#but usually its the tiny nonsensical ones

[zzeraphilm]

Fight For Me

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (GN) Word Count: 1,882 Part two Summary: Not every relationship is one to admire, passions and everyday lives will always come in the way of romance. But Kuroo Tetsurou only realises this a bit later than Y/N had hoped. After watching the HQ movie in theatres and being the only person in the cinema to laugh I needed an outlet 

The dumpster battle of the century. The booming echoes of Nekoma’s cheers sent shivers down your spine. Each hit of a palm to a volleyball resonated waves that shattered across the arena. Y/N sat slightly hidden from view of the rest of the Nekoma team. 

Prior to the tournament, Y/N saw it befitting to end their relationship with the notable volleyball team captain, Tetsurou Kuroo. Despite his sly and frivolous behaviour, the black haired mop head agreed with a robotic hum. Their time together was not as revered as one might seem. On the outside, the pair were known across the Tokyo school for their names would always slip from someone’s lips. Personalities so unalike and yet they were so in sync. 

Y/N did not want to burden Kuroo’s drive to win. Kuroo did not want to neglect Y/N. Days of no contact turned to weeks. Kuroo was always at practice till nightfall, Y/N was cooped up in their room studying meticulously for their university entrance exams. By the fifth week of no contact beyond school, Y/N had sent a message to Kuroo for the first time in over a month.

Meet me by the park, after practice. 6PM.

The park’s swing set was rusted from the skin of the bolts into the grooves of its spiralling metal. Y/N still kicked their feet lightly whilst perched on the wood awaiting for the captain’s arrival.

6:30PM. 6:45PM. 6:50PM. 6:55PM. 6:57PM. 6:59PM. 

Clumping running shoes came knocking towards the H/C haired figure on the swing. 

“Sorry, practice ran over again.” Kuroo Tetsurou was always the first to arrive at Nekoma’s practice and the last to leave. He decided if practice would overextend. He knew Y/N was waiting, but still only cared for the game. 

Y/N couldn’t help but think that Kuroo saw them as an afterthought. Despite their moments of hilarity and nonsense over the last three years, more often than not Kuroo would see his focus else where, usually towards the court. 

“You’d always say that.” Y/N’s tongue spilt a tiny drop of venom at the end of their comment. 

“It’s the truth.” 

With a huff, Y/N stood to challenge the boy. No, man. Even within a few weeks, he had been scarily evolving to a matured, aged version of himself. Yet Y/N never noticed the way Kuroo’s shirts no longer fitted him the same way, or the slight stubble growing on his chin and upper lip or how his cologne had shifted from a softer, powdery scent, to a peppery Oudh masked with a floral kiss. Y/N didn’t get to experience his metamorphosis from a boy to a man, he saw it with his brothers, his teammates, with volleyball. Y/N wasn’t the first person that Kuroo would go to over news about his life advancements. Y/N was merely a shadow. The awkward smiles that they had to endure whenever their friends mentioned their boyfriend of three years, acting as if they had spoken properly in the last few hours, yet in reality had only seen each other’s faces passing each other in the halls. Not even a hand brush or a light peck. Just stares that lasted mere milliseconds, that held no emotion behind them. 

Kuroo knew he wasn’t giving Y/N enough attention or time. He knew that the trajectory of his life at the moment was solely on volleyball and his studies. Dates, after school hangouts, good morning and good night texts no longer found a place in his daily schedules. His passion for the sport only grew further from the summer camp, where Y/N was abroad on holiday with their family. Which, selfishly, allowed Kuroo to solely think and breathe volleyball. He didn’t call Y/N every Friday night like he promised. He tried but all of his energy was directed in a laser beam towards the court. His heart would beat at exponential rates, each breath would feel like a stab in his throat and he could feel each pulsating beat from his heart pumping his blood throughout his body. It was torturous, yet so incredibly fun he wanted it to never end. Time would stop when it was just him on the court and a ball. But Y/N would never cross his mind. He wouldn’t realise until the next morning when Y/N would attempt some form of contact with a text, usually saying:

Good morning, enjoy your day. Don’t overwork yourself <3

The texts dwindled over time going from paragraphs of care and patience to blunt words of indifference to nothing at all. They both could sense the fading of their bond. They were just scared to see who would be the first to rip off the bandage. 

“Let’s break up. This isn’t working. We don’t have time for each other, it’s not worth the pain of being ghosts of each other and pretending to be okay in front of others.”

Y/N imagined this scenario multiple times before they’d fall asleep. Sometimes Kuroo Tetsurou would scream and wail, grabbing them by their shoulders begging for mercy, begging to stay together, begging for their love. Other times Kuroo Tetsurou would be the first to initiate the conversation, saying how he holds no feelings for them anymore, that there was someone else or some dramatic reason that would paint him to be villain in Y/N’s fantasies. Y/N clung to these thoughts, of a Kuroo Tetsurou that would fight for them, of a Kuroo Tetsurou that would plead for them or a Kuroo Tetsurou who lived up to his perceived image. 

Yet, Kuroo just agreed. Gave a small nod, a wave goodbye and walked off.

As Kenma desperately screamed to reach the ball, it was futile. The yellow and blue ball bounced on the polished court for nearly a second before the huddle of crows screamed in unison. Between the rival teams, Karasuno proved their victory. Y/N would only attend Kuroo’s games if it meant the two would get a bite to eat afterwards, usually at a nearby family diner. Y/N tried to learn the rules of volleyball yet couldn’t handle its quick gameplay. So volleyball felt empty without Kuroo. 

But this game was riveting, Y/N felt their soul boom at each spike and block. Despite having never stepped foot on a court beyond the Nekoma school gym, Y/N craved the illustriousness of the court. The despite to jump beyond the heights of giants and reach the sky, to slam their palm against the flying ball and hear the shattering screams of contact between the ball and the court. Y/N could finally see why Kuroo loved the sport. But, they could only see the back of his frame. They were sure that there were a few tears shed from his eyes. But Kuroo Tetsurou still upheld his Cheshire smile that brought those around him to laugh. As the boys hugged each other, shook hands and exchanged jokes. Y/N knew, they knew why this was more important to Kuroo than they were. They understood what it meant, but just because one can understand doesn’t mean that they aren’t allowed to feel resentment. 

Y/N did not harbour any ill will towards Kuroo himself, rather, they hated the choices that he took. He never fought for them, he never tried, he never challenged them. But most of all, he never truly included them in this world that he loved. Y/N could only see it from a far, from a screen or on the sidelines. Where once they left the world of volleyball, the pair would be in their own bubble, floating far away from those Kuroo considered family. Whether it was their childish adolescent calling for self-centred attention or their lack of understanding of one another. Y/N left the arena silently, returning to their isolated world of study, far from Kuroo Tetsurou. 

After three years, Y/N had achieved their dream of studying abroad in Australia for their bachelors. Their parents had agreed to help fund their masters back in Tokyo and Y/N had made their way back to their home country. Their time in the scorching sun and endless nights of parties, midnight assignment writings and the multitude of faces from across the world shaped Y/N into an alluring individual. They had shed the skin that they were trapped in from high school into a blooming butterfly in adulthood. They had everything aligned to the T, as per their promise to themselves when they were 16. 

Kuroo Tetsurou had not given up volleyball entirely. He used his wit and charm to weasel his way into the top of the industry, working aside the Japan’s Volleyball Association, meeting the best players in the world, scouting them and dinning with them. Of course, he had social media. No one in his field was a stranger to the Internet, every moment, every win and loss was recorded online and he had to know it all. Whilst scrolling one summer’s day, in between the break of the game he was sitting in, he stumbled upon them. 

Y/N L/N. His high school sweetheart. The one that got away. His biggest regret. His biggest loss. 

Kuroo only realised his heartbreak a year after their split, seemingly throwing himself into his studies and passions as a way to mask his mourning. He had gotten so good at busying himself with work and studies that he had forgotten the feeling of heartbreak. Until he craved it. When news of an internship he had wanted for months finally arrived congratulating him on his addition to the team - he wanted to tell Y/N all about it. He absent mindedly found his phone in his hands trying to find Y/N’s contact, only to find it erased. He didn’t need to think, it was like a jolt in his body had awoken, tears flooded his line of view. And for the first time in a year, after months of distractions, he cried for his lost love. 

Kuroo spent the whole night stalking Y/N’s socials, careful not to like them or accidentally follow them. He would stare endlessly at their selfies, photography of the cities they had travelled to and their wide friendship group. Nobody that he recognised. Their followers consisted of strangers to him. He hadn’t felt this empty since the night of losing them. In a drunken slurry of thoughts, Kuroo only saw his fingers dance over the follow button, he didn’t feel the pads of his fingers hit the screen.

It was only until the next morning, he saw that Y/N’s profile no longer existed. 

Their profile was empty, their bio did not load and with every drag, the page refused to load. A previous screen flooded with smiling faces and exciting milestones now replaced with a text merely stating the obvious.

User not found

Kuroo Tetsurou took it as his final sign to leave it. It was too late to reach out, to plead for another chance, it was too late to fight for something that was snuffed out years ago. 

[apollowhoo]

could you pleasee do a gravity falls one shot?

so basically Bill Cipher meets the youngest Pines member but they're like 3-4 years old. And basically Bill doesn't know how to react, he's all confused but also in awe. Make it fluff and i know it's going to be hard to write this as canon Bill Cipher so you can ignore if you want <33

Bill Cipher x Child!Reader (PLATONIC)

The forest surroundcing the Mystery Shack was quiet. Somewhere between dimensions, floating lazily, was Bill Cipher, his single eye half-lidded with boredom. His typical schemes to cause chaos were on hold, and for once, he was simply… existing.

That’s when he heard it—a soft giggle, light as a feather. Bill’s eye snapped open, immediately. There, standing among the wildflowers, was a small figure with messy hair, chubby cheeks, and a bright, curious gaze.

The youngest member of the Pines family.

His eye narrows slightly. A little kid, no older than three or four, was staring right up at him. Her tiny hands gripping a stuffed animal that seemed to be some kind of hybrid between a cat and a duck—perfectly nonsensical, just the way Bill liked things.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bill floated closer, his voice carrying its usual sarcasm. “A little ankle-biter out all alone? Shouldn’t you be with your oh-so-boring family?”

The girl tilted her head, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocence Bill found really weird. She didn't seemed scared. She suddenly reaches out, poking Bill with a tiny finger in pure curiosity.

Bill’s eye widened a little in surprise. Most people who encountered him would either scream, run, or try to strike some ridiculous bargain. But this little human? She just poked him like he was some new toy.

“Hey, hey! Hands off the merchandise!” Bill exclaimed. He wondered, why wasn’t she afraid? Why wasn’t she running? And why, in all his chaotic glory, did he find this child so… interesting?

The child giggled again, a bubbly sound that seemed to echo in Bill’s mind. She pointed at him with her free hand, her other continuing to clutching her stuffed toy close.

“Triangle!” she declared proudly, their voice high-pitched and filled with wonder.

Bill let out a bark of laughter, genuinely amused. “Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s right, kiddo. I’m a triangle, the best triangle you’ll ever meet. Got any other shapes in that little brain of yours?”

The kid smiled. They started babbling, half-formed words about god know what, pointing excitedly as if expecting Bill to just understand them. The demon was used to others feeling fear, but this… this innocent curiosity was something else.

“Alright, kid, slow down,” Bill said. “You think I can just whip up stars and moons like a party trick? You’re talking to Bill Cipher, not some street magician.”

For the first time in… well, forever, Bill felt utterly out of his element. He could outsmart the smartest, scare the toughest, and twist anyone around his finger, but this kid? She just saw him entertainig.

Bill hovered beside them, his eye following them every move. He had cought a small, harmless ball of light, flickering in and out of existence.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, kid,” Bill mumbled, though there was no more venom in his voice.

The girl just grinned, leaning her head against his triangular form as if he were just another friend, not a demon with a penchant for chaos. Bill let her, floating there quietly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

For once, he wasn’t planning anything. No schemes, no deals, no manipulation. Just a strange, peaceful moment with a little human who saw him not as a threat .

And for reasons Bill couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind it one bit.

[silenttrxxs]

-professor! choi san x reader

Exam season the hardest time for anyone, the days melding into one as you desperately try to pass your degree, even at the lowest grade it would be something. But you had a problem. A huge handsome problem staring you in the face every single day.

Your professor. Everyone was oogling… who could blame them really it wasn’t everyday a uni would employ such a fresh face, every other professor looking like they walked out a retirement home.

This one though, god he was something else, you’d just lost the previous professor something to do with being caught with drugs or something in the uni which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The day he walked into the lecture hall it seemed the world just stopped. The entire lecture feeling like it was going on forever and it was a welcome change to the usual mundane clock watching during the previous lectures.

A snap of his fingers in your face snapped you out of your days. Forgetting where you was for a moment lost in thought… well that’s what you told everyone but really you was trying your hardest not to drool. Watching his every single move. His voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine even if he was speaking about how plants soak up the sun and some other biological nonsense that you already knew.

“Y/N attention up here please, you’re day dreaming again… dont make me have to write you up. You’re already dropping below half the students here…” he spoke your face reddening as you looked up, trying to avoid his gaze, the white shirt and glasses not helping you one tiny bit. You crossed your legs and sat up more promising to pay more attention to the lecture.

He scoffed and watched the reaction slyly and smirked to himself walking back to his desk and leaning against it, concluding the lecture for the day and dismissing everyone.

“Y/N a word please” he spoke before you could reach the door.

turning around and looking up at him.

“Yeah what’s up?” You said gripping onto you backpack and trying to will away the heat spreading across your cheeks.

“What’s going on, why is someone as smart as you failing this course, you know im not just a professor i am also human and i believe its only fair to offer help when needed” san says, smiling softly and looking at you.

You shrug unable to explain yourself.

“Im disappointed in you y/n i thought you’d be better than this… dont play coy, i know I’ve got everyone oogling but i only have eyes for one person right now” he walks over his gaze falling down travelling over your face.

