#even though he wrote his own verse

[94erz]

Every day I log on to Twitter now I am infuriated by the fandom. 100 #1's on iTunes for a song with multiple abusers and serial criminals while multiple members of the group they claim to stan haven't reached that yet for multiple songs off their albums.

And then they have the fucking nerve to be like ''we treat and support them all equally'' ''there is not a ML bias in the fandom'' like shut the fuck up already, I hate them so fucking much.

In mere days they've once again shown up in huge numbers for a single member while letting others fall to the wayside and I'm supposed to believe all of these accounts are truly OT7? Bullshit.

[micer2012]

a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user”. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand. 

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with, 

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!). 

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading! 

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

[taylor-on-your-dash]

SHAKE IT OFF TURNS 10 TODAY!

Voice memo here;

[Lover Journal] LA. This week I've been in the studio with Max and Johan every day and it has been the most creatively successful and fulfilling time. The first day, Johan just made a really up tempo drum beat because we decided we needed something up and light. We worked at it for a few hours before i just started singing "shake it off, shake it off, shake it off" And then the best way i know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky. It ended up being this song about doing your own thing even though haters are gonna hate, and you just have to dance to your own beat. We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE. We spent all day doing vocals and the next day recording the background vocals. I think it'll end up being the first single and Max said it's his favorite song he's ever been a part of.

[Max Martin during the lawsuit] “Shellback started out with a drumbeat. Shellback, Taylor, and I then collaboratively developed the melody and other lines of ‘Shake It Off’ to Shellback’s drumbeat. I did not write or provide any input into any lyrics in ‘Shake It Off,’ which were written entirely by Taylor.”

“I've had every part of my life dissected – my choices, my actions, my words, my body, my style, my music. When you live your life under that kind of scrutiny, you can either let it break you, or you can get really good at dodging punches. And when one lands, you know how to deal with it. And I guess the way that I deal with it is to shake it off.”

“The message in the song is a problem I think we all deal with and an issue we deal with on a daily basis. We don’t live just in a celebrity takedown culture, we live in a takedown culture. People will find anything about you and twist it to where it’s weird or wrong or annoying or strange or bad. You have to not only live your life in spite of people who don’t understand you, you have to have more fun than they do.”

[From my writing of 1989 Timeline]

[soadiablo]

How would the spidermen react to the (male) reader being all of their boyfriend in each world?

For some he’s a villain, for some he’s a fellow hero, for some he’s a civilian.

Which spider person has which reader and what happens when they find out that they all have a reader?

atsv men w/ the same boyfriend from another universe

characters: miguel o'hara, peter b. parker, and hobie brown.

cw: none

notes: okay so i accidentally wrote a whole fic so what

i'm ASSUMING that you mean across the spider-verse spidermen so that's what i'm doing, if you were thinking something else please let me know.

not proof read

So let's put this into a scenario, you're your own Spider-Man in your own universe. But you have your own love interest. And say one day you're kicking bad guy butt right? Even though it's odd cause the bad guy doesn't look like they're from your universe. Then all of a sudden, this portal opens and another Spider-Man comes through it and also starts beating your bad guy.

Yeah so long story short, it was Miguel and you two do a little banter thing, and you convince him to let you join his Spider Society. Which leads you to the point where you meet Peter and Hobie. And oh boy are they getting some memories.

MIGUEL would probably already have been aware of the fact that you existed in multiple universes. Miguel would probably have a boyfriend who is also a fellow hero, but maybe not exactly Spider-Man. Maybe just someone who helped him on missions and whatnot. So I don't think his reaction would be too strong. He's aware that you look a little like his own version of you, and act like him. But he knows you aren't his version. Although I do believe that would lead to some pretty fun bantering and questions.

Who knows, maybe he might introduce you to... well you one day. Maybe some fun hero shenanigans might ensue.

PETER would probably be a bit stunned. I mean come on, you saw how he was with MJ in the first movie. Maybe you are a spitting image of yourself. Peter would most likely have a civilian boyfriend. Someone who takes care of him after a fight, watching Mayday (i love Mayday fyi), and just being there for when he comes home. That being said, see you as Spider-Man makes him feel... ways he's never felt before. In a good way. He thinks it's cool that he has a boyfriend who is also Spider-Man! He would most likely ask a bunch of questions. Like if you had any cool powers, how does your own suit work, were you also bitten by a radioactive spider?

Peter would also probably try to test your strength, and also get you to meet his own version of you. He just thinks it's cool.

HOBIE would just be amused at the fact that another you exists. Most likely it was a gut feeling, but seeing you with his own two eyes just confirms it. Or maybe he just didn't believe in you, he doesn't believe in consistency. I feel like if you do manage to strike a conversation with him he would probably tell you all about his version of you. One of the first things he'll say is about how you're a villain in his universe. Yep, personally I believe that Hobie would have a boyfriend who's a villain in his universe. What villain you represent is completely up to you. Although it is interesting to know another version of his boyfriend is a hero instead of the opposite.

Would he introduce you to his version of you? Probably not.

© all rights are reserved to soadiablo. do not repost, steal, or copy my work.

[u3pxx]

PLEASEEE can you elaborate on the gavinners i cant stop looking at them theyre so pretty

sometimes i forget that outside of my friends and servers, i don't really talk much about my gavinners boys* huh! so basically, i originally wanted to make them so i could beef up turnabout serenade in my roleswap au, kind of like turnabout samurai where you have a lot more characters which in turn means a lot more suspects!

but then i realized, wait, i need to make them in the canon-verse first before i could make their swap au counterparts! and so now they exist pftt

here y'all go, i'm gonna be copy-pasting the character descriptions i wrote for them during art fight pftt <3

🥁 DEIDRE MINUENDO

Height: 5'7" (170 cm), 5'9.5" (176) with boots on Birthday: Jul 7 ♋︎ | Pronouns: He/Him, She/Her, They/Them

Deidre is the seemingly gloomy and stoic drummer of the band The Gavinners! At first, it could be difficult to get a read on them but despite all that, they're just like that because they prefer saving their energy. It might not look like it, but Deidre enjoys company even if they're not the most chatty with it and thrives the most when they are around other people (she prefers it if she's around the people closest to her though). Deidre is pretty sensitive and an emotional person even if they don't outwardly express it. To the people close to them, Deidre has a sarcastic streak and can be pretty snappy when it comes to teasing. She can dish it but she can't take it however as they can get slightly irritated when they're teased back. Even if they are a rockstar, they can get embarrassed when people praise or say nice things about them to their face, he tends to brush affection if even if he is secretly flattered by it (he's not gonna admit it though pftt) They also enjoy doodling here and there and like stuffed animals (they have a few of their own!)

Deidre was the closest to Daryan so the events of 4-3 affected him immensely. They felt betrayed and confused and tried to deny that Daryan would be capable of taking another person's life; they scrambled to do everything to protect Daryan from omitting information and even lying on the stand. In the end, all of their efforts were for naught and they felt incredibly guilty for what they've done, especially since she started antagonizing Preston when he was starting to suspect Daryan. They cut themselves off from the group, their job, and stardom. They ended up severely depressed and started to rarely go outside anymore. Only Doremy (Daryan's twin, also a close friend of his) was able to reach him during this time while Viva tried to but he kept refusing to see him. It took them a long time to finally be able to reconnect with the group and it took them a lot of help and support to be able to be well again. Deidre carries Daryan's betrayal to the group heavily and it took a while for her to start forgiving herself.

⚡ VIVA CHI

Age: 25 | Height: 5'9" (175 cm) Birthday: Jan 1 ♑︎ | Pronouns: He/Him

Viva is the lively and energetic bassist of the band The Gavinners! Though he may seem goofy and a little unserious, he actually is pretty responsible and is the mediator of the band (as the eldest brother of his siblings and the eldest of the band, he kind of made that his responsibility). He's a forensic scientist and has always had an interest in science alongside music ever since he was young (he thinks Ema is very pretty but she finds him annoying pftt). Viva was the last one to join the band when they were all in high school and despite his extroverted personality, felt a little shy at the time getting to know a new group of people (it's because Preston was there who he may or may not have crushed at while in high-school.) He's a lover of all things caffeinated (especially energy drinks though he should really pace himself) which isn't always the best match to the fact that he's got terrible anxiety and thinks himself down a spiral when he gets too worried.

Once the band disbanded after the events of AA4, Viva, though left in a bad place with his anxiety shot through the roof, fared better compared to the other members. He tried his best to keep in touch with everyone with varying successes despite Daryan's arrest being fresh and hurt. - visiting Daryan in prison to hear his side of the story - popping in to check at Preston in his office because the guy started to take worse care of himself - contacting Deidre even if she was trying to isolate and cut herself from everyone and looking out for Klavier even if he buried himself in his work He took a break from music like everyone else, he still hopes one day they can meet up and play music again, not even as a band, but as a group of friends who loved creating music.

🦇 PRESTON KEISS

Age: 25 | Height: 6'1" (185 cm) Birthday: Oct 25 ♏︎ | Pronouns: He/Him

Preston is the mysterious yet magnetic keyboardist of the Gavinners! Tall, dark, and bewitching; Preston is aware of the impression people have of him at first glance and likes to use that preconception to surprise and even catch people off-guard by purposely being silly or crass. He has a number of odd quirks and mannerisms that he doesn't realize he has, people tend to notice but they often let it pass because he is very handsome (pretty privilege lmao). Preston can sometimes be mischievous and finds certain things amusing only to him even if others don't find it as funny. He's always had an interest in horror and the macabre ever since he was a young boy which developed into a great fascination with the special effects used in old and new horror films alike. (He can be a bit jumpy when watching movies even if he loves to do it, he can't help it if the movie gets to him!) He plays up his whole immortal vampire schtick because the fans tend to theorize if he really was one. (He is not, he'd love to be one though pftt) Preston is very stubborn and adamant about his opinions and can be difficult to sway if he thinks he's correct; he is also quite awkward when it comes to personal matters, as can be seen in his strained relationship with his older sister and whatever romantic thing he's trying to achieve with Viva. He's used to acting larger than life when the cameras are on but being raw and honest has him feeling a little embarrassed and stilted. Preston smokes and keeps it a secret. (Don't tell Viva that!)

Preston was the first person in the band to start suspecting Daryan which he mostly kept to himself at first but wouldn't deny when you asked him (Deidre did not like that.) After Lamirior accused Daryan in court, Preston was determined to make Deidre confront the truth (unfortunately, not taking in why Deidre might be upset and in denial about it) which caused them to have a fight (with Viva being unsuccessful in de-escalating it.) After the Gavinners disbanded, Preston didn't feel very well after Daryan got sent to prison and lost contact with Deidre (whom he hasn't talked to since the case. [he misses them.]) He seemed fine afterward with his workload seeming to increase though upon closer inspection, he's started taking worse care of himself, skipping meals, and losing his interest in music. Preston has a lot of baggage to sort through regarding his friends and his family that will be difficult and painful for him to confront, but rest assured, he's gonna come out of it happy and well.

and here's a compilation of some very old turnabout serenade drawings too :^]

(i didnt make dei's bday turnabout serenade on purpose, it was a tragic happy accident DFGHDJ i wanted his bday to be 7/7 bc i made daryan 6/6 but then the date. i realize the date orz)

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | Being In An Arranged Marriage With Them

A/N: This was so much I wrote!! For some reason I felt like I made a few of them OOC, but what the hell. It's an AU, so they’ll all be different from the regular Silm verse 😆. I think I broke my wrist whilst breaking a sweat thinking of different scenarios for each of them, but I managed to make it to the finish line! Alas, the final piece! ಥ_ಥ

Warnings: arranged marriage, there are minor angst themes, neglect and loneliness, rejection, comfort and happy endings for most except (Feanor)

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Feanor

He’s not known as Fëanáro without reason. When those words came out of his father’s mouth, as much as he adored his father, he was incensed by the level and nature of the dictation he was subjected to. He felt he was unjustly punished for some unknown transgression by Eru through this method.

Don’t anticipate him to even breathe, let alone glance in your direction when you’re observing him. He would gladly lock eyes with your figure when you’re not paying attention and scrutinize you without remorse. There’s nothing you could say to convince him of your innocence in this arrangement.

He assumes that you had a say in choosing your spouse because he’s Fëanáro, the firstborn and Crown Prince, and everyone desired him. Though politics and royal duties didn’t interest him, he was now aware of the political rationale behind the union. Eventually, he resists continuing his resentment towards his father because his father was compelled into it (in his opinion).

This resembles a Bridgerton moment, akin to King George and Queen Charlotte, where you reside in one house while he lives in another, a significant distance away. His father can complain all he wants about the lack of effort to establish a connection, and Fëanáro would simply ignore and roll his eyes.

Throughout the arranged marriage, you will feel completely alienated and rejected. There was a time when you were excited about being wed to the Crown Prince, even though your freedom was being curtailed. Even at events where you’re expected to appear as a couple, you arrive in separate coaches.

Do not expect him to hold your hand or have your arm around his elbow. Fëanáro takes the commitment seriously, as he feels his own freedom has been taken away. Talking to him is futile, for he will merely pretend to listen while focusing on getting drunk to forget the entire night.

“Why do you despise me so much? You act as if I am the cause of this entire arrangement when it is your father who is responsible. Listen, if you intend to ignore me, it might be best if we end this, as I did not willingly sign up for this mistreatment, especially from you. We can part ways and continue our separate lives, or if we are to continue, at least afford me the same respect you expect.”

You displayed remarkable courage by confronting his tantrums and earning yourself a few withering side–glances filled with anger and disbelief, because “How dare you speak to me so openly, as if we are equals?!” Kudos to you; you’ve just earned yourself another round of silence for the remainder of the night and week, perhaps even into the afterlife.

Fëanáro has no intention of making your marriage work. Eru could punish him, but he’d simply retort and carry on with his life. It’s all about his belief that he’s being coerced into the same situation as his father and his determination to avoid making that mistake.

If this arrangement is to succeed, you’ll need to pray seven times an hour, every day, for the rest of your life for divine intervention. Otherwise, you’ll be left complaining about his behaviour and treatment while he remains unruffled.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Maedhros

He had anticipated this situation due to the constant rivalry between his father and his half–uncle, who incessantly engaged in banter to prove the superiority of their respective families. He often found himself thrust into the forefront of this unnecessary competition. Therefore, he approached the arrangement with a sense of neutrality (lie! he chats his mother’s ear off).

As the firstborn of the heir, he fully comprehends the specific obligations that accompany his title and embraces them wholeheartedly. So, when you join your parents for the first meeting, he gracefully accepts his fate as your husband (although he sheds a few tears in private to his mother).

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lady/Lord Y/N. I am Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo, your betrothed. I sincerely hope that in the brief time before our wedding, we can learn a lot to make our journey as a married couple smoother. Please, do not hesitate to inform me of any discomforts you may encounter, and I will do my utmost to ensure your well–being. Remember, I am your husband, not your master. Have no fear as we build a life together.”

He is a polite and reserved individual, leaning more towards propriety than humour. He barely possesses a funny bone and seldom indulges in levity, which can be one of the more challenging aspects of the marriage. Nevertheless, he is respectful, stands up for you, is considerate, and fulfils all the duties of a husband.

However, he respects your boundaries when it comes to intimacy, acknowledging that you both are strangers. This means separate sleeping arrangements. All other spaces, such as the kitchen, dining room, reading room, coaches, and carriages, are shared.

As a husband, he typically leaves most decisions up to you, entrusting you with the role of household caretaker and offering his input only when you seek an additional opinion or when he believes a change is necessary.

During the initial stages of your relationship, he hopes that you can build good bonds with the rest of his family, particularly his brothers and parents. He is observant of your reactions and interactions with them and adjusts accordingly if he senses any discomfort.

Despite his efforts to avoid such emotions, he becomes sentimental when he reflects on the life he has created with you, even if it feels somewhat mechanical. The absence of arguments and the harmonious atmosphere in the house bring him joy. There are moments of awkwardness, but you’ve both learned to overcome them (and the first time you saw him laugh was when you attempted to make a joke about it).

