell at him a bit to dig you out

➪ and don't ever let him do it again

➪ I think he'd rather be in a pool

➪ or maybe a jacuzzi

➪ with the massage jets

➪ I don't think Nanami fancies the beach much

➪ BUT if you insist on going, who is he to say no?

➪ and he won't ruin the experience for you either like the man truly cares about your happiness okay?

➪ honestly he's probably the type to wear a t-shirt to the beach and never take it off

➪ no matter how hot it is

➪ no matter how wet it gets

➪ it's not coming off

➪ definitely makes sure that the both of you are wearing an ample amount of sunscreen

➪ spf at 100

➪ he gets burned easily

➪ you both found out the hard way unfortunately

➪ skin was on lobster and you spent the rest of the night tending to him with every remedy you could think of

➪ he won't go too far in the water, stops just above his waist

➪ he won't let you go farther than that either

➪ safety first you know?

➪ when he's not in the water with you, you can find him resting under the gigantic umbrella he staked in the sand

➪ he's holding a book in his hand, but every now and then you see him glance up at you

➪ makes a little setup for the both of you with all the food and refreshments you could need

➪ will go seashell hunting with you

➪ he absolutely adores the look on your face when you raise one up to show him

➪ it's cute when you get excited

➪ tugs at his heartstrings a little

➪ he doesn't mind bringing a few home, and will even find a jar to keep them in

➪ I could see Toji enjoying the beach

➪ he seems like he'd prefer to go at night though

➪ but a daytime trip isn't out of the question

➪ especially if you ask him

➪ watching you frolick half-naked in the water?

➪ yes, 1000 times yes

➪ wears jeans to the beach because he's INSANE

➪ like that man is not right I am so sorry

➪ but he does take them off and show a whorish amount of thigh so...

➪ there's not much complaints

➪ he most certainly does notice you staring

➪ and he most certainly does tease you for it

➪ tans nicely, his skin always looks so warm after a beach day

➪ he doesn't get in the water much, and when he does it's never too far

➪ he'll pick you up and throw you though that's not a problem

➪ never where it's unsafe for you of course

➪ when the two of you go at night he likes to have a bonfire

➪ cozying up together and sharing a blanket while the light ocean breeze mixes with the warmth of the flames?

➪ that's romantic to him

➪ he'll tell you a few random stories about his life while you lay on his shoulder

➪ nothing too sad or heartbreaking, he doesn't wanna dampen the mood

➪ he could honestly stay like that all night if you wanted

© 2022 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢𝚡𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚎

[oneshots-heaven]

A Love That's Not Mine — Morpheus/Dream

On the search of totems of power, Morpheus meets upon Johanna Constantine who draws his attention to her — much to your dislike.

Warning: pure angst/sadness (it’s a short one) Morpheus/Dream x Dream!Reader

“He will not like seeing you sit on his throne.“

You glanced back over to Lucienne whom you had been talking to for the past hour as she sorted hundreds of parchments in the ruins of the Grand Hall in hopes of finding something certain. Something she would not talk about with you, claiming it was not of your interest.

“I appreciate your concern, but I do not care.“

Lucienne sighed at your reaction, but strained from doing anything other. It would have been pointless anyway, experience from hundreds of years had taught her that—that was how long you had known each other. A hundred years had been the recent you had spent together, buried underneath the ruins of what you had once called your home. The Dreaming—once a beautiful place filled the greatest imaginations, the fearfullest nightmares and the deepest wishes—was not what it used to be without its king to reign.

A hundred years gone by without a sigh of its rightful king and his land wasted away like a faded memory until only its truest dweller stayed. Lucienne, as much as you, was one of the only ones who remained, in the most fearful hope of his return and the re-reign of his land. Days turned into weeks, passing into months and years. A hundred years meant nothing to the ones you’d already spent in your lifetime, but a hundred years felt awfully long when you existed without any purpose.

As the king return ever so suddenly, your purpose came back along with him. However, all what once had been wasn’t the same when he returned. You had felt it cutting deep in your heart when you first saw him again. Whatever may happened to him in all those years, he would not speak much of it. All it had done was change him into another man, one that you struggled to recognize. One that struggled to recognize you.

The ruins of the Grand Hall shook upon his return from his search for his totems of power he had gotten stolen.

“May I utter one last warning?“ Lucienne said quietly, her tone so distressed. She had been a friend, especially over the last hundred years, but she still did not understand when it was not right to play with fire.

You sat still on the throne of the king, ignoring her final warning. Even with the best words, you would have not been able to explain the source of your bitterness, the very one that turned you crueler as the days passed by.

As the stone floor vibrated underneath your feet, you knew he had been successful in his search for at least one of his totems. The panicking, yet lightening gaze of Lucienne revealed that she knew just as much. The king of the Dreaming slowly returned to his highest powers. You felt it in the electrified air as he entered the Grand Hall, the surrounding changing with every of his steps, carrying a small but heavy looking pouch in his right hand. It was even smeared across his face, his eyes were almost as bright as the mystic ones of his librarian.

“Lucienne,“ he greeted her, his voice carried a hint of relief, as he caught sight of her first.

“My lord,“ she said happily, however, her smile vanished and her stolen gaze revealed her worry to him. She lowered her head quickly, closing the book in her hands, as he had already taken notice of you sitting still and sternly on his throne.

You recked your chin, eyes attached to the pouch only, avoiding his glaring glance as he stepped closer. “As I see, you have found your sand, my lord.“

“I have, indeed,“ he claimed calmly, but somehow you knew it was only the calm before the true storm. He did not turn around to address her properly and simply said instead, “Lucienne, will you please leave us alone?“

“Of course, my lord.“

As she turned away from the Grand Hall off to the side entrance, her eyes met yours for one last time as another warning, however, in this one laid a request. Keep your silence, it almost said. She asked you not to share your deepest anger, and rather to keep your mouth shut, although she knew better than that. The lord of the Dreaming may be an Endless, but it did not matter how mighty or powerful he was, you would speak your mind, especially now when what you called your home seemed to falter.

“And as I see, you’ve made yourself comfortable in my absence.“

You straightened your position, yet not dared to slip away from the throne. “As comfortable as ruins can be.“

Morpheus scoffed. “Do you really dare to sit there and hold a grudge over my absence, which was to your notice not my fault? Have you forgotten the part where I have told you about my abduction?“ “No, you did not failed to mention that.“

“So, what is this for?“ he argued, motioning to you sitting sternly on the place that belonged to him, and only him. A place you would’ve never dared to sit at without his permission, but that was years ago. A lifetime had past ever since, and so had your patience with him. The Dreaming was falling apart, its magic seemed lost, and there was no other but him to blame.

Just as there was no other to save it.

You pushed yourself out of his claimed seat, stepping down the broken apart steps to the ground level of the Grand Hall. Morpheus stood mighty, all tall and fearless, in the same spot as you walked closer to him. “I congratulate you for earning your sand back. It will bring good back to the Dreaming. It just leaves me to wonder what it has cost you.“

His gaze was brutal, but you did not let him falter you. “What it has cost me?“ he echoed. “It has cost me nothing but nerves. Put your worry aside.“

“I worry as I please, especially if humans like Johanna Constantine become a dangerous part of your deal to getting the sand back, or become a threat in general.“

His brows furrowed, the confusion being obvious written all over his face, but as your words hit him, he brushed past you stepping up the stairs to his throne, saying with his back turn on you, “Jealousy does not suit you well.“

Your blood drew cold. Someone else in your place probably would’ve known it better, to keep their mouth shut and not speak up against the judgement from their lord. Someone else would’ve, but not you, because how dare he come back after all those years of his land suffering and belittle you this way?

You laughed dryly. “You must mistaken me, my words have nothing to do with jealously.“

Morpheus huffed, letting himself down on his throne. “But what else are you trying to provoke?“

Your gaze was sternly on him. “Nothing. I am just protecting what is mine.“

He recked his chin, his hard gaze meeting yours. Two stubborn souls cannot exist next to each other. “But I am not yours to protect, nor will I ever be.“

Every argument came back to this, full circle to the harsh reminder. Always some heavy words to drown you in, to keep you away from him, as if your actions were smothering him. He always seemed to forget that all you’d ever wanted was for the Dreaming to thrive and blossom, but he instead acted as if you were an intruder in your own home.

“I am in no need of reminders of that.“ you spoke calmly, but the bitterness seeped through, poisoning every word. “But you are the king of the kingdom I exist in, so I shall remind you of that  before you go and risk our home so selfishly, once again. Because as it appears right now, you have forgotten yourself!“

Raise your voice and you’ll know when to regret it, the words were burned in your head, and although they still hurt like the first time Morpheus ever threatened you, you still didn’t listen to him. How could you when he was the source of everything you’d ever loved and kept you in constant fear to lose it all within seconds? One change of mind and it all could be gone. That was a terrible power to have and you despised him for having it.

“Don’t you dare talking to me like that.“

Tears burned hot in the corners of your inner eyes. It was written all over his face. He didn’t care about how you were feeling, perhaps he never did. But what made it even worse, was the way he looked at you—so full of rage.

You kept your head held high. There was nothing for you to lose if he would risk it all anyways.

“The Dreaming is everything I’ve got, it’s everything I love. How can you not understand my fear when you go and blur the lines between our world and the ones of people like Johanna.“ you tried to explain to him, however, with every words you’d found yourself more damned. “You took a liking on her, and I have seen how love can turn you into a fool. If you give into that, then one day the lines will be too blurred, and you’ll risk our home for something that is not worth it. And I thought you had here everything you could’ve wanted.“   Your nerves went blank as Morpheus pushed himself out of his throne. There was softness in his gaze, but you knew it was a trick to keep you from running away. In those eyes, you had lost yourself so many times that for moments, you forgot that he was an Endless. He was not created to be good, he was meant to be cruel.

He stepped in front of you, gripping your jaw so harsh within seconds as his hand snapped forwards, pulling your mouth closer to his. “Do not go over your head, my love. You are nothing more than a carnation of what I’ve wanted you to be. You’re a part of my essences, I’ve created you. You do not get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. If this kingdom goes down, then you’ll vanish with it, because you are not real.“

Once you’d promised yourself to not show any fear in front of them, but this felt like the end. It did not matter anymore, so you did not hide as the hot swelling tears rolled your cheek onto his hands. His words hurt, like they always did, but these ones hurt even more because you could have never fulfilled the very sole reason why he created you.