Your breath hitches at the closeness, you can feel the heat radiating from your body and his. Before you could utter a word you feel your body being moved, you knees against the cold oak desk.

“Sir what are you doing” you manage to whine out a little your excitement and arousal already dripping from you. The short dress you chose to wear leaving nothing to the imagination.

Your back arches as a hand is caressing your scalp, fingers dancing along before tugging harshly. “Just take this as a private lesson, maybe after this you might focus a little better..” san says his voice low and husky, his breath hot against your ear.

“S-sir, f-fuck” you moan out as you feel a hand dropping between you both, your dress lifted up, and panties now slide to the side, his fingers dancing over your now soaked core.

“F-fuck you’re dripping darling, is this what you day dream about huh? My fingers deep inside you, bringing you closer and closer by the second” he says, his fingers pressing into you, your body clenching around him with every word.

A whine leaves your throat before you could catch it, your body falling against the table, knuckles white as you grip onto the desk, trying so hard to ground yourself as the white hot heat envelopes you.

“S-sir p-please” you moan out, not sure what you’re exactly begging for but the way his fingers are curling inside you, and the grip on your hip driving you insane.

“Good girl, you’re learning… now I want you to ride me, I want to see how much of a good listener you are” he says his cock throbbing in the right restraints of his trousers. He fumbles with the zipper freeing his aching cock and sitting in his chair. Legs spread slightly, accommodating the way his cock was stiff, aching and red, leaking with precum.

You let your mouth hang open, drool forming as you take in the sight before you. Obeying his command you find yourself discarding your bag, your legs straddling him and your tight heat enveloping his cock. The sight is unbelievably hot. You throw your head back as you feel him throbbing inside you with every clench until you bottom out.

“F-fuck o-oh my god s-sir” you moan as you feel his hands on your hips again, his nails digging deliciously into your flesh. You movements being guided, a steady rhythm being created between you both. Before it’s cut short, a hand comes to your jaw, pulling you gaze to his face, his glasses slightly down his face… his eyes filled with pure primal lust as you feel him fuck into you, hips snapping as your skin slaps together, you’re dripping now you’re sure he’s coated in your arousal. “F-fuck d-don’t stop p-please oh… oh fuck” you moan out your climax approaching before it’s cut dead. Movements halted.

“Show me. Show me if you’ve learnt anything gorgeous.. I can’t do everything for you… you got to work for it” San says his body falling back resting against the chair, his gaze falling over your body, drinking you in with pure lust.

A scream leaves your body as you move almost instantly, your hips moving and bouncing on his cock. You feel him deep inside you, his cock throbbing inside you. Your hands on his shoulders, your gaze locked with his with every single movement. The room is filled with almost pornographic noises.

“G-good girl, finally… you’ve learnt well.. now… l-let me teach you something new” San says before lifting you off him, positioning himself behind you, your body bent over the desk before pounding into you again, his hips thrusting into you with so much force the pot of pens that were sitting there now discarded on the floor. You feel him lifting your leg up to rest on the table, the new position allowing him to fuck into you harder and deeper.

You let out a scream as a wave hits you, your climax approaching so fast you see white. The growl behind you signalling another wave to course through you. “F-fuck s-sir” you moan out as he continues his pace. Flipping you over and fucking into you harder his hand coming to wrap around your throat as he watches the way you come undone. Completely and utterly wrecked by his body.

“What have we learnt baby” he says thrusting into you with each word.

You’re done your mind completely blank of all thoughts, his got you under his control. Submitted fully to him.

“O-oh my god” is all you can manage to say. Your eyes rolling back as he squeezes your throat cutting your air supply a little, his hips snapping into you with even more force.

“Oh sweetness… your fucked dumb now aren’t you… not a single thought in that pretty little head” San says his tone condescending but my god is it sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your gripping onto him, tugging at his shirt.

“P-please I’ll be a good girl… please I’m gonna come again” you moan out your eyes looking into his, you’re voice laced with longing.

“S-sir please” you moan again as you feel him throbbing inside you, signalling he is also close.

His movements halt to a stop. A strangled whine leaves your body at the feeling. You look up. His eyes are half lidded with primal fury as he grips your hair pulling you and guiding you onto your knees.

“Only good girls get to come baby…” San says before standing over you. Stroking himself in front of you and releasing over your face.

“Now answer me darling… are you going to do better” he says. Looking down at you and smirking before fumbling with his trousers and sitting down on his chair.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances [2]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A massive thank you to the amazing @midgardian-witch for being the best and proofreading this nonsense and another huge thank you to the wonderful @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, choking, biting, hand job, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is getting his ass handed to him), swearing, Blue crying, p in v sex (Blue fucks another dancer at the beginning), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer.

Word Count: 2679

Rouged Lips in the Gaslight

Trixie was bent over the arm of the velvet sofa in Blue’s office, sharing its colour with the name of its owner. 

He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress himself or her. Just hiking up her short skirt (the same one she had been wearing for her routine half an hour ago) and pushing her underwear to the side while he unzipped his fly. 

She felt good, she always did. Warm, tight, and the sounds she was making alone, enough to make a porn star blush, should have been doing it for Blue. 

But they weren’t. And it was the fucking seventh time in barely two days. 

Every time he tried to get off it just didn’t work. He’d tried all the classics, combinations of his personal favourites, different dancers, different positions, different times of day, anything he could think of. 

He got hard, sure. Hell, that was the problem to begin with, he was horny. Fucking desperate to come. It just never happened. 

“Blue, fuck, please!” Trixie’s moans increased, getting louder as she neared her high. 

He picked up his pace, thrusting harder, tightening his grip on her hips and slamming her back to meet his; trying to satisfy that itch that just would not be scratched. 

He snarled, closed his eyes, and -  you with one hand on his throat and the other wrapped around his dick squeezing as you bit his lip until it bled. His blood on your mouth as you kissed him possessively, laying claim to him as he came; ruining him for anyone else. 

Trixie screams as she comes, snapping Blue annoyingly back to reality. 

It feels good, the way her cunt squeezes and flutters. Usually, that would be more than enough to bring him to his peak, to make him pump her pretty pussy full of him. He just can’t get there. 

He sighs in frustration, sweat on his forehead as he pulls out and quickly stuffs his painfully hard cock back into his trousers. 

Trixie breathes hard, a little dazed and shaky as she stands. There’s a little frown of confusion on her face, any hope that she hadn’t noticed Blue’s lack of orgasm quickly dissolving.��

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. But it does. 

“Get the fuck out.” 

His voice is hard and cold and Trixie doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He sits on his desk when the door closes and runs his hands over his face. This was getting fucking ridiculous. He was Blue fucking Jones for god’s sake. He couldn’t let anyone, especially you, one of his dancers, his property, do this to him. 

He breathed out roughly and stood again, his mind made up. It was just a little blip, nothing more than that. He just needed to show you who was boss, bend you over and fuck you until you begged him to stop. That would fix all of this. 

.

You sigh loudly as you finally find the correct gloves. They’re a deep scarlet, the only remaining matching pair that goes with the outfits of the seven other backup dancers. When Gorski told you they were in the tiny storage closet on the upper levels you had to bite your tongue to stop the groan that had threatened to escape. 

The storage closet was a mess to put it politely, random junk just dumped in there when there was nowhere else to put it. It was only because Blue had wanted Song Bird to have eight backup dancers for the routine, when for the past three weeks it had been seven. 

The gloves are a little battered, but nothing that would be noticeable to the patrons of the club, not when you were up on the stage anyway. 

You catch your reflection in the full length mirror that is jammed a little haphazardly in the corner. For a second the gloves in your hand look like blood. 

You put away the things you pulled out as best you can, not such an easy task in the mayhem mess, and turn to the door. 

Your hand barely grazes the cool metal of the handle before it’s wrenched out of your grasp as it’s flung open. 

Panic grips your heart and you visibly jump back just about managing to keep the little yelp of surprise that wants to escape quiet. 

And when your eyes land on the figure in the doorway, you’re more than glad you did. 

Blue glares at you, his eyes dark and shining in the dim light. He has a small, tight smile on his face. One of those practised expressions he wears at the club when he’s charming customers. 

He closes the door behind him, not taking his eyes off you and stalks forward, expecting you to back away. 

You hold your ground, annoyance fizzling in your blood at the gall he has to try to intimidate you and for a second you forget yourself. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He pauses mid-step, blinking before he tries to pull that mask of superiority back on. “That’s not a very nice way to greet me now, is it?” He spits. 

“What are you doing here?” You repeat, your tone firm and fierce, unimpressed by how he bristles and tries to square up to you. 

“I own this place, and everything and one in it.” He leans close, his hot breath hitting your face. “I can go wherever I like.” 

You hold his gaze for one long moment before you swallow and step ceremoniously to the side, planning to walk past him. 

Blue matches your step, blocking your path. “What are you doing in here?” 

You hold up the gloves. “For Song Bird’s routine.” 

He stares at your hands for a moment, picturing you in the backup dancers' outfits. His throat bobs as he swallows before he grits his jaw. He had to focus. Had to get you out of his system. 

“What do you want, Blue?” Your voice is firm and sure, covering up the spike of uncertainty that has settled in your chest. 

He pauses, finally glancing up from the gloves to your face. Though now that he is looking directly at you it feels worse, blistering to be under the intensity of his gaze. He licks his lips. “You.”  

You stay quiet. 

“Just you.” He repeats, taking a step forward and placing a hand firmly on your shoulder. He pushes you back into the row of hanging clothing forcefully and leans close as the gloves slip from your hand. “You know, I thought you were just a scared little Bunny I could have some fun with, but you’re not.” He growls.

You swallow, fear swimming in your stomach, mixing with a dizzying haze of emotion. 

“You’re… dangerous. A Lion in rabbit’s clothing.” He mutters, tracing his fingers lightly along your jawline. 

Instinctively you smack his hand away. 

He grins at your gall. “You know… I’ve hurt people a lot more important than you for less.” He whispers. 

“Then why don’t you?” 

Blue pauses, his expression frozen on his face like a tableau, a tiny spark of uncertainty flickers into life behind his eyes. “I don’t… want to right now.”

“Liar.” 

He scowls. “Listen-”

“No, you listen.” You grab a hold of him, placing your hand firmly over his mouth and pinching his cheeks. 

His eyes widen, darken as arousal burns along his veins. 

You have no idea what’s gotten into you, why you’re doing this again. He could kill you on a whim, a snap of his fingers and a flick of his head would be all it took for his goons to empty their clips into your chest. 

Still, it seems like you’re in too deep now to change directions. 

You push him back a little, giving yourself some breathing space. “You don’t want to hurt me because you want me to hurt you.” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing. His hands still at his sides, making no effort to even wriggle out of your hold. 

You lean a little closer, echoing his teasing tone from before. “You like it.” 

There is the tiniest hitch of his breath and it’s all the reassurance you need. 

When he doesn’t respond quickly enough for your liking you squeeze a little tighter, feeling the imprint of his molars through his cheeks as you nod his head up and down. 

“There we go, did no one teach you it was rude not to answer a question?” You loosen your hold on him, revelling in the red impressions left on his skin. It shouldn’t thrill you, shouldn’t excite you. 

You trail your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb over his plump bottom lip and he shudders, closing his eyes for a second as he fights the urge to grab your arm and pull you closer. 

Instead he darts out his tongue, swiping it lightly over the tip of your thumb and groaning. 

“Did I say you could do that?” 

The snarl in your voice makes his eyes snap open, makes him open his mouth for a frantic apology. 

The second his lips part you push your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm tongue to silence him. 

He startles, eyes going wide for a second as he grabs hold of your wrist instinctively. But the second his mind catches up with your actions he doesn’t pull back, only presses closer. 

He groans around your thumb, running his tongue along the length as he pushes his body flush against yours, grinding his aching cock against your leg. 

He’s so hard, throbbing as he rubs against you. A small whimper echos from his throat. 

You bite your lip, a wave of arousal washing over you at the sight. “You’re so pathetic, you know that?” 

He moans louder, frantically nodding his head as he thrusts his hips, sucking on your thumb for all he was worth. He squeezes your wrist, wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place. 

You pull your thumb from his mouth suddenly, smearing his salvia on his chin and grabbing hold of his throat as you push him back away from you. 

Blue whines, his forehead pinched in distress and hips bucking aimlessly, trying to seek out that delicious friction again. 

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You growl, loosening his tie and roughly pulling it free as you undo the top three of his shirt buttons. “Fucking pitiful.” 

“S-sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip as he gazes at you. 

You smack his cheek lightly and he groans, the sensation striking down to his cock like lightning. He’s dazed for a second as you manhandle him, too wrapped up in the feel of your fingers digging into his skin to even have one coherent thought. 

You twist his tie around his wrists, binding them harshly before you gather the last of the material and wrap it around your right palm. 

He gasps as you step behind him, your chest pressed against his back, and grab hold of his neck, pulling his wrists up in the process. The material digs in, makes his skin sing and fingers throb. It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Blue bites his lip again, trying to keep some of the obscene sounds to a minimum. He feels dizzy, lightheaded as you squeeze his neck and use your free hand to slide down his chest to his trousers. 

The amount of times he’d tied up others, whipped and beaten until they’d crying and begging and pleading. It had felt so good, so right. But this… god it was nothing compared to this. 

You sink your teeth into the side of his neck and he keens, his back bending. He gasps, shivers and tries to breathe deeply through the wonderful pain, but your grip on his neck tightens, pulls him back further under your control. And he nearly comes on the spot. 

You bite harder. Niping and sucking at his skin, only soothing with your tongue for the briefest moment. 

He squirms under your hold, pressing up against your mouth and whimpering nonsense. 

He cries out when you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers and unzip his fly. His heart thuds under your hand as you let his trousers fall to the floor and push his boxers down his thighs. 