As your marriage progresses, you encounter numerous highs and lows, primarily stemming from the political aspects. You have expressed your discontent with being treated as a trophy and being involved in unnecessary competition, despite knowing this from the outset. Dealing with this, particularly from his father, is a challenge that you and Maedhros will face together.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Maglor

Maglor is just as composed as his older brother, but he doesn’t quite align with the idea of both of you being used for political and competitive purposes. He grapples with the notion that Maedhros accepted the idea of an arranged marriage for political gain so readily. Now, he feels a profound sadness that he can’t freely choose someone to capture his heart.

However, Maglor makes sure that your time together never feels forced or obligatory. He disapproves of the constant reminder of the arranged marriage hanging over your heads. He’s dedicated to making your marriage healthy and happy, erasing any memory of your freedom being taken away.

Inheriting his mother’s temperament, Maglor is a pillar of strength for your concerns and worries. If you ever feel like you’re falling short of the arrangement’s expectations, or if you’re fearful, confused, unhappy, or distant, he encourages you to confide in him without hesitation. After all, he’s your husband and should be your confidant.

The perk of living with Maglor is a home constantly filled with music and music sheets. You may grumble about the sheets being everywhere but his music room, but he melts away any tension by serenading you with songs dedicated to you. It’s his way of expressing his genuine affection and appreciation for having you in his life.

“I’d like to dedicate my next song to someone I’ve grown close to in such a short time. They’ve found their way into my heart, even if they’re not entirely aware of it. This song is for them, to show how much I truly care and consider them a dear part of my life. So, without further ado, my next piece is in honour of my wonderful spouse.”

Though he may put you on the spot, he hopes that you’ll be moved by his heartfelt dedication. He isn’t being manipulative; his intentions are sincere, and he genuinely appreciates having you in his life.

Among his brothers, Maglor stands out as the most understanding and the one who despises the mistreatment of the arranged marriage. He firmly shuts down conversations that dwell on the circumstances of how you ended up together and replaces them with whimsical tales of your imaginary first encounters. His theatrical skills come into play as he playfully flirts and teases you, creating a charming and flirtatious atmosphere.

Only when you’re comfortable, does he extend his hand or arm for you to hold, patiently listen to your conversations, or spend time planning extravagant surprises.

Throughout your marriage, Maglor’s primary aim is to provide comfort and eliminate any tension or discomfort. You’ll have a loving husband who will fiercely defend your marriage against anyone who challenges it.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Celegorm

Another individual who defiantly scoffs at the arrangement, dismissing it because no one would dare challenge his freedom. Unfortunately, much to his discontent, the news proved true. As a result, he’s now in a fit of rage, flipping tables, and has disappeared for weeks, remaining unseen and unheard.

Tyelko isn’t present during the initial weeks of the arrangement, as he’s off wandering in the forest, complaining to Orome about the perceived unfairness of the situation. All the while, you are left alone in the new house. One can only imagine the shock he’ll experience upon his return.

His return is facilitated by Orome, who encourages him to give the arrangement a chance and approach it with an open mind. Thanks to Orome, your first meeting with Tyelko is relatively amicable, as he meets you standing in the doorway with a concerned expression on your face.

The look of concern you give him is unsettling for Tyelko, as he is accustomed to expecting anger for behaviour. Not knowing how to respond, he might inadvertently snap, making him come across as a jerk. This leads to you becoming reclusive to avoid triggering his temper, making his plan to scare you off fail.

Tyelko soon realises that you rarely speak or interact with him, leaving him to his own devices with homecooked meals and a comforting, caring tone. You even avoid making eye contact when he addresses you directly, leading him to conclude that you’re afraid or hate him.

“Why do you still treat me this way when I have been unpleasant? I don’t like it or enjoy how you look at me. Why must you still care for me when I have been unbothered? Are you manipulating me into feeling guilty? Because if that is the case, I can leave if it stops this unpleasant play. Just why are you still friendly with me?”

You could see the uneasiness in his posture prompting you to feel a sense of pity for neglecting an unheard-of side of him and the pleading tone makes you realise his sincerity. He genuinely wants to know how to end the discomfort in the house.

Accustomed to his harsh nature as described by others, you had found it difficult to imagine him being soft. It was a start in breaking the ice with your views and how you had perceived him to be during the arrangement. To which he scoffed at how you easily fell for the rumours of his roughness (he knows that he’s rough around the edges, but refuses to admit it).

Tyelko cautiously falls into the routine of becoming a caretaker alongside you since you gave him no reason to be hostile. All he can do is hope for the best. He’s still hesitant to let go of his freedom as it brings him peace of mind.

He eventually finds himself slowly warming up to the idea of you doing your best to understand and not readily judge. This eases the preconceived notions he had about you from the beginning. He thought your demeanour was all a façade to control him.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Caranthir

Two distinct reactions unfold the moment he’s abruptly brought up to speed with his situation: firstly, he swears, and secondly, he makes a swift attempt to escape the room. This was far from the life he had envisioned for himself, or any different from what his family had endured. He had heard of such unfortunate circumstances befalling others but never fathomed that he too would become a victim.

He seems rather brooding during the entire introduction, and he’s taken aback by the familiar expression mirrored on your face. He had assumed that you would be delighted, as many individuals often eagerly vie for the role of a prince’s spouse, particularly from the first house.

He remains quiet and distant, wanting to intensify your the distance between. Both of you share similar attitudes towards marriage and living habits, which results in minimal attempts at interaction, with each of you occupying different ends of the house.

Polite greetings are given from your end while he silently grumbles and mutters incomprehensible phrases. You take it as a sign that he doesn’t wish to communicate. Though at times, you tend to feel the weight of his gaze on you, and if you catch him staring, he quickly averts his gaze, returning to his displeasure state.

It’s a significant challenge for him to partially embrace the role of a suitable husband, given the constant reminder of the unexpected circumstances that brought you together. Expressing himself has always been a struggle when in times of comfort forsaken, leading to Caranthir muttering his words grumpily.

“I’m not quite certain how to put this into words, but I want us to be on the same page during this arrangement. So, I’d like to know your expectations and views of me. This way, if I am to avoid you or limit our interactions to prevent any discomfort or tension, I can meet them.”

It’s not an easy task for him to forge a tiny connection when the circumstances makes it daring. He has to be mindful of his temper while closely observing your reactions to his actions. He critically assesses every aspect and draws conclusions accordingly.

When in his own environment and free from intrusion, he attempts to gradually involve you in his world by silently inviting you through non-verbal gestures. You have to get use to the fact that he doesn’t appreciate talking too much. This can offer insight into his true self, allowing you to connect more deeply.

However, as your relationship with Caranthir continues to develop, there are bound to be ups and downs, especially when dealing with his outbursts triggered by various factors or his siblings’ relentless teasing. One way to show your appreciation for your place beside him is by coming to his defence.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Curufin

I’d like to say he’s Feanor 2.0 in terms of his ideas and approach. However, since it’s Feanor orchestrating the arrangement, Curufin is fully on board and understands his father’s perspective on the benefits. I mean, he’s just as competitive as his father, which is the primary reason behind this arrangement.

Curufin perceives this as a political strategy that he must honour and uphold. From the day you met him, he has had no hesitation in stepping forward and reminding you of the duties you must fulfil as his spouse and the newest member of his household. Your loyalty to him must be unwavering.

Although your initial impression of him left you thinking he was controlling and demanding, all Curufin desires from you, aside from his earlier requests, is your comfort and happiness while living with him. You want to expand your house, sure. You desire a spacious backyard, certainly. You hope for more gifts, without a doubt. If you want to discuss your feelings, he’ll make an effort. If you need space, he’s willing to compromise.

I’m serious about this one; you’ll need to compromise with him if you want your own space—by that, I mean wanting to live separately. If you want separate rooms, he can work with that. Curufin has proper etiquette when it comes to the comfort of those he holds dear.

His top priority is to treat his spouse with the utmost care and respect, ensuring all your needs are met. The only thing he asks is that you don’t take advantage of his vulnerability and exert undue control over him.

“As your husband, it is my duty to ensure that all your needs are met, and in return, I expect the same from you. Whatever you require, please come forward and inform me; there’s no need to conceal your desires. Lay them on the table, and we can work on them together as we were intended to do. I also request that you maintain your dignity and pride when it comes to our new household and family, and everything will go smoothly. Furthermore, I ask that you don’t exploit my kindness and keep our personal life within the confines of our home.”

The entire arrangement may sound controlling and suffocating, but Curufin allows you your freedom. He believes in reciprocity—what he wants for himself, he’s willing to provide in return. He puts in his utmost effort to meet your needs, as long as you show the same enthusiasm.

When he attends an event, his greatest desire is for you to accompany him. He takes pride in showcasing his craftsmanship through the pieces he has created especially for you. He spends hours crafting an array of jewellery to match your preferences.

The surprising aspect of this marriage is his firm stance on conversations concerning your arrangement and your relationship. Everyone is aware of it, but he doesn’t allow others to discuss it, not even his brothers. He sees you as his spouse with the arrangement being a thing of the past.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Amrod

Much like Tyelko, Amrod possesses a rebellious spirit, often disappearing when the harsh reality of his situation becomes too apparent. When he does, it’s typically in search of his mother’s advice and assistance. His primary concern is unravelling the mystery of his father’s role in this arranged marriage. Sadly, his suspicions are confirmed as Nerdanel had no say in the matter; it was entirely Feanor’s competitive nature that drove it.

His mother’s invaluable advice to him was to make the best of the situation and take time to get to know you before making any serious commitments. She became his go–to source of guidance whenever he found himself in a tight spot.

Fast forward to the time when he meets you, he’s fully aware that you aren’t thrilled about the arrangement and even contemplated an escape before the introduction. It hurt to hear that you were reluctant to give him a chance, as he was open to doing so. This prompted his dedication to ensuring that the time you spent with him was worthwhile.

Much like Maglor, he’s determined to fill your days with joy and dispel the clouds of resentment, all while maintaining a respectful distance to avoid overstepping any boundaries. Whenever your responses leave him puzzled, he frequently seeks advice from his mother.

Simultaneously, he avoids his father due to his disgust at being essentially bartered like a commodity for his father’s satisfaction. Any discussion related to his marriage is swiftly shut down, and he walks away. He has no interest in hearing comments or mockery about the arrangement.

However, there’s no need to worry because he receives guidance from his mother. If you wish to converse with him, he encourages you to speak openly and share your thoughts without fear. He wants to hear your perspective on things.

“Please understand that I may not be the most well–known among my siblings, and you may have heard little about me. Nonetheless, please don’t hesitate to express your thoughts. While we may not be romantically involved or incredibly close, I will do my utmost to work towards a harmonious relationship. Please give me the opportunity to build something prosperous between us.”

Amrod is dedicated to establishing a secure friendship between the two of you before any romantic involvement comes into play. He aims to create a space where you can feel comfortable and relaxed without the weight of the arranged marriage hanging over your heads. There’s no rush, and you both have the time to sort out your duties and positions as your friendship grows.

Throughout your journey from friendship to romance, Amrod maintains a gentlemanly demeanour. Though you may encounter some challenges along the way, they will be infrequent. Your relationship won’t be flawless, as it’s impossible to forget that you were both thrust into this arrangement without your consent. However, it’s something you can bond over and find common ground to overcome your fears.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Amras

The quieter of the two siblings, Amras, maintains his silence even when informed of his situation. His irritation is clearly visible on his face, which leaves you anxious about what to anticipate. He reserves his complaints for private conversations with his twin and mother, all due to his father’s insistence on marriage, which he feels is encroaching on his freedom.

Amras’s silence remains constant from the moment you first met him. Your relationship is marred by a sense of being strangers living under the same roof. He refrains from even greeting you, still seething over the situation and pondering how to express his anger.

Despite his understanding that you played no part in arranging this engagement, Amras can’t prevent his anger from simmering. It’s not directed at you but rather at both sets of parents for their low regard for both of you. Amras struggles to find a way to communicate his feelings without intimidating you.

Amras notices your tendency to distance yourself whenever you’re in the same room with him or when you shrink under his silently judgmental gaze. Your eyes rarely meet his, and when they do, you quickly look away. Your actions make him feel as though he has harmed you or been hostile towards you at some point.

“Could it be that you...resent me for the circumstances that have come between us? You hardly speak to me even when I desire it, fearing rejection and silence. I can sense your anger over what your parents have done, and I share that anger. Perhaps we could attempt to build something together, starting as acquaintances and moving from there.”

His voice breaks, and he likely breaks down, allowing you to witness his vulnerability as he cries. He’s confused and doesn’t know what to do. All he wants is your guidance and support to navigate the storm he’s been thrust into. You are the only lifeline in the ocean he can rely on, just as you rely on him.

Amras may appear somewhat awkward, much like Caranthir, as he observes you in your element, awed by your ability to remain resolute. He is eager to assist and hopes that you will show him what is expected of him, as he has few memories of his parents’ dynamics and relationships.

His primary goal is to become the best husband possible for you, but he first wants to establish a basic foundation and compatibility. He follows you like an eager puppy, observing your features and silently appreciating your beauty. He feels fortunate to have ended up with someone good.

˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚. Celebrimbor

The moment those words escape his advisor’s lips, he feels a strong urge to toss them out the window. The idea of following his family’s tradition makes Tyelpë shudder. He neither desires marriage nor believes he’s capable of being a great husband, haunted as he is by his old life. He fears that others assume he will repeat his family’s mistakes.

Despite his personal reservations, he acknowledges the political necessity of the situation for the betterment of his kingdom. Consequently, he has no choice but to go with the flow and bear the burden. Upon being introduced to you, he maintains a stiff demeanour, silently repeating to himself, “Don’t mess up, don’t scare them.”

His conduct in this moment is heavily influenced by the obligation he feels toward the prosperity of his people, even though he resents it. Tyelpë can’t help but grind his teeth at the thought, as he believes there must be alternative ways to improve his homeland. However, like everyone else except Feanor, Tyelpe is reserved, observant, and respectful. He listens to you chatter on about the benefits of unifying both kingdoms while silently stewing in his own thoughts.

Polite and approachable, he makes an effort to ensure you don’t feel alienated by his role as your future husband. He respects your boundaries and the need for distance between you, given that you are still strangers.

“Please do not harbour any ill feelings toward me for the choices I’ve made to secure myself. We are still in the process of getting to know each other, and my intentions are far from ostracising you. The concept of an arranged marriage and warming up to a stranger from a distant land is still a challenge for me. I have much to learn, so I ask for your patience.”

During the pre–courtship period before your marriage, Tyelpë is a gentleman and crafts small trinkets as tokens of his growing fondness for you. These may include a hairpin, hair comb, bracelet, earrings, or a simple pendant necklace. He saves the more extravagant designs for when he becomes more accustomed to his role as your partner.

While you need not fear his temper, he kindly requests that you refrain from flaunting your relationship in public, even though everyone is aware of the arrangement. Tyelpë values his privacy and would be disappointed if his personal life became a topic of discussion.

Be prepared to spend nights alone in bed, as he isn’t yet comfortable sharing his personal space. He might suggest having separate chambers until some time has passed and he’s warmed up to the idea of closer proximity. He simply asks for your understanding, as his reclusive tendencies are his source of comfort.

The only potential challenge you may face is his reclusive behaviour persisting for a longer period than expected. He is aware that you may eventually come to terms with being paired with him, but he struggles with it. There are unresolved issues from his past that he needs to address before fully embracing someone new in his life.

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[monrageo]

Saw a lot of Spider-Steve art so I had to jump in. Most art modernised him but I want my 80s, mallrat, neon lights Spider-Man + I wrote his origin story. *POSES FOUND ON PINTEREST*

Also Steve looks great in the classic red and blue but I wanted him to have his own costume so yellow he shall be. Now onto my headcanons.