Although the pain, you leaned into him as you felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, mumbling, “I was your dream once, and now you’re kicking me out.“

The grip of his hands softened, strangely allowing you for the briefest of moments to lean further against him. The hardness of his gaze vanished, and for once, the treacherous softness seemed to be truthful. His hand cupped your cheek as he said, “Time changes, my dear.“

And this may was the end of what you ever were and all of what you could’ve been.

A/N: This has been sitting in my files for ages. I’ve never truly finished writing this, however, I liked some of the lines I wrote of this, so I’m sharing this unfinished piece with you all. Hope you still enjoyed it. 

[anonymous-dentist]

REBLOGS WELCOME!!

-

Arin doesn’t know what “death” is, but it scares him nonetheless. There’s an aching in his chest when he thinks about it, about nonexistence. Longing, perhaps? He knows that feeling. He doesn���t know how he knows it, but he does. Longing, or maybe fear. He knows fear. 

Skittering between trees with both eyes focused on the sky above searching out the Admins, Arin’s heart skips in his chest. 

Oh, yes, he knows fear. He knows it quite well. 

But “death”? As a concept, he can assume that it’s much like sleeping. That’s how Foolish and BadBoyHalo made it sound. Luzu’s dogs are “dead”, so deeply asleep that they still haven’t woken up after nearly a month of going to bed. Maybe Spreen did such a good job at tucking them in that they don’t want to wake up. Arin can’t blame them for that; the world is a scary place. 

Tilin’s bed must be very comfortable, then, if she hasn’t woken up after being buried four meters below the surface of the earth. Arin personally can’t imagine it’s all that nice, but it’s probably just a matter of opinion. He prefers slightly more formal clothing than Luzu does, it’s probably something like that. While Arin prefers nice button-ups and vests, Tilin prefers dirt. 

That must be it!

Foolish and BadBoyHalo had said that Tilin was “dead”, but Arin hadn’t had much time to check her code before having to run away back to Luzu’s house. There was a distinct absence of… of something, but the code for sleep is so complex- what with dreams and all- that it was hard to take any of it in. 

Arin can wake Tilin up, he thinks. He just needs to figure out how, and, to do that, he needs to see her himself. And if he can’t give her an extra pillow and maybe a nightlight or two, well, that would be a shame. Even the “dead” deserve some light in their rooms. Otherwise, it would be awfully dreary. 

It’s dark now. Arin waited for the sun to set to sneak to Tilin’s bed. He wants to minimize the risk of the Admins seeing him, and maybe he just prefers the dark. Luzu doesn’t like all of the monsters, but Arin can’t help but look at the skeletons and wonder if Luzu’s bones look the same as theirs. If Arin’s bones do, he supposes. Sharing a body and all. 

He can see the redstone torches through the trees, he’s just close enough to be able to smell the remnants of the soul sand that Luzu had taken. He’s close enough to be able to hear a quiet humming, just barely audible over the ambient forest noises. It’s muffled, but it’s familiar, almost like a memory poking at Arin’s brain with a tuning fork with sharpened prongs. 

After one last look to the skies, Arin takes the risk and bolts out from the trees, pressing himself up against the large concrete bow as soon as he’s done. His chest heaves, and his bones ache (Luzu is so old, maybe he should be “dead”, too.)

The humming continues. It’s a person, and they’re underground. There’s a thin line of code reaching down from the sky and into the earth in front of the pyre; it caresses a flower, stroking its petals softly. 

Oh, he thinks. He knows this code. His fists clench unconsciously, and he knows that Luzu is going to wake up confused about the blood that’s going to be under his nails, but, frankly, fuck Luzu. Maybe he should try investing in a nice pair of gloves if he doesn’t want his hands to get bloody. His nails are sharp, anyway. It’s his own fault. 

(“This is all your fault!”

“Me? You’re the one killing my people and our- my children!”

“Your people? My God, you’re pretentious. They’re only yours because you stole them. From me!”)

Arin lets out a nice long breath, watching its code fractal away into the ether. Luckily, he shares Luzu’s code as long as he’s in his body. It would be annoying if he got caught because of his breathing. 

Underground, there’s a sniffle, and then the humming continues. It’s a sad TikTok song, Arin recognizes it from… from somewhere. 

He tiptoes up to Tilin’s bed, peeking over the wall. There isn’t a hole above the bed, so Quackity must have buried himself with her. He’s such a good parent…!

If Quackity is here, then Arin doesn’t need to be, right? For the pillow, anyway. Tilin probably doesn’t need that anymore if she has her dad there. But the code… 

There’s an absence of code above her bed. It’s just Quackity’s, and the forest’s. No egg. 

“Death” must be a very deep sleep, then. 

Arin hops the wall, glancing up at the sky as he does so just to… just to make sure. There’s nobody there, but… 

The humming stops just as Arin touches down. Quackity’s code is hesitant. More importantly, it’s sad. 

Arin’s heart aches. He might hate Quackity, but he likes to think that they’re still friends. (Still?)

It would be rude to barge into an egg’s bedroom, so Arin sits down and leans against the wall, his legs spread out in front of him. His shoe is untied, but he doesn’t bother tying it. That’s a Luzu problem, not an Arin problem. (And it definitely isn’t because Arin doesn’t know how to tie his shoes, that would be a ridiculous assumption.)

Arin can’t talk, so he can’t announce himself or anything. Not properly, anyway. And he shouldn’t use Luzu’s communicator because Luzu might start getting suspicious of any weird-looking messages… so… 

So he just watches the stars blink in and out of existence. His stars look different- his are red. These ones… aren’t. 

These stars don’t have any code behind them, and Arin doesn’t know what to think about that. 

Below, Quackity is silent. He probably doesn’t want to wake Tilin up, how sweet! 

And then slowly, so very, very slowly, the dirt beneath Arin’s shoes starts to shift. He quickly pulls his knees up to his chest, and he sits, and he waits, unblinking. 

Quackity pokes his head up with narrowed eyes. He’s facing straight ahead, so he doesn’t notice Arin at first. 

And then he does. 

And then his face reddens like an angry little tomato and he crawls out of Tilin’s bed. 

Arin waves with a forcefully-cheerful grin. 

Quackity pulls out his axe. 

Arin’s smile drops, as does his arm. 

“You,” Quackity growls. “What the hell are you doing here?”

But Arin can’t answer- he can’t, not if he doesn’t want to be discovered. So, instead, he tries not to look as threatening as he thinks he is. He shrinks back against the wall trying to make himself look as small as possible. It’s easy enough to do in Luzu’s baggy hoodie, though the skinny jeans make it a bit difficult to move anything more than a centimeter. (Freak…)

Quackity looks rough. He’s covered in dirt, he’s practically caked in it, and there are circles under his eyes dark enough to rival Luzu’s. His hands shake, and his legs look like they’re about to collapse out from under him at any moment. He looks tired. 

Slowly and with very deliberate motions, Arin pulls out Luzu’s communicator and opens the notes app. Quackity watches with faltering eyes. 

Arin types, and then he holds the communicator out for Quackity to see. 

‘I’m Arin, not Luzu.’ 

And then, after a double space line break: ‘Hello, Quackity!’

Quackity slumps immediately, falling down onto the ground in a heap of limbs and weaponry. Arin awkwardly shifts the fallen axe away from any squishy bits; Quackity doesn’t stop him. His code is faltering, blinking in and out like a collapsing lighthouse. 

“You know, I was kind of hoping that it was him,” Quackity weakly says. His voice sounds like it had just come out the wrong side of a wind tunnel. That is to say: he sounds like shit. 

‘I get that a lot.’

“I’m sure you do.” A pause, and then, “What do you want? I’m kind of busy.”

Arin’s stomach churns unpleasantly, but maybe part of Luzu is awake after all because he can’t help but type out, ‘Are you busy? I can help!’ 

Quackity’s face wrinkles, as does Arin’s. Yeah, no, not happening. It seems that Quackity is still as fond of him as he is of Quackity. 

“I don’t need your help,” Quackity spits out. “Now, tell me, what do you want? I’m busy.”

He isn’t busy. Arin knows this, and Quackity knows that Arin knows this, and Arin knows that Quackity knows, and… and… 

‘I wanted to check on Tilin. Foolish and BadBoyHalo told me that she was resting, but I didn’t think that it would be very comfortable to sleep underground.’ 

Quackity stares at the communicator. His eyes are starting to well up with… something (are those tears? Is this what tears look like?) as he just stares. 

And then he looks up at Arin, tense. 

“Tilin isn’t resting,” he says. “Tilin is dead.”

‘That’s what they said, but I’m not sure what that means.’

And then, before Quackity can bring himself to respond: ‘Can I see her? I need to see something.’

Quackity snaps himself out of whatever he was feeling with a bitter shake of the head. “What? No, of course not, I’m not going to let you just-” He shakes his head again, reaching for his axe again. “No, you can’t. You can’t see him. No. Of course not.”

Arin cocks his head with a slight frown. ‘Are you okay?’

“What?” Quackity laughs. He shakes his head yet again. “No, yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. My son is dead, no, yeah, I’m fine.”

‘You don’t seem fine.’

“What do you know, anyway? Who the hell asked you what I’m feeling, huh? ‘Cause I’m fine. I’m going to kill Slime, and then I’m going to…”

Quackity trails off into a cough. His fingers curl around his axe, a white-knuckled grip. 

(“Are you okay?”

“What do you care, asshole? Aren’t you supposed to be trying to kill me right now?”

“Yes- well- uh-”

“Save your excuses, Luzu. I don’t want to hear them.”)

Cautiously, Arin reaches a hand out to touch Quackity’s shoulder (it must be Luzu again, the asshole.) Quackity slaps his hand away and scoots back, nearly falling back down the hole he had come out of. 

“Fuck off!” Quackity wheezes. “Get out of here! No, you can’t see him, so- so get out!”

Arin doesn’t know what “death” is. He does know a few other things, though. He knows fear, it’s his best friend. He knows sadness, he feels it every time he wakes up in this world. 

He knows grief. Maybe that’s what has been sitting in his chest since his first appearance in this world. It’s what hits him like a truck every time he so much as thinks about Quackity, a grief so heavy that it makes it impossible to so much as breathe, let alone think. 

Quackity’s code is blue, it always has been. Tonight, it’s almost black, barely discernible from the night sky. The emptiness surrounds him like, well… like an egg. He sits in the mud above his child’s grave curled into himself, and Arin can’t help but wonder what it would be like to pull him out of his shell and see what true human grief looks like. 