“Please, oh god,” he whines when you squeeze especially hard on his neck and then gasps when you wrap your hand around his leaking cock. “Lion,” he stretches the word, rolls it around in his mouth desperately as you jerk your hand, your pace hard and brutal. He follows with his hips as much as you let him, tightening around his neck and pulling him back against you if he moves too much. 

“Lion, please!” He sobs. 

You break your mouth away from his bruised skin to hiss in his ear. “Look at yourself, look at how pathetic you are.” You tug his neck, forcing him to look at himself in the floor-length mirror. He lets out a sob as his own reflection stares back. How flushed his skin is, how desperate his eyes look. The way he barely struggles. How hard he is, leaking and throbbing under your hand. 

“Lion,” tears build at the corner of his eyes, “please.” 

“You’re wretched, despicable, barely worth the energy it takes me to make you come.” You sneer. 

And Blue screams. 

The knot in his stomach twists, liquid fire running along his spine as your words push him violently over the edge. He comes hard, spurting all over the floor. The force of it even hitting the edge of the mirror as he jerks and bucks and cries under your hold. 

For a moment it’s like he’s floating, light and far away from himself. Warm and safe under your touch. 

You loosen your grip around him instantly, worried for a second that he’s passed out and then silently hating yourself for enjoying that idea so much. 

He stumbles a little without your firm hold, but you guide him back to sit on the edge of a large box. 

He breathes deeply, spaced out as you slowly unwrap his tie from around his hands. His wrists are red, fingers off colour. He shivers slightly, his trousers still around his ankles. You pause, questioning if you’d be able to get him standing to do them back up without Blue falling over. 

Instead you turn to pull out a long, fluffy coat that had been used in a dance months ago to drape around him. 

He softly grabs your forearm as you turn, the touch a stark difference from earlier. 

“Please,” he looked up at you, his eyes hard and voice weak. “Don’t go.” 

The silence seems to hang for a long second. 

You swallow and take the coat off the hanger before wrapping him up. You squeeze his hand and move closer to him, intending to just stay a moment, but he grabs hold of your arms, pulls you closer still and buries his face into your stomach. 

He stays still for a moment, his fists tight as he hangs onto your shirt. 

You don’t know what to do, your hands hover in mid-air and… then his shoulders start to shake as he cries. 

“Hey, hey,” you lightly touch his head, running your hand through his short hair. “Hey,” you soothe and he looks up at you weakly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles between sobs. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squat down to his level and stroke his cheeks. There’s a whirlwind of emotions fighting in your chest. 

He shakes his head. “Did I… Did I make you angry?” 

“No, no.”

“Did I disappoint you?” His voice breaks at the last word, fresh tears streaming over his skin. 

You lean forward, kissing his lips gently, then his cheeks. 

He swallows, hiccuping from the sobs he’s trying to fight back. He kisses you back softly, reverently, his hands warm and gentle on your arms and back as he holds you close. 

What the fuck had you got yourself into? 

Thank you for reading!

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[delirious-donna]

Ghosts of the Past [Extra Drabble]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

an: I decided that it would be cute to write a section from the POV of the couple that Kento and reader meet in the museum. I’ve grown very fond of this couple and I hope you’ll enjoy this extra little piece of the story.

warning: none, SFW, fluff and humour

Series Masterlist

The museum was full of its usual hustle and bustle, even more so given the holidays, and it was a pleasure to be a part of the hubbub.

Felicity scanned the crowds with a keen eye, smiling at the energetic children—some more rambunctious than others—accompanied by parents trying to corral them into some semblance of order. She well remembered when her own brood were this age, and the hours spent in this much-loved building keeping them amused during school holidays.

A hand slipped into hers, more familiar than any other and Felicity squeezed the fingers of her beloved husband, glancing at him with a love that had never diminished even after all these years together. She counted her blessings for having met her soulmate so young, and for the family they had raised, as well as the fun and laughter they continued to share.

The pair perused the museum that they knew like the back of their hand, winding through the galleries and stopping to spot new artefacts and displays. This was still one of their favourite pastimes, there was always a discovery to make and even on days when it felt like they had seen everything the museum had to offer, there was always people watching to fall back on.

Much to Howard’s feigned disapproval, Felicity adored watching people. Since their children had grown up and flown the nest to build their own families it had become a ritual of sorts to indulge her social curiosities in public places such as these. There was something special about witnessing the complexities of real human relationships that scratched the itch far more than any TV drama or soap opera ever could. Friendships blooming over shared interests, young minds being educated through fun interactive education, families finding their feet with the addition of children in tow, tired parents happy to see their kids entertained to give them a moment of peace, and best of all, romance blossoming in the most unlikely places and ways.

Today was no different, with new delights to be found in every room, but it wasn’t until they neared the new photography exhibition did Felicity feel the buzz of excitement that often signalled a special find.

“You’re like a bloodhound, Flic,” Howard chuckled with a playful roll of his eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and secured his wife’s arm through his own.

“Pfft, nonsense. I’m simply drawn to where the universe wants me to be.” She didn’t believe the sentiment, but she’d be damned to admit he was right after all these decades together.

The pair admired a large mural of a cheetah made up of hundreds of thousands of tiny black-and-white images until her attention was drawn to the room by their left. There were only two occupants, a young man slowly edging around the room and an equally young woman resting on the leather seat in the middle.

Felicity watched whilst the young woman never took her eyes off the man perusing the photos on the wall. Her gaze was intent but there was a softness that infused her features with what appeared to be fondness. Perhaps even attraction? The young man, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to being the focus of the woman. His posture was stiff, hands clasped behind his back with a slight rock on the balls of his feet when something interested him.

If this wasn’t a budding romance, she’d eat her hat. Felicity tugged gently at the cuff of Howard’s shirt sleeve, nodding her head in the direction of the young couple and was met with a sigh of resignation.

“Leave them be,” he hissed, though there was no heat to his tone. Despite the words, he too began to watch as the young woman moved towards the man and started to speak. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but it was obvious after a moment that it wasn’t going well.

The couple watched on whilst the woman’s expression turned to shock then irritation. Whatever the man was saying, it wasn’t going over well, and when she strode off to the other side of the room, Howard could only feel sympathy for the young man. He looked genuinely perplexed, a hand scratching at the back of his neck as if the skin prickled from the exchange.

Felicity leaned into her husband to speak close to his ear. “Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” She chuckled, turning twinkling eyes up at him and he felt a swell of love wash through him. It did remind him of someone, himself, and the young woman would be Felicity, his Flic.

“He looks as baffled as I felt back then. You always seemed to be mad at me for something I didn’t even realise was wrong,” Howard admitted with a shake of his head.

“I was, though it hardly matters now. The only thing that truly matters is how he deals with it… will he turn on his heel or will he try to resolve the issue?”

It was obvious that the wheels inside the young man’s head were turning at an astonishing rate, but he wasn’t moving, and Felicity’s shoulders slumped sadly.

“Give him a moment,” Howard chastised, pointing towards the man’s hand. “Don’t you see how he wishes to reach for her?”

He was right. The man’s hand was stretching, reaching as if what he wanted was just out of reach. It dropped as quickly as it happened, but only because he took the tentative steps to move alongside his object of affection.

“I always reached out for you, just as he did for her. Maybe they’ll make it,” he whispered co-conspiratorially.

“He’s confused, darling. I don’t think he quite knows what he wants, only that he doesn’t have it yet. Come on,” she said, moving them towards the young couple.

The woman was near yelling, yet the man simply looked on in confusion. So badly she wished to grab them both by the ear and turn them to face one another. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife and it was like stepping into a memory of her past, familiar and amusing. Back then, it had been far from funny but with the advantage of hindsight and a lot more life experience, she could view it for what it was.

“Oh, Howard, look there. Doesn’t that bring back memories?” Felicity called loudly, pleased when the pair jumped in surprise at being interrupted. They jerked apart like naughty children, and it only strengthened her belief that they both wanted something more than their current situation.

“They say that couples shouldn’t bicker, especially in public,” she said with a slight laugh. “But don’t listen to such rubbish. Howard and I used to snipe at each other regularly, and we’ve been married thirty-five years.”

The look of utter shock on their faces, especially the woman, was worth it. Along with the stammered explanations that it wasn’t what it seemed, that they weren’t a couple. So that was where the problem lay. Felicity wondered if it was down to one party in particular, and her gaze strayed to the young man.

A quick assessment painted a detailed picture. Young, handsome, successful, affluent given the timepiece on his wrist but maybe too invested in his work? She couldn’t blame him; society expected all youngsters these days to chase after unrealistic dreams. A career wasn’t the only thing that mattered in life, and from the expression he wore, he wasn’t as happy as he made out. A nudge in the right direction might do the trick. It would be a shame to see a bright young woman slip through his fingers simply because he was scared to try to make it work.

“My dear, when you’ve been around as long as we have, you start to trust what your gut tells you. I won’t say anything else except to offer this one piece of advice. Don’t go to bed angry, and don’t wait to go after what you truly want.”

Felicity offered a kindly smile at the young man, his jaw slack at the offered wisdom. She patted the woman’s arm once more as Howard led her away, but only after he offered his own incline of the head at the man. There was compassion in his eyes, and she knew that it felt like he was staring at his younger self at that moment. She knew that because it was the same for her, a ghost of the past come to remind them both where they started and how far they had come.

“Do you think they’ll make it?” Felicity asked once they were well out of earshot.

Howard sighed, turning his head back for a moment before replying. “If he’s anything like me then he’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

“You old softie…”

Taglist: @actuallysaiyan @pseudowho @desiray562 @bloombb @markleeisdabestdrug @kentoslvt @threezzyo @themossiestchick @thejujvtsupost @ratmilk14 @levin4nami @sweetpo1son @dabislilbaby @fandomsfanficsfantasize @hotvinimon @ryomance @justmanu @w-emma-fil @orikuu @sutaagaaru @venjrnjrbhrr19

[shares-a-vest]

Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson vs. A Box of Condoms

wc: 2.3k | Rated: M | cw: None

Tags: Idiot4Idiot, Condoms, Awkward Sexual Situations, Laughter During Sex, Family Video, Robin Buckley, Claudia Henderson, More (Spicier) tags on ao3

The conclusion of this and this. Aka, Steve and Eddie are going to travel to the bone zone for the first time, only to find everything –namely condoms – getting in the way at every turn. Based on the STWG prompts, ‘Protection/Protective’ and ‘Crack Fic’, both selected by the wonderful @penny00dreadful. Sam, I hope you enjoy this silly saga in its totality (and I am also sorry for implicating you in this nonsense).

a/n: I’m linking straight to ao3 after this little preview of part 3 because it gets much spicier than what I usually write. There you will find the whole saga in full!

-🍌🍌🍌-

It isn't until hours later that Steve finally finds himself back in his bedroom, sitting at his desk naked and cutting open a condom wrapper.

The fifth, to be exact.

The last one in the box.

He has torn each one so far, cut into them one by one and burning through the almost-full box so quickly that he is beginning to panic.

He squints at his handiwork, bringing his mother's teeny-tiny sewing scissors (a third kind he has tried) up closer along with the wrapper.

They should have done this when there was still some light out. Steve can't see shit under the dim light of his desk lamp.

But after they bolted out of Family Video and got back to the house, it was nearing dinnertime.

So Eddie ordered a pizza. Then they ate that in almost silence at the kitchen counter, before retreating to the living room where they made out on the couch for long enough that the house became shrouded in darkness. Then, Eddie wanted a shower and Steve felt the need to get rid himself of his pepperoni breath.

But once Eddie exited the ensuite bathroom with nothing but a towel protecting his modesty, all that tension built back up as all other evening distractions melted away.

Continue on Ao3

[forager-m]

Songbird [Drabble]

Ship: Dr Ratio/Aventurine (レイチュリ)

Premise: Dr Ratio and Aventurine have been cohabiting after the events of Penacony. The arrangment brings many delightful discoveries; including that Aventurine likes singing to himself while doing chores.

[Aventurine sings to himself. Ratio can't help but to join him.]

🛁🎲

His morning goes like this:

He wakes to the opal sky, as the sun draws its golden chariot across the clouds. From outside, the birds song reaches him faintly, and the whir of civilization slowly stirs; machinery, vehicles, people, all coming to life as he is. His mind awakens first, even as his eyes stay heavy and closed, bursting with plans and reminders of the day ahead: he has to brush his teeth, fix his hair, do his morning workout, get started on breakfast, feed the cat cakes, grade papers, and then...

And then he opens his eyes, turns, and then he wastes the morning staring at the way Aventurine's hair flows and spills over the sheets like a golden waterfall; all soft curls and precious locks. He's nestled in Veritas' arms and stretched luxuriously in the warmth of their home like a spoiled pet. His resting face peers over the blankets, while the rest of him is covered - leaving only suggestions of subtle curves and warm flesh.

The cats awaken and begin scratching at the door. The sun has finished its descent, and it slowly pours in through the windows. Then, finally, Aventurine makes a soft little noise, opening his eyes. Blinking once, twice. He leans into Ratio's touch, then yawns. Veritas watches, appreciatively, as Aventurine rises from the sheets. The blankets pool around his waist and thighs. He looks like Aphrodite emerging from the sea; the birth of beauty itself.

"See something you like?"

The noise strangled out of his throat was a mix of a cough and a scoff.

"Nonsense."

"Mmm... so mean, won't you indulge me a little?"

He sits on his thighs and stretches his arms above his head. Ratio notes the new softness padding his belly. A sign of good health and recovery, one part of him says. The other half says something along the lines of that will feel nice in my hands before he violently cuts it off.

"Any more indulgence and not a single productive thing will be done today, Gambler."

Aventurine laughs. His voice is as clear as water running over a spring.

"Ooh, so scary! Don't threaten me with a good time, I know all sorts of indulgences that could keep us preoccupied, doctor~"

"You-!"

Aventurine pecks his cheek loudly, before wiggling out of the sheets and making a run for the kitchen, his giggles echoing behind him.

Ratio holds his head in his hands for a while, trying to will away any strange urges; violent or otherwise.