In a world where Hawkins is a megapolis a teen boy gets bitten by a radioactive spider in 83’ while visiting Hawkins Lab (Think less abandoned more Oscorp/Alchemax) and so it begins. He starts doing small good things around the city, experimenting with his powers.

But he isn’t thinking about being a superhero or anything close to that (I imagine the drawing with the sweats and goggles is his first “costume”). Then he gets with this amazing girl-Nancy Wheeler.

Life is looking up for Steve he’s got these weird powers that get him to be the basketball and swim team captain. He’s popular, he’s got this amazing girl that inspires him to be better and better.

He looses his popular crowd friends, he wants to be better. He starts thinking about the superhero thing and actually goes through with it. He isn’t shouting it from the rooftops but news is getting around that a guy in spandex is busting criminals- Spider-man/King Spider.

Steve gets cocky, thinks he’s on top of the world, untouchable. Then Will Byers goes missing-that’s a whole separate story. Nancy and John start their investigation. Steve gets jealous etc.

In the end a battle breaks out and Steve is unable to save one person-Barbara Holland. His girlfriend’s best friend. That of course destroys Nancy. She doesn’t know Steve is Spider-man, she seeks comfort in him but things are not the same.

There’s this whole thing with Jonathan, the obvious attraction, the compatibility. But also Steve’s guilt, his self hatred. He realises he was too blindsided by his cockiness. Barb’s death is on his hands. He breaks up with Nancy and solely focuses on being the best Spider-man he can be.

That of course costs him friends etc. but when you’ve been through what he has high school drama just seems pointless… and so King Steve falls from the throne.

I imagine the Nancy story line parallels the Gwen Stacy one in the original comics (without the death and clones), maybe Nancy even blames and hates Spider-man the way Gwen did… that also contributes to the Stancy break-up.

Perhaps Nancy becomes hyper focused on catching this Spider-man so he can be held accountable for Barb’s death.

Anyways now Steddie, I think Eddie would love Spider-man / King Spider he’s some guy with spider powers and bright spandex that helps people, super camp, Eddie would love him.

I think Steve starts noticing Eddie in a new light when his lunch table tirades now also include how awesome spider-man is. This unapologetic support makes the now loser Steve feel like it is all worth it-the stress, the pain, the loneliness-

Tough he of course knows Eddie isn’t talking about him, he’s talking about Spider-man, the hero. Not the former popular guy Steve Harrington.

I have many ideas regarding a Stranger things!Spider-verse and which characters could be what. Maybe Barb’s death was something Lizard-like, but upside down version. Like something from the lap infected her? I like the idea of Steve’s father being involved in the labs, perhaps as a Norman Osborn parallel, without becoming the Goblin though.

The goblin/Norman/Harry Osborn storyline could be reimagined with Tommy perhaps??? Then Venom with Eddie (so perfect) or Billy (a tragic end)??

[stargirlrchive]

ocean eyes: chapter four ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ocean eyes masterlist

chapter four in collaboration with @tarrynightss <3

summary: widow!jake sully x female!reader, 10 year age-gap. jake is lowkey sunshine <3 reader is grumpy! arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, smut, p in v, oral - fem receiving + wc - 5,646

comments: part four lovers, holy shit this is my favorite chapter, oh my god! i just want to give the biggest thanks to liz @tarrynightss <3 my pookie woookie ! she literally made this chapter what it is! <3 and if you do not follow her already, do it RIGHT NOW! she is so talented and amazing and RAHHH i love her !!!! she wrote the smut and let me just say, delicious, amazing, spectacular! we were so in sync with this and i am so proud of this chapter <3 i hope you all love her just as much as we do! okay bye, love you!!!!

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Your weeks consisted of avoiding Ronal and Tonowari, training Jake for hours, and then slipping away to your favorite cove for the rest of the night. You had even begun to join Jake’s family on a few dinners, wanting to avoid your sister as best you could. But it had only been a few times, still feeling awkward around his children, and your distaste for the situation had not simmered.

You had even begun to gather your own fruits and scout your own fish, just to avoid being in your home. It had been weeks but Ronal’s words were still seared into your skin, selfish, selfish, selfish.

If only she knew how hard it had been for you once she left. Your mother always said she did not have favorites, although everyone knew that was not true. It had always been Ronal. In your mother’s eyes your sister held the moon, she was born to lead the people. And she was right, your sister was fierce, strong willed and bound by duty.

As a child you were the same, though you had a knack for trouble, something that did not sit well with her.

It had been a few years since Ronal had left, mated with Tonowari and you slipped away from her priorities. She was barely able to find time for you, which hurt more so than your mother not having time for you. You were not used to it.

So you decided being invisible would work best for you, putting in everything you had into becoming a warrior for the clan.

Younger than most, but twice as dedicated. You took every free moment you had to train, sharpen your skill. But still, the attention from your sister never came. She only ever really acknowledged your efforts until the day of your celebration. You were the smallest of the class, and in Ronal’s eyes it was silly. How even at the age of thirteen you were so sure of yourself.

But Ronal disappeared again, at least that was how you saw it. For those two years between completing your Iknimaya and your Mother’s death you have very little memories with your sister.

What you do remember is the feeling of accomplishing something new, and looking around only to find you were completely alone.

That feeling was embedded into every crevice of your body, similar to the one you felt at the age of eighteen. Foolish and naive, thinking you were in love. Expecting that by sharing intimate moments with one of the Na’vi warriors would keep him bound to you.

That was why you refused to share your life with anyone else. You had been alone for so long, why start now?

You were ripped away from your thoughts as a grunt of frustration left Jake’s mouth. Your ears twitched at the sound, snapping your head to look at him. “Stupid fish.”

Your lips twitched at his frustration, trying not to laugh. “Position yourself, want to see if you are doing it correctly.”

“Why can I not just use a bow? I am well versed with that weapon.”

Your eyes rolled at him, “The current is too rough, it will snap your arrow in half. Now learn to use the spear.”

Jake grunted, his muscles achy and stiff as he lifted his arms again. Your hand slapped on the underside of his arm, the sting furthering his irritation. “Don’t do that.”

“You are weak!”

His heated gaze flickered to your face, the intensity of it halting a bit as he noticed the glossy look in your eyes, “You enjoy pushing my buttons.”

Your eyes rolled, “Believe it or not, I do not enjoy anything when it comes to you.”

He scoffed, dropping his arm down and it caused you to hiss at him, “Up! We are not done.”

“Do you know how to shoot an arrow?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer my question.”

Your face scrunched up in annoyance, “Get a catch and then I will answer you.”

Out of pure annoyance, Jake did what you asked. Drawing his hand back and focusing his gaze in the water, when he saw a fish, a large one too, his spear sunk in, missing the catch.

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you pulled the weapon from his hands, “Skxawng.”

“Clearly I am not going to catch anything today, so answer my question. Do you know how to shoot an arrow?”

Your lips pursed as you walked away from him, you purposely threw your hair behind your shoulder and splashing Jake’s face in the process. “I have no need to use a bow, so no. I do not know how to use one.”

Jake felt his tail thump in the water, excitement bubbling in his chest, “Let me teach you then.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you continued to walk towards the beach, “There is nothing I have to learn from you.”

Another jab, one of the few that actually bothered Jake. Those had become more frequent, and the fine line between the excitement he had and the irritation they caused were beginning to blur together. His fingers wrapped around your forearm, the unexpected movement caused your body to jolt roughly against his. You gasped quietly, “Let go of me!”

“Are you scared you’ll fail?”

Your motions stilled, no longer pulling away from him but trying to fight the need to whack him with your tail, “No-I just do not wish to spend any more time with you than absolutely necessary.”

Jake’s fingers let go of you, he knew just how to push your buttons too. “Fine. Truth be told, I know you’d fail. Better not waste our time.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, his words bothering you beyond belief, “Fine then. Teach me.”

Jake had moved from you, circling in front of you, a look of utter satisfaction on his features and you wanted to stomp down on his foot, “Don’t think I will. Like you said, why waste more time than necessary with each other.”

He was walking away from you, the stupid look still on his face. The Toruk Makto, doubting in your skill stung more than you’d care to admit, your finger wrapped around his wrist, halting his movement, “No-I want to learn.”

You actually wanted to prove him wrong, but who cared. You caved, and that was all Jake cared about. “Follow me then.”

He turned away, trying to hide the satisfaction that began to consume his chest but his tail betrayed him, swaying lazily in the water as he walked out. You grunted quietly, following behind him as he made his way towards his marui. You were growing impatient with how leisurely his actions were, “I do not have all day.”

Jake paused briefly, ears twitching in irritation as he noticed the bite in your voice. His fingers balled into a tight fist before he took a deep breath, quickening his steps despite not wanting you to know that you did get under his skin in a way he couldn't explain. But along with that annoyingly irritating way your voice always seemed to disgruntle him, he enjoyed it all the same. Because he knew he got under your skin as well, you were just unwilling to admit it. Unwilling to bite at the hook he sent you, but it would happen, he was sure of it.

He picked up his bow and arrow, your foot tapping as your arms crossed over your chest was making Jake anxious. He was trying to still the pounding of his chest, feeling unnerved by the way you seemed to find fault in everything he did.

Nerves bubbling so much so his fingers fumbled and the arrows fell from his fingers, “Eywa, you want to teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow and you’re fumbling like a child.”

Another jab that irritated deep in his soul, that thin line completely blending together and now he was just annoyed with you. Annoyed with every sly comment that fell from your mouth. He huffed in anger, roughly yanking the arrows back into his arms. And you noticed the change in his demeanor, mouth flattening into a straight line as his angry gaze fixated on you.

Nerves bubbled in your chest, along with an excitement that you had not felt in a long time, it settled in your lower stomach. Your tail swished behind you gently, raising your brows in challenge, practically asking him to bite back. He just shook his head, sighing quietly as he moved past you, walking towards the forest. You were following behind him closely, your steps quickening and you just felt his frustration with you.

You were hoping he’d finally snap, run to Ronal and Tonowari and beg to pick someone else for him. The thought caused a bitter taste in your mouth, but you would never admit that. You would never willingly open your heart to someone else, especially someone who had already loved someone. Loved them enough to spend years with, have children with, you were not able to do it.

When did things in your life become so difficult? So complicated to the point where all you wish for was to be left alone? You weren’t sure, but it was lonely. And although uncommon within your people, you did find Na’vi to quelch the bitterness that had consumed your heart.

You were so deep in thought you had not noticed Jake stopped walking, stumbling roughly into him. Your face squished against his back, your nose throbbing from the pain. You hissed out, instantly pushing yourself off of him as your face warmed up in both embarrassment and pain. Jake snickered quietly, “You need to pay attention.”

“You are so infuriating!”

Jake laughed, ears pinning back in amusement as he looked over his shoulder to look at you. Smiling harder as he saw your face pinched up in anger. He fully turned to you, thrusting the bow and arrows into your hand, your eyes narrowed in on him in annoyance.

He did not spare you a second glance, walking deeper into the forest until he was a few trees away from you. He removed the knife from its sheath, carving deeply into the tree a large ‘X’. He pointed to it before telling you, “This will be your target.”

“Really? I could not tell.”

Jake’s features glossed over once more with anger, his ears pinned back roughly against his head as he made quick steps to get back to you. “Let’s see it then.”

“I do not know the first thing about shooting an arrow, how do you expect me to know how to hold it properly?”

Jake roughly pulled on you, a quiet yelp fell from your mouth as your back crashed against his chest. His whole body caging yours in as he placed your arms in the position you needed to be, “Well, you act as if you know all. Excuse me for the confusion.”

You were unable to say anything more, the words caught in your throat as the heat from his body consumed yours. His fingers were anything but gentle, covering yours as he pulled the string back. He let it go quickly, your hands still in his and it hit the target dead center.

A small laugh of excitement left your mouth, Jake finally stepped away from you. You were too distracted to notice the way he was watching you. “Now position yourself.”

And you did, trying to copy his motions but it was clear you were off, even in the way you were standing there was an ache between your shoulders that had not been there. Jake’s hand lightly swatted your arm, just as you had earlier, moving to push down on your stomach and your stance was thrown off. Your feet wobbled as your body jolted. “Your strength needs to come from here.”

He pushed on your upper abdomen again, “You should not move if I push.”

Your eyes rolled back, “I just did not expect it.”

Jake threw you a snarky smile, “If you say so.”

You huffed out a breath, pulling your fingers back again. Jake found less things to adjust this time and he could see you were a quick learner. “Straighten your back.”

You listened, shoulders squaring out and the ache eased from between them. “Let go.”

Your arrow went flying but missed the target by a long shot. Jake whistled, “You were a bit off.”

“You dont say.”

Jake admired how you instantly grabbed another arrow, your fingers placing themselves correctly as you pulled the arrow back, “Again.”

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Hours had trickled by and it was starting to get dark, your fingers were raw from the string of the bow, muscles aching from the constant tug. Even after going at this for so long, you had nothing to show for it. Your arrows continuously missed, and it was only getting worse the weaker your limbs became. “It is not that difficult.”

Jake’s voice only spiked your frustrations, snapping the small chord that was already wearing thin from your exhaustion. You turned to him and pushed the bow straight into his chest, “Maybe you are just a poor teacher.”

His tail flicked in irritation and he turned around to pick up the arrows that had landed in the grass below your target.

“Maybe you are just a poor student, hm? My seven-year-old listens better than you.”

An angered hiss made your lips curl up into a snarl. “That’s because only a child would listen to you! You are infuriating!”

Ronal nagging at you and pointing out your flaws was more than enough, Jake did not have to join in as well.

A dry chuckle left his mouth as he pulled the last two arrows out of the bark of the tree, shooting a skeptical glance over at you. “From the way you’re acting, I would say you fall under that category.”

Your broad tail almost thumped against the ground in frustration, but you stopped it just in time, knowing it would only strengthen his point. You inched closer to him so you could spit your venom more clearly.

“If we were mated I would want to pluck your eyes out for the rest of my life,” you snarled at him, adding an annoyed ‘pak’ when the stupid man merely grinned.

Jake strode over to you with bow and arrows in his hands, looking more smug than offended at your words. His eyes traveled shamelessly over your form, delighting in the way your cheeks tinged a darker blue and your eyes narrowed at him. There was so much fire in you, luring him in to feel if your skin would burn under his touch.

“You would be so lucky,” he practically purred.

Your jaw almost dropped at his shameless flirting, far more forward than the men of your clan. As he smirked down at you he truly did look like a demon, you thought, and your ears folded back slightly as you felt an old fire ignite within you.

You refused to give in to it. “Why? So I can have a mate who cannot hunt fish? Who can’t ride a Tsurak?” You circled around him as your gaze blatantly judged every part of him. Your tail swatted against his legs, almost making him lose his balance. “There is nothing you have to offer me, JakeSully. I could find a man half your age with more skills.”

You seemed to have mastered how to provoke him, that old frustration bubbling back up in his chest and coming out in a light hiss. Your pupils narrowed at his challenge, stopping in front of him. For a moment everything was quiet, your gazes staying connected and tails swaying in anticipation.

Slowly, you moved your hand forward, not even blinking as you slapped the arrows and bow out of his hands. They fell down onto the grass below in soft thumps, Jake’s eyes flicking down to them before coming back up to stare straight at you. He breathed in heavily through his nose, his brow creasing into a scowl.

You seemed pleased with yourself, the corners of your mouth quirking up as you cocked your head. No words had to be used, your message loud and clear. What are you going to do about it?

An odd yet intoxicating tension rose and rose as your gazes remained locked, sharp eyes watching one another. Perhaps he should just walk away, turn around and have his children pack their bags once again. He shouldn’t want to mate with such a frustrating, stubborn woman like you, but Eywa knows he did.

Suddenly, Jake’s hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you closer till he pressed his lips against yours. His grip on you was loose, the kiss testing the waters to see if you would push him away. An agonizing heartbeat passed before you gasped softly, one hand coming up to rest against his chest. As soon as he felt you accept him he kissed you more passionately, hungry to deepen the little taste of you that he’d gotten.