Instead, and entirely for Luzu’s sake, Arin writes, ‘I’m sorry.’

Quackity reads it, and then he laughs, short and painful. “Right, sure you are. You didn’t even know him.”

‘Do I have to know something to be sad about it disappearing?’

Quackity sighs, wilting. “No, I guess not.”

Arin doesn’t really know what happens when he’s asleep, but he remembers Foolish and BadBoyHalo whispering to each other about Luzu being Tilin’s other father. Something in Arin’s throat burns at that, a laugh, maybe. There’s a memory right there, right at the edge of his vision, but he can’t get to it. Maybe he shouldn’t. (He probably shouldn’t.)

This time when Arin reaches out, Quackity doesn’t recoil. He lets himself get pulled into a loose, awkward hug- Arin’s first. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but Luzu’s body seems to have some sort of muscle memory going on. As does Quackity’s, because he tucks his head into the crook of Luzu’s body’s neck and hides his face like it’s second nature. 

A word burns in Arin’s throat, a dreadfully familiar one. But he can’t say it, he doesn’t know how, and he can’t exactly type with a man in his arms. So he simply thinks it and hopes that the message somehow gets across.

Quacks…

Fucking Luzu. Arin doesn’t think that he’s homophobic, but he is Quackityphobic. Ugh. 

Arin’s skin crawls uncomfortably as Quackity sniffs right into his collar. Gross. 

But… they are friends, aren’t they? Fit told Arin as much, he and Quackity are friends. Friends don’t let each other grieve alone. That isn’t right. 

(“If we’re really about to die, I want you to know that I hate you.”

“I know. I hate you, too, Quacks. I wanted to kill you myself.”

“I know, right? I’m almost disappointed that he’s doing it for me.”

“If we survive, let’s just kill him first, alright?”

“You’ve got a fucking deal.”)

“You would have liked him,” Quackity quietly says. “Tilin.”

Arin pulls back just enough to type something on his communicator and to show it to Quackity, whose face falls into a sad little smile. 

‘Tell me about him,’ Arin says. 

Quackity takes in a deep, shaky breath, and then he starts to speak.

[supernovaa-remnant]

I heard about this Shubble person recently, I stayed out of drama as much as I could but, what happened now??? You even wrote this in one of your tags "#I really did love him a lot (parasocially)". I was busy this week so I don't know what is happening now.

I highly recommend people watch Shubble’s vod on her twitch channel (I don’t have a link but I can’t imagine it’s that difficult to find). Be mindful though as the vod does talk about abuse which is a very triggering topic, so make sure to be taking care of yourself. I’m gonna put the rest of the post under the cut, so people can easily scroll past this if they want to.

As a little summary, Shubble streamed yesterday and talked about her abusive ex. She didn’t name anyone, but she also wasn’t hiding who it was, and contrary to what some people may say, a lot of the dots being connected are stuff we know from past streams and comments from friends and not leaked info.

So, the incredibly most likely case is that it was Wilbur. I’m not gonna get into everything Shelby said because she said it on her stream, but the signs do point to Wilbur, and you’d have to reach significantly further to claim she was talking about someone else. There’s not a lot of British male ccs who have a bigger audience than her who have a history of biting people and have reason to be going on long travels (tour) where they wouldn’t see each other often.

Listen. I was a certified dreambur blog, okay? Everyone who glanced in my direction knew that I was a Wilbur fan. Everyone knows that I loved him so fucking much. But that’s not an excuse to bury my head in the sand and ignore everything, y’know?

Anyway, this is gonna be the last time I talk abt this publicly (I’m sure my friends will hear more in DMs though sorry <3), so I’m gonna throw a bit more stuff here abt my blog going forward.

I will eventually talk abt c!wilbur again. I’m still gonna write my silly little c!dreambur aus, I’ve just put them on the back burner. regardless of cc actions, I genuinely do love so many of the characters on the dsmp. I’ll probably be focused on some other fics for a while, but c!wilbur’s my cat and I don’t think he’s leaving my brain soon. I just need a little time.

I think cc!wilbur is someone who needs help. and I genuinely do hope he gets that help. but having mental health struggles isn’t an excuse. and I just can’t see myself engaging in his content in the foreseeable future. you’re not gonna see me post neg about him. you’re just likely not gonna see me post anything about him at all.

I’m happy to know Shubble has an amazing support system. I’m so sorry she had to go through something so horrible. I’m wishing her nothing but the best, and everyone should check out her YouTube channel!! I haven’t watched her newest video yet, but I did watch Lizzie’s pov of the collab, so I know it’s a fun concept

If people have questions that this post doesn’t answer, then I’m happy to answer them in DMs, but I don’t wanna talk abt this publicly anymore. (I reserve a right to change my mind though if I for some reason feel the need to post abt it again)

Anyway, take care of yourselves. Love is never ever wasted, okay? And all that love belongs to you. And it’s always a good thing to put more love out into the world. Never feel guilty for loving, okay? 🫂

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye (part 15)

A/N:  Comments and reblogs are appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts <3

Word Count: 2034

All chapters: MASTERLIST

"No, nononono. Please no."

Daenys reached out to pick up what she had dropped. She could not let the tide wash it away. She could not lose it. It was Arrax. Or what was left of him anyways. A single torn wing, wrapped around a small hand still attached to its wrist. At first, Daenys couldn't even recognize it as it was discoloured from being in the water for gods knew how long. But deep down she knew, for no one had such delicate fingers, such perfect nails. Even in death, despite the purpling skin and missing bits of flesh, Lucerys was beautiful. Daenys squeezed her eyes shut. She could barely remember the day he was born, for she was only five at the time, but she remembered marvelling over his little fingers and their sheer strength as they grabbed and pulled at her hair. She remembered spending hours just watching him wondering how it was even possible for a baby to have such graceful-looking hands. And now, as she held his hand for what she imagined would be the last time, she felt like throwing up. She wanted to lay right there and let the tide carry her to wherever the rest of her brother was. Perhaps she would have too if it wasn't for the persistent voice of the little girl beside her. She had a duty to this child now, and she had to keep her safe. She had to stay alive if not for herself, then for all those who she'd sworn to protect.

"Daenys please, you're scaring me. It's really dark. I think we should go. Put down the dead fish please," Floris pleaded.

"It's not a dead fish..." Daenys's words were barely above a whisper.

"Come on, let's get back to your dragon. We have to go, it's too dark for anything else."

Daenys numbly allowed Floris to lead her out of the water. Her cloak lay forgotten on the sand and she used it to gently wrap up the remains of her brother and his dragon. She clutched the bundle to her chest, wondering if she should just bury it right here. If seeing it hurt her, it would destroy her mother. She decided against it though, because Lucerys Velaryon deserved a proper funeral. He deserved to be sent off to the gods in a manner befitting a true prince. He deserved better.

The journey to Dragonstone was a quiet one, Daenys going through the motions detachedly. Through the haze, she noticed that Floris had remained uncharacteristically quiet, and she felt a stab of guilt. This wasn't an ideal way for the young girl to bid farewell to her home, but this was how it was to be. Night had fully spread its starry cloak across the sky by the time they landed. Daenys was surprised to find her mother waiting for her at the entrance to the castle. She was sitting on one of the benches and she seemed to have fallen asleep. Joffrey was curled up into her side but he was wide awake and when Daenys and Floris came into view he jumped up with a shout. Rhaenyra jolted awake and when she caught sight of her daughter she smiled.

"Mother? What are you doing out here? It's cold, and you should be in bed," concern laced Daenys's voice.

"I just wished to see you. I wanted to be the first one you saw when you returned."

"I see Mother."

"And who is this? You have brought a guest Daenys?" Rhaenyra questioned, bending down to meet Floris's eyes.

Floris took a step back and hid behind Daenys's legs.

"Oh. Yes, this is Floris Baratheon. I apologize for not sending a raven ahead of us, everything just happened quite quickly. Her sister requested that we take her in for the time being as she might be at risk in Storm's End. I can explain the details tomorrow when we are all rested."

Rhaenyra smiled, "Yes of course. It is an honour to host you here Lady Baratheon. I will have the room next to Joffrey's prepared."

Floris gave her a shy smile and bowed her head, "Thank you, my Queen."

Rhaenyra turned her attention to her daughter, "Daenys you don't look so well. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I am quite alright. It has just been a long day."

"And what is that bundle you're holding? Have you decided to bring home a baby too?" Rhaenyra joked.

The corners of Daenys's mouth turned down and her lower lip wobbled. She wordlessly handed her mother her wrapped-up cloak. Rhaenyra took it from her in confusion, wondering what kind of treasure her daughter had brought home that warranted the gentle way she held on to it and the solemn look in her eyes. She mimicked Daenys's delicate touch and unwrapped it.

The stench hit first, pungent like rotten meat with an underlying sickening sweetness. When Rhaenyra finally took a good look at the contents of the package she dropped it and took three hasty steps backward. She looked at her daughter, and the tears in her eyes only confirmed her worst fears. She collapsed.

"Mother!" Daenys surged forward to catch her, gently lowering her to the floor.

"Tell me it is not what I think it is. What I know it to be," Rhaenyra wailed.

"I am sorry Mother. I am so so sorry!"

"When there was no body, I had hoped...I had hoped and I had prayed that somehow he survived. That he would wash up on some shore, unconscious but alive. That my sweet boy would find his way back to me."

Daenys cradleded her mother in her lap, and smoothed the hair back from her forehead. She didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. No way to make this better or more bearable. She kept whispering apologies into her ear, not knowing what exactly it was she was apologizing for. There was so much after all. An apology for not being able to protect him, for not saving him, for not being there, for being married to his killer, for loving his killer, for not slitting Aemond's throat the moment she heard the news. There weren't enough apologies in all the seven kingdoms to atone for everything. The guilt would kill her if she didn't end herself first.

"Mother? What has happened to Mother?" Joffrey's panicked voice came from behind her and Daenys looked up frantically. She could not let him see.

"Mother will be fine Joffrey. She's just a bit tired. Why don't you take Lady Floris to your room until the maids have prepared hers. You can show her your sea shell collection. I'm sure she'd like that," Daenys tried to make her voice sound calm and unbothered.