After a while, a waft of eggs and coffee fills the air. Ratio quickly goes through his morning routine, and by the time he's done, Aventurine is still preparing the food. As usual, he's prepared Ratio's portion first - a much bigger plate packed with scrambled eggs, toast, and a salad consisting of lettuce, tomatoes, and the leftover dressing that they've kept in the fridge. A cup of coffee's already there - sweetened with just a bit of stevia, just the way Ratio prefers it.

Aventurine is a surprisingly competent cook. Sure, he needs to pull up a recipe from his phone, but needing a bit of guidance doesn't detract from one's excellence. Having the freedom to cook what he wants also seems to improve his appetite, something Ratio is pleased to see.

He takes just a brief moment of appreciation; to appreciate the breakfast spread, of course, and certainly not the way that apron is tied perfectly around that slim waist, before he takes out the fruit and seeds from the fridge. Cat cakes, while sharing the name of domestic cats, do not have the same diet as them. Ratio calls out for them, and soon enough, three little cat cakes meow and sprint towards him with all the power in their tiny little paws.

"Make a wish into the well..."

"That's all you have to do..."

"And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true..."

Ratio feels his breath come short.

This, too, is something he's used to Aventurine doing. But he's not really used to it yet.

Aventurine loves music. Sometimes Ratio watches him as he sways to some soft tune known only to himself, dancing barefoot in their living room. He likes singing to his plants, because even after everything, Aventurine still had so much love to give, and taking care of his 'babies' made him so very happy. He likes to strum his guitar and come up with songs about anything or nothing at all. Once, Ratio caught him singing sweet silly nonsense to their cats, which he recorded and uses as leverage against the gambler whenever he could.

This was a boy made for laughter, song, and dance. Ratio wants to rage at the world for all that's been done to him.

"I'm wishing,"

"For the one I love."

"To find me -"

"Today!"

His voice is so lovely. There has never been a sweeter thing.

"I'm hoping,"

"And I'm dreaming of -"

"The nice things..."

"He'll say!"

Aventurine hums under his breath. Pretty little 'la la la la la's fluttering like bird wings. Quietly, Veritas walks to him, until his hands find his waist and Aventurine's body is plush against his own. He rests his chin on Aventurine's head, and can't help but to echo his song bird's melody.

"Im wishing, "

"... Im wishing..."

"For the one I love -"

"To find me -"

"To find me,"

"Today..."

"Today."

Sorry this is so self indulgent.

The song is I'm Wishing" from Snow White

I think both Ratio and Aventurine are amazing singers. Just imagine the soft duets they could do.

Also yes they deserve to be soft so. They are soft. And married. (They just dont realise it yet.)

[veinsfullofstars]

⭐ Memories of friendship ⭐

(ID: Kirby series fanart, Childhood Friends AU, featuring young Dedede, Meta, Para Dee, and Bow Dee hanging out and interacting in various cute and silly scenarios. More detailed descriptions and bonus headcanons under the cut. END ID.)

Just a buncha li’l guys. The littlest of lads. I could literally fill pages with all the wholesome slice-of-life nonsense I have in mind for these kids (and maybe the smallest touch of angst, too, but that’s for later). Also might’ve made DDD’s overalls a little brighter to match his coat in the future. Also made refs for Para and Bow.

UPDATE 03/11/24: Added a few misc. details.

Sketches started btw 11/23 and 12/23, render started 12/13/23, finished 01/07/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/08/23.

—

Image descriptions

Top-left: Meta carrying DDD by his hands and lifting him (with great difficultly) into the air (probably only a few inches off the ground), the latter laughing happily and kicking his feet, the former grimacing with effort and flapping his little wing as hard as he can.

(HC: Even at a young age, Meta is built more for dexterity than strength, and DDD isn’t exactly as light as the rest of his buddies - not that it stops either of them from doing something dumb in the name of a dare.)

Top-middle: Meta and Para holding open a large book between them (the image of Planet Popstar on the cover), reading and discussing its contents (as indicated by a wall of blue and green “Blah”s behind them), while Bow (slumped on Meta’s side) and Dedede (reclining back on Para’s side) are both fast asleep from boredom.

(HC: Needless to say, Meta and Para are huge nerds, often seen checking out half a dozen books at at time from the local library and finishing them before the week is out. Bow and DDD try to be interested, but they just don’t have the attention spans for huge walls of tech jargon and dusty old history.)

Top-right: Para floating with his parasol (patterned the same green-and-brown plaid as his bowtie), sweating and kicking his feet wildly, looking down in terror; Meta hovers nearby on his wings, looking on in surprise at his panicking friend.

(HC: Despite his proficiency, Para rarely uses his parasol for anything besides keeping himself dry in the rain. He is deathly afraid of heights and has gotten himself stuck in trees more than once thanks to his buddies’ daredevil antics.)

Middle-right: Bow - angered by something off-screen - furiously kicking and flailing about, her face red with rage, as DDD casually holds her up off the ground by the top of her head, looking annoyed and bored.

(HC: It doesn’t take a lot to set Bow off. Despite her tiny size, she can be an absolute terror when she’s upset about something, and the boys know this well. DDD is often the one to hold her back when she gets too rowdy, a role he’s not particularly thrilled to have. Stars help anyone in her line of sight if no one’s around to calm her down.)

Middle: Meta and DDD sitting side-by-side, the former in a rare excitable mood as he fidgets and chatters on about all kinds of things (indicated by several word bubbles with images inside, including ice cream, swords, bats, planets, stars, rockets, and Galacta Knight’s mask); DDD listens with surprising patience, a fond (if somewhat exasperated) smile on his face.

(HC: Meta is usually a very quiet kid, his silence filled by DDD being his typical boisterous self. Sometimes, though, when they’re just hanging out by themselves, Meta will find an opening - usually provided by DDD - and go off on tangents as random and hyper-focused as his more talkative buds. Not many people get to see him this animated or comfortable, and DDD - who’s seen them the most - cherishes these moments, even if it’s embarrassing to admit.)

Bottom-left: DDD dashing to our left, a determined grin on his face, as his friends ride Piggyback on his back - first Meta, wings out and free arm waving in excitement, then Para, clinging desperately to Meta with a look of panic on his face, and finally Bow, hanging off of Para and laughing merrily.

• (HC: DDD is always dragging his friends into one crazy scheme or another, usually at a full-tilt sprint and without much forethought beyond “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Meta is often swept up in the excitement, too curious and eager to learn to worry much about danger. Para is the embodiment of “I don’t know about this, guys…” but too lenient to really stop them. Bow will literally follow the boys off of a cliff as long as there’s fun to be had.)

Bottom-right: Bow, DDD, and Meta sitting in the grass surrounded by butterflies (their bodies black and wings white with dark edges, save one in the back with yellow wings rimmed in orange and red). One lands on DDD’s beak, and he pokes at it curiously, staring cross-eyed. Bow trembles behind him, staring at the butterfly in watery-eyed terror over his shoulder. Meta tilts his head to look at her with an expression of bemused concern, a butterfly settled on his foot.

(HC: Bow will tell you she isn’t afraid of anything. In many cases, this is true. She will routinely stare down threats ten times her size and promise to beat them up on the spot before someone more rational pulls her out of harm’s way. But, if there is a bug anywhere in her immediate vicinity, she will absolutely run for the hills. DDD used to tease her about this, hiding bugs in his hands to scare her. He stopped as soon as she started panic-smacking him.)

[fleouriarts]

sketchbook duuuuump :3 nothing to do in this town AND my stylus isn't working its a perfect storm for filling this thang up

descriptions and such below

feel like the fursona ones are self explanatory. the rileys are basically all inspired by this person's compilations... if you havent seen the clip that the bottom corner drawing is from please do yourself a favor

this was all development shit for the zakharovs who i posted last week. sergei is igor's former childhood friend who i have not come up with much about yet... all i know is he is also a fashion designer (who makes winter clothes specifically) and he has an illegitimate son named nikolai who is an arctic fox (and who i have not drawn yet)

omg okay so if anyone remembers my last sketchbook dump i introduced this character andre in there (and her name was andres but i changed it to andre bc i like it more for whatever reason). anyway ive been drawing him OBSESSIVELYYYYY and have decided that him and null get together at some point after argyle and jamie make up (i desperately need to make a jamie and co timeline post)... but it lasts like one semester and thats it. andre is too vain and too know-it-all for null's tastes even though shes like super hot and nice otherwise. anyway this is just a bunch of drawings of him. i really like how the one of him in my INSANE hat turned out

santiago and null's joint slay... both of them LOVE to gossip with each other and its instrumental to how jamie and argyle make up (will go into detail when i finally figure out all the actual events of that). also andre and null on a hike bc andre is a biology major. i actually drew that while i was on a hike in red rock canyon heres proof

5. mostly just scribbling trying to get better at drawing santiago including more of him and null and his prime Jamie Comforting Tactic of just letting him chill between his wool and sweater. also two drawings of jamie just 4 fun i draw him and his stupid big eyes whenever im out of ideas

6. idk this is just silly stuff. i draw johnny manhandling jamie a lot and i promise you jamie LOVES being treated like a stuffed animal he thinks its SO FUN to be spun around and wiggled and shit. ferret adjacent. him and johnny have been friends since they were in like elementary school because of this. btw santiago does not usually look like that (only having wool on his head) he just has to shear his wool in the summer because having full wool in the flurrida heat is AWFUL

7. comic i drew at the laundromat LOL. takes place either shortly before OR shortly after andre and null get together. johnny mostly hates andre for being with null (shes jealous) (she wants null all to herself even though shes super noncommittal) (johnny get your shit together) BUT ALSO andre being kinda pretentious makes her want to chokeslam him. andre is talking about bird farming specifically because johnny's family are chicken farmers... ive had a lore post about everyone's families in my drafts for months but i cant finish it til my stylus is fixed TT

8. more nonsense. top left corner is a continuation of johnny being a hater. bottom drawings are just mindless jamie doodles. top right is argyle and jamie during their relationship, i cant decide if jamie had REALLY short hair during it or hair like this that's basically just his current hair without the yellow dye and tiny ponytail. whatever

[hadesrise]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐈𝐍.

summary ➳ you’re sinfully divine, an addicting drug no rehab could fix. it’s not like mickey wanted to, anyway.

pairings ➳ mikhailo “mickey” milkovich x male reader

warnings ➳ nsfw content, foul language, top!reader, bottom!mickey, attractive nerd reader (with glasses n’ shit), rough sex, choking, praise kink, degradation if you squint, pet names, size difference, reader’s a freaking giant with big dick lmao, slight possessiveness, belly bulge, dumbification, dacryphilia

author’s note ➳ mickey milkovich brain rot. also tumblr quality being shit 😠

MINORS & FEM READERS DNI !!

Mickey found himself unable to keep his eyes and hands off of you. He would convince himself there’s nothing to the way he stares at you from across the room, how his eyes would cloud with unspeakable lust as they run along your tall frame, checking out every hidden muscles he knew was underneath your slightly oversized clothing, how he unconsciously licks his lips when you tilt your head back and stretch with a tiny moan of satisfaction over the cracking back bones leaving your lips.

He convinces himself he isn’t into you.

At least, he does in daylight. But when the sun falls and moon rises instead as the sky darkens into a midnight blue, those denials and convincing ends up disappearing into the void within his mind, thoughts consumed by you alone. Your low voice as you speak praises and degrading words to him simultaneously, your hand wrapped around his throat and squeezing while the other grips his hips and no doubt leaving bruise, your hips thrusting relentlessly at a speed he didn’t know you could muster, your fucking cock that’s long and thick and hits every right spot.

There’s a little sense of triumphant in him, the knowledge that only he could ever see you like this — so rough, so dominant, wild, like a beast had been freed from its chains. Your usual angelic demeanor and personality drastically changing behind closed doors as you slowly pick him apart piece by piece, the want and need to break him flashing itself dangerously in your dark and lustful eyes, sending waves of thrilling excitement throughout Mickey’s body.

You had him bent over the cold desk, his wrists pinned to the surface by one of your big hands as the other held his hips in a bruising grip, roughly and relentlessly thrusting into him that had him moaning loudly and spurting series of curses and nonsense words. His hole still tight and almost sucking you in despite how used it already was being a proof that you managed to rearrange his guts into the shape of your own cock, making them perfectly fit against each other.

“(Y/n)— Oh, oh, fuck!” Mickey cried out as you continuously rammed your dick in him, keeping a steady rough pace, grunts leaving your lips once in a while. He had already came three times, the side of the desk stained in his cum and dripping down to the floor, his legs trembling from the overstimulation.

“Take it so fucking well, Mikhailo.” You nearly growled, punctuating your words with strong thrusts that had him seeing stars, your cock reaching deep into his guts with each snap of your hips. “Taking it like a good slut, letting me use your cunt whenever I want...” You let out a dark chuckle, sending shivers down his spine.

“More, please,” He whined and arched his back, both hands gripping the edge of the desk, not even struggling against your tight hold on his wrists. Surely, there would be a hand-shaped mark around them once you’re done with him. “Deeper, fuck, wanna feel it poking my fucking stomach, pleasepleaseplease,” Brain too fucked out to think coherently, Mickey babbled and pushed his ass against you, moaning.

“Look at you,” You whistled, leaning over to lick the back of his ear, making his hips jerk. “So fucking pathetically drunk on my cock. Almost want them to see what a whore Milkovich you are.” The whispered humiliation going straight to his brain and cock, you felt him clench around you as he mewled, tears spilling from his pretty little blue eyes. Even your words alone could make him feel this euphoric, almost cumming right then and there.

Mickey could never get over how you drastically change between morning and night — so divine and angelic in the morning with your hands reaching out to people in need of help, gaze soft and welcoming as melody of kindness and warm heart spill from your lips. You’re soft and warm, practically the epitome of peace with how everyone finds themselves relaxed around your presence. The sunlight creating an illusion of halo above your head. Light colored clothes and round spectacles adding more emphasis to your gentle tall giant persona. However, at night, you pull off that kind and perfect mask only to Mickey, soft smiles turning into cocky or arrogant grins and smirks, atmosphere entirely changing to that of lust and filthiness as your lips speak sinful words that never failed to make his head spin and heart jackhammer against his ribcage. You’re sly and arrogant, and too proud, to say the least. Very very prideful due to the knowledge that only you can manhandle, use, and ruin the Milkovich. An angel suddenly morphing into a sinful being.