So many thoughts crossed your mind that you could barely pick one to focus on. It had been years since you had been with a man, having sworn to not give yourself so intimately to someone again, yet you could not find it in yourself to push Jake away. He was a skxawng, with his smug smiles and overconfidence, and a touch that set you ablaze. You shivered as his lips parted yours, his tongue slipping past them.

As he deepened the kiss his hands moved to your waist, stroking over your naked skin. As your tongues stroked together you knew where this would lead, and a weight pressed down in your heart as you also knew where it would end. When he had found his pleasure, Jake would go, leaving you alone in the forest to clean off your shame.

You knew this would happen, yet the firm press of his calloused hands promised something else. Security.

It made you sad, angry even. Not your parents nor sister had been able to promise you that, and yet here was the former Olo'eyktan spinning a tale with his touches. With a snarl, you bit at his bottom lip and Jake backed away slightly in shock. As he touched his lip, he could feel a familiar wet warmth there, his fingers stained red when he retracted them. He wasn’t bleeding that bad, but it was enough to shock him, the man’s ears folding back in alert.

He had no time to consider if you were angry with his advances, your mouth clashing to his once again. You practically threw yourself at him, greedy hands rubbing over his muscled chest as you nipped at his injured lip once again. He groaned into your mouth. Everything just had to go the hard way with you.

Every stroke of your fingers against his body sent pleasant chills down yours. Every look that you had gotten of him had already made it clear that he was an attractive man, one that many would be pleased to have by their side, but feeling him was a whole different story. You almost moaned into the kiss as your fingers delved lower, tracing where his muscles dipped into a delicious V as you neared his loincloth. You cupped him boldly, instantly feeling the strong press of his hard cock against the fabric.

You smirked as you pulled back from his lips, batting your lashes at him. “My…”

Jake assumed that you were going to praise his size, his chest already swelling with pride.

“I had expected more self-restraint from Toruk Makto.” Your amused tone made it clear that you were mocking him. Your fingers wrapped tighter around his bulge and he bit back a groan. “Perhaps you have lost your touch.”

That statement seemed to ignite a fire in his eyes, hand shooting up to grab hold of your wrist. His brow scrunched up, face so serious and determined that it had your lips parting at the sight. You had never seen him like this before, and you imagined this is what he must’ve looked like when he stood before the clans all those years ago.

“You won’t be saying that after I’m done with you.”

Before your lips could form a word, Jake swept you off your feet, landing you in the grass with a soft ‘oof’. Your wide eyes stared up at him as his large hand took hold of your thighs, spreading you open for him and propping up your legs.

A hiss formed at the back of your throat, head lifting to spit another insult at him before he shamelessly licked over your clothed cunt. Your hiss turned into a pathetic little mewl as his tongue formed wet stripes over your loincloth, pressing the material eagerly into your folds. He groaned as he tasted your wetness even through the material, every swipe of his tongue only revealing more of your sweet taste.

“Talk a big game for someone who’s this wet by just having a man stick his tongue into your mouth,” he groaned against you, his chuckle muffled as he was unwilling to pull away from your heat just yet.

You kicked lightly at his back with your heels, groaning in protest of what Jake was saying (though you only understood about half of it). It was foolish to deny it, the evidence staining your loincloth more and more by the second.

A disappointed whine left your mouth when he pulled back, his hands fumbling to untie your loincloth. You watched in impatience as he seemed to not understand how to get it off, cursing under his breath.

You rolled your eyes and pushed away his hands to do it yourself. “Bah! Can’t do anything.”

Jake flung the wet piece of clothing out of sight as soon as you had it off, face delving back in between your legs. It seems that though he wasn’t going to respond to your words with ones of his own, he wasn’t letting it slide either. His tongue only lapped over your wet cunt once to part your folds, his attentions instantly turning to your clit afterward. Your fingers dug into the grass below you as he sucked at your clit, pleasure rippling through your body like a wave. You had forgotten just how pleasing another’s touch could be.

Jake was clearly experienced, alternating in sucking at the sensitive bud and then flicking the tip of his tongue over it in hard strokes. His eyes peered up at you as you moaned, his cock now painfully straining against his loincloth. You looked like a goddess. Head thrown back in ecstasy, hair splayed out over the forest floor and your body flushed and writhing at every pleasurable movement of his tongue. Your sister might be Tsahík, but Jake felt far closer to Eywa when he was near you.

Your hands flew to the back of his head as you felt yourself getting close to cumming, fingers gripping tightly at his hair. When he groaned it sent more pleasant tingles through your core and you couldn’t help but press his face even tighter against you. He didn’t mind in the slightest, tongue only working against your clit with renewed vigor.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you felt your body tensing up, finally tipping over that sweet edge. Your mouth stayed open in a silent scream, little sounds of pleasure leaving you as Jake continued his movements as you orgasmed. You hadn’t come this hard for Eywa knows how long and the moment almost makes you sigh in relief, feeling every muscle in your body tensing and then relaxing, a peaceful ecstasy washing over you.

Jake finally pulled back, lidded gaze watching you intensely. A small, relieved smile pulled at your lips as you panted, eyes tightly shut. You looked so relaxed, your face usually tense and scrunched up whenever he saw you.

“Damn, that must’ve truly been good, huh?I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

He just couldn’t help himself, feeling more than pleased with his own performance. You huffed and your hands swatted at his head. For a moment he thought he had won the upper hand, but after a second to recover you sprung up. You pounced on him like a Viperwolf and it quickly became his turn to have his back pressed into the grass.

Your eyes were glossed over with desire as you tore at his loincloth, some strings definitely ripping in the process as you roughly took it off of him. Jake sat up with wide eyes, breath hitching in his throat as you straddled him. This close he could see every little speck of color in your eyes, every tiny luminescent dot or stripe on your face. You were beautiful, but he had little more than a second to admire you as you took hold of his hard cock and positioned yourself over it.

You didn’t want to look down, sure that if you did you would lose your confidence. He felt big in your hand, and you tried your best not to nervously swallow when the thick head nudged against your entrance. No, he would not see your nerves, would not get to know how long it had truly been for you and mock you for it. Little did you know that the man beneath you was perhaps even more nervous, Jake not having sought out another after his late mate’s death.

A stifled grunt sounded from you as you sank down onto his cock, already feeling more than full enough after the first few inches. Your hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin to an almost painful extent. Good, he thought, Jake bracing himself against cumming as soon as your tight heat engulfed him.

You were not a quitter, biting at the inside of your cheeks as you continued slowly impaling yourself on his length till your ass was snuggly rested against his balls. A violent shiver rocked your body as you sat still like that, filled so well by him that you could feel your clit start to throb all over again.

After taking a shuddering breath, you braced yourself and started riding him, his cock easily sliding in and out of your wet cunt. Every stroke of his length against your insides had moans falling from both of you, Jake’s hands finding your hips to softly guide your movements. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, the need to scream his name growing stronger by the second. He felt so good inside you, like you were made for one another.

You bite at your bottom lip, no, you can’t think that way.

Your ears perk up as Jake groans loudly, face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Not so mighty now, are you, Toruk Makto?” you cooed at him, snickering in between your pants.

His lips peeled back to reveal his teeth as a light snarl graced his face. “Don’t get too cocky now, kid, you still have much to learn.”

You cocked your head. “Really?” You watched his eyes roll back as you rolled your hips in a way that made him reach deep inside you, biting back your own moan. “Seems like I’m the one who’s teaching you a thing or two here.”

Jake panted harshly, grip on your hips increasing till it was almost bruising. “Oh, we’ll see.”

You squealed as he flipped the position and pinned you down underneath him. He pulled your legs up to rest them over his shoulders, a hint of a grin pulling at his lips before he thrust his cock back into you. You screamed, your walls clenching around him as he started to fuck into you hard and fast. His pace was relentless, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling underneath his skin at the strain.

He laughed as he watched your face warp in pleasure, your hands trying wildly to find something to grab onto. “What? Can’t keep up?”

You couldn’t seem to manage to properly respond to him, eyes desperate as you cried out his name. He couldn’t resist leaning forward, bending you till your legs were almost pressed to your chest, his lips finding yours once again.

He kissed you passionately, groaning into your mouth as he continued his rapid strokes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good, his cock twitching inside of your slick cunt at every movement. Jake wouldn’t last long anymore.

Any soul unlucky enough to stray too far into the forest would quickly be able to hear the wet slaps of him fucking into your body, the sounds falling from your mouths everything but silent as well.

He moved away from your lips to bury his head into the crook of your shoulder, teeth nipping at the skin there. He felt so tempted to mark you, to place a bite on your shoulder that would make sure everyone knew you were his. But he couldn’t, not yet.

Jake purred your name so sweetly into your neck that it almost made your eyes roll back. It was becoming too much, your cunt throbbing around him as his fast pace rushed you towards your second orgasm, familiar tears stinging at your eyes.

His wet tongue came out to lap over your neck and it sent a shiver over your body. You squeezed your eyes tightly shut. Just a bit more.

With a well-aimed roll of his hips, he had you cumming yet again, your toes curling as your hot walls clamped down around his length. You could feel him shudder against you, your hands finding his back and clawing at it wildly. For every jolt of pleasure that shook your body, you scratched past his skin and Jake groaned loudly in response.

He grit his teeth, thrusts stuttering as he tried to hold himself back from instantly following behind you. He just wanted a few more minutes of feeling your tight cunt wrapped around him.

Though the sky was still blue, you swore you saw stars, head thrown back into the grass. All you could do was hold on tight and mumble out your desires as Jake continued to fuck you, his breath hot and heavy against your neck.

You could feel his body tensing and heard his breath hitch right before he came, the man’s face scrunching up in pure ecstasy. He held himself deep inside you, letting you feel exactly how he was filling you up, his cum seeping inside of you.

Jake let out a pleased sigh and pressed a kiss to your temple. Your scent was intoxicating right now, full of desire and laced with his own. This is what he wanted you to smell like for the rest of his days, and he inhaled it eagerly.

He couldn’t pull himself away from you, his pelvis still flush against yours as his fingers sought out your clit. A high-pitched sound of surprise left you as his rough fingertips stroked over the swollen bud. You writhed underneath him, legs shaking as he tried to bring you to orgasm yet again.  

“J-Jake!” you choked out, hands pushing uselessly at his arms.

He was reveling in the way your cunt squeezed and twitched around his length at every stroke of his fingers, the thought of his cum getting taken even deeper inside you this way making him hard all over again. His fingers didn’t stop no matter how much you whined and your body shook, this time ripping a loud scream from you when you came. It felt like being swept away in a tidal wave, yet instead of fighting it you let it take you completely.

You were still letting out little moans at the aftershocks when Jake pulled his cock out of you. He groaned at the sight of some of his seed slipping out of your used cunt, unconsciously licking his lips.

As soon as he shifted his position on top of you, your mind cleared up a bit and your mood dropped. This was the part where he rolled off of you, maybe shot you a thanks, and then left you tainted and alone in the forest. Your throat bobbed at the thought, hands retreating from him to lay them against your own stomach, almost protecting yourself against what was to come.

Jake reached out to touch your face and his fingers gently traced over the intricate patterns of your tattoos. His eyes shone with adoration, a genuine smile pulling at his lips.

“Beautiful.”

Out of all the things the two of you had just shared, this was the hardest part for you to accept. This man who you had belittled and mocked looked at you as if you held the moon in your hands.

His lips met yours again, so tender in his kiss that it almost hurt. This wasn’t out of desire, this was a true display of affection, of appreciation, and you felt yourself start to choke up. Though Jake noticed the shift in your mood, he didn’t comment on it, merely rolling off of you so he could pull you against his chest.

He was warm, firm, his arms tightly wrapped around your form as henuzzled his nose into your hair. You pushed away the tears that continued to threaten to fall. He was not leaving, he was here, and though he did not say it, you knew that would be Jake Sully’s biggest promise to you if you were to mate. He would be there, no matter what.

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🏷️; @mashiromochi @midhito @neteyamforlife @adaiasafira @ambria​ @sillyfreakfanparty​ @fanboyluvr​ @jakescumdump​ @itscheybaby​ @iwanttohitmyself​ @janeety​ @haitanismainhoe @daribakugo @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @lemonmoonmochi​ @dazedshoon @amanda-678 @randxmthxughts @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @wekiamo @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @theroyalbrownbarbie @1ntefly @nyylovestowrite @rianapntn @crazy4books1 @jakesullylongjuicyshlong @kikookii @ducks118 @bucky12345 @elegantkidfansoul @bold-writing @1-800-fandomsdestroyedme @graysonmalik2550 @milequaritchsslut @23victoria @kamcrazy123 @annamarieisbae @k----a27s​ @tojigirl @lynbubble @outspokenmatters​ 

[eggyrocks]

bloody nose: kuroo x calloused hands reader

calloused hands masterlist // main masterlist

warnings: violence, blood, swearing; grammatical errors, not proofread, i wrote this just for me so it's probably not great

an: here it is. my self indulgent bonus chapter that’s got my fingers itching. i wanted to write this so fucking bad i genuinely do not even care if it’s good tbh; im sure if you wanted to read this without reading all of calloused hands u could but it’s probably better in context

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧

their set's not going well.

it might have something to do with the venue; it's a small, cramped basement bar with only one way out and one way in-the old and creaking staircase that looks like it's one bad day away from collapsing. it might be the fact that the bouncer's stopped counting heads and the bar's way over capacity. could be the hot humid air that's suffocating them and only getting worse with each person that claws their way towards the band.

but it's probably the heckler.

yn's generally not really bothered by that sort of thing. it's not like this is the first one she's ever dealt with; normally she'll just play over them until they learn their lesson and keep their mouths shut during their sets.

but the bar's fucking tiny and so ungodly packed and hot it's making her just a bit more irritable than usual. every couple of minutes there's some sweaty dude from the pit getting knocked into her and knocking her hand off her guitar, throwing her off and making her fuck up. it's irritating. it's frustrating. she knows her bandmates are getting fucking sick of it too. tanaka's broken more drum sticks than usual.

so when the heckler starts up again, she doesn't really have any self-restraint.

"you guys fucking suck!" comes his voice, ripping through the crowd in between songs.

yn leans up close to the mic until her lips are ghosting over the cool metal. "uhh, suck my dick," she murmurs into the mic, hearing it echo throughout the small space.

she ignores the crowd's reactions and leans back on her heels to make eye contact with yachi. yachi, who, like yn, got so sick of the heat and had to abandon her outer layer of clothes in favor of her sports bra. just one look at her sweat-soaked friend and yn can tell she is just as miserable as she is.

"heckling us won't make us play better," nishinoya says into his own mic, "we're going to suck no matter what you say."

"why doesn't your guitar player suck my dick!"

the reaction is half boos and half laughter, and yn does her best not to react the way she wants to. she just fiddles with her guitar while nishinoya lets out a string of curses and threats into the mic. he kepts it short, though, they've got a show to get on with.

yn wishes she could spot kuroo. she knows he's out there somewhere in the crowd; she keeps hoping to catch a glimpse of his distinctive silhouette-just seeing him there would help her calm down. just a bit.

kuroo's good at making things better for her. he always does it, even when he's not trying.

but all she can see over the lights that shine in her eyes is a shapeless mass of huddled bodies, indistinguishable and formless. she can't pick out kuroo. she can't see his face and she can't calm down.