Joffrey moved toward Floris before his eyes fell on the cloak that Rhaenyra dropped. His curiosity got the better of him and he approached it. His eyes widened and she could see the gears in his head turning as he struggled to make sense of what he saw.

"Luke is dead isn't he?" Joffrey finally asked.

Daenys gave him a tight lipped nod.

"How long. How long has it been? Why didn't you tell me?" his voice grew louder.

"I am sorry. I thought you knew. I thought Mother would have told you. I am sorry."

"They never tell me anything because they think that I am too young. They think that I am too stupid to figure out things on my own!"

"No. I swear, if they didn't tell you, they only wanted to protect you."

"I heard them talking you know. Mother told Luke that his journey would be short... but then he didn't return. It had been days and he didn't return..but I didn't think that he..." Joffrey furiously scrubbed the tears in his eyes with angry fists.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Daenys only knew apologies these days.

There was a fire in Joffrey's eyes that she was afraid of. A frenzy she didn't know could exist.

"I swear upon the gods, I will avenge him. I will go there right this moment and burn them all. I will cut Aemond's heart out and feed it to him!" Joffrey swore terrible oaths in his rage and moved toward the exit, as if to mount his dragon right at that moment and fly to King's Landing.

Daenys stretched out her arm, the one that wasn't wrapped around her mother, and snagged ahold of Joffreys hand. He pulled against her violently and it took all of her strength to hold onto him for she did not know what he would do if she let go. This was too much. All of it was too much and she was overwhelmed. The wailing mother in her lap she tried to comfort and the fuming brother she tried to reign in. And she had forgotten about little Floris Baratheon who stood still in a corner looking like she wanted to disappear, with wide terrified eyes.

"Please Joff. Please stop," she beseeched her brother.

"No! You don't get to tell me what to do! You just want to protect them don't you. Has being married to a monster shifted your loyalties sister? Will you still defend the man who murdered our brother?"

Daenys flinched as if he had slapped her, "You know that isn't true. You of all people know how much I loved Luke. How dare you say that?"

"What is going on here?" came a stern voice.

The commotion had drawn the attention of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys who surveyed the scene they had stumbled upon.

"Is that-" Rhaenys began.

"Don't. Don't ask me what that is. I will lose it if I hear that question again!" Daenys exclaimed.

Rhaenys's eyes softened. She straightened her shoulders and took charge of the situation. Taking Joffrey's hand from Daenys, she pulled him into her arms. He thrashed and put up a fight, still muttering about bloodshed and violence, but eventually he quietened and simply sobbed into her shoulder. She brushed her hands through his hair and when he had quietened down, she wiped the tears from his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"There will be no more of that young prince. You muct have patience. You may have your vengeance in due time but charging there in the heat of the moment will only result in more death. Look at your mother, she wouldn't want to lose you too," Rhaenys spoke sternly.

Lord Corlys reached down and brushed his hair, nodding sagely. Joffrey sniffled and nodded his head. Then he looked at Daenys guiltily.

"I'm sorry I said such terrible things to you. I did not mean them, I swear it!"

Daenys gave him a watery smile, "I know Joff. It's alright."

"You'll forgive me right? Oh say you'll forgive me!"

"There's nothing to forgive. Now take Floris to your room please, and ask the maids to get the one next to yours ready for her. She must be very tired, and I can't imagine all this has helped."

"And...will Mother be alright?"

"Yes. She'll be just fine."

Joffrey made his way to Floris, reaching out his hand which she gingerly took. When he had led her away, everyone's attention finally turned to Rhaenyra. Her wails had quietened to soft whimpers, her face tucked into her daughter's neck. Rhaenys picked up the discarded cloak and tenderly rewrapped its contents.

"Is there to be a funeral then? In the tradition of House Velaryon?" Lord Corlys questioned.

"No!" Rhaenyra had finally gained enough coherence to protest.

"He was a Velaryon. To the sea he belongs and to the sea he should return to," Lord Corlys frowned.

"Let what is left of him be cremated, in the custom of House Targaryen. The sea has already claimed most of him. Let my mother have this please," Daenys tried to placate the Sea Snake.

"Very well. It will be as she wishes."

Just then, a servant came rushing, "A raven has arrived for the Queen. From Prince Consort Daemon."

Everyone looked on curiously Rhaenyra read the message with grim eyes. When she was done she grimly handed it to her daughter and stood up. Whatever was in that letter had given her the strength to gather herself and take her leave.

"An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged."

_______________

Taglist (comment to be added/removed):

@m1tzifa1ry @blulemonades @bietchz @bugheadskid @applepyesworld  @mrswhitethornbelikov @mysingularitybts @caspianobsessed @lotr-got @theekinslayer  @vaf24 @feiwelinchen @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @hanabbrmpg  @issybee0611 @lyannesworld @moni-cah @akinatrix @carryonmywaywardho  @queenofbeingdepressed   @cateyesinlove @frozenhuntress67  @bregarc @spicykimchii @stargaryenx @linevondensternen @koobratzy

[littleglassfrog]

Another snippet because why not! This might be the first story I started writing in the empires/hermitcraft sphere, and it's what got me into shipping lmao. Flower husbands will always have a place in my heart.

Anyways, this is from an au where 3rd life Jimmy wakes up in Empires s1 after he dies. It's the opening scene :)

words: 1074 cw: none

-

There is a familiar heat beating down on him. Desert heat.

It presses down on his head, his back, his shoulders. It would be unbearable if he weren’t so used to it. The air he breathes is so dry it catches in his throat, and the wind whips sand against his skin, stinging, and buries it in his feathers.

He supposes it is only right that he wakes up here, in a desert. He died in one after all.

(Secretly, he wishes he was somewhere else, where the warmth was a comfort and not danger, where water lapped gently at its shore and flowers swayed in the whispering wind.)

Jimmy opens his eyes and golden sand stretches endlessly in front of him, lapping dunes like a great ocean. The world sways and shimmies in the heat. He can’t see anything on the horizon, no pride rock, no dilapidated bunker. Not even the distant forests that edged the Red Desert. None of the familiar landmarks he is used to. This desert is much, much larger than the one he left.

But there's something deep in his chest, tugging him forward, and he can do nothing else but follow.

He wonders, as he wanders his way north, if he can die in the afterlife. He knows from experience that spending too long in the desert without supplies is a death sentence, but, strangely, he doesn’t really care. He feels a bit distant to his body, like it isn’t quite right or that he’s not fully inside of it. 

Well, this is death, Jimmy reminds himself. This body probably isn’t even real.

So he ignores his growing fatigue, the way his throat scratches with every swallow. He keeps walking.

The sun is getting low in the sky when something finally appears on the horizon: a great towering mountain of brown stone. It looks out of place in the endless gold of the desert, but Jimmy’s just glad to see something new. The world has melted into a blur of swaying colors, and he’s not sure if what he’s seeing is even real, but either way, he continues to stumble towards it, his feet dragging and breathing labored.

The mountain continues to grow, taller and taller, until it blocks out most of the horizon. Inexplicably, Jimmy knows that's where the feeling in his chest is guiding him. Maybe it will take him home.

There's a town settled at the base of it. He sees it as he crests the final dune. Tightly clustered, modular buildings made of smoothly carved sandstone. It’s colorful though, not just tan and beige like Scar and Grian’s base was. There are lanterns strung across roads, bright banners hanging from windows, and merchant carts painted with all the colors imaginable. He can hear, distantly, a growing chatter and a snatch of song.

His thirst is back, so sharp it cuts through the fog in his mind. It brings all of its fellow aches with it. His cheeks and shoulders are burning, and his legs and arms and wings are so heavy they drag on the ground. When he takes a step, he stumbles and goes tumbling down the hill.

It’s hard to keep track of what happens after that. He comes to a stop at some point, but the world is still spinning. He tries to stand back up, to keep walking, but his body feels like it's made of wet clay, so heavy he can’t lift it. His ears are ringing, but he can hear voices yelling and it makes his weary heart sing a song of danger.

When hands land on him, he lashes out, though he is too weak to do more than lightly smack at the hands. Whoever is holding him pays him no mind, and they swiftly lift him up. The sudden rocking movement makes him nauseous, and his eyes roll back as his mind swims.

Things are quiet after that.

He comes back to himself much later. There’s something cold laying on his forehead, a dribble of something sweet and cool slipping past his lips. It washes through him like a dip in cold water, and he sighs his pleasure. A soft voice is muttering something far away, but he doesn’t care to understand what they are trying to say. He is so tired.

But he can’t just lay here. In his mind, he sees green eyes, crinkled at the corner. He sees a dimple at the corner of pink lips, and he sees a poppy nestled in soft blue hair. A sharp, stinging longing erupts in his chest, and he needs to get up, to walk.

He has to go home.

His eyes slip open, and it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done. They sting. His whole body stings, actually, like his skin has been replaced with a blanket of hurt. He struggles to push himself up, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his arms are too weak to hold him up. When he tries again, a firm hand on his shoulder pushes him back down to the bed.

“No,” he rasps, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You need to lay still,” the voice tells him. He doesn’t recognize it. “You’re in bad shape. You need to rest.”

“No,” he says again, shaking his head. The world is still swimming, a blur of shapes and colors he can’t make sense of. His stomach rolls with nausea. “I have to… go home.”

The unfamiliar voice shushes him and presses something to his lips. He lets the cool water wash down his throat, soothing the dry, burning ache. “We’ll get you home, traveller,” the voice soothes, “but right now, you are in no condition to be moving.”

“I have to be there,” he insists, breath hitching. “He’ll be waiting for me.”

“It will be alright,” the voice assures.

Jimmy wants to protest, wants to push away the gentle hands and leave. He wants to be there when Scott dies, wants to welcome him home, wrap him in his arms and never let go. It’s the least he can do.

But sleep is dragging at his eyes, long fingers wrapped around his shoulders. It’s hard to resist, especially when the voice starts to hum a soft song, soft hands smoothing over the damp rag on his forehead, knocked out of place from his attempts to sit up.

He doesn’t win the fight. Sleep takes him.

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 11: Deepthroating

Warnings: none

Rating: E

Pairing: Boyd x Raylan

Boyd doesn’t sleep all that well the week after he returns from Kuwait.

He’s got himself holed up in a drafty motel that’s barely inside Harlan County limits, because the thought of having to share a roof with Bo and Bowman while he sorts through his shit is just about as distasteful as he can imagine. Because he is sorting through shit. And not just his inability to close his eyes without seeing sand and sun and tanks painted army green.