He couldn’t get fucking enough of it despite the internalized homophobia tightly attached to his soul.

But with you, he doesn’t have to think about that. Insecurities that are drilled into his mind being pushed back by your sole presence; he doesn’t have to be afraid of being feminine or not matching the Society’s gender stereotype, because with you, he can be weak, vulnerable, good. There’s no toxic masculinity to hold him back.

Mickey was fucking addicted to this angelic sin, and you sure as hell felt the same even though words of confirmation never left your lips.

His mind started to go blank as you angled your hips to adjust your cock inside him, wanting to make sure it perfectly hits his prostate, before abruptly snapping your hips to his. Mickey cried out, nearly screaming when you started going deep and fast on him, the roughness of your thrusts making the desk almost move with each movement. “Oh! Ohhhh, fuck! Ahgh, mm!” His moans were loud, you’re sure the neighbors heard it. The stinging pain of your big fucking dick stretching him more open with each drag of your hips causing him to see stars in pleasure.

“Come on, baby,” You cooed, a big contrast to your relentless pace fucking his brains out. “You can take it more.”

Mickey whines, throwing his head back and eyes rolling back to his skull when you sink into him deeper, he could feel his stomach bulging from the thick and big size of your dick. “F-fuck, too deep... Yesyesyes, please, (Y/n), fuck— Fuck me more.”

He fucking loves it, the way your massive size and height never fails to have complete control over him. How your big body traps him between you and the desk, figure towering over him; it makes it so fucking easy for you to assert dominance and manhandle him however you please. He loves everything about you and your large frame.

“You love it, don’t ya? Having my cock so deep in you that it’s pokin’ your stomach? Ruining you, fuckin’ you dumb?” You chuckled, fastening your pace as uncontrollable moans and whimpers fall from Mickey’s lips. His mind in a daze, drool dripping from his open mouth that long forgot to close itself, fat tears running down his cheeks, the euphoric pleasure becoming too much.

“Y-yes, oh my god!” Mickey moaned, nodding his head vigorously. “Love—love it so fucking much,” He stuttered as another broken moan slips out.

You hum appreciatively, “Pretty little slut.” Leaning over him, your hand reached over to his throat and squeezed, earning a guttural moan from Mickey as his hole clenched tightly and his cock twitched. He tilts his head back and allows you more access to his throat, which encouraged you to squeeze more until he became light-headed.

“F-fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum, gonna cum,” Mickey breathlessly cries out, legs shaking violently as cum spilled from his rapidly twitching cock, vision seeing white and mind going absolutely dumb.

Groaning, you cursed quietly and let go of his wrists to grip his hips with both hands, continuing to pound into his oversensitive hole and ignoring his sobs of stop i just came, followed by screams of pleasure and overstimulation. He’s so sensitive it hurts, but he didn’t want you to stop despite his pleas to. He wanted you to use him, be your cum dump until you’re satisfied, wanted you to fill him to the brim and feel the white sticky cum dripping down his legs. He wanted you to take your frustrations out on him. He wanted to be your toy.

Mickey knows you know that. You know how he feels and how he thinks. It made excitement course through his veins, knowing you’re willing to fulfill every bit of his unspoken desire. You were angelic like that.

“Such a good boy,” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and making goosebumps rise on his skin. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you? Let me fuck you ‘til I’m satisfied like a good boy, hm?”

“Yes, yes,” He nodded dumbly, slamming his hand against the desk and arching his back. You snapped your hips harshly, which made Mickey’s eyes roll back into his head as he came once again with a guttural moan, painting the side of the desk with his seed.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” You groaned, slamming your dick into him mercilessly, uncaring of how Mickey’s legs were giving up as your hands are the only thing that kept him up. His toes curling, nails scratching on the desk’s surface, sobs wrecking through his body. God, you were fucking ruining him. It made you shiver with sadistic thrill. Your thrusts slowly becomes sloppy with your own orgasm getting near, cock twitching inside him.

“In me, fuck, in me, please.” He whined, reaching back to grab your hand that was gripping his hips.

A grin spreads across your face and you intertwined your fingers with his, “Of course, sweetheart. Wouldn’t cum anywhere else.” You thrusted harshly a few times before burying your cock completely inside him as the orgasm hits, filling every bit of him with moans erupting from your throat. Mickey mewls, followed by a whimper, feeling the warmth inside, face showing absolute bliss. He touches the formed bulge on his stomach while letting out soft moans and whimpers, seemingly in trance.

Thrusting sloppily to ride out your high, you press kisses on his back before sinking your teeth on his shoulder to leave a bite mark. Mickey’s hips buckled, moaning.

“You’re mine, Mick.” You mutter in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “No matter how much you deny, you’re mine. And at the end of the day, you’ll always come back to me, begging to be fucked and stuffed full.” Wrapping your hand around his throat again, you squeezed lightly as Mickey whimpered at the possessive gesture. “Can’t escape me forever, sweetheart.”

Mickey closes his eyes, humming and melting against your body, the denial dying down deep within his mind, looking almost in content.

He wouldn’t dream of it. You’re an angelic sin he could never repent of.

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[cupidsworstcrime]

House x Veteran Fellow nonsense

My brain is tiny, and I've had this sitting in my drafts forever. I might add to it if there's demand, but I don't know lol!

summary/blurb: A new fellow gets hired, shit SWIFTLY hits the fan.