"this next song's called rot," nishinoya anounces, and ignores the glare yn shoots him. he's fucking around with their setlist again. "it's about dying and getting eating by worms."

tanaka counts them in, and yn tries to focus all of her energy on playing. she's hoping to take her frustrations out on her guitar; and either way, she always plays great when she's in a bad mood.

but they're not even half-way through the first verse when yn notices something whipping over the heads of the audience. in a fraction of a second, she realizes it's a beer can. sixteen ounces.

and then, the next second, it's hitting her in the temple.

her hand leaves her instrument and flies to cup the spot she got hit. the beer can hits the floor and it's spraying sudsy, warm alcohol all over her. she crouches down in pain, trying to blink away the hot, thick liquid that now drips down into her eye.

there's a hand on her shoulder, and the sweet words of concern in her ear confirm that it's yachi. yn tries to stand up straight, despite the dizzying pain radiating in her skull, and tries to get a look at what's happening in front of her.

strangers are trying to crowd her, to get close to offer help or see if she's okay or just get a better look at exactly what happened. nishinoya is pushing people away, telling them to back the fuck up, now. tanaka's grabbing yn by the shoulder and trying to keep her steady. yachi's pressing one of their discarded tshirts against yn's forehead, trying to slow the bleeding.

and there's a familiar outline of bedhead, stomping up the stairs of the bar, dragging a protesting body behind him.

haphazardly, yn rips wires out of her guitar and shoves herself forward, elbowing her away through the swarms of people, leaving behind her bandmates, bloodied tshirt, and still fizzing can of beer.

once she climbs up the stairs and out of that basement, the cool air is on her skin, on sweat, on the beer-soaked clothes she's left in, and she's suddenly freezing.

but she doesn't really focus on that. yn just stands there and stares as kuroo, her beautiful kuroo, holds the heckler up by his collar, sneering at him. "what the fuck is wrong with you?" he screams into the trembling face of the other man. "you could've killed her!"

"it wasn't supposed to hit her!" he insists, and suddenly does not have the smug edge to his voice he did when he was telling yn to suck his dick. "it was an accident, dude!"

yachi appears at yn's side then, mouth open like she's about to ask if yn's okay, but she stops at the scene before her, just taking yn's hand in hers.

kuroo's grip on his collar is tight, and if the bruising on his knuckles or the bleeding of the heckler's mouth are any indication, he may have already gotten a hit in. he doesn't look away from the man in his grip. "yn, are you bleeding?"

she squeezes yachi's hand. "yeah," is her casual answer. she winces, blood sill trickling down her face, and the pain in her head still throbs.

"kiyoko's looking for something to stop the bleeding," yachi tells him, a nervous tremor. "tanaka's getting the van so he can drive her to the hospital-she's gonna need stiches."

kuroo lets him go, then. dropping him so quickly that the heckler only just gets his bearings before kuroo is pulling his fist back and then slamming it into the nose of the heckler. there's a pleasant crunch. yn tries to appreciate the sight of it, but she's just getting so damn lightheaded.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧

by the time they get out of the hospital, the sun has started rising. kuroo's driving the band's van with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping onto his girlfriend's thigh.

her bandmates, who insisted on staying with them the whole night, are now sleeping in the back, and their not soft and not gentle snores are fill the van.

yn looks over at kuroo and grins. she reaches towards him and gently carsses the cut that stretches across his nose. "you got battle scars now. can't believe you headbutted that guy."

he scoffs. keeping his palm flat on the wheel, he stretches out his fingers and examines the the scabbing over his knuckles. "my hands were starting to hurt and i need them for volleyball. i was running out of options."

"it was really hot, by the way," she tells him, teeth poking through broad smile. kuroo flicks his eyes away from the road for just a second to see it. "you were all bloody and sweaty like, 'oh, i'm gonna fucking kill you that's my girlfriend,'" she says, in a poorly done imitation of kuroo.

he laughs. "im just glad you're okay. if you had gotten a concussion i would've had to track him and down and give him one of his own."

"you need more than a beer can to take me down," she boasts. and then, without much warning, leans over towards the driver's seat to place a kiss on kuroo's cheek. "thanks for beating the shit out of that guy for me."

"i'll always beat the shit out of someone for you, babe," he tells her, only half-joking. "you're my girl. of course i will."

she smiles, and places her hand on top of his, resting her head on top of his arm. "i'm totally gonna fuck the shit out of you after i sleep for like, twelve hours, by the way."

kuroo smirks, and from the back, through a haze of sleepiness and snores, nishinoya says, "you guys are fucking gross."

taglist: @wyrcan @rieieieieieiei @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @ahseyy @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @baskin-robinhoods @nnnyxie @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @macchiatomegumi @hikikaimar @noodleswastaken @garden-of-bri @rinaheartss @infinitelytimebound @scxrcherr @eyes-ofhell @sleepy-time @polish-cereal @literally-a-ferret @crownj1min @sereniteav @kozuskitten @02shuuu @rasisarchive @marzzn @barricadesenthusiast @yvjitadori @yeehawslap @phoenix-eclipses @lcvestays @thirtykiwis @kitty-m30w @causenessus @notsaelty (i wasn't sure if i should include the taglist since this is just a bonus chapter but u know what. fuck it. here u guys go).

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (IX)

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Hi! Here is another chapter! Saoirse is back, and our babies are making some evil plans…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1798

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Lilies

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful

as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face

of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

So, this was Pr. Hozier- Byrne…

H-B, or Hozier like everyone on campus seemed keen to call him. Saoirse understood the hype around the man though.

His voice was soft and lulling, his explanations clear, his love for his work evident. He seemed nice, answered all the questions, had something a little shy about him that seemed to quieten when he was teaching. He exuded confidence then, on the contrary, and despite the softness in his tone, it was impossible not to listen to him babbling away about Yeats. The fact that he was handsome was also a strong argument in his favour, Saoirse couldn’t deny it. Ridiculously tall, curls falling over his shoulders, trimmed beard and glasses over green eyes… She sighed as she stared at him, sporting a grey tweed suit, turning to write something over on the board. And that deep voice… damn…

She shook herself, focused on the lecture again, took note of the date her teacher was writing on the white board. The first class was an introduction to Yeats’ life and work, the study of his texts would start next week. For now, Saoirse was carefully writing down dates and historical events and the name of the woman he would spend most of his life pinning over. And she wondered if Hozier was pinning over a woman too, if he was married, if he longed for love, if that was why he seemed to love poetry so much, because he saw his own longing in other people’s words…

She shook herself again, wrote down something about Lady Gregory and the Abbey Theatre. She was projecting her own feelings over that tall stranger, she reckoned. A dangerous activity, if there ever had been one.

Apparently, more students had chosen the class about science-fiction, but Saoirse had definitely no regrets. If the topic seemed more complicated, her teacher was determined to pass on his love for poetry. She was grateful to Gabi for convincing her to choose this class, was already happy to have chosen his lesson about modernism for the second half of the year.

Indeed, she could see that Gabi had done well in recruiting for this class. Most of the students Saoirse had seen with Gabi during orientation week were now listening to H-B explaining the use of theatre to create a common Irish identity that worked hand in hand with the growing anger that would lead to revolution. And indeed, Sean and Donald were there too. If Donald had settled a couple of rows behind her, Sean was sitting next to her, actually. He had recognised her as soon as he had entered the room, had headed straight towards her and asked if he could sit next to her. And Saoirse was happy to have someone she knew in this class too, even if they had spoken but a few hours during orientation week. She hoped they could become friends, she felt a little lonely in this new adult world.

 The lecture went on and was over too soon, a feeling Saoirse had not been expecting for any of her lectures. As she packed up her things, she noticed that Gabi was at the door, eyeing the students inside, and she gave Saoirse a wave when their gazes met. Sean and Saoirse hurried out of the room.

“Hey! How are my wee students doing?” Gabi asked with a grin.

“Doing okay, so far!” Saoirse answered with a smile. “Didn’t even get lost this morning!”

“What an achievement!” Gabi laughed good-heartedly. “Saw that you were having a class with H-B this morning, my next lecture starts in fifteen minutes, just down the hall. Thought I’d come see you all, check on you.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sean nodded with a smile.

Donald joined them as well, and they chatted happily for a couple of minutes.

“There’s a party planned at the end of the week, to celebrate the beginning of the year. You should come!”

“Huh… sure! Sounds good.”

If Saoirse was feeling a little shy, Donald was already asking questions about the drinks and the music.

Gabi was about to answer him when she was distracted by someone walking behind Saoirse and Sean, and she immediately grinned.

“Good morning, professor!”

The younger students turned around and politely smiled at their teacher, while he beamed at Gabi.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t our favourite troublemaker…” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How are you doing, Gabi? How was your summer?”

“It was good! Busy, lots of things to plan to make sure I can turn all our new recruits into proper menaces!”

Andrew laughed, shaking his head playfully.

“Oh, I bet you have tons of ideas for that… but don’t scare our students away too soon, alright?”

He quickly checked his watch.

“Gotta run, but it was nice seeing you. Will I see you on Thursday then?”

“You know me… how could I say no to a class about protest poetry?”

Andrew’s smile brightened even more.

“Grand. I’m glad to have you as a student again this year.”

He excused himself then, bidding all four students a nice day, and they stared as he walked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the classroom and the exit of the building in mere seconds.

“He’s so nice!” Saoirse sighed. “Thanks for recommending this class to us.”

“He is. And Christ… he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

They all laughed at that, and went on to chat for a while longer, until Gabi had to head to her own class.

Saoirse could feel it, it would be a good year.

Andrew hurried back to your office, knowing that you were waiting for him. And indeed, when he arrived, you had already taken your sandwich out of your bag and were focused on your computer screen.

You greeted him with a smile when he quickly stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ran into a student I know well. Okay… what are our options?”

Andrew took off his vest, took out of his bag his own sandwich and his water bottle, before pushing his chair next to yours so he could look at your screen as well.

Frank was asking for advices about flower arrangements, for the wedding but also for a party they wanted to organise a few weeks before the wedding, some kind of huge get-together with family and friends to celebrate their engagement. Sam and Frank seemed to treat the event as some kind of rehearsal for their big day, and wanted to decorate the place in a similar way they would use for the ceremony.

A perfect occasion to raise chaos and mayhem…

“Frank has already narrowed down our choices… meaning that he took out anything with carnations or calla lilies, he doesn’t like those. I’ve tried to probe to know Sam’s taste, but he seems clueless.”

“Are we surprised by that?” Andrew mumbled under his breath, something bitter in his tone. “Sam’s favourite flowers are white lilies, and she hates pink and yellow roses.”

“Okay, so… can we find any pink and yellow roses in those…”

Andrew chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re kind of terrifying, Machiavelli…”

“One of my favourite books is about getting stuck in hell and watching people being tortured,” you reminded him, making Andrew laugh and glimpse over at the picture you had hung on the wall.

“Right… my bad. I shouldn’t underestimate your evil nature, clearly.”

“Unless you’re ready to face the consequences…” you added with false threat in your voice, while you were clearly struggling to hold back your laughter.

“Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural.”

You froze, turned to him.

“Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?” you asked with utter surprise evident on your features.

“Obviously,” Andrew smiled, something cheeky and cute at the same time, clearly pleased with himself.

“God… I love the Lord of the Rings!”

“Who doesn’t?!”

“Frank.”

Andrew huffed, but said nothing. He thought the words all the same… what a tasteless gobshite…

“Why am I not surprised?” was his answer instead, and you chuckled at his words.

“Yeah… he does have a few red flags,” you conceded.

“Hmm… but the fact that we’re plotting together against our exes is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? A scarlet one if I’ve ever seen one…”

“Is it worse than not liking the Lord of the Rings?”

Andrew couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“Nah, we’re good,” he joked, making you laugh.

And he liked the sound. Almost three weeks had passed since Sam and Frank had announced their engagement and Andrew and you were spending more and more time together. You had planned some things to get to talk to your exes, or just as you were doing today, to mess up with their wedding. Which meant seeing you outside the university, eating his lunch with you, talking over the phone sometimes…

And Andrew liked it. He liked that your dynamic was back on a friendly rhythm instead of something merely professional. You were nice, and hilarious, and so fucking smart. He hoped you would remain friends after all this. He hoped you would become good friends, with a bit of time.

“Oh, this one is so ugly…” you giggled at the picture on your screen, something pink and over the top, with a lot of roses…

“Oh, yeah… that’s the one. Send him this one.”

“Frank asked me for a favour by the way… he wanted me to go fishing for information about Sam’s tastes in flowers.”

“You mean… asking me about it?”

You nodded, and Andrew let out a wry laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask you today as our classes would keep us busy. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to play the perfect boyfriend and come to the rescue, and offer to use her favourite flowers.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course!”

You both laughed, eating your sandwiches. And then the conversation drifted away from Sam and Frank, settled on your classes, on work, on the movie he had watched on Sunday, on the walk you had taken with Siobhán and how much you would miss her when she would be gone.

And Andrew still felt a hole in his chest, the weight of something hollow, of a piece missing, because of Samantha. But when he was with you, the grief didn’t seem so heavy, the pain so aching. The emptiness in his heart seemed a little less empty when you were around. God knew he missed Samantha, that he wanted her back. But at least, you made him feel human again. He reckoned you were the only one to make him properly laugh these days.

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[callalillywrites]

Surprising His Omega

I've been surrounding myself with so many wonderful alphas in one of my all-time favorite verses. It made me a little sad that I couldn't have an Alpha!Steve in that verse even though I adore my Beta!Steve.

So, I decided to make a new verse just for Alpha!Steve (Nomad look). What better way to debut him than with the lovely challenge of the Horny Hoes Hootenanny by the amazing @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'll admit this got away from me a bit, but I do hope you enjoy.

Relationship: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader

Prompts Used

🍁 A: "Oh, come on, grump. It will be fun, I promise” / B: "What do I get if it's not?" / A: " What do you want?" (small tweaks)

🍁 A/B/O

🍁 partner plans surprise event/night

🍁 autumn Getaway

Extra Wheel Prompt: A Quickie

Word Count: ~1850 + Bonus at end (355 words; based on this post)

Summary: You've been feeling pressure for too long, and your alpha is determined to transform your grumpiness back into the sunshine you typically are. So, he decides to surprise you with a little autumn getaway.

Warnings: implied smut/allusions of it, grumpy reader, sweet and doting Steve Rogers, some spanking, some teasing, mostly fluff though, let me know if I missed anything

A/N: I wrote this story in a fit of inspiration. It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own. Please be kind as this is the closest I've gotten to writing smut in such a long time, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

It’s been a long month.

Between the heatwave that descended on your city and the trials and tribulations heaped on you at work, you’d hit your limit. Your usual sunshine demeanor has taken one too many hits until all you want to do is grump and grumble. Maybe hide away until life decided to be kinder to you.

But that wasn’t possible.

Your alpha would never allow you to wallow. That wasn’t his style.

Sure, he’d let you rant and vent to your heart’s content when you needed it, but he never let you stay low for too long. He needed and loved your sunshine too much to see it dimmed or diminished due to life.

No, your Steve always came up with a plan to bring your bright smile back on your face. He liked that bounce in your step and the cute wiggles you did whenever you were truly happy.

So, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise when he leaned in the doorway of your shared apartment’s living room. His arms crossed over his broad chest while he regarded you for a moment before saying, “Get up, sweetheart. We’re going out.”

You glanced at the smile on his face and burrowed further into the blanket covering you.

“No thanks.”

“Oh, come on, my little grump.” He pushed off the wall and dropped next to you. His hands made quick work of removing the blanket from you and tossing it across the room. He ignored your glare as he pulled you into his lap and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You couldn’t help grumbling, “I’m not a grump.”

That earned you an eye roll and a huffed laugh.

“I could smell your grumpiness from the hallway, sweetheart. So, get up. I have a little surprise for you. I think you’ll really like it. At the very least, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

You did like his surprises.

Yet, you resisted, which really wasn’t like you. That told you more than anything that you needed whatever your adoring alpha had planned for you.

It didn’t stop you from asking, “What do I get if it’s not?”

“Hmm,” Steve pressed another kiss to your nose this time as he considered you. A chuckle slipped out when you wrinkled your nose because of his beard.

You had to fight not to squirm when he rubbed his beard down your cheek to your jaw, little kisses and nips tickling your skin. It grew worse when his lips and beard found your mating gland. On his way, he made sure you saw the playful twinkle in his gaze.

His teeth nibbled along his old marks. Shivers danced along every nerve and had you unable to sit still in his lap. No doubt by design with the way he kept doing it.

When you made to get away, he tightened his hold on you but finally relented.