Six or so days after he’s back on American soil, he writes Raylan a letter, and the sleeplessness and the desperation and the longing wear him down just enough to send it. He doesn’t expect anything to actually come of it. Not really. Raylan was definitive when he left, and Boyd exhausted all his arguments for remaining in Harlan long before Raylan even packed.

So it’s a surprise when, three nights later, there’s a knock at his door.

For a moment, Boyd considers not getting up, just ignoring whichever family member has come to welcome him home. Those are the only visitors he’s gotten, the only people who know where he is. And he’s grateful, he is, but he’s not feeling very hospitable. He doesn’t want to entertain. And – besides. It’s almost two in the goddamn morning. By all rights, Boyd should be asleep.

The knock sounds again, a little more rapid, a little more forceful, and Boyd sighs. “Be patient,” he calls, before dragging himself to his feet. But when he opens the door, it’s not one of the family, not Johnny or Bo or Bowman, on the other side.

“You joined the fucking army?” Raylan demands, and Boyd barely has enough time to register how good it is to hear Raylan’s voice again before he’s being dragged forward into a hug. Raylan holds him tight, almost like he’s the one afraid Boyd might pull away, and Raylan doesn’t smell like moonshine and coal dust anymore, but Boyd still buries his nose in the crook of his neck and breathes him in, all sweat and cheap cologne. His own hands fist in the back of Raylan’s shirt, so hard his knuckles creak, and for a moment he wonders if he finally managed to fall asleep, because Raylan, back in Harlan? That’s the stuff of dreams. 

Raylan chuckles quietly, and Boyd can feel the puff of breath against his hair. “Come on, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. “Before we start fueling Harlan’s gossip mills.”

Reluctantly – so reluctantly – Boyd pulls back, letting Raylan slip past him into the motel room. He shuts and locks the door behind them, and just about immediately he aches, missing the feeling of Raylan’s arms around him, his warmth and familiarity. But, suddenly, the six feet between them seems just about insurmountable, an impossible distance to cross.

It’s been a year, and Raylan looks… different. Less haunted around the eyes. A little more filled out, where Boyd can see. But he’s the same in all the ways that matter – his eyes still twinkle when he flashes Boyd a smile, and he still wears his jeans slung so low on his hips it’s just about obscene. 

“You look like shit,” Raylan says, and Boyd shrugs.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

Raylan glances at the clock on the wall and winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Boyd says pointedly. He sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Look, Raylan, I don’t want you going and getting the impression that I don’t appreciate your presence here–”

“You better fucking appreciate it.”

“But,” Boyd continues, “I do find myself wondering what it is, exactly that you’re doing here.”

For a moment, Raylan just looks at him. Stares, really, unblinking, and he has the gall to look shocked. “You asked,” he says after a long moment. “And in that letter… shit, Boyd, you didn’t sound right. What the hell were you thinking, anyway, joining up?”

“You left,” Boyd says tonelessly. “It seemed like such a good idea to you, I thought I might as well give it a try.”

Raylan makes a tiny, frustrated little sound. “You could have told me,” he says. “Hell, Boyd, I was just out in South Carolina. You didn’t have to fuck off all the way overseas if you wanted to get out.”

“Forgive me if I didn’t exactly feel welcome at the time,” Boyd snaps back. “You left, Raylan. You left Harlan. You left–” He cuts himself off, but judging by the way Raylan’s expression twists, he knows exactly what Boyd was about to say.

“I wasn’t…” Raylan begins, and then sighs. “I wasn’t ever trying to get away from you. That wasn’t it. Come on, now, you’ve got to know that.”

And, now? With Raylan standing in his room, his expression earnest and honest and real? Yeah, Boyd knows it. But he didn’t know it then. Probably wouldn’t have believed it, even if Raylan had told him.

“So,” Boyd says abruptly, changing the subject and firmly ignoring the roughness of his own voice. “South Carolina. What new type of trouble have you gotten yourself into out there?”

Raylan presses his lips together, like he does when he’s fighting mad, but he doesn’t take a swing. “College,” he says instead. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now? Because I can bend your ear about the eight a.m. sociology elective that I fucking hate, but I didn’t think you wanted me out here to discuss my class schedule.”

Raylan’s always had a way of finding Boyd’s buttons, being able to hit them like no one else, and it’s both comforting and infuriating to know that hasn’t changed. “I missed you, asshole,” Boyd snaps. “I got myself home and it was goddamn miserable and I missed my best fucking friend. Is that what you’re angling to hear, Raylan?”

“Aw, hell, Boyd.” Raylan ducks his head for a moment, and when he raises it, there’s a glimmer in his eyes that isn’t exactly jovial. He tries for a smile anyway, and misses it by a fucking mile. “I missed you too, you know.”

He holds his arms out a little – a little, really, Boyd might not have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it, praying for it – and the rising anger just drains out of Boyd’s chest. He’s not sure if he moves, or if Raylan does, or if they both do, but in a moment he’s got Raylan’s arms around him again. His breath stutters out of him, a shaky, uncertain thing, and he feels the way Raylan holds him a little tighter, a little closer.

Fuck, this is what he needed.

“All right,” Raylan says after a moment. His hand skims gently up Boyd’s back, warm and solid. “Let’s see if we can’t get you a few hours of sleep before morning. Okay?”

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Boyd admits, and Raylan laughs quietly.

All Raylan bothers to do is kick off his boots and turn off the light, and then he’s pulling back the covers so they can both crawl into bed. It’s a queen, but Raylan doesn’t put any sort of careful distance between them. He just holds out his arm and lets Boyd curl into his side before drawing the blankets up over them.

“Just like camping, huh?” Raylan says – nearly whispers, his voice is so soft. And Boyd’s got a reply on the tip of his tongue, something about how camping never involved four walls and a mattress, not the way he remembers it… but his eyelids feel heavy, and Raylan is warm, and he’s drifting before he knows it.

~~~~

“Boyd. Boyd. Come on, now, wake up.”

Boyd startles awake at the sound of Raylan’s voice, confused and disoriented. He wasn’t having a nightmare – he’s sure of that. His skin feels warm and his pants feel tight in that all-too familiar way. No, it wasn’t a nightmare at all. 

He registers everything a little out of order. Raylan’s voice, first, low and urgent, and then the fact that Raylan is there at all, warm and firm next to him. Then, almost dazedly, Boyd realizes how close they are, how he’s got one of Raylan’s legs trapped between his own – how he’s hard, and how he’s making that fact known very insistently against Raylan’s thigh.

“Fuck.” His voice comes out rough and strangled. “Fuck, Raylan, I…”

“It’s fine.” With Raylan’s back to the curtains and the little bit of light from the street lamps they let through, Boyd can’t see his face, and his tone is… distressingly neutral. But he hasn’t pulled away, and he hasn’t pushed Boyd away either, so maybe all isn’t lost.

Then Boyd’s cock twitches, unmistakably, against the hard plane of Raylan’s thigh, and both of them freeze. "Sorry," Boyd bites out, at the same time Raylan says, "Oh."

And… oh.

“Boyd.” Raylan reaches up, cupping Boyd’s jaw with a gentle hand, and the touch is nothing, just a brush of fingers, but it sends a shiver down Boyd's spine all the same.

They were always close, and maybe… maybe Boyd thought about it, once or twice, with one hand down his pants and the other between his teeth, but he never did anything about it. He didn’t have a death wish. And the thought of losing Raylan as a friend was never worth gaining him in any other ways.

For the first time, he starts to think that maybe Raylan thought about it, too.

The kiss Raylan brushes over his mouth is hesitant and achingly sweet. Boyd doesn't expect the first one, but he's ready for the second, pressing back against Raylan and deepening the kiss, slotting their bodies together from their toes all the way up to their chests. And it's good, better than Boyd imagined, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to.

Raylan hitches his thigh up, just a little, and Boyd moans, his hips stuttering forward against the friction Raylan offers. "Raylan," Boyd breathes, and then, "Raylan," just because he can, because Raylan shivers when Boyd says his name and it makes Boyd want.

He'd be content with just that, with Raylan's thigh between his legs and Raylan's tongue in his mouth. But after a handful of moments of mapping his mouth out with his tongue, Raylan nudges him gently, urging him onto his back, and Boyd doesn't know how this goes, not with another man – but he's willing to find out. For Raylan. With Raylan. 

He expects Raylan to settle on top of him, to keep kissing him, but Raylan goes for his pants instead, fumbling with the button and the zipper and cursing in the dark. Boyd lifts his hips when Raylan gets it figured out, helps him pull down both his pants and underwear all together and hisses when his cock is exposed to the air.

The sound he makes when Raylan ducks down and licks a stripe up his cock is fucking sinful. "Oh," he breathes. "Oh, Raylan, fuck."

Raylan doesn't hesitate. He takes Boyd into his mouth slowly, carefully, but it's hot and wet and Raylan sucks once he's got the head in his mouth, making sharp bolts of pleasure ripple up Boyd's spine. Tentatively, Boyd slides his fingers into Raylan’s hair, and Raylan moans around him, his eyelashes fluttering shut. In the dim light provided by the street lamp outside, he looks… well, he looks pretty, with a flush to his cheeks and Boyd’s cock stretching his lips wide.

Raylan bobs his head and sucks, making Boyd's toes curl against the sheets. With every dip of his head, Raylan sinks a little lower, and Boyd doesn't notice until the head of his cock is nudging at the back of Raylan's throat. His fingers tighten involuntarily in Raylan's hair, and he'd apologize for it except for the sound Raylan makes, muffled but clearly pleased.

Boyd expects Raylan to stop – to pull back, maybe, to finish Boyd with his hand – but Raylan just keeps sinking down, pushing Boyd's cock into the tight clutch of his throat. And Boyd sees stars, can't stop the way his hips jerk up, fucking a little deeper into Raylan's throat. Raylan chokes around him, gags a little, but his hand remains vise-tight around Boyd's hip as he swallows and that's it.

Boyd comes so hard his vision goes white around the edges. He loses himself a little, can't breathe until the pleasure begins to recede and he's left twitching in the aftershocks.

He groans when Raylan pulls back, oversensitivity lending the friction just the sweetest hint of pain. Raylan leans up, hesitating when he’s got himself braced over Boyd, and this thing between them might be new but Boyd’s always been able to read him, to know what he’s thinking. What he wants. So he reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Raylan’s neck before pulling him down into a kiss, unable to swallow the moan that rises in his throat when he tastes himself on Raylan’s tongue.

Just as clumsily, Boyd works a hand between them, reaching for Raylan to return the favor, though all he manages is to make a soft, inquisitive noise against Raylan's mouth when he finds a wet spot on the front of Raylan's pants. Raylan smiles, and Boyd can feel the gentle curve of it, pressed against his lips. "I like doing that," he says, and Christ but his voice is wrecked, rough and ragged from how he took Boyd's cock. It makes Boyd's mouth go dry – makes his soft cock twitch hopefully against his thigh. “I really like it.”

Boyd swallows. "I do believe you owe me one then, Raylan," he says, and Raylan nips at his bottom lip, immediately soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Ask me again in the morning."

Boyd grins. "Morning's only a few hours off."

And Raylan chuckles, breath soft against Boyd’s mouth.

"Oh, I know."

find this fic on AO3 here:

[monako-jinn-stories]

Howzer X Fem!Reader FanFic

Rebels on the Run

Main Master List

Multi-part Stories Master List

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Chapter Four

The sun burns against your back as you squint to block out the sand blowing in your direction. A lot has been happening at the Imperial base today, and although it’s time to start heading back, you can’t manage to get yourself to budge. Something important could be happening, and you need to make sure you find out everything that you can. The only issue with staying is Howzer.

You have no way to contact him and ensure that you are alright. All that you can do is hope that he doesn’t get the urge to set out and start looking for you himself. You’re always back on time, you make sure of it, so only the Maker knows what he’s going to be thinking when you’re late.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself as you watch a patrol group head out. If they spot you, it’s all over. Your hiding and surviving will have been for nothing, and you can’t let that happen. “I really am going to regret this,” you sigh quietly before holding your arm out. The sand under your speeder begins to shake, and you watch as it disappears below the sediment. Before you make your next move, you scan the area to see where the troops have gone. “Just like I thought,” you mumble, noticing them beginning to sweep a wide arc in your direction. You quickly place your palms on the ground, focusing on burying yourself in the gritty sand, leaving only a small pocket for you to breathe in.

Silently, you wait to hear the sounds of their speeders go by, but as soon as they get close, they start to slow down. Panic sets in as you fear that a gust of wind might have uncovered your own speeder, but it isn’t possible with how far you’d buried it. Maybe they had seen you, and were about to uncover you-

“Just hurry up, Derrik. I don’t want to be reprimanded for being slower than those clones.”

“Oh relax, Scill. There’s no way we could be slower than those tube worms.”

“Yeah, but still. We’re already doing this because we got in trouble, and I don’t want to get in any more.”

“Alright, alright, I’m done anyway. Just let me zip up my pants and we can be off again.”

It takes a lot of self control not to reveal yourself and attack those troopers. You know the Empire is switching to nat-born soldiers, but to hear them talking so horribly about the clones makes your blood boil. But your safety is also a concern, and if you harm them, that could be all that’s needed to hunt you down. 

“I wonder if we could get them to send us out to hunt for that Jedi and clone Captain.”

“What? Who are you talking about?”

“That one Jedi, it was a woman. General of the 17th battalion, I think. They found her wreck site but there was no body. She’s gotta have escaped.”

“There’s no way she survived, I was there in the crew who found the ship. Some scavenger probably took her body.”

“But none of the ship’s parts?”

“Look, Derrik, I don’t know. All I know is that we need to get going.”

“The clone captain was Captain Howzer. He was a close friend of General Syndulla’s. I wonder if some of the Twi’leks helped him. Or if he’s with the Jedi.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not our paygrade, anyway. Now let’s go before we get in more trouble.”

When you’re sure that they’ve gone far enough, you bring the sand down around you and unbury yourself, doing the same with your speeder. You grimace as you look at your clothes, feeling the grit in your boots as well. “I don’t like sand,” you mutter, “It’s coarse, and rough, and irritating,” you continue to rant as you climb onto your speeder and start to head home, “and it gets everywhere. Especially here. I can’t imagine living on Tatooine.” When the words fall out, you feel a pang in your chest. You glance to the sky, watching as the stars begin to appear. “I’m sorry we failed you, Anakin,” you mumble to the darkness. “I wish we could have brought you home.”