note: its dual POV cause I love house. Word count: 4759

~~~~

Liliya

Being a marine is usually just something that happens when you have a military family. Both parents, grandfathers, great grandfathers, all military. It’s just something that you grew up comfortable with, you expect it, you don’t have any other life plans because you were born to serve. But now I was here. Freshly discharged yet still needed to serve. Be of use.

Med school was a bitch, honestly, but I needed to help people. Needed to be ordered around. Hospitals are like the military, no? Just less guns. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Meeting with Lisa Cuddy, a dangerously beautiful woman, to see if I was fit to work here. I was standing in her office, hadn’t sat yet, hadn’t been permitted to. Maybe I shouldn’t be putting my weird militant expectations on her, but she was in charge of this hospital, so by proxy in charge of me.  

“You can sit, it’s just an interview.” Her voice was soft, almost motherly. Did she think I was nervous? I mean, I was, but did I look nervous? She was in a white coat, lovely black dress, and heels. Way better looking than I, that’s for sure. I was in cargo pants, a tucked in white shirt, and some boots. I looked stereotypically military, but this was my whole wardrobe. I didn’t have beautiful dresses and heels. Not that I didn’t want to, just haven’t had the time.

I sat in the seat in front of her desk, “Thank you again, ma’am. I really appreciate that you found the time to interview me.” My hands folded politely in my lap. She flipped through my file, leaving us in silence for a minute or two. 

I hated silence, but luckily, she spoke up soon, “And… Your pain management… What are you doing for that?” Ah, the reason I was discharged in the first place. As if on cue, the pain in my ankle started. The left one, the one I didn’t have anymore. 

Pain management? Was she accusing me of being an addict? “Grit and bear it.” I answered honestly. I didn’t want to be doped up all the time, took Tylenol as needed, physical therapy, the works. “Is being… Is it an issue?” My amputation was something that made me leave the marines, I hoped it didn’t affect me now. On bad days, I had a mild limp, on horrible days I needed a wheelchair. The worst of it was the chaffing, the cloth sock of the prosthetic rubbing harshly against my …. Well nub, for lack of a better term. I could still be a doctor. I can still serve a purpose.

She smiled, so I smiled, “Look, I would love to hire you.” Oh… I see… “But the doctor you’ll work under… he likes to perform his own interviews.” She reached across her desk, her hand in front of me as if to comfort me. “I think you are a shoe in, I do. Dr. House is kind of an ass, but he’s the best damn doctor we have. Don’t let him push you around.” She withdrew her hand and scribbled something onto a post-it note. 

I stayed obediently silent, waiting for her to speak again. I never liked speaking without permission, I hated it more than I hated the silence. I looked down at the hands still neatly folded in my lap. I was so focused on my hands, on staying quiet, that I didn’t even hear her speaking until the post-it note was being handed to me. 

“This is his office, I let him know you’re on the way.” I looked up at her, then down at the sticky note, taking it.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I said as softly as I could, standing up and offering my hand to shake. She didn’t take my hand, so I let it awkwardly fall back to my side. “Thank you again, really, I mean it. This is a great opportunity.” As I saw myself out, she had this look of almost pity. It didn’t feel like the usual pity of my past, more like a pity for whatever was about to happen in this next interview.

“Oh and, Liliya?” I turned to face her, “Don’t act so… quiet with him.” She suggested, she knew him best, had to be good advice. 

I nodded, “Yes ma’am.” I said, then walked out, gently closing the door behind me. Don’t be so quiet. Talk to him. I mean, working in Diagnostic Medicine meant talking, I knew that, but speaking felt wrong. 

As I walked to this office, I had this sense of impending doom. Was I going into the right field? Was this for me? Born and raised to serve, never stopped for a moment to think that maybe I was in over my head. I was third in my class, I knew I was smart enough for it, but fuck was I even prepared. I felt out of place walking amongst doctors. Maybe I would get lucky, and Dr. House would turn me away. Wait. I don’t want that. Right? I want this job?

I thought I wanted it. I mean, I just was on this weird thought train about needing to serve. Needing to be of use. But as I walked the halls of the hospital, I felt nauseous. Like really nauseous. God, I want to turn around and go home, nauseous. Where even was home anymore? Jersey? Texas? Kansas? Any marine base?

Through the glass wall, I could see three people sitting at a table watching an older man write on a white board. I knocked on the door as I poked my head in. “Dr. House?” I said softly, everyone turning to me. I felt a light blush creep up my neck and the tips of my ears burned, gently letting the door close behind me. “Dr. Cuddy sent me down here for an interview.” 

My hands were held behind my back, at half attention. I looked at the older man, he had to be House, I doubted he would be a fellow. His eyes were so blue. Like painfully so. My eyes fell to his cane, I tried not to stare, I really did. I’m not gonna be weird, act like I had a weird cripple kinship with the man. But as I shifted my weight to my good leg, I felt relieved. Surely this meant my disability wouldn’t get me turned away. 

“Ah yes,” The older man spoke as he hobbled over to his desk where a stack of files sat, “Military brat, right?”

I shifted my weight again with a wince, “Yes sir.” I didn’t think I was a brat, but I wasn’t going to argue with the ‘best damn doctor in this hospital’.

He opened a file, didn’t look up at me, “Sir. I like that.” He pointed at the three people, two men and one woman, at the table, “Take notes.” I chewed the inside of my cheeks nervously. Why wasn’t he asking me questions? Why did these interviews not feel like interviews? Was this just the most unprofessional hospital? His eyes shifted from the files and seemed to focus on my legs. Oh, he’s at that part of the file then. 

He scoffed, “Wow, does Cuddy think I’ll just hire the first cripple to walk through that door?” His eyes lifted to mine. I figured the question was rhetorical, so I stayed silent, staring back at him. “Speak!” I almost flinched. Right, Dr. Cuddy told me not to be quiet with him. 

I took a breath, trying to stand a little taller, “Sir, I really don’t see why that would matter?” I shifted my weight to my good leg once again. “I promise, it doesn’t hinder me in any way.” That was a blatant lie. 

He rolled his eyes, “That is a blatant lie, I would know. And I still have my leg.” He looked back at the file and sighed, “What does your pain management look like? Any drugs?” 

I cleared my throat, crossing my arms under my chest, “I just take Tylenol if I really need it, otherwise, I just grit and bear it.” I repeated, it seemed to be my mantra. Something flashed in his eyes, almost looked like jealousy. Why was this question so important to them?

“No Vicodin? Ketamine?” I shook my head, and he nodded, “Alright, then I have a question.” He looked at me expectantly, I just looked back, “Oh my god, speak girl! What’s that? Timmy’s stuck in a well?” He said with a glare. Someone at the table snorted, and that burn at my ears returned.

I hated my quiet little habit. “Sorry sir, what’s your question?” He closed my file and walked back to the white board. It read: 

‘Hemolytic Anemia, Clotted Retina, Failing Liver’

“Diagnose it.” He said, gesturing to the board. Hep E was a possibility, lupus as well. 

I walked closer to the table, looking over a blond man’s shoulders. I reached over him, my chest against his back, gently dragging my ringer over the file he held. “He’s 16?”

The blond cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah.” “Been out of the country?” I took the file and leaned back against the table next to him. He nodded and I hummed, “Hep E?” 

House laughed and snatched the file from my hands. “Chase and Brat, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” Okay, well that was childish. “It’s not Hep E.” 

“One, stop calling me that please,” He smirked, “And two, what about lupus?”

***

It was not Lupus. I barely even remember what happened. Something to do with termites, a cat autopsy, and House got punched by a father. Very eventful first week. I had someone's vomit on my shirt, my pants had a small tear from an accident with a shovel, I smelt rank, and hadn't left the hospital all week. Felt like home. I got some body spray from Chase and practically bathed in it. I sat alone in the office as I filled out paperwork. I hated the quiet. Hated it. You’d think after years and years and years of constant noise, I’d revel in the silence, but it just made me anxious. Yet, I’m not much of a talker. Is that ironic?

I had music softly playing from my phone, humming along. “Why are you still here, Lassie?” Fucking Lassie, he’s been calling me that all fucking week. 

I gestured at the table, covered in books and papers, “Paperwork,” I wasn’t trying to sound annoyed on purpose, guess it just happened when you don’t sleep. 

“It can wait till tomorrow.” I didn’t bother looking up at him, just kept scribbling away silently. A pair of scrubs was thrown onto the table. “At least go shower,” He said gruffly, “Paperwork will still be here when you get back Lassie, promise.” 

I sighed and reached for the body spray again, “can’t shower here.” I tapped my leg. “Takes so long to take it on and off, I’ll just get this done and go home.” I sprayed the body spray on me and set it down. I looked up at House, under his eyes were red and he was sweating a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Withdraws, a lot.

I must have made a face because he rolled his eyes, “Pharmacy hadn’t had my pain meds,” I made a soft ‘ah’ sound, and went back to paperwork. “How do you not just… Drown yourself in Vicodin?”  I shrugged, staying silent. I think he liked my quietness more than Cuddy expected. More than he expected. He doesn’t seem like one to have these conversations. Related to his pain meds? “So, you just live like that?” I nodded. “Must be nice,” he said, finally opening the pill bottle in his hand and taking two. I think the silence was a good place for him to just bounce words off, knowing I wouldn't judge him out loud.

“I don’t know if having my purpose in life ripped away along with my leg, can really be called nice, sir.” I didn’t mean to spit it the way I did, but he didn’t seem insulted. 

He smiled a bit. “Angry about it?”

“Immensely.” I said honestly. It was never in my plans to lose my leg 2 years into my military career, and then pull myself through school. “If you’re not angry, you’re not human.” I scribbled my last little notes and closed the file. I stood, “Night, House.” 

“Night, James.” He scowled, “That felt weird.” I shrugged, I was just happy he was calling me by my name, last name or otherwise, over Lassie.

“Can just call me Liliya if calling me a man’s name bothers you that badly.” I tried to compromise. He called a few others by their last names; I understood why maybe he didn’t feel comfortable with mine. My C.O.s didn’t like it either. 

He scoffed, “It’s not that it's a man’s name. I’m not a sexist.” I gave him a look and he raised his hands defensively, “It’s just a friend’s name.” He took another Vicodin and I had to hold back my frown. “You sure we can’t just stick to Lassie and Brat?” I shrugged, going silent once again. 

“Wanna get a drink?” I was surprised by my own question. 

He smirked, “Man, I’m gonna have to stop hiring female fellows if they keep falling for me.” I rolled my eyes and shifted my weight, crossing my arms. 

“I meant as coworkers,” I took a breath, “Look, we had a shitty week, you more than any of us, yeah?” He nodded. “Let's go out tomorrow night. You can always just not come; I don’t mind drinking alone.” And I left. Surprisingly an amputee was faster than a man with an infarction. 

The next night, I may have gotten a little dressed up. Only a little. Used my day off to go dress shopping, picking out a lot of nice clothes for myself. Including a slightly sparkly black dress that went to my mid thigh, three different pairs of black heels, and a handful of makeup and hair products. 

So, I was sitting in a bar, prosthetic crossed over my leg, nursing a rum and coke. I didn’t actually expect him to show up. I heard the annoying beep of my on-call pager and groaned, ‘9-1-1’. “Shit,” I whispered and rushed out. I rang up House, and it went straight to voicemail. “Hey sir, got the page, on my way, but, uh,” I ducked into my car, “I had a little to drink and I don’t have time to change,” I started my car, “Be there in like 15, don’t kill anyone.” And I hung up.

As my heels clicked about as quick as they could across the floor. I tried to ignore the insecurity I had for my prosthetic that my niece stuck hello kitty band aids over to ‘make me feel better’. I pushed House’s office door open, “Sorry I’m late sir.”

“Chase,” House spoke, facing the white board, “Tell Brat what happens when you are late.”

Chase turned to me, and his eyes widened, “Well shit, Liliya…” I tried not to blush as his eyes trailed me. Foreman cleared his throat and Chase seemed to zone back in. “Just… Damn if you’re gonna be late, make sure you’re dress like that I mean fuck-”

“Chase!” Cameron chastised in tandem with Foreman, causing House to finally turn around.

His blue eyes looked me up and down and he smiled. He knew I dressed like this basically for him. “Lassie, why are you dressed like a hooker?” Oh, you cunt. 

My hands folded behind my back, “I was meeting someone for drinks, sir.” Why was I standing at attention? Felt like it. 

“Kinky.” He said, leaning against his cane, “Hot date?” I rolled my eyes, he was doing this deliberately now, the fucker. 

“Date? Probably not.” I walked further into the office, reading the white board, “Hot? I don't know sir, he’s probably older than my father.” I didn’t know if I found House attractive. Maybe? But I wasn’t about to feed his ego like that. He probably wasn’t older than my father, but the way he looked when I said that made me feel vindicated. He rolled his eyes, focusing on the board again. Did me not finding him hot… bother him?

Chase laughed, “You like older guys?” I looked back at him and shrugged. I stayed silent as I took my seat, having talked enough. He nudged my bare shoulder, I just smiled and listened to House as he ranted about the case. I felt kind of loopy. Drunk almost. That didn’t make sense, I had one drink, and I didn’t even finish it.

I must have zoned out because soon someone was snapping in my face, “Earth to Lassie,” the voice was gravelly and yet smooth. I hummed softly and looked up at House with a smile. The lights in the room were off but it was still light outside, “How much did you drink waiting for me to show up?” I figured no one else was in the room, no way he’d be so open if the other fellows were here. I silently held up a finger. “One what? One tequila shot? Jager bomb?” He mumbled, sitting down, lowering to my level.

“Rum and coke.” I said with a soft laugh. I stared into his gorgeous blue eyes, and I leaned in slightly, “you’re pretty.” God, he was pretty, wasn’t he? Those sweet baby blues, stubble I wanted to drag my lips against. Woah there, Liliya, calm the fuck down, holy shit. What's wrong with me? This doesn’t feel right. Something feels wrong.

He smiled and turned away from me, “Yeah right. You’re wasted.” I leaned against his shoulder and hummed softly. 

I had an ache where my left calf would be, “‘m leg hurts…” I whined softly. God, it hurt so bad. Like it was being stabbed repeatedly. I whimpered a little, rubbing my face against his shoulder.

“The left?” He asked, knowing the answer but I nodded anyway. His hand went to my thigh, gently tugging down the sock that helped hold the prosthetic to me.

I giggled through the pain, “Buy me dinner first.” He smiled; it seemed half genuine. 

I heard him start to talk but I was overwhelmed with nausea. “Oh fuck…” I leaned forward, vomiting. At first, I thought it was the alcohol, but then my eyes focused and I saw the crimson puddle below me.

“Oh shit…” I looked up at House, he almost looked scared. He started yelling but I couldn’t quite hear him. My head hurt so fucking bad, my leg was killing me. And there it was, that sense of impending doom. That's definitely a symptom of something. 

“House…” I groaned, feeling arms wrap around me, several arms. “I feel… Fuck, I’m dying…” 

“You’re not dying, Lili.” Chase muttered above me, flashing a light in my face.

I shook my head, closing my eyes tight, “Feel like it,” I frantically tugged at the cleavage of my dress, it felt suffocating. I had this same feeling when I lost my leg. “Don’t… Fuck… Chase…” I Pulled him down by his collar, “If you break into my house, I will castrate you.”

HOUSE

I was holding a leg. Not a real leg. A stupid, metal, steampunk leg covered in ridiculous cartoon band aids. It feels like I am losing his mind, more so than usual. Feeling slightly out of character. And frankly, half pissed. Why the fuck was one of my best doctors currently vomiting up blood and thinking she was dying? Could I even call her one of my best? She’s worked with me for exactly 9 days. Plus she was a marine, Mr. House was a fucking marine. It was infuriating, the way she acted. As if she was bred and raised to be bossed around. Okay, that part I didn’t mind all too much. Sometimes.

I could ignore the blood on the floor, the blood on my shoes, my cane, the hem of my pant legs. What I couldn’t ignore was the makeup smudged on the shoulder of my blazer. She fucking nuzzled me as pain relief. Like a fucking rabbit. An annoying, beautiful fucking rabbit. Obedient fucking rabbit. Wow, Wilson was right, I am an actual predator. This girl was in her 20’s, she’s fucking sick, I’m her boss, and all I can think of is how gorgeous she was in that dress. How attractive it was that she didn’t leave the hospital all week till she was 100% sure that kid would be okay.

I’ve done worse things morally, hell my interns break into a new place everyday. I have Cameron on a weird leash that keeps her by my side with romanic hope, Chase sees me as some fucked up father figure, Foreman is Foreman. But wanting to fuck my employee, an employee half my age, against my desk was forbidden in my fucked up little brain. Great, now I had a headache. 

I threw Liliya’s prosthetic onto the table, it clanked against the glass. I took the little orange bottle out of my pocket and took 2 pills. Dry, the only right way to take the pills that were probably ruining my life, but I liked being in denial. 

I wiped the whiteboard clean, completely dumping the last case. We had a new focus. ‘Hematemesis, sense of dread, amputee(?)’ I wrote out on the board. Foreman was the first to walk back into the room. I leaned against my cane. “Diagnose her.” We hadn’t even run any tests on her. It could have been really simple, but something told me it was more. She seemed like trouble.

Chase and Cameron followed into the room like little ducks. “Uh, I don’t think the amputation has anything to do with her condition.” Chase spoke up. 