You gave him your best reproachful look as you crankily mumbled, “You never answered my question.”

“I don’t need to because I know you’re going to love it.”

Your look turned withering at his teasing assuredness.

As much as you wanted to be mad at him for messing with your perfectly acceptable plans to sulk, you couldn’t. He was a good alpha who always did his best to make sure you never lacked for anything, especially his love and attention.

After another moment passed in quiet, Steve relented again. “Okay, okay, beautiful. What would you want?”

Well, you hadn’t expected him to actually answer your question with one of his own. That wasn’t his style, so you had to make sure your answer would be a good one. It needed to be something you actually wanted while also having the power to surprise your alpha. If you didn’t keep him on his toes, then what was the point?

While you continued to ponder how to answer, Steve kept himself distracted by moving one arm so he could trace patterns where your hoodie’s sleeve had hiked up. His lips resumed their earlier teasing with little nibbles and nuzzles against your neck until you couldn’t take it another moment.

Gripping handfuls of his hair, you tugged his head backward until he could no longer reach you with those sinful lips of his.

“If I don’t like whatever you have planned,” you tightened your hold in his hair to make sure you had his full attention while also pulling a groan from him, “then you owe me one of the best quickies wherever you’re taking me. Don’t care where you do it or how, but I want you to rock my world in the shortest amount of time possible.”

His eyes darkened with promise at your words, but you refused to give into that look.

You arched a brow at him. “Do we have a deal, Alpha?”

The way you emphasized his designation worked the way you hoped it would. Another groan escaped him, louder this time while his lustful eyes closed.

“That’s a dirty trick, and you know it,” he growled, his voice low and almost menacing in ways that had you shifting your position on his leg. His hands moved to your hips and held you still. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feel the evidence of your effect on him against your thigh.

If you felt a bit more daring, you might’ve teased Steve some more.

When he did open his eyes again, his lustful gaze met yours.

“Yes, ‘mega. We have a deal.”

He held you another moment before finally setting you on your feet and smacking you on the ass.

“Now, love, go and get dressed in something warm. You’re going to need it for the drive. I’ll handle everything else.”

You moved toward the bedroom but turned back. “Wait, how far are we going?”

“Uh-uh.” Steve shook a finger at her. “Not going to ruin my surprise, sweetheart. Now, go. It’d be nice to get there before it gets too late.”

The sun had gone down not long ago, but it went down earlier during these late Autumn days.

Within thirty minutes, you had changed into the warmest clothing you had within your summer wardrobe. It hadn’t been much which reminded you to dig out your winter clothes as soon as you could. The nights dictated warmer pajamas though the days still held a touch of warmth when the sun shone down on a cloudless, windless day.

Trading your cami and shorts for a longer sleeved shirt and some form-fitting jeans, you picked up the hoodie you temporarily removed and wiggled back into it.

Emerging from the bathroom, you spotted your overnight luggage sitting on the bed. Your brows rose as you took in the items Steve had chosen for you while including brand-new toiletries that he must’ve picked up on his way home.

You couldn’t help wondering how long he’d been planning this surprise.

The amount of clothing wasn’t much, which spoke of a shorter surprise, yet that didn’t mean much where your alpha was concerned. He’d once treated you to a week-long trip where he’d not only bought you new clothes for the week but almost everything else your heart desired. Steve loved to spoil you with the money he made, and you’re happy to return the favor in your own special way.

“Bout ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Just need to grab my boots from the closet.”

“Already packed in the car. Came back to grab you and your bag.”

True to his word, he strode into the room, zipped up the zipper, and lifted the bag off the bed. While he had only one arm available, that didn’t stop him from swooping low and lifting you over his shoulder. As the world tilted, you could still make out the chuckle that left him at your shriek, wholly unprepared for his stunt.

To pay him back, you reached down and smacked his ass. Once for the one he’d given you earlier and another for not warning you before turning you upside down.

“Save it for our destination, love,” he murmured, another promise clear in his voice.

At the car, he carefully set you back on your feet before opening your door and helping you in. With you secured in the passenger seat, he closed your door, opened up the back door, and tossed your bag onto the seat in quick, efficient movements.

He surprised you when he got into the driver’s seat and reached behind your seat. In his hands, you found your favorite blanket and draped it across you, tucking you in. Though, he made sure to leave a space for his hand to creep under the cover and rest against your thigh after he started the engine.

The trip took you both out of the city and into the Catskills.

Soon enough, he pulled off the main road onto a private one until you came upon a modernly rustic cabin. Steps from the unpaved drive led to a wraparound porch and the large front door. The outside gave you a hint of the luxuries and open floor plan awaiting you inside. Small electric lanterns sat in the windows, giving the place an ethereal glow.

As Steve killed the engine, he turned toward you, asking, “So, sweetheart, do you like it? It's ours for the weekend.”

“No, I don't like it,” you shook your head but met his gaze while a smile emerged across your features, “I love it. And I love you.”

You leaned over the console and grabbed his cheeks in your hands. Tugging him close, you pressed kiss after kiss against his lips until you were both breathless.

Steve finally urged you out of the car and into the house, handing you the key to the front door. He would follow you after gathering your things from the car.

The earlier hints did little justice to what you found inside, wandering about the place. Your eyes couldn’t take it all in. You couldn’t help noticing how your surroundings were erasing the grumpiness that had weighed you down these past weeks.

When warm hands gripped your hips, you didn’t even startle. No, you melted into the solid chest at your back and let your alpha hold you for several precious moments.

“Happy?” he murmured in your ear.

You hummed your answer.

“That’s good, love,” he suddenly lifted you into his arms and carried you towards one of the doors down the hallway, “but I’m certain I can make you much happier in, say, five minutes. Is that too long for a good quickie?”

“But, I didn’t win our deal,” you couldn’t help spluttering though your thighs had already begun to rub together.

Steve merely grinned down at you. “Seems to me you did. I promised you’d like it. Love is not like, so I’ve got some making up to do. After your quickie is done, I’m going to make sure you’re properly fed, then I’m going to take my time tonight until you no longer remember your own name. How does that sound?”

“You can do whatever you want, Alpha. I’m at your command.”

Bonus:

Long after Steve had you forgetting your name, he had you spread across him. His hands ran up and down your back in soothing caresses while he pressed kisses to your hair every so often. Your heartbeat slowed to match his.

"What happened at work to have you at your grumpiest today, sweetheart?"

Heat suffused your cheeks as the memory came back. You did your best to hide your face in his neck. Maybe if you could distract him with a few strategic nuzzles and nips, then you could try to forget.

He wouldn't be distracted.

Lifting your face up by your chin, he kept his sharp, knowing gaze on you until you broke, whispering, "I had to write a company-wide memo. In the span of three paragraphs, I couldn't type hope to apparently save my life."

That got you an eyebrow lift.

Knowing your alpha he wouldn't let you get away with explaining further, so your cheeks heated more as you grumbled, "I kept typing hoe instead of hope. Happy now?"

Steve didn't say anything at first.

His brows rose though.

Then, his shoulders shook, and your head dropped back to hide your face in his neck. A groan slipped past your lips.

"Oh, sweetheart." His laughter escaped him then.

You grabbed a pillow and hit him with it, grousing, "It's not funny. Do you know what would've happened if my boss hadn't proofread it before it went out? I'm still embarrassed it happened at all."

Steve's hands came up in a surrendering gesture even as his laughter continued to escape in chuckles now and again.

"My poor 'mega, has your alpha not been taking good enough care of you?" His voice dropped to a husky timber that never failed to send a shiver of promise down your spine.

You glared at him though a smile did peek through. "My alpha takes very good care of me, but I wouldn't mind being reminded again how good that care is."

His scent thickened with his desire as he shifted until you were under him. His beard tickled your ear. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart."

*****

Main Masterlist

If you've read this far, you are absolutely my favorite. I'm opening up requests to write a few more stories for the Horny Hoes Hootenanny. Send me a few prompts from the masterlist, and I'll see what I can do.

*Now, I'm a fluff writer by nature and haven't yet ventured into the realm of smut writing. I'm working on getting there, so please bear that in mind if you do request something. Depending on the request, I might be persuaded to hint or imply such smut, but I can't guarantee I'll go in full detail.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hii! so happy for you and your 500! ^_^

i really loved how you wrote isagi! could i request something like listening to music and sharing earphones with him? and while he's commenting about the music reader told him to listen, reader finds herself staring at him. and maybe isagi's friends are secretly filming them bc of how cringey (lovingly) their relationship are HSHS feel free to ignore, thank youu!!

── READ IT AND WEEP!

Synopsis: You and your boyfriend listen to some music together, while an unlikely trio of strikers watches in disgust/fascination/apathy at the scene before them.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Isagi x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Content Warnings: fluffy to a corny extent tbh but it’s okay it’s cute, chigiri and bachira are dumbasses (affectionate), nagi is an unwilling accomplice, karasu converts nagi into a subway surfers kid offscreen

A/N: anonnnn i’m so glad to hear you liked pathways isagi!! and tysm for the congrats 💖 i hope you didn’t think i ignored this, i’m sorry it took me a bit to get to! i did incorporate your suggestion at the end hehe i love a good opportunity to write shenanigans…i wasn’t sure which characters to pick but for some reason the three i chose were calling to me HAHA they just felt like they would be the ones to do smth like that!!

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

“It reminds me of you,” you explained as Isagi made a face at the bright pink album cover of the song you were trying to convince him to listen to. “Stop trying to be all macho and cool! It’s not like your friends are around to judge you for listening to basic pop music instead of your normal stuff. Come on, I know you’ll like it.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Let me read the lyrics first.”

“What kind of spoiler is that? Just listen to the song!” you said.

“I can’t understand the lyrics if I just listen to the song, and you said that it reminds you of me, so I want to know what you mean by that,” he said.

“How about you read the lyrics afterwards?” you bargained. He shook his head resolutely.

“No, because then the listening experience won’t be as strong,” he said. Sighing, you looked up the song’s lyrics and handed him your phone, holding onto his bicep and reading over his shoulder as he scrolled through the singer’s downright over-the-top articulations about how much she loved her boyfriend.

“It doesn’t sound as crazy when she’s singing it,” you muttered when Isagi’s ears turned red.

“No, no, this is sweet,” he said, pretending to cough in an attempt to disguise his laughter. “I can’t believe you think so highly of me.”

“Of course I do,” you said. “You’re my one and only boyfriend. You’re not the only one who gets to be cheesy, you know. I do as well — though only sometimes. Certainly not anywhere near as often as you are.”

“Right, being cheesy is my role,” he said, his cheek resting against your hair as you slumped into him. “Okay, since this is your way of showing affection, and since the lyrics are so charming, I guess I should probably listen to it. Give me one of your earbuds.”

“Gross, you didn’t bring your own?” you teased even as you handed one over to him. He rolled his eyes, shoving it into his ear, kissing your forehead as he did so.

“Super gross, I know,” he said. “You can play it whenever you’re ready.”

The familiar notes of the intro played, but you had played the song a million times before, so you hardly paid attention. Instead, you focused on Isagi, the way he frowned slightly as the first verse began, like he was concentrating very hard. It was endearing, that he was putting so much effort into the simple task; you knew it would’ve been much easier for him to pretend to be interested so he could get it over with, but he had never been like that. If you asked him to do something, he would put a hundred percent into it, a hundred percent or sometimes more, just so that he could make you happy.

You noticed, idly at first and then on purpose, that his body was different, his face angular in a way that it hadn’t been when he had left for Blue Lock. It was these changes you took stock of as he sat in peace, eyes shut as he listened to the music. He looked less like a boy and closer to the man he would one day become. You wondered how much he would change the next time he left, if you would even recognize him when he came back again.

In the end, though, you concluded that no matter how he had grown and how he was yet to grow, he was still at his core your Isagi. Isagi who listened to your music and gave piggyback rides to your younger siblings. Isagi who stopped in convenience stores so he could buy snacks for the stray cats and helped you pick what clothes you should wear for any given event. Isagi who loved you and who you loved in return.

“It’s really good,” he said, startling you out of your daze. “I liked it more than I thought I would! She has a really good voice, and you’re right — it does all sound much more natural when she’s singing it.”

“Is it getting added to the playlist?” you said.

“Hm,” he said. “Maybe the one I listen to at home, but I don’t know what the others would say if I was on speaker duty during one of our workouts and that started blasting. I think Barou and Raichi would probably die.”

You didn’t know that much about either of those two, but from what little Isagi had told you, that sounded in character enough, so you nodded in agreement.

“Good enough for me. It’s okay, I’m not mad! See, I have different playlists for different occasions, too, so it only makes sense that you would as well,” you said.

“I’m glad you’re not upset. I really do like it, just so you know. Send me more songs like it when you get home — I want to make a playlist of ones that remind me of you,” he said. 

“Why, so you can play it during your group workouts and make your single teammates jealous?” you said, elbowing him in the side. He chuckled.

“Nah, that would be cruel. I think I’ll bring my own pair of headphones to Blue Lock — I’ve definitely scored enough goals that they’ll let me keep them at this point — and whenever I miss you, I’ll listen to it,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, swallowing, taken aback at the casual way he always said such romantic things. “Um, well, if you have your phone, you could also just text me…”

It was his turn to be taken aback. “Oh, right. I guess I could do that too…but if you’re asleep, then I’ll listen to it! We get up pretty early, you know, and I don’t want to wake you when you should be resting.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said. “But let’s not talk about you leaving right now. For the moment, I’m glad you’re on break and can spend time with me.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I love you, Y/N. Just as much as that singer loves her boyfriend. Actually, more.”

“I love you, too,” you said. “More than that singer could ever love anyone. Way more.”

He exhaled through his nose, and then he wrapped his arm around your waist, scooting impossibly closer to you on the park bench the two of you were sharing and humming the melody of the song as you watched people walk by. 

“Nagi!” Chigiri hissed from where he, Bachira, and Nagi were hiding in a bush — or at least, they were trying to. It was somewhat difficult to hide the towering Nagi, who was also not exactly cooperating in their covert mission or participating in their attempt at masterful disguise. “Did you get it?”

“What?” Nagi said with a yawn, still holding his phone up, pointed towards where Isagi and his girlfriend — the girlfriend whose existence they had all been convinced was a myth or tall tale — were sitting together. “Get what? Why are we even here? You guys told me that we were leaving the bowling arena to get snacks.”

“Give me that!” Chigiri said, snatching the phone from Nagi, who whined in protest. Bachira hushed him, reaching up to pat him on the head, though that only made Nagi pout like a child. “What? Why is this open to Subway Surfers?”

“Oh, Karasu downloaded it on my phone while we were all in the arcade, and I’ve been playing it ever since,” Nagi explained. “It’s kind of fun. I’m trying to get the national high score.”

“You were supposed to be filming Isagi and The Girlfriend!” Bachira said, emphasizing the words ‘the girlfriend’ as if she was some kind of legendary being. “That’s why we brought you along! You’re always playing on your phone, so it wouldn’t be suspicious for you to have it out, but you were secretly supposed to be taking videos as blackmail, not actually playing on it!”

“You guys didn’t tell me that,” Nagi said. “You told me that we were all going to buy chips and fruit jellies together.”

“We literally told you,” Chigiri said, face-palming. “We said when we got here, ‘look, Nagi, that’s Isagi and his girlfriend. Take a video of them.’ Anyways, why else would we be standing in a bush so creepily if we weren’t doing reconnaissance?”

Nagi shrugged. “Dunno, maybe it’s a common hobby or something.”

Chigiri narrowed his eyes at him, unable to discern if he was being serious or not. He decided to err on the side of caution, given how genuinely strange most of his Blue Lock peers were. “It’s not.”

“Okay, you know what? It’s fine. They’re still there, so we can get some footage now!” Bachira said, taking Nagi’s phone from Chigiri and using it to take pictures of Isagi and his girlfriend as they curled up with one another on the park bench.

“Use your own phone,” Nagi said, though he didn’t try to take the device back by force — it would be a hassle, and he was pretty sure that Bachira would give it back soon.