~~~

When you arrive back at your hideout, you walk straight into the pond and fall forward, letting the water completely engulf your body. Only after you’re fully in do you consider that taking your boots off beforehand would have been a good idea. When you push yourself back up to the surface, you’re met with the concerned and shocked eyes of Howzer.

“Where have you been?” he immediately questions, “and what happened to you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, crawling from the water and plopping down on a rock, “there was just some interesting and slightly concerning things happening at the base. I wanted to stay for as long as possible, which led to me almost being discovered.”

“Is that why you looked like a sand monster when you came back?”

“Yes, I buried myself and my speeder in the sand to stay hidden. I think next time I’ll just give myself up. There’s sand everywhere, even in places I don’t know how it got to.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re alright,” he says, a small smile coming to his lips. “When you’re done, I have some spare dinner for you. I made it to line up with your return, but seeing as you were late,” he chuckles before shrugging his shoulders and walking away. 

You watch his retreat before pushing yourself up, clothes now clinging to you and giving you a chill. Water and sand pour out of your boots when you remove them, and you sigh as you find sticks to put them on so they can dry out. Afterwards, you grab the dinner Howzer had set aside for you, and make your way to your room.

“Mind if I come sit with you?” Howzer says from your doorway. You look up and smile at him, nodding before making room for him to sit next to you.

“How was your day?” you ask, and he lets out a sigh while stretching his legs out.

“Not the worst, but could have been better. I tried creating a single person game…it didn’t quite work out,” he chuckles. “I also tried planting, so we might have some new food in a couple weeks. Or I might not have done that right and we might just have to keep going to the markets.”

“The markets aren’t so bad,” you reply, “but I guess we don’t have many credits.”

“And no way to earn them,” he adds. You sit quietly for another minute, and you can feel his eyes on you as you eat.

“It’s good,” you say, confirming his silent question. His grin widens and you let out a small laugh of your own. “I’d say you might make an okay chef in a couple months.”

His expression turns to one of fake offense, and he lets out a playful scoff before folding his arms over his chest. “You know, you’re not much better at cooking.”

“But at least all of my meals are edible,” you retort with a snicker. He just sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes at you before turning away and letting a small smile return to his lips. You finish your meal and set your plate to the side before looking back at Howzer. His eyes hold a distant look, and his normally relaxed features have a new look on them. But you don’t let your mind linger on that for long, as the moonlight seems to be illuminating the scar on his chin. Slowly, you reach out and let your fingers brush over it, the action startling Howzer briefly. “Sorry,” you whisper, pulling your hand back.

He smiles and shakes his head, turning to look outside again. “No, you’re alright. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“The light makes it seem to glow.”

Howzer remains silent, his eyes trained forward, almost as if he’s focusing on something. You look out as well, curious to see if there is anything out there. Nothing but the walls of your hideout and the stars above them can be seen. “I was very worried earlier,” he starts to say slowly, bringing your attention back to him, “I worried that something had happened, that maybe you’d been caught.”

“Well, I’m safe,” you reply, not knowing what else to say.

He just shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly before opening them again. “They wouldn’t have killed you,” he mutters, “they would have tortured you, pried all the knowledge they could from you, used you as bait for other Jedi. Then they would have experimented on you, and only when you were a lifeless, force drained creature, would they have killed you.”

It’s your turn to be silent now as his words sink in. You’ve always had the suspicion that they might use you for something horrible, but hearing it confirmed gives you a mixed wave of feelings. You wonder if any of your friends have suffered at the hands of the Empire, or if they’ve remained hidden. Or perhaps they were all killed during Order 66. You shake your head briefly to clear those thoughts, not wanting to imagine all of the Jedi Order being slaughtered. “Did you ever see it happen?” you decide to ask, but as it leaves your mouth, you realize you don’t know if you want the answer.

“No,” Howzer responds, “but I heard of it. There was one Jedi, a Mirialan woman. They use a recording of her and manipulated her voice to try and drag the Jedi into a trap.”

“Luminara,” you whisper, fist clenching at the thought of her being used in such a way. “I suppose I would be used in the same way if I were captured.”

“Yes, you probably would,” Howzer agrees, “but I don’t want to test that theory out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I keep safe,” you promise him. 

He finally turns to look at you, and there’s a certain sadness in his eyes. It’s as though he wants to believe your words, but he knows he can’t. “You shouldn’t make promises that are out of your control,” he says quietly, “it’ll only make things hurt more in the end.”

“Right,” you reply, looking away, “I’ve already made too many of those anyhow. All of them were broken.” Another quiet minute passes before you speak again, and you still haven’t turned back to Howzer when the words come from you. “It’s getting late, we should get some rest.”

“Right,” he says, hesitating before standing up. “Well, goodnight, then,” he says.

“Goodnight, Howzer,” you reply, finally turning to him, “rest well.”

“Are you sure there’s something up here?” Howzer calls from behind you. You snap your head back and hold your finger to your lips, signaling him to be more quiet. Climbing up the side of a canyon is no place to be yelling, especially when your voice is easily recognizable as a clone trooper’s.

“No, I’m not sure. That’s why we’re climbing up to check it out,” you say after you help him up to your level. “We’re almost there, anyway. No sense in turning back now.” It’s only a day after your Imperial base scare, but you want to explore this place sooner rather than later. And there’s no better time to do it than when you don’t have any specific activities like going to the market or spying planned out.

“I guess you’re right,” he agrees with a sigh. “At least the path is easy from here.” You nod and start heading up a path along the side of the cliff. It’s almost as though this had been a former path taken by people before with how well it’s carved out and flattened down. Of course, it’s been worn away by the weather, but the remnants are still obvious. It’s exactly what you had hoped for. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that neither of us are afraid of heights,” Howzer jokes, which makes you freeze in your movements.

“Yeah, about that,” you reply, swallowing hard. “Let’s just focus on reaching the top, and not falling to the bottom.” A couple minutes later, you finally reach the top, and when you look around, your heart skips a beat. An old village long abandoned stands in a patch of trees, and you can’t help but wonder how long ago the people fled. 

“Looks like you were right,” Howzer chuckles, “this was a village before.”

“I’d read about it in one of the old books at the Temple,” you explain as you walk down the main path, “apparently this is where the most force-sensitive Twi’leks lived, before the time of the Jedi Order.”