I rolled my eyes, “Oh I’m sorry, I seemed to have forgotten to consult what you think.” I glared at the blond rich bitch, “What makes you say they aren’t related?” 

“Well for starters,” I was beginning to hate his accent. “She lost it in the military, mid-service. I doubt shrapnel from 5 years ago really led to  her throwing up blood this morning.” Doubt.

“Was the surgery performed out of the country?” I asked the man who seemed to know all about sour sweet doctor. Am I being possessive? Fuck thats weird isn’t it? I hobbled to the file, still thrown lazily onto my desk. I read through as quick as I could

James , Liliya

Age: 27

Sex: F

Boring, boring, boring, bingo.

Left leg amputation, 6/11/20XX, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu HI

Wow, my birthday and a base my dad used to be stationed at. Awesome, I hate marines. 

“House, it’s been 5 years, plus the tests aren’t even back yet.” Cameron said softly, “She probably could have just had too much to drink.” Okay, well that pissed me off more.

“Yes, Moron, cause I too, get shit faced off one ‘coke and rum’ waiting for my date to show up, just to come into work and throw up blood on my boss’ boots.” I fucking hate this hospital. I took another vicodin. 

Foreman shrugged a bit, “Maybe she’s just a really big lightweight, I mean, she dozed off in the middle of diagnosing the other guy.” I needed a new team. I didn’t actually, I don’t know why they were pissing me off. Is it because I secretly wanted something to be wrong with her? Wanted her to have something terminal and fucked up? Die in 3 days, so I’m willing to fuck my pervy boss, terminal? I’ll ask Wilson later. 

***

“Is it really that bad?” 

“Yes!!” Wilson said ludicrously, “Wanting to… God, House, she’s a kid.” I scrunched up my nose.

“Don’t say it like that, she’s an adult.” She was, a fucking gorgeous one at that, “Have you seen her ass, Wilson? It’s fucking perfect.” I wish I had a chance to see under her dress, I should have gone drinking with her. Damn it. But then would she have vomited blood on me mid-sex? That would be hard to explain. Would we have even had sex? Fuck, we definitely do in my dreams.

Wilson buried his face in his hands, “You do remember this girl is in the ICU, don’t you?” He’s right. I’m being a freak, more than usual. There was something actually wrong with me if I was ever even humouring the thoughts. The fantasies. I’m her boss. And now her doctor. This was fucked on levels I didn’t even think I would have cared about. She was a sweet girl, she didn’t deserve to be trapped in a perverts mind like this. …Well she was already running around in there like a hyperactive rabbit, might as well let her stay up there. God, she was a sexy rabbit. 

Greg, Liliya is sick, stop thinking, you fucking predator. I hated fighting with myself. 

I felt so out of character. Why did this small, stupid woman make me feel like a character in a shitty erotica that all the Christian moms tried to get banned from the public library? Some freak ass’ self-indulgent fantasy. 

I sat in Liliya’s hospital room, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. I spun my cane in my hands, irritated. Irritated that I was the only one that thought there was something wrong with her, the only one concerned that she had to be intubated, that she aspirated on her own bloody vomit twice in the past three days.  Irritated that my mind was blank, unwilling to risk her health for our guesses, doing treatments that could kill her if we were wrong. 

I didn’t want to hurt her in any way, it's agonizing. I wish I didn’t care that I could separate her from the diagnoses I had to get, but I couldn’t. Every time I looked at that fucking whiteboard, I felt nauseous.

25 years old. Texas native. Born and raised in the South, her military records are pristine. Two years into active service, she was caught in an explosion, resulting in the loss of her left leg below the knee. Multiple surgeries followed, all performed by military surgeons in various tropical field hospitals. 

I tossed the file back onto my desk and turned to face the team. "Field hospitals aren’t exactly known for their pristine conditions. Could be an infection that lay dormant."

Cameron frowned. "But wouldn't an infection have shown up sooner?"

"Not necessarily," Foreman interjected. "Some infections can remain asymptomatic for years, especially if they're slow growing. It’s a long shot, but we should consider it."

I pointed my cane at the board. "Good. What else?"

"Could be related to her prosthetic," Chase offered. "Improper fit, causing chronic irritation, leading to an ulcer or infection in the stump." Haha, stump. 

I nodded. "Get a sample from her stump and run cultures. Check for any signs of infection, bacterial or fungal. What else?"

"Stress-induced gastritis?" Cameron suggested. "She’s been through a lot of stress and trauma."

"Possible," I conceded. "Get an upper endoscopy to check for any lesions or ulcers."

Chase scribbled the orders on his notepad and hurried out. Foreman and Cameron followed suit, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stared at the whiteboard, the words blurring together.

Why did this feel so personal? Why did I care so much about this particular case? It wasn't just the challenge, though that was a part of it. It was her. Liliya. She had a fire, a determination to keep going despite everything life threw at her. And damn it, she was beautiful. That much was undeniable.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Focus, House. She’s a patient, not a prostitute.

The results came back faster than I expected. No signs of infection in the stump. Cultures were negative. Upper endoscopy showed mild gastritis, but nothing that would cause severe hematemesis. We even got her drug tested in case maybe her drink was spiked.    

Damn it. What was I missing?

I stormed into Liliya’s room, the team trailing behind me. She looked up, her eyes dull with pain and exhaustion. I really hated that she was my patient.

She started to sit up, wincing. God, why do I care so much about this woman. "What isn’t in your medical file?”

[ros3kill3r]

angsty & regulus’ death || the letter remus received from one his best friends || part 3 of 8

~*~*~*~*~*~

~*Remus Lupin*~

It was darker than usual outside, the stars were glittering brighter than ever and even though Remus would usually feel a sense of comfort at the sight, tonight it brought him a stab of anguish in his gut instead. So troublesome in fact that Remus couldn’t even read his book normally. Well, the book Regulus gave him, at-least.

He huffed, slamming the book shut after re-reading the same sentence over a hundred times. He stared out the bedroom window, glaring at the sky. What the fuck are you up to? He spoke to no one at all. Something wasn’t right, he was sure of it! But what?

He drank his tea and made a face at the cold liquid running down his throat, he had left it out for too long. He was home alone tonight, his parents had left him isolated in the house because of his furry little problem happening in a few days. He’ll admit, he was feeling a bit frustrated at nearly everything, but being alone did help considerably.

His brows scrunched at a sudden pecking noise coming from the window near the front door. Placing his cup down, he made his way out of his room and down the corridor, his mismatched socks sliding against the hardwood floor. He walked towards the window and each step he took his gut seemed to sink deeper and deeper into misgiving. He snatched the curtain and raised a brow at the black owl. Ah, Regulus sent me a letter? He thought before pulling open the window and letting the owl hop in.

Its long claws clicked against the window-sill, the envelope on its leg fluttering slightly from the light breeze. Remus wasted no time in grabbing the tiny rope binding the paper to the owl’s leg. At the first slight touch, his gut did yet another stab of concern. The owl flapped its wings, and took off into the bright sky, and Remus watched it all the way till its miniature figure disappeared.

He looked down at the letter in his hands, and the corners of his lips twitched at the confirmation that yes, this is from Reg. He walked back to his room, shutting the door and flopping back down onto his bed, getting cozy before flicking at the stamped wax, tearing it open and pulling out the unusually long letter. His brows clenched together and his eyes squinted. He usually doesn’t write this much.

He cleared his throat with a shake of his head, unfolding the letter, and he read.

______________________

08/01/79

To the biggest nerd ever,

If you have received this letter, I am dead. I have told Kreacher to send out all of my letters if I don’t make it back. In all honesty, I always knew I wouldn’t make it back, but I foolishly kept my hopes up. I kept my hopes up that if I went on just a day longer, things would change. But they didn’t. To make sure you read this letter, I have sent an owl to accompany it and bring it to the receiver.

Read the book I recommended yet? It was good, right? When I first read it, their dynamic reminded me of us. I’ll admit that when we first started talking I had forced myself to hate you because you liked my brother, but I couldn’t bring myself to. We had a connection that was so different from that of my friends and I. As much as I love them and how different we all are, you were the only one that was so similar to me.

Our book club with Lily were some of the best memories I had. I always looked forward to that time of the day, and I felt at home with the both of you. It upsets me that I’ll never experience that ever again, and neither will you two, but this was bound to happen wasn’t it? It was written in the history books.

I don’t know if my brother will read the letter I sent him, I don’t know if he’ll continue hating me, but if he continues to talk nonsense about me can you tell him? Tell him to read the letter I sent him? I don’t want to still have him lost from me even after death Rem, he’s one of the only family I have left.

I have one wish before I die; if you ever happen to stumble across my friends, show them respect. I want to witness the people I love most showing some form of affection for each other. Will you do that for me? No point in asking, I know you Remus, and I know you will do as I wish.

Thank you for the books you have given me, I’ve kept them in my room under my bed if you ever wish to retrieve them one day, and yes I had read them all, they were amazing of course. I’ve sent a letter to James and Lily, you should go check on them after this.

Thank you for being like a twin brother to me, thank you for providing me with the best memories that I’m grateful to die with, thank you for allowing Siri to tell me your secret, thank you for letting me comfort you before full moons. Thank you Moony, for everything.

Maybe in another life we’ll all be able to grow old together with our friends and the love of our lives. Maybe in another life we’ll be rebirthed as actual twins, and our friendship won’t be considered forbidden. I face death with the hope that you will all live long and healthy lives, and if not, I fill myself with yet another foolish hope that when we all die, we’ll be reunited.

Never forget us Moons, and remember me until you can’t.

R.A.B.

______________________

Remus threw the letter aside, fresh tears dribbling out of his eyes and down his scarred cheeks. He ran out of his bedroom and all the way to the front door, hastening to shove his feet into his shoes and fumbling with the door handle before managing to slam it open, sobs wracking through his body. The door banged shut behind him, and without locking it, he ran straight forward–and with a swish of his body, he apparated.

Being met face to face with the front door of James Potter’s and his boyfriend’s house, he finally felt the fierce surge of bereavement crash into his build. Trying not to collapse to the ground with mourning, Remus creeped his way towards the wooden entrance, clutching his stomach with the torturous feeling of loss. The loss of a best friend, the loss of a misunderstood soul, the loss of someone he could’ve called a brother.

He raised his trembling knuckles, and threw thunder after thunder of fists against the door, until he was met with the face of Sirius Black. And then, he allowed himself to shatter.

4 years later, Remus Lupin began to forget Regulus Black.

~*~*~*~*~*~

[anonymousewrites]

A Good Day for Death Pride Special 2023

Wednesday Addams x Reaper! Reader

            “There’s so much…color,” muttered Wednesday distastefully.

            The Quad of Nevermore Academy was being decorated in rainbows and bright colors for the school’s Pride event. A school for outcasts, it embraced the LGBTQ+ students among its halls, showing them that they belonged there as Outcasts and as members of the community.

            Unfortunately for Wednesday, that meant color. Everywhere. And the goth, allergic-to-color Addams wanted nothing more than to turn the world black-and-white. Alas, as her roommates helped put up decorations, that was most definitely not going to happen.

            “Well, it’s Pride Month!” said Enid cheerfully as she directed her boyfriend and another boy on centering a banner.

            “I’m sure you’ll survive, Wednesday. You’re tough,” said (Y/N) brightly.

            Wednesday looked (Y/N) up and down. Even they had on color instead of their usual black. Instead of a skull sweater, they had a jumper in the pan flag colors. They even had a they/them pronoun pin on the sweater with a rainbow background.

            Wednesday narrowed her eyes slightly. “Even you’ve been sucked into this nonsense.”

            (Y/N)’s cheerfulness was not impeded in the slightest. “You bet!”

            “Come on, Wednesday, try to cheer up a little,” said Enid. “This could actually be fun since you’d fit in at the event instead of standing out so much.”

            “Until this rainbow apocalypse is over, I’m staying in our dorm,” declared Wednesday, turning and walking away.

            Enid frowned and glanced at (Y/N). “Do you want to go after her? I think if anyone can convince her to come out for the party it would you. That or I send Bianca to drag her out, but that would end in a swordfight so I’d rather not.”

            (Y/N) turned pink. “I don’t think I could convince her. Besides, I still need to help you finish setting this all up.”

            Enid huffed. Those two are so damn stubborn and oblivious.

l

            Wednesday rolled her eyes as she saw the lights and heard the music from the Quad below the dorm room. Too many people for her taste.

            Thing tapped the desk, and Wednesday glared. “No, I’m not going down.”

            Thing tapped furiously.

            “Why should I care if (Y/N) is there?” questioned Wednesday.

            Thing pointed out the window.

            Wednesday stepped onto the balcony and looked down. Below, (Y/N) was chatting and dancing with Enid and few friends. Wednesday felt a slight pain in her chest. Ordinarily, that would be a welcome sensation, a harbinger of death, but Wednesday didn’t enjoy it this time.

            Thing tapped.

            “I don’t care if they’re having fun with other people. I don’t do ‘fun’ at these events,” said Wednesday.

            Thing didn’t move, but Wednesday felt an unimpressed stare.

            “…Fine. But not because I’m jealous, it’s because there’s too much music to work on my novel,” said Wednesday. She stalked out of the room, and Thing proudly looked out on the Quad below.

l

            “Wednesday! You came!” (Y/N) grinned at her, and Wednesday disliked how much she didn’t mind the pure joy and brightness directed at her.

            “This party is too bothersome for me to do anything productive,” said Wednesday.

            “Are you sure you didn’t want to celebrate?” teased Enid. “You seem like the type of girl confident in her sexuality.”

            Wednesday shrugged. “I don’t label myself, but of course. I am not confined by any societal expectations. One of my great great aunts was feared by men for seducing their women and teaching them witchcraft.”

            “Even if you don’t label yourself, would you mind this?” asked (Y/N), holding out a pin.

            Wednesday glanced at it. It was in the shape of a skull, but the eye sockets were two hearts with a tiny engraving of a rainbow in the metal of the forehead. Wednesday felt something light in her heart. (Y/N) had considered her preferences, just like they had during Valentine’s Day. It was oddly…nice.

            Curse her heart. She was weak for (Y/N).

            “It is acceptable,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) brightened and eagerly reached up to pin it to Wednesday’s shirt. “Good enough for me.”

            Enid quietly shooed their friends away to give (Y/N) and Wednesday a moment.

            “I’m glad you came,” said (Y/N) as they straightened the pin.

            Wednesday glanced between the pin and their eyes. The music seemed quiet as she stood there alone with (Y/N). “I suppose it’s not as terrible as it could be. Even if it is a rainbow apocalypse.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Coming from you, that’s pretty good.”

            “I didn’t realize my opinion held so much weight,” said Wednesday.

            “Well, to me it matters,” admitted (Y/N). “You’re my friend.”

            Wednesday furrowed her brow in surprise. She was unused to someone wanting to be her friend. “I…” She found herself unable to say that she didn’t have friends. (Y/N) was one. “If you insist,” were the words Wednesday settled on.

            (Y/N) grinned. “You can’t get out of it now.”

            “How unfortunate.” Wednesday didn’t mean it in the slightest.

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[btr-rewatch]

Big Time Rush Season 1, Episode 16: “Big Time Fever”

Highlights: Orange!James, Bongo!Logan, and Jennifer!Carlos

Also, some ramblings about each of the boys' various emotional dysfunctions.

I feel like this is one of those episodes that typically makes the list of people's favorites. Let's see if it's still as funny as I remember it being.

We begin at the Palm Woods pool. The guys are eager to beat the heat but discover the pool empty, save for Bitters, who is floating around happily. Why? He's put up a sign which reads, "Adult Swim No kids allowed"

Well, guess what. Our clever Kendall takes advantage of the lack of punctuation and creates his own loophole. He swiftly changes it to, "Adult swim? No, kids allowed!"

This is a scene I've always remembered, and it's one of my favorite Kendall moments in general. He's such a menace (affectionate). No rules can confine him.

As a quick little side note: can I just point out how dinky the pool actually is? For a place like the Palm Woods, home of the "future famous", it sure has a teeny tiny pool. It's like...the size of a regular backyard in ground pool, not something that would be at an upscale apartment complex. Just something that's always irrationally bugged me.

Camille comes over and says how great it is that Hollywood hasn't changed the guys, since the environment usually takes its toll on people after a few months. But Kendall, Carlos, and Logan are still the same lovable goofballs they've always been.

Oh, and then James shows up, and he's orange.