True to form, Bachira sent the photos to a group chat he created with himself, Nagi, and Chigiri, and then he gave Nagi his phone back, earning him a quiet cheer as Nagi was finally able to return to Subway Surfers.

“These are perfect,” Chigiri said. Nagi, whose little avatar had just been caught by the policeman, scowled slightly.

“By the way, why do you guys think that these are worthy of being used as blackmail?” he said.

“Uh, because it’s embarrassing that Isagi of all people is so lovey-dovey?” Bachira said.

“Exactly,” Chigiri said.

“I think it’s more embarrassing that he has a girlfriend and no one else does,” Nagi said conversationally, without even looking up from the screen. Bachira and Chigiri exchanged horrified looks and then, in unison, whipped out their phones to delete the offending material, Chigiri also taking the liberty of doing the same on Nagi’s.

“I can’t believe we didn’t consider that angle,” Bachira said, shaking his head. “Nagi, man, you’re a lifesaver.”

Nagi grunted, obviously uninterested in Bachira’s praise. 

“This is why they call him the lazy genius,” Chigiri said in approval. “Listen, the three of us are the only ones who can confirm the existence of Isagi’s girlfriend. That means that the next time he brings her up, we have to double down on denying it. You guys in?”

“Yup, sounds like fun!” Bachira said. “Nagi?”

Nagi looked up at them. “Will you guys pay for my chips and fruit jellies like you said you would?”

Chigiri and Bachira glanced at one another before nodding, silently agreeing to split the bill. 

“Sure, we got it!” Bachira said.

“Just don’t expect anything on the same level as whatever Reo buys you. We’re not that rich!” Chigiri said. Nagi shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said. 

“Then it’s a deal!” Chigiri said.

“Deal!” Bachira said.

“Deal,” Nagi agreed, shoving his phone in his pocket as the three of them traipsed towards the closest convenience store, leaving Isagi and Y/N blissfully alone and unaware that they had ever been there in the first place.

[hiskillingjar]

Please plspls write sexed up abusive lesbians law x strade 🤞🤞

sorry lesbians, sorry dykes, this is a post for fucked up transfems and quasi-chasers now. sorry :(

4000+ words, cw for slurs, they are the worst grindr hookup in the world and i'm obsessed with themmmmm (this may have a part 2 if the people don't execute me)

also crossposted on ao3 give me attentionnnnnuh

"hey cutie, having a good night?"

Lawrence almost flinched after hearing the foreign notification ‘blllip’ on their phone. 

It was late, they had just gotten home from work and they were sifting through their saved videos (car crashes, open-faced surgery, execution porn and the like) to get to sleep, their body heavy on the mattress, their head heavier with drugged intoxication from a short smoking circle at the warehouse before they left.

They blinked sleepy grey (dead) eyes as they opened the app with a slide of their thumb, the orange-and-black interface unfamiliar, they used it so little.

Right. They downloaded this to buy weed from the new guy at work, didn’t they? 

Did they even have a profile set up? Apparently so, if someone nearby had found them.

They let out a short sigh through their nose, moving onto their back under the heavy, weighted blankets as they typed out a reply to ‘strade 36 verse’.

‘Verse’. What did that even mean?

"Hi."

Lawrence barely had time to rub their eyes before the orange bubble was typing again. 

"hi!"

An instant reply. ‘Strade 36 verse’ must have been online then.

They sat up with another sigh and their lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, wondering if they should respond further, and what to say if they did. 

They didn’t really know the etiquette of most social media, after all. The most exposure they’d had to it was a Tumblr account that was quickly taken down when they posted an especially gory work-in-progress photo of a new sculpture (for “violating community guidelines’ they said when they’d asked), and they’d left it at that, so this was new to them. 

It wasn't like they’d been on something as casual as a dating app before, so they had no prior experience or point of reference on how these kinds of interactions generally played out.

So, in place of another message, they decided to wait for ‘Strade 36 verse’ to reply again, to send the dreaded ‘double text’ or lose interest in their flaky response, before they did anything on their own.

They wouldn’t have to wait long for that, though.

"nice pics, you’re very, very cute." He praised, sending through a winking-face emoji and a blonde angel emoji, referencing the badly taken, but well-cropped mirror selfies on their profile, just so the weed guy knew who they were when they messaged. "are you down for anything tonight?"

Lawrence frowned, idly worrying their bottom lip between their crooked teeth as they pushed a hand into their greasy hair. They’d shower before work tomorrow. Or not.

They weren't entirely sure what ‘down for anything’ meant and weren't sure if they necessarily wanted to know either.

"Thank you.” They typed, well-trained to be polite to compliments. “Down for anything like what, exactly?"

"lol, you're adorable"

"like hooking up? lol"

Lawrence nearly dropped their phone at that.

Their face burned a hot red as they sat upright quickly, pushing aside their weighted blankets and ruminating in silence for several long moments on how to respond to Strade’s outright forwardness.

Was everyone on this app like this?

"I don't know you.” They wrote with another deep frown. “I only really use this app to buy weed. What do you want from me?"

"haha that's hilarious!" Strade wrote back quickly with a series of laughing emojis, which just made Lawrence frown even more. What did he find so funny? "cute pics for a burner account tho. what's that for?~"

They felt their face burning hotter and hotter as they stared at Strade's response, dumbfounded at his capacity to play along with such unwilling prey, before setting the phone down in their lap and pressing the heels of both hands to their eyes, too tired and (frankly) too high to make sense of what this guy was trying to do to them.

‘...cute pics...?’

They took a breath and picked up their phone again, trying to respond as normally as they could without cussing the guy out.

"What do you mean cute? It's just my face."

"it’s a cute face," He sent with a virtual wink.

They took another short moment, trying to collect themself, long, trembling fingers hovering over the keyboard on their phone, before they typed out another response. 

"I don't know about cute...but thanks, I think."

"you're so welcome~"

There was a pause as Strade typed another string of words, punctuated by an orange bubble and animated ellipses.

"if you're not here to hook up, maybe we could just exchange pics hm?"

"Pictures of...what exactly?"

"i'll show you mine if you show me yours," He wrote, punctuated by an eggplant emoji, a peach emoji and…a water spray emoji.

Lawrence didn’t need to be a genius in social media lingo to know exactly what that meant.

They tried to swallow the growing lump in their throat before reluctantly replying.

"What makes you think I'd send you a picture like that? I don't even know what you look like."

"i have a profile pic sweetheart," He wrote with another winking emoji, making Lawrence flush that they hadn’t even taken the time to look at Strade’s profile before they started talking to him. "but fair point! wanna make sure i’m not a catfish, huh?"

'Sweetheart...'

The nickname sent a little chill down Lawrence’s spine, but…not in a wholly unpleasant way.

It might have even been kind of nice to be called that, even if it was from a stranger on a dating app of all places.

There were a few moments of ‘silence’ before their phone ‘blllipped’ with a notification that Strade had sent them a picture, which they quickly opened. 

He looked like...well, he looked like a totally normal guy in his thirties, relaxing on a couch as if he’d just gotten home from work after a hard day. Tan skin, dark stubble, a handsome smile, everything people liked in a man. He was shirtless, showing off a soft chest and the beginnings of a slightly softer stomach, but that was probably the nature of the app.

"You're...very good-looking. Nice muscles." Lawrence typed honestly, a little hesitantly, staring at the picture for a prolonged moment before swapping back to the chat.

"thanks cutie," He wrote with a beating heart emoji, making Lawrence’s own heart tighten in their chest. "how are you looking right now?"

They idly chewed the inside of their cheek and looked down at themself. 

They weren’t anything special and never considered themself to be, wearing a pair of tattered pyjama pants and a loose-fitting top printed with the warehouse’s logo. 

That probably wasn’t the vibe for this interaction, was it?

"I mean, not good like you. I'm wearing pyjamas right now."

"maybe i'll decide what looks good, hm?"

"send me something."

They felt their face flush hotter when the second message popped up, bringing the edge of their phone to their mouth with a shuddering little sigh that fogged up the cracked glass.

This was getting pretty embarrassing, but, at the same time, it was...kind of exciting.

They’d never done anything like this before, certainly not with a stranger, and…Strade had such an authoritative vibe about him without even being in the room.

They felt almost compelled to obey him, even if there was no side effect to not.

Lawrence shifted over the side of the bed and reluctantly lifted the phone for a selfie, reaching up with their other hand to cover their mouth and most of their jaw, keeping the focus on their messy hair, their sleepy eyes, their slender neck, their collar bone, the low collar of their shirt…things that they guessed Strade might like in a conversation partner.

Once they had taken the picture, they sent it over quickly before they could think too long and change their mind.

Strade responded almost immediately.

"awwww~" He wrote, with a heart eyes emoji and another angel emoji. "very cute!"

Oh God, they really weren’t used to being called cute this much.

Their heart was racing as they read the short string of messages, their pale cheeks flushing and their dead eyes fluttering a little as their thighs pressed together tightly.

"You...really think so?"

"i know so~" He complimented again. "you’re such a good girl for listening to me too <3"

'Good girl-!?'

Lawrence's heart was beating even faster now, just from that one little compliment, and they found themself sinking back against the bed and staring at the popcorn, mould-dotted ceiling, feeling all the heat in their body rush right down to their cock.

It seemed kind of...demeaning to be called a 'good girl' in this scenario, but at the same time, it felt...so amazing.

They just hoped that Strade wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

“Thank you…but I’m not a girl though.” They typed when their brain started working again, resting their phone on their chest, their legs trembling and bopping up and down, nervously.

"oh no? apologies for assuming but you do have trans stuff in your bio lol"

"you look pretty enough to be a girl. figuring stuff out?"

The instinct to cringe subsided quickly when they clicked on their profile, noticing the absence of the gender marker that Strade had (‘M’), and their pronouns (‘they/them, any/all’) listed along with their location, the only information they had provided the app, barring their picture.

"That was an accident...I didn't know what it was asking me." They typed out, explaining their mix-up.

‘Pretty enough to be a girl...’ 

They suddenly found themself feeling…warm all over as those words repeated in their head, feeling the sincerity behind them, the authenticity behind them. 

Maybe they weren’t a girl, at least, not a girl they had ever been close to before, but there was the…well, the fact that Strade had assumed their gender incorrectly several times now, and they had done nothing to correct him. 

"happy accidents, eh?" Strade replied quickly with another laughing emoji, though this one felt more fond and affectionate than the others had been. "do you like being a good girl, law?"

They swallowed tightly and managed to type out a response, their hands trembling with excitement.

"Yeah…I mean, yeah I think I do."

"thought so." Another virtual wink. This guy used a lot of emojis. "can i see something else now, angel?" He wrote, like no part of that conversation happened, and even though it was phrased like a question, Lawrence had that good sense that it was not to be taken as one.

They felt their face burning hotter than ever as they typed out a response.

"What do you want me to show you…?”

"show me your body.” 

“do you have a mirror so i can see all of you?"

Lawrence had to stop and close their eyes, knees tightly pressed together as they tried to collect themself and slow the pounding of their racing heart.

They’d never felt like this before. It felt good.

It felt good. 

Why weren’t they used to feeling good?

They took in a deep breath, trying to calm themself down, before they got to their feet and walked over to their bathroom, hesitantly taking a full-body (or, well, as close to full-body as they could manage) picture in the bathroom cabinet mirror, using the phone to cover their face and focus on their body.

They looked so…boring in the reflection, wearing that old, baggy top and those loose-fitting pants. 

Strade can’t really be that interested in them, can he?

"aw, you're so little. like you wouldn't be able to fight me off if i pinned you down <3"

Those immediate words set butterflies fluttering around in their stomach.

They were definitely not tiny by any metric, standing at almost six foot and easily taller than most of the guys in the warehouse, but the idea of being...pinned down by a stranger of all people, was making their brain short circuit.

And fine, they weren’t sure if Strade meant it in an affectionate way or…a creepy way, talking about their body like it was a piece of meat and he was an animal feeding on them, but Lawrence couldn’t think of a reason to be scared of the obvious red flags coming out of their conversation.

They swallowed past the ever-growing lump in their throat as they paced back to their bed, sitting down and trying their best to keep their responses coherent as they typed out another anxious reply.

"Oh yeah..? Think so?"

"i know so..."

God, he was quick.

"mind pulling those pants down?"

They chewed the inside of their cheek again, hesitating for maybe a moment before they began to slowly pull their pyjama bottoms down their skinny hips, exposing their boxer briefs and the bulge of their cock. 

They felt so exposed, like someone could just walk in and see them right now, and yet...

They took another picture and sent it to Strade without a word, feeling the flush spread across their face as they did so.

"those look pretty tight, baby," He wrote after a pause. "like that cute girlcock is desperate for something its not gonna get. too cute <3"

What the fuck, girlcock-?!

Every word of the message made them shiver more and more, making the aching feeling in their chest that much more intense and tight, so tight it was almost painful. 

God, they couldn’t even begin to describe how this fucking stranger was making them feel. 

They were starting to feel desperate, like he said they were, their girlcock stirring and pressing even tighter against the taut fabric of their briefs, denying them anything close to relief.

They swallowed again, their tongue poking out to wet their dry lips as they typed a needy response.

"Please…just keep talking to me like that…”

"you're such a good girl," Strade continued to praise with another beating heart emoji. "spread your legs, make those panties nice and tight for me so i can see your girlcock press up there…"

They had to close their eyes momentarily and take in a deep, shaky breath to calm themself before they even attempted a response.

It was almost hard to type with how worked up they were, how much their fucking girlcock was stirring, how much their hands were shaking. They felt so submissive and helpless, like they wouldn’t even be able to think without Strade telling them to. 

They just wanted to do whatever he told them to do.

Their legs parted as far as they could (while still framed nicely in the camera) and they jutted their hips slightly, making the thick bulge of their cock the focus of the picture. Light blonde hair covered their tummy and thighs, and they almost felt self-conscious about it, for the first time in their life.

A girl shouldn’t have that there…at least, not a good girl.

"fuck, you're killing me," He wrote with that angel emoji again. "you little tease. what i wouldn't give to have you here now."

Lawrence closed their eyes with a soft moan as they held the pose, trying to imagine what it would be like if he was here instead of just ordering them around over the phone.

They were still trembling but they couldn’t help but smile coyly to themself as they thought out another response.

"What would you do to me if I was there right now?"

"you really want to know, sweetheart?"

They swallowed hard, their grey eyes wide and unnervingly alive, and replied, almost without a thought.

"Yes. Tell me please…I want to know."

…

…

…

"i wouldn't let anyone else even get the chance to look at you, let alone touch you, before i’m through with you, lawrence"

"i'd take you down in my basement and make you scream. hurt you. cut you. fuck you even if you fought me back. ruin that cute little body and torture your girlcock until you begged me to stop."

"and i wouldn't stop <3 even if you screamed and cried and behaved like suuuuch a good girl for me, angel <3"

…

…

…

"You’d do that to me…?"

…

…

…

"yeah. i like ruining pretty things." He wrote. "and you're the prettiest thing i've seen in weeks."

Lawrence could feel themself almost trembling as they stared at their phone, their hands shaking. 

They managed to type out a response, each letter in their reply feeling like a tremendous amount of effort when their fingers were shaking like jelly, just holding onto the phone.

"You really think I’m…pretty…?"

Their heart was pounding as they waited for a reply, waited for those tell-tale orange dots to move again, their once-dead eyes wide and alive and ready for more as their head spun behind them. 

It was like they were experiencing an entirely new high, one more dangerous and more pleasurable than any drug could give them.

They could see themself getting quickly addicted to it, and knew that this addiction was sure to kill them faster than any other vice would.

“haha you're kind of a freak law," Strade seemed to tease when his reply finally popped up, though it was lacking the emojis that typically gave his teasing nature away. "i like that a lot. pretty girls are never usually as filthy as you~"

Their head canted slightly as they read the message, wetting their lips again as they reached down and idly palmed their cock, feeling the hard flesh between their long fingers and wishing that Strade was the one doing the touching instead.