“It doesn’t look that old,” he comments, peering inside one of the houses.

“It was still used for a while, mostly as a place for the most traditional of families to inhabit. They also happened to still be the most force-sensi—be careful!”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, a piece of the house that Howzer is currently exploring breaks loose and falls onto his head. You stifle a laugh as he wipes the dirt from his hair, glaring at you playfully in the process. “Could’ve used the force to protect me from that.”

“Watching it was way more entertaining,” you giggle back. “Now, come on. I want to see if the fountain is still here.”

“Fountain?”

“Yes, it’s a mythical fountain, said to be a replica of one on Dohbar. Or, I guess it would be the other way around, that Dohbar’s is a replica of this one.”

“Stolen traditions?”

“No, just inspiration. We incorporated our own traditions into ours. Or, well, I guess the Dohbarians did,” you clarify.

“Are you not Dohbarian?” he asks, his head slightly tilting in question.

“No, not by blood. I was adopted by king and queen Monako. My real father was from Coruscant and my real mother was from Serenno.”

“Ah, I see,” Howzer replies. “All I know about myself is that Jango was from Mandalore, and I was created on Kamino.”

“I’m sorry you had to grow up the way you did. Actually, I’m sorry about all that you’ve lived through. It’s not fair,” you say, “everyone should get to choose their own life.”

“Well, if it weren’t for this war, I wouldn’t have been created,” he shrugs. “Or if I still was, then who knows what I would have been used for.”

“You shouldn’t have to be used at all,” you counter.

“Well, unfortunately, it’s just how things have gone,” he says, “but it’s alright now. I’m free, sort of. As soon as we get off this planet, we’ll be able to do whatever we want.”

You purse your lips and nod, turning away so that he doesn’t see your conflicted expression. It isn’t exactly true that you’ll get to do whatever you want. You’ll both still be wanted by the Empire, and both will still have to keep your identities hidden. There isn’t much that you’ll actually be able to do without fear of being captured and taken to the Imperials. 

“I think I found the fountain,” Howzer calls, pulling you from your thoughts. You hadn’t realized you’d been just standing there, trapped in your endless cycle of thoughts and fears. You turn to see him at the end of the path, and you hurry to catch up. When you do, he directs you to follow as he turns and starts walking out of the trees. As soon as you break out of the cover, Howzer steps to the side to allow you to walk next to him. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you.

Crystal blue water flows out of the top of a beautiful fountain, with intricate designs carved all around. As you step closer, you recognize some of the symbols and patterns as relating to the force. Both the light side and the dark side are depicted, and even the unclear line of those in between. 

On another side, Twi’lek traditional art is pictured, and you let your eyes take it in slowly. While you don’t understand what it is, or the message it holds, you can feel a deep appreciation and respect for it. A pang hits your heart as you know Ahnimaka never got to experience her Twi’lek culture, and here you are, seeing one of the most sacred sites.

“This is amazing,” Howzer says, breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, reaching a hand out to touch the water. You shiver at the coldness of it, but feel a jolt of electricity as well.

“It’s almost as though this water has the force flowing through it,” you think aloud, “I wonder…”

You sense it before it happens, and act on instinct when it does. The ground starts to give away, and you jump back when it does. Howzer, however, doesn’t move like you do, and the rocks slipping away under his feet drag him down with them.

“Howzer!” you yell, realizing that he isn’t right next to you. You move to step back, but the ground nearly takes you down as well. “Don’t struggle, you’ll fall faster!” Howzer doesn’t reply, but he does as you say. The fear in his eyes tells you that you need to think fast. His body isn’t keeping still enough for you to grab with the force, and the rocks are also interfering with your ability. Panic begins to set in, and with each second you waste not acting, Howzer slips closer and closer to the edge. 

“I don’t mean to rush you, y/n, but there’s not much time left!”

You freeze then, looking directly at him before speaking. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you,” he confirms, meeting your eyes.

“Then I have to let you fall.” Shock and fear fill his expression while yours remains set. You understand how it sounds, but it’s the only thing you can think of. “Do you trust me?”

Howzer waits a moment, trying to grip onto the ground with a hand before the rocks slip away again. “Yes, I trust you,” he repeats. “I trust you, y/n.”

“Okay,” you reply, closing your eyes and taking a solid step forward. When you open them, Howzer is at the very edge, and you can’t ignore the feeling that overwhelms you when you watch his fingers slip away.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re reaching out as soon as it happens. With your solid balance and his clear fall path, you’re able to grab onto him with the force. Both of your arms are extended as you push yourself to securely hold onto him, lifting him back up slowly before taking a few steps back so he has solid ground to land on. When you open your eyes, his are waiting for you to meet them. The intensity of his gaze shocks you, and you lose focus, practically letting him fall into your arms. 

“S-sorry,” you mumble, scrambling to get back to your senses and step back from him. The feeling of him holding onto your hands suddenly makes itself known, and you both look down before you look away. You gently attempt to tug them from his grip, but his hands and eyes stay locked on yours.

Your breathing seems to hitch when you see him take a few steps closer out of the corner of your eye, and then you feel a hand let go of yours, only to gently cup your cheek. Heat rushes to your face at the feeling, and despite what you had told yourself weeks ago, you can’t ignore this feeling between the two of you.

“Your hands are soft,” Howzer says, still looking at the one he has in his hold. His thumb runs over it, fingers interlaced with yours. His other thumb traces your cheek, causing you to meet his gaze, although, as he speaks, his eyes flicker to briefly look a bit lower. “I wonder how soft your lips are,” he mumbles, and you instinctively dart your tongue out to wet them, the feeling of their dryness suddenly obvious to you. His eyes meet yours again, and you can read the silent question in them. You take a slight step forward, your own hand reaching up to his cheek, before you let your eyes fall shut as you lean forward.

Despite the two of you having been out in the desert for almost a month, if not longer by now, Howzer’s lips are surprisingly soft. Even his hand that holds your cheek doesn’t seem to be affected by the harsh conditions. Perhaps it’s due to the pond and being able to bathe, or maybe it’s something else. But all you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours, his body pressing into you, it feels natural. It feels heavenly. It feels right.

When you break away, your face feels even warmer than before. You can tell the moment had the same effect on Howzer, as he looks away shyly and clears his throat. “I, uh…I’m sorry about-”

“Don’t be,” you cut him off, “it’s okay. I-uh…also wanted…yeah.”

You look down as he scratches the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry about almost dying.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Sorry for almost letting you fall.”

“It’s okay, the force is weird,” he chuckles. An almost unbearable moment of silence passes between the two of you, and you decide to end it by clearing your throat and stepping towards him again. His eyes widen as his cheeks warm again, and you bite your lip nervously before closing your eyes and leaning in again. His hands find your waist as yours wrap around his neck, and the awkwardness falls away this time. You move in sync with each other, hands gently roaming as you take a step back, and another, until you hit the fountain.

“We should…get going,” you say, catching your breath as you pull apart from him.

“Right, yeah,” he agrees before glancing towards the village. “Or we could stay here overnight.”

“We don’t have any food with us,” you sigh, “otherwise I’d say sure.”

“Do you think there could be some around?”

“Nothing edible unless it’s from plants,” you say. “We can look around, but no guarantees.”

“Alright,” he says cheerfully, leaning in to give you a quick peck before his face erupts in heat again. “S-sorry. I don’t uh…know why I did that…”

“It’s okay,” you reply, giggling slightly, “I didn’t mind.” Howzer just gives you a shy grin before holding out his hand, and you gently place yours in it before the two of you begin to head back to search the village for food.

Maybe you were wrong, maybe there is time for falling in love.

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[deadandbeautiful]

have yall ever thought about how guzma met plumeria...like, i know they never talk about it in canon, like ever, but i have(?) a small take i think that makes sense on how they met in the first place !! pls excuse my shitty writing k thx cw: ab/se, ab/se mentions, both plumes and guz came from horrible homes, uhm references to thievery/mugging, some background all and all on how team skull's leaders came to be, uhm this isn't proof read or corrected mb

So basically, I think Plumeria found Guzma just after he ran away from home. Both were teenagers at the time, coming from stingy homes and bouncing place to place in order to survive. It was raining, and Guzma's wimpod just got attacked by some island challenger who was determined to let him know "bug types are weak!"

He runs Guzma through the mud, and leaves his Wimpod in critical condition. Guzma can't afford to go to the pokemon center without being ID’ed.

Second option was to go home, and by Arceus there was NO WAY in hell would he go back to that shithole.

He's walking through tall grass, afraid, wet, and fearing for his partner, when a young Plumeria calls out to him.

She's wearing a baggy hoodie, and is clearly out of sorts herself. She looks like she just got the snot beaten out of her, and originally she was planning to mug Guzma for everything he's got- my hc is that Plumeria was originally a thief to get by-

but then she can see Wimpod in his jacket, deathly critical, and literally she stops herself and drops whatever shes doing

Turns out Plumeria's Mom was a pokemon nurse

And you can imagine the two finding Po Town, this abandoned, walled off place that is full of crooks of all shapes and sizes

But they duck into the nearest place, the really old mansion, and Plumeria ransacks the pokemon centre next door

She does whatever she can to save Wimpod, without making conversation, and Guzma tries to thank her, when finally she shuts him up

"I didn't do this fer' ya. Yer' partner was in peril. If I EVA' see you with them like this again, I will find ya and BURY ya in the sand. Got it?"

anyway i just think they're neat!!! :) enjoy my dumb headcanon take lol

[scribbling-dragon]

Adaptive Nature Masterpost

This fic is complete! Started on 07/07/22 and completed on 14/02/23 - I hope you enjoy/enjoyed it!

(AO3 Link)

(total word count: 115,941)

Chapter 1

Summary:

It’s mesmerising, following the fluid lines of the sculpture from the neck to the tail, each detail so delicately carved and shaped it’s impossible to imagine that it’s been carved from stone.

He’s reached a hand out before he knows it, stroking one finger carefully along the raised spines of the dragon, along its back. It’s warm beneath his hand, despite all the stone around him being cold. It’s definitely some kind of stone though, maybe a refined obsidian of some kind? It seems to swallow the light around it completely.

His finger is warm where he is touching the statue.