He's come down with a raging case of Hollywood Fever. Camille shares that Guitar Dude and The Jennifers met the same fate, becoming permanently altered by the "illness." Kendall decides it's nonsense and attempts to shut this whole business down right away.

"James, you're orange, and you look like a freak," he says. I love Kendall so much.

Unfortunately, the heartfelt, sensitive words have no effect on James, who thinks he looks great.

There's also a B plot going on involving Katie taking advantage of the heat wave by selling snow cones, but idk how much of that I'll cover. I don't remember if it's all that interesting. Guess we'll see as I keep watching.

Later on, at the studio, Kelly and Gustavo are reacting as expected to Orange!James.

Gustavo pulls them aside for a chat, telling them that the image he's going for with the band is NOT, "Three normal boys and a tangerine freak."

Tangerine Freak would be a good band name.

Gustavo orders Kendall, Carlos, and Logan to fix James before he replaces him.

After learning the tanning spray dissolves with water, the guys arm themselves with water guns and set out to hunt their orange friend down. Carlos goes to the pool, where he runs into The Jennifers, who are missing one member (she's gone to Iceland). Bereft without their friend, the remaining Jennifers note that Carlos is the right height to fill her role. So, yeah. Carlos is a Jennifer now.

Back in the lobby, Kendall and James engage in a Matrix-style battle in which James successfully dodges the water gun, and Kendall soaks everyone in the lobby.

Over at the park, Logan's own efforts to find and fix James are quickly thwarted when he has a brief conversation with Guitar Dude and is promptly sucked in by the alluring power of bongos.

Also, it's hilarious to me how easily Logan does a 180 personality-wise. He shows up with his water gun all serious, prepared to help turn James back to his normal, non-orange self, but Guitar Dude is all, "Hey, man, what's the point? Let James be orange if that's what he wants. How about you chill out and find Logan."

And that's all Logan needs.

Anyway, we return to the pool, where Carlos is having second thoughts about becoming a Jennifer. He claims he's too nice, to which the girls work to convince him being nice gets him walked all over. They tell him the only people who make it in Hollywood are the ruthless ones. This convinces Carlos that he should stick with them and become a "tiger shark."

After another disastrous recording session, Gustavo sees how serious the problem has become. He, Kelly, and Kendall decide to divide and conquer, but not before Gustavo yells at Kendall for not taking charge and being able to fix things.

Which like. Ok. Kendall's the most level-headed one, the leader, etc. And this is me reading too much into a kids show again, but this poor guy! It's not enough that Kendall personally puts the pressure on himself to be the Fixer of Everyone's Problems Always—he regularly has that pressure put on him from the people around him too.

When is it Kendall's turn to be taken care of? When does HE get to rest and not have to manage the lives and decisions of his family and friends?? Huh??? WHEN?

One by one, each of their plans fail. Kendall's attempt to lure Logan back to Normal-ville using math has no impact whatsoever, the therapist hired for James ends up a similar shade of orange, and Carlos resists Kelly's shopping cart slingshot with the help of the Jennifers. But! It should be noted that of the three boys, Carlos is the ONLY one who wavers. He really wants to join in on the fun, and if not for the Jennifers, he likely would have.

So, we've got James, who is masking his own feelings of insecurity and inadequacy by covering himself with orange tanning spray. Logan, who desperately needed permission to shed his anxious, uptight, genius status but swung way too far into hippie mode. And Carlos, who (deep down) feels ignored and "less than," and quickly fell into the world the Jennifers offered him: one of status and importance and leadership. Then there's Kendall, who has NOT fallen victim to Hollywood Fever because he's carefully constructed a very secure wall around himself that won't allow him to be anything but the strong, responsible "man in charge" that he's had to be since he was a child and his dad walked out.

Or, as Gustavo says, Kendall "has a normal brain, and his friends have the brain of a cricket."

Listen, Kendall is a lot of things, but normal isn't one of them.

Kendall firmly rejects Gustavo's offer to go solo and announces he's going to the ice rink to think things through. This is a lightbulb moment for Kelly, who realizes that Kendall's connection to his roots has been the factor that saved him. They decide to save Carlos, Logan, and James through the Power of a Snowball Fight.

Turns out, all three cricket-brains just needed to be pelted by some ice in order to shed their newfound personas.

And with that, all is set right with the world again.

This is one of the best episodes of the first season, though it does lend itself to additional questions. Was this a one-and-done battle with Hollywood Fever, or did the group have to face it any time homesickness reared its head? What about Guitar Dude and The Jennifers? Did anyone try to cure them? Did any of the boys find themselves mourning that brief period in time when they weren't "themselves"? Carlos and Logan especially! Because those feelings must have still been there. Carlos still has those feelings of being pushed to the side and forgotten about. Not being considered important. And Logan still needs an outlet for all the stress he deals with on a regular basis—the pressure of being the Smart One.

And James. Well, I don't quite know about James. There is a LOT going on there. Super confident facade, the whole pretty-boy thing going for him. Determined and passionate and full of himself. But he's not. He's scared, deep down. He doesn't know who he is if he's not the most talented or the coolest or the most handsome. Part of him wants to hide away under several layers of Cuda Mangerine Action Tan Spray. There's also, like...other stuff I wonder about with James, like his tumultuous upbringing—super controlling, always put-together, superficial mother and a father who (I think) ended up with a much younger woman? I might be making that up. But I do know that his parents had such a bitter divorce that they didn't even speak. James is also an only child! That is...a lot to deal with growing up, and I'm sure there was damage done.

Not to mention any additional hardships James had to deal with growing up as someone whose personality and interests often skewed from what one might consider "traditionally male." I'm sure he was protected as much as possible by his buds, but there might have been times bullies still made their way through—finding an easy target in the boy who was so into fashion and modeling and had dreams of being a pop star.

Anyway! I hope Mama Knight (who was completely absent from this ep) heard of the day's events and sat with each of the boys to have a heart-to-heart. They certainly all needed it.

[unpopularwriter25]

Hello there! Can I request a Rengoku x Ice pillar reader? Ok so this one short from YouTube looks really cute and I want to make it into a story! Here's the shorts: https://youtube.com/shorts/gNKtzkhQhkY?si=GrKLzHnI_2bSrqBT (If link doesn't work check out @andweaso - Gwiyomi song)

Ok so, Rengoku & Reader are litterly the opposites and while Rengoku tries to befriend with Reader, who keeps shutting him out. Rengoku's about to give up until they encounter a baby's crying (after fighting with a demon).

Reader tries to cheer the baby up, by singing/doing cute things but got carried away, until Rengoku *accidentally* stumbles on Reader trying to cheer the baby up, thinking "she's so cute..." UNTIL IT HITS HIM THAT HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER.

Also It would be nice if the bonus is that the other hashiras knew Rengoku have a crush on her but flame boi doesn't even know it himself: cue teasing him endlessly

Sorry for the delay!! My power was out for a while yesterday so I wasn't able to do any writing unless it was on my phone. Anyway!! I hope this is what you wanted!! Enjoy! :)

Beneath the Flames

Summary: Y/N and Rengoku couldn't be more opposite for each other. Rengoku tries to befriend with her, but she keeps shutting him out. Rengoku's about to give up, until he comes across Y/N soothing a crying baby and it its him. He's in love.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 845

Amidst the chaos of battle, flames licked the air as Rengoku and Y/n navigated through the aftermath of their intense skirmish with a powerful demon. The air was thick with tension and the acrid smell of burnt wood, but Rengoku, ever the optimist, was determined to lighten the mood, especially with Y/n, whose reserved demeanor intrigued him like no other.

"Y/n!" Rengoku called out as they regrouped in a small, devastated village. "Let's split up and search for any survivors. I'll take this side; you take the other."

Y/n nodded silently, her expression softening just a fraction at Rengoku's unwavering kindness. She wandered through the wreckage, her gaze sweeping over the charred remains of homes until she heard a faint cry. Following the sound, she found a corner where a tiny baby lay nestled among the debris, tears streaming down its cheeks.

"Oh, little one," Y/n murmured, her voice gentle as she carefully picked up the baby, cradling it in her arms. "It's okay. Shh..."

The baby continued to whimper, and Y/n's heart melted. "Hmm... what can we do to make you smile again?" she cooed softly, beginning to make silly faces at the baby, hoping to elicit a giggle. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, poking her tongue out playfully.

Unbeknownst to her, Rengoku had finished checking his side and doubled back to find Y/n. As he rounded a corner, his eyes widened at the sight before him—Y/n, her usual guarded expression replaced with one of tender care, trying her utmost to amuse the baby. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, and a tiny smile played on her lips as she sang a nonsensical tune.

"She's so... captivating," Rengoku thought to himself, caught off guard by the warmth that flooded his chest. For a moment, he forgot about the battle, the demons, and even his duties as a Hashira. All that mattered was the gentle scene unfolding before him.

Y/n, oblivious to Rengoku's presence, continued her antics. "Peek-a-boo!" she exclaimed, hiding her face behind her hands and then revealing it with a grin. The baby's cries lessened to soft sniffles, its eyes fixed on Y/n's animated expression.

Rengoku couldn't help but chuckle quietly, marveling at how effortlessly Y/n had captured the baby's attention. He leaned against a charred beam, content to watch her for a few more precious moments. In that instant, amidst the ruins and the remnants of battle, he realized with startling clarity: he was in love with her.

But he didn't say a word. Instead, he quietly turned and walked away, allowing Y/n to finish comforting the baby without interruption. As he rejoined her later, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face, and from then on, he found himself seeking out more moments to be near her, to see that gentle side of Y/n that she reserved for the innocent and the vulnerable.

And in those stolen moments, as they fought side by side against the darkness, Rengoku treasured each glimpse of Y/n's kindness and strength, silently vowing to protect her just as fiercely as he fought demons—perhaps even more so, for the heart is a battlefield unto itself.

After the intense battle and the heartwarming scene with Y/n and the baby, Rengoku returned to the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters with a renewed spirit. Little did he know, his fellow Hashiras had noticed his growing fondness for Y/n long before he had even admitted it to himself.

As he walked through the corridors, Kanroji approached with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Flame Hashira, you seem unusually cheerful today. Did something happen on your mission?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Rengoku, ever the embodiment of enthusiasm, grinned broadly. "Ah, Kanroji! I witnessed the most heartwarming sight today. Y/n was comforting a crying baby in the village we just saved. It was a truly touching moment!"

Himejima, who was passing by, chuckled softly. "I see. She has quite the effect on you, Rengoku."

Rengoku tilted his head, puzzled. "Effect? What do you mean?"

Shinazugawa, who had been eavesdropping nearby, couldn't resist chiming in. "Oh come on, Flame Boi. It's obvious to everyone but you. You're head over heels for Y/n!"

Rengoku blinked in surprise, then laughed heartily. "Nonsense! Y/n is a valued comrade and a skilled warrior. I simply admire her dedication and strength."

Kanroji giggled, nudging him playfully. "Oh, Flame Hashira, don't try to hide it. We all see how you light up whenever she's around."

Himejima's deep voice rumbled in agreement. "There's no shame in it, Rengoku. It's clear that your admiration goes beyond mere respect."

Rengoku scratched his head sheepishly, unable to deny the truth in their words. "Well, I... uh... perhaps there might be something there."

Shinazugawa smirked. "Finally admitting it, huh? Just make sure you don't go all fiery and scare her off."

Rengoku chuckled, his usual exuberance tempered by a newfound self-awareness. "Thank you, my friends. I suppose it's time I acknowledge these feelings."

[beesmygod]

fact check me on this absurd bloodborne father gascoigne deepest lore posting

i'm working on the next "you hunted" update and frankly i feel split between feeling like im doing the pepe silvia routine and partly feel like it makes enough sense to get a soft pass. i know these are so many words to read. but ultimately its about gascoigne and his stupid music box, if that means anything to you:

on our short trek from the tomb of oedon to his chapel, we pass through a weird...sewer...drainage room thing with a ladder leading to a modest library. a note on the table reads:

"The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals, and keeps our lost master from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably."

this note is REALLY weird. even cross-checking the re-translation guide doesn't do much but reinforce the literal meaning of the note: there's a spider at byrgenwerth (another rom, we don't know this yet) hiding rituals, even the ritual involving the lost (or, in a better translation, unseeable/invisible) lord. bummer. ahhhh my head is rattling. but...who wrote this? about who? and why?

it's time to be a Fromsoft Lore guy in the worst way: we're going to dissect this note down to its atomic structure in order to wring any and all possible meaning from it in a futile attempt to try to come up with a tortured explanation for nonsense. skip all this italicized text to return to planet earth.

who wrote this note? if we knew that, a lot of things would be cleared up. the potential suspect list comprised of known individuals who have passed through that area recently is pretty tiny. can't be fauxsefka, because she doesn't use this route to reach the clinic. alfred doesn't seem to have much interest in the church, knows little about byrgenwerth, and seems unaware of most things in general. an unnamed and unknown NPC of no consequence? well, maybe. probably, even.

but what about gascoigne? you find this note immediately after defeating him by using a key he drops. it clear he did not progress past the library, as the incense would have driven him off (and the chapel dweller's reaction suggests you are the first hunter they've seen/sniffed). there's a possible clue left in the library that points to a hunter having passed through recently: the blood gem workshop tool. its one of three "misplaced" workshop tools found in the waking world. a hunter took this with them when they left the dream and left it in a chest in oedon chapel. that narrows down the pool of candidates quite a bit. gascoigne obviously knows what blood gems are, he gifted one to his wife. and this is before we've even discussed gascoigne's connections to a "lost master".

who is this note about?  the words used for titles in the english translation are all over the place and "master" could mean anything from "school principal" to "great ones". this has made trying to pin the subject of this note down near impossible. the japanese is more specific: "lords" in this note is translated as "主" and is almost never in the script otherwise. the only relevant usage even remotely close is it's use is in a different note later as a flowery way to refer to whoever has assumed the role of vicar of the healing church (essentially: "lord of blood ministration"). it is also used for micolash ("lord of the nightmare"), the japanese name of the bloodletting beast ("lord of the beast blood"), and for master willem of byrgenwerth ONLY in the graveguard set item description1. in the case of micolash and the bloodletting beast, "lord" can be read as "host" as well. but NOT like a parasite host!!! specifically like, a household host. "host of the beast blood" is intended to be literal.

now time to play "guess who?": willem could be described as "lost" metaphorically, but he's also like, right there. out in the open. he's considerably less lost than our other two options, micolash or laurence/host of the beast blood. willem doesn't use the 主 kanji usually; he's "headmaster" willem or some other title that makes it clear he's from a school. forget willem. it's not him.

i'm pretty sure japanese players were supposed to intuit a connection between the "lord of the beast blood" and the "lord of blood ministration" and this nuance was lost in translation. and while there is a vacuous spider in lower pthumeru blocking access to a secret 4th labyrinth layer where a hunter can find a lost lord of the beast blood, it's clearly not in byrgenwerth. it's not the big doggie.

micolash, head of the rogue school of mensis, is literally lost in the nightmare acting as it's host/lord. access to the corpse of micolash is blocked until rom, the byrgenwerth spider, is defeated. so. having eliminated any alternatives, the note is almost certainly about micolash. but. why? who in oedon chapel gives a shit about micolash?

there are a truly confusing number of connections between gascoigne and the school of mensis (and thus, micolash). the most specific and startling connection is that the music box that gascoigne has a good/bad (?) reaction to plays "mergo's lullaby". this exact song plays during a fight with the wet nurse of oedon's presumed (but like, come on. it is) child, the titular mergo. if gascoigne's daughter is sent to iosekfa's clinic, you will obtain the level 1 formless oedon rune from her body which, as we discussed in the last part, depicts the blood moon descending during a (mensis) ritual; levels 3 and 4 of the rune are found in oedon chapel itself.

gascoigne's garb reads:

The dingy scarf is a Holy Shawl and symbol of the Healing Church, from which Gascoigne would eventually part ways. "Father" is a title used for clerics in a foreign land, and there is no such rank in the Healing Church.

reads a bit differently now...perhaps father gascoigne did not bring a foreign form of worship to yharnam. gascoigne left the healing church in order to start his own, based on the foreign practices of pthumeru.

only today the church is abandoned, and some say that the residents of oedon have all gone mad.