Freak. Filth. Words growing on them like mould grew on spoiled food. 

They were gradually getting infected by whatever disease Strade must have had to enjoy this, and they couldn’t have been happier

They flopped back heavily on the bed with a shaky exhale, that same feeling of twisted pride they got when he called them a “good girl” washing over them.

They managed to respond with one hand occupied (still squeezing their rotten cock that was enjoying every moment of this), their fingers still trembling.

"Yeah, I’m kind of a freak I guess…”

A pretty freak…a pretty girl…

Their cock pulsed hotter.

"yeah.”

“even the most poorly-adjusted tranny has the self-respect not to put up with all of this. what's the matter, law, you don't have any of that?"

They whimpered softly and bit their lip hard (so hard, they could practically taste blood), before rolling onto their side and bringing their knees up to their heaving chest as their cock twitched incessantly between their trembling legs, their slack body shivering all over as they squeezed their thighs tightly together.

Fuck, this was so awful. So, so fucking awful.

Then why was their head pounding, their chest heaving, their cock throbbing harder and harder (and harder and harder), the worse it got?

They swallowed hard, the lump in their throat almost painful to gulp past, as they read the message again, and despite themself, they reached down and started tugging on their cock as they typed, their heart continuing to race at an impossible pace from the mix of excitement and dread at feeling so vulnerable and exposed to this man.

"Why would I want self-respect if it means I can’t talk to you…?”

"good answer <3"

They couldn’t help but smile upon reading the new text, cradling the phone to their shuddering chest with one hand, as the other tightened the hold on their cock, the veins in their wrist pulsating as it jerked up and down their length. 

God, they were just completely hooked on this fucking stranger, addicted to his praise, his threats, his dirty talk (if it could even be called that).

They lay there for a moment, just jerking themself off with wet gasps and shifting skin on skin, trying to even think of what to do next. 

Their mind was so fuzzy and filled with thoughts of Strade, Strade, Strade that they could hardly concentrate, even without the initial fuzz the weed had given them.

It was a perfect sensation.

"what are you doing now, law?"

“I’m…touching myself.”

“show me.”

Like everything else with Strade, it was phrased like a question but Lawrence knew that they didn’t have the luxury of disagreeing with him.

Like they even wanted that luxury to begin with.

They obediently moved backwards, up their bed, lying flat on their back (belly up, like a prey animal offering itself to a rightful predator) and parting their trembling thighs again, wrenching their briefs all the down their legs and taking an awkward picture of their cock in hand, the flushed head and firm length framed by the thin, milky white pillars of their scarred thighs.

They were just glad that this app didn’t have access to their storage and that any pictures exchanged in the chat wouldn’t be saved.

That would have been incredibly fucking embarrassing. 

"haha wtf you're fucking huge," Strade quickly wrote back in response, making fun of them, though, again, the message was lacking his usual emojis (as had many of the previous messages, actually). "talk about wasted potential, eh, law?"

“What do you mean, wasted potential…”

“it means when i fuck you,” When, not if, when, NOT IF. “i'm not letting you top for a single day of the rest of your wretched, little life”

They licked their lips hungrily, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Is…is that a threat…or a promise…?”

"both <3"

God.

GOD. 

They felt like they were going insane.

They just wanted more and more of his words, wanted to take everything this man was saying to them and amplify it, make it worse, make it despicable, diabolical, disgusting, more, more, more-

“God, I hope so…” They typed, the jerking of their wrist faster as heat coiled up, hot and tight, in their belly. “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind…”

"won't need a mind for what i'm planning for you, sweetheart"

“Fuck…” They stammered softly to themself, words falling past their parted lips in a helpless whimper, as they squeezed their cock harder, a thick bead of pre-cum drooling over their bony knuckles. They didn’t touch themself that often, all of their saved videos were no longer able to scratch the itch of their deadened arousal, but now, they were feeling it, so close, so desperate-

“i want you to stop touching yourself now, law”

Their hand stilled instantly, their pale brows knitting together as another typing bubble popped up.

“you don’t work weekends, do you?”

They swallowed hard, typing out a reply while anticipating the next message.

“No, not usually…why?”

“you know the braying mule in town? just next to that new whole foods?” Donkey emoji, beer glass emoji, wilting leaf emoji.

Lawrence took a moment to think about the spot Strade was describing. 

It wasn’t too far from the warehouse, now that they were thinking about it, in a slightly sketchier place in town that was facing a wave of gentrification (hence the Whole Foods that they, unfortunately, did frequent for tea ingredients and discount granola).

“Yeah…?”

“are you gonna meet me there next saturday?”

Once again, phrased like a question but Lawrence knew there was no option to say no.

Like they would have said no.

“I guess I am.”

“good girl.” Angel emoji, beating heart emoji. “and are you going to give yourself anyyyy relief before then?”

He was teasing again, and the praise and indirect order was enough to send another pulse of heat to their cock, making it that much more painful and unsatisfying when they let go of it and lay back on the bed.

“I…guess I’m not.”

“she’s smart for a poorly-adjusted faggot, isn’t she?”

God, he was just so demeaning, and they were absolutely obsessed with it.

That warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of their stomach was back, and it felt even stronger than before. 

They almost had to resist the urge to bite their bottom lip and start jerking off again…and they could only muster the shakiest of responses.

“Yeah…she is.”

“such a good girl, law.” He wrote, and Lawrence could practically see the shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “i’m looking forward to meeting you <3”

“Me too…”

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now

And now for something completely different! Now I want you guys to do me a favour here, and I need you to picture this fic as having like, a BBC Saturday night family show budget. I’m specifically talking Atlantis, but if you’ve not seen Atlantis (like most people), think Merlin. I wrote Edwin and Charles’ voices entirely as I’d write them in canon-verse, with nearly no regard to the fact I was transplanting them into ancient Greece, so it’s VERY important to me that you embrace the Camp. This is a styrofoam dungeon. Charles is about to meet his destiny in a labyrinth that’s just a quarry in Wales. The historical outfits all have zips up the back. Get on board with the vibe. This one goes out to @every-moment-a-different-sound, who not only made me aware of Painland week as a thing but also approached me for a collab! Go check out their FUCKING GORGEOUS GIFS for this fic!!! This fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without them, Robin you fuckin' rule 💛 4.7k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

The dungeon was a proper dingy place. Charles wondered if that's where they got the name from. Dingy, dungeon. Too similar to be a coincidence, right?

Lying on his back on the hard wood pallet, head on his hands, he stared at the pale moonlight bleeding through the window. 'Window' was being a bit generous; it was more of a slit in the wall. Narrow, barred, so high he could've stood on tiptoes and barely brushed it with his fingertips. But at least it was big enough to let in that light. He supposed he was lucky. Between the sliver of moonlight and the sputtering candle in the hallway past the wall of bars, he was bloody spoiled. He didn't know exactly where they were sending him tomorrow, but he had a pretty strong hunch that it would be dark. The kind of dark that drove men mad. Maybe the madness would get him before the bloody great beast in the tunnels got the chance.

Seemed a bit off, really. Putting him in the dingy dungeon when he bloody volunteered for this. Maybe they thought he'd change his mind and leg it in the night. Any half-sensible person would, wouldn't they? No one had ever given Charles an earful for having common sense, though. Usually the opposite.

No running away for him, that's for sure. He was bedded down for the night, just him and a handful of snoring cellmates. Despite the panic and crying, the six other lads had managed to drift into some kind of sleep, however uneasy. Not Charles, though. Too much on his mind. The stupid idea that brought him here in the first place. The near certainty that he'd fail, in the end, and he’d have no one but himself to blame for his bloody demise.

Wasn’t all bleak thoughts, though. After all, there was always him.

The prince.

He closed his eyes, letting it all play out in his head again. Stepping off the boat, being 'greeted' (shackled and marched to the dungeons) by the 'welcoming committee’ (royal guard). Him and thirteen other boys and girls, thanked like heroes and handled like criminals. The king in all his fancy regalia, booming his solemn gratitude to the brave youths for their sacrifice — as if any one of them but Charles had any choice in it. And standing there, at the king's back...

Look, Charles may have had more important things to think about, but he knew a fit lad when he saw one.

Fit didn't even cover it. The boy was just about the most gorgeous thing Charles had ever seen — or ever would see. Unless he spotted a prettier one before he died tomorrow, that is. Bit unlikely.

There was just something about him, the prince. Charles wasn't even into the posh sort, generally. Like with the more well-to-do lads from his own town — something about the baked-in entitlement soured them. Made them ugly, even if they were objectively alright looking. He could smile politely and play nice, but he’d sooner kiss a frog than a rich merchant’s kid. And a prince was a pretty big step up from a merchant's son, wasn't he? By rights he ought to be even worse. Charles probably didn't even register as a human to him. He wasn’t worth wasting a thought on.

Except Charles could still picture him perfectly, in his head. He could play out the whole welcome start to finish. How Charles' heart, all shrivelled in fear, had jumpstarted soon as he clapped eyes on the prince.

"Charles..."

He'd had dark hair all perfectly combed into an inky shine, almost prettier than the gold crown on top of it. Eyes like sea glass, clear and green and shining with a cunning light; eyes that had scanned the line of offerings and landed on Charles. Fixed him with such an intense, curious scrutiny he'd actually felt himself blush.

Hadn't Charles seen him somewhere before? That chin, that nose, those high cheekbones? He could've sworn he'd walked past him at a temple somewhere, carved from pristine marble. He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye, surely he must've known him all his life.

"Charles...?"

If he concentrated, really concentrated, he could even hear his voice...

"Charles Rowland!"

Blimey, that was scary. That sounded real.

Charles blinked his eyes open and frowned. He let his head flop to the side and looked across the cell, where the stone wall gave way to bars.

There, framed by iron and flickering candlelight, there he stood. Pretty as a picture — baffling as a dream.

Charles sat up, slow, cautious. He almost said something proper stupid, like 'what's a nice boy like you doing in a dungeon like this?'

"Um," he fumbled. "Evenin'?"

Mm. Not much better, really, was it?

"Evening, your highness?" he corrected himself, with a wince. Gods, his old man would've walloped him good and proper for talking to a royal like that.

Prince Edwin, however, didn't sneer or snap or even walk away. It was hard to see his face, at a distance in the gloom, but he almost looked amused. Charles thought he could see the barest shadow of a lifted lip, anyway.

"Good evening," said the prince. He said it so quiet, barely above a whisper, but his crisp tone carried regardless. He cocked his head slightly and beckoned with a finger. "Might I have a word?"

Charles glanced behind himself. Just on the off-chance there was another Charles Rowland he didn't know about squeezed onto the narrow bed with him. There wasn't, obviously, and he was a good few feet from any of his sleeping cellmates. No mistaking who the prince was after. He swallowed, stood up, and crept across the uneven flagstones, stepping over the sprawled legs of another boy.

As he neared, as the situation sank in and the prince came into focus, a new bundle of nerves started kicking off. Nothing like the anxious dread that had been stewing in his gut all night, the 'oh, gods, they're feeding me to a monster in the morning' nerves. No, this was different. More familiar but also, weirdly, worse than the monster dread. Fuck, but this lad was gorgeous. Not even the dungeon gloom could hide it. He was almost blinding to look at — and now those clever eyes were fixed right on Charles, no one else. Nowhere to hide. Fuck, Charles probably had sweat and cellar grime all over his face, and all!

Charles came to a standstill, toes almost touching the bars. Up close, he could see that him and the prince were about the same height. Edwin might've had the advantage by an inch or so, but maybe that was just his perfect posture. Spine straight and shoulders back, he regarded Charles with his head curiously cocked and his hands steepled. For a royal, he wasn't dressed all that flashy. Hadn't gone in for any jewellery besides the gilded circlet on his head. And under the blue silk chlamys clasped at his shoulder, his chiton was a simple white, clean and sharp and draped neatly to knee length. Expensive, pristine, put-together, but not exactly ostentatious. Mind you, that's just the sliver of outfit that Charles could see — because the prince had topped the whole thing off with a thick, practical brown cloak. A peacock disguised as a pigeon.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, the prince finally spoke. "I'm told you volunteered," he said. He kept his voice down, but it stayed crisp and clear. Highborn through-and-through. Probably wasn't even capable of mumbling.

Charles supposed it was a bit unusual, but unusual enough to bring a prince skulking down to the dungeons? He reckoned he was right about Edwin's eyes, that cleverness in them — he wasn't just a pretty face under a crown. He wanted to know things. He was staring at Charles like he wanted to pick him apart, understand him.

"Yeah," Charles answered. He forced a grin. "Not my best idea."

The prince blinked and leaned a little closer, intrigued. "Why in the world would you volunteer for this?"

His attention was sort of a lot — but it felt... good. Charles wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. He wanted this clever, gorgeous lad to think he was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Charles shrugged. "I can fight. I can take a hit. Seemed like the right thing to do. The decent thing, yeah?"

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You’d forfeit your life to... give the beast a fight for its food?"

Charles shifted on his feet. "Not... exactly."

The prince watched him, all expectant. Charles sighed.

"Years it's been going on," he said, barely a mumble — Edwin leaned a little closer still to listen. "Lads and lasses being packed off, fed to that thing to keep it happy. Not right, is it? And I thought, well..."

He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought well, he was already getting the shit beaten out of him every other day, so what's a little mauling on top of it? He'd thought about being his father's son, with his father's temper, and how maybe that could be a good thing for once. He'd thought about how things could change for him if he came back — and about who would even miss him if he didn't. He'd thought of all those kids less deserving than him, sent miles from home to be ripped to shreds. Sent away from bright futures and families that loved them. Gentle types who'd never hurt a fly. Kids who'd never learned to take a beating. Kids who didn't have the anger to keep them alive. Kids who weren't monster enough to survive the real thing.

"I thought, well, I'm pretty good in a scrap," he said, brightly, plastering on a smile. "Pretty stubborn. Thought if I went down there, maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

Charles raised his eyebrows.

Edwin looked at him blankly.

Charles rolled his eyes, held up one hand, and punched his fist into it twice.

Edwin's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "You mean to... slay the minotaur?"

"Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

"You have a talent for understatement," said Edwin, a sharp hiss. His voice had quickened and thinned into a hushed, incredulous patter. "I'd go so far as to describe that idea as fatuous, hubristic, and downright suicidal!"

Charles snorted. "Yeah. Sounds about right." He leaned his shoulder against the bars, brought his face closer to the prince's — which was such a brilliant idea it immediately gave him a really, really bad one. So bad it was impossible to resist.

He gave him a lax, lopsided grin — the one that he could bring out back home to make the girls giggle. "Be good if it worked, though, wouldn't it?"

Coming onto a bloody prince like he was some blushing farm lad... well, it probably wasn't a worse idea than throwing himself into a minotaur's labyrinth, but it probably wasn't much better, either. But what did it matter? They couldn't punish him, could they — they were already feeding him to a monster in the morning. What did he have to lose? Why not take a crack at the handsome prince with the pretty eyes? Sod it, it was his last night on Earth.

Edwin, to Charles' immense glee, actually seemed to get a little pink in the face. His eyes darted away and back again. "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak with a sharp tug of the front. "Have you a plan? Tactics? A weapon, at the very least?"

"Um. Well. No, not really." He dropped his fist on the bars once, twice, mulling it over. "But, I have been told my smile's pretty disarming!"

If his clumsy flirting hadn't been enough to break through the regal composure, that would've done it. Edwin's mouth dropped open a little, his brows drawing close together as he stared at Charles in abject disbelief. "Dear gods," he said, voice light and brittle. "You're doomed."

Charles chuckled, resting his forehead against the bars. "Yeah. Suppose so. Won't go down without a fight though, eh?"

He looked up through his eyelashes and found Edwin still staring, lips parted just a bit. Fuck, he had nice lips. Kissable. Charles reckoned he’d miss kissing when he was dead. What was the sentence for stealing a kiss from a prince — was it worse than death by minotaur