---

Or, the mesa changes, and Jimmy changes with it

Chapter 2

Summary:

The stretch of sand ends about a hundred feet in front of them, stretching up in a sheer wall of rock and clay, blocking them off completely. There’s no exit, he’s just ended up in a larger version of the fishbowl. He continues to guide Arrow forward, towards the place he had felt pulled towards, breaking into a slow trot when it seems to be taking too long.

There’s something in the sand. Half-buried, just a corner of a massive structure sticking out.

Chapter 3

Summary:

“Yeah.” He nods, “Yeah, you still owe me a story, after all.”

“I do?” Pixl pauses in splitting the orange, directly down the centre, to look at him.

“The stag brothers.”

Pixl hands him his half of the orange with a sigh, disturbing the small lantern and causing the flame inside to flicker with the movement. “I told you that’s not my speciality.”

Chapter 4

Summary:

Pixl is at the settlement when he stumbles out of his tent the next morning, squinting and holding a hand up to block the sun out. He stands just beyond the group of tents, on the outskirts of the settlement. Pixl looks up as he emerges, raising a hand and waving it, just slightly.

He makes his way over, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in his head. He really needs to start drinking more water, apparently. The sun isn't helping either, in its state of fiery abomination hanging low in the sky. It’s just low enough to be shining in his eyes at all times, no matter where he looks.

Chapter 5

Summary:

“What was it in that cave?” He asks, directing Arrow between two tents and towards the shelter they've been staying under. “I've never seen anything like…that before.”

“I…” Pixl trails off, “I don't know?” He sounds worried, and that worries him, his heart beating a little harder as he dismounts. The shocks travel up his legs a little more harshly than before, knocking around inside his bones. It’s an unpleasant feeling, and he has to shake his legs out to get rid of it completely. “I have an idea of what it might be,” Pixl continues, slipping off of Bullseye more than dismounting and taking a moment to find his balance again, “But I'm probably going to consult anyone before anything- I told you about him? The friend on the exploration team?”

Chapter 6

Summary:

“Pixl!” Someone yells, shattering the peace of the library into several fragments. Some of the people hunched over desks near them glance upwards with a glare for him, eyes narrowing at him. He smiles apologetically, but it’s a lot more strained than he would have hoped and they continue to glare at him anyway.

“Over here,” Pixl nudges him as he walks past, and he follows, eyes trailing over the books, reading the small signs at the end of each row as they walk past them. Age of Gods I, Age of Gods II, Age of Corruption I, Age of Corruption II and Age of Corruption III. They pass a few on the Age of Empires, going up to at least XX, which…is a lot more than he would have expected from a civilization of over a thousand years ago.

There’s a man sat at a desk waiting for them, books and scrolls scattered across the table until he can hardly see the wood below. He perks up when he sees them, grinning a little more, tail flicking behind him as he leans forward. “Pixl!”

Chapter 7

Summary:

“This one too!” Tango yells, dropping a book down towards him from where he’s hanging off the shelves, climbing halfway up them to reach the ones he wants rather than using the ladder less than a few feet away.

It’s amusing to watch anyway, and probably the reason Tango chose him for this little adventure rather than Pixl. He jumps as Tango lands beside him, springing back up and hardly making a sound as he looks over the books he’s holding.

“This is why I brought you along,” Tango pats him on the arm, hand lingering for a moment as he continues to look at the books, “Pixl would be complaining the whole time, ‘oh Tango’,” he puts on a really bad impression of Pixl, “‘My arms hurt Tango, why couldn't you have brought that really strong Sheriff with you instead?’”

Chapter 8

Pixl doesn't say anything, mouth set in a firm line as he obviously disapproves of his decision. But he doesn't say anything, and he takes the victory, leaning back and releasing his hold on the chair, turning away. Pixl doesn't protest, but he doesn't need to in the end as Tango grabs his wrist, preventing him from walking away.

His hand is warm, positively radiating heat, and it does more to stop him than the admittedly loose grip around his wrist does. Tango’s barely holding him in place but he stops anyway, turning to face Tango. “Just stay the night, yeah?” Tango smiles at him, “It’ll save us all a bit of worry.” His eyes are almost pleading, shining in the flickering light of the dining hall. He can almost ignore how empty and ominous it is around them if Tango looks at him like that.

Chapter 9

“Of course I've got a med kit, Pix.” Tango rolls his eyes, shooting him a look, “Honestly, you forget it one time and suddenly you're the most irresponsible person out there.”

“One of the interns cried.” Pixl adds, running a hand down the bannister as they descend the steps. He feels his legs click with each step down, knees popping uncomfortably until they're back on level ground again. “And you had to go to the infirmary for several days.”

“So I paid for my mistakes,” Tango waves Pixl off, “I came out of it better though! And it’s not like I suffered any long-lasting effects from it.” He grins, tail flicking back and forth, and a lot more cheery than he would have expected anyone to be when talking about apparent near-death experiences.

Chapter 10

“It’s getting dark,” he says, deciding to break the tension that’s steadily growing between the two before they start fighting or something stupid like that, “I'm sure we can accommodate two more people for the night, especially now that I have a house. Apparently.”

He watches as Tango looks over at Pixl, narrowing his eyes at the other’s turned back before mounting Bullseye in one fluid movement. “You haven't got a bed,” Tango responds, watching with narrowed eyes as he mounts Arrow, ear flicking back as he adjusts his seat in the saddle. “And,” Tango’s eyes slide towards Pixl, “I'm sure there’s some things we need to be doing at the guild, right?” His voice is just a little too pointed for it to be anything but a request, watching Pixl carefully.

“I think we can stay the night in Tumble Town,” Pixl responds, and it feels like they're not actually talking to him as Pixl’s voice turns equally pointed, mounting Mist much more successfully than earlier, before turning to look at Tango a moment later.

Chapter 11

He sees the letters, perched on the very edge of his makeshift desk, and almost immediately wishes he hadn't. He turns away from them pointedly, staring at the other side of the room and willing himself to forget about them.

It doesn't work, obviously, and the thought of the letters lingers at the edge of his mind, nudging at him until he turns his head, glaring at where they balance, atop the pile of various other pieces of paperwork. He’s not sure which he hates more.

Chapter 12

“It’s ridiculous.” He doesn't care about the way his voice rises, nor about the way his chair screeches as he pushes it back. He ignores the eyes that turn towards them, glaring at him with the accusation of disturbing the peace within the library.

Chapter 13

Dawn is brighter than he expected. Which maybe shouldn't be something he had expected seeing as the place is called Dawn. The bright yellows, oranges and hints of pink were probably something he should have expected, or at least considered.

Chapter 14

"So," Tango starts, and he's shuffling in his seat, making the rickety wood groan as they look at each other from across the table, "Maybe we didn't explain everything particularly well last time. And!" Tango raises his voice before he can even consider laughing at the understatement. "I reconsidered and prepared. So I came with a few notes."

Chapter 15

The first thing he registers when he wakes is that his legs are still numb and that they ache in ways he didn't realise they could ache.

The second is that he can hear someone breathing.

The third is that something incredibly warm is wrapped around him, swaddling him in its all-encompassing warmth.

The fourth, and final, thing he notices is that Tango is the one breathing in his ear, and that Tango is also the one currently wrapped around him like a limpet. And also, his legs still ache, thrumming with numbness that warns of the incoming pain of pins and needles.

Chapter 16

“Come now, I'm not about to attack you two. It’d be bad for business.” He shakes his head again. “Can you even imagine the scandal? Ruler of Chromia gets into a scrap with two important figures from other empires in his own bar. It’d be disgraceful.”

“Wouldn't be the first time you've had a fight here.”

“No.” Scott levels Tango with a stare. “But you and I both know those ones deserved it.”

Chapter 17

When they arrive back in Tumble Town, there is someone waiting for  them. Pixl stands beside the stables, arms crossed and foot tapping  against the ground as he watches them approach. He looks every bit the  image of a disappointed parent watching a child return home after  missing curfew.

“You were  meant to return yesterday,” Pixl says, arms still folded across his  chest. “I understood that you might have been delayed and remained  elsewhere overnight, but I expected you back by midday today at the latest.”

“I understand,” Tango dismounts. “But we got caught up elsewhere-”

“In Chromia.” Pixl says. “I know.”

Chapter 18

Pixl leaves in the morning. Alone.

It is a pale morning, bordering on cold for the mesa. There is a wind ruffling the sands and sending the individual grains bouncing. These grains batter his legs and the sides of the houses as he and Tango stand, together, and watch Pixl leave.

Pixl guides his horse upwards and out of the fishbowl. The sound of the horse’s hooves echoes around, loud in the silence. Alyssa stands across the street from him, watching Pixl’s retreat too. Pixl pauses at the top, turning back to face them before waving. He waves back jerkily, swallowing down the anxiety that threatens to crawl up his throat. Alyssa looks at him, then, away from Pixl. She stares for a moment, before smiling, and turning to retreat back inside.

Chapter 19

“There is one place.” Tango says, tugging on his reins a little. His horse takes a step backwards, a little closer to him and Arrow. “Granted, we may be greeted with hostility, but it will be hostility of the usual kind rather than a supernatural variety.”

“Mysterious is not a good look on you.”

“I'm hardly being mysterious, though the person we’re going to meet is rather shrouded in mystery.” Tango nudges his horse around, until they're facing a little further north than before. If they continue going in this direction, in a mostly straight line with a little adjustment for any obstacles that may appear in their way then…

“Oh.” He’s a little surprised by Tango’s decision, hurrying to follow as Tango breaks into a gentle trot. It’s far more relaxed than their previous mad dash across the darkened land, set on simply getting as far away from the mesa as quickly as they could. The sun continues to rise, beginning to bathe the land in a warmth that will take several hours longer to actually begin settling in the air. “He would not have been my first choice.”

Chapter 20

"Right, full offense, but that is the worst, possibly the most horrendous, plan I've ever had the misfortune of bearing witness to." Scott snorts a laugh, tipping back slightly in his chair. It wobbles, balancing in the thin line of slamming forward or slamming backwards. He's not sure who he needs to pay to see the latter, but there's some part of him that would love to see Scott flat on his back.

Tango is eyeing him like he's about to shove the chair over, Scott and all, so maybe that's who he should pay to see that come to life.

"Do you have a better idea then?" He asks. Scott frowns at him, chair legs thumping against the ground as he lowers it back down, all four legs firmly on the floor once more. Unfortunate. He was beginning to debate the merits of pushing it over himself. "We're open to suggestions."

Chapter 21

And as all sparks burst into flame, so too must they die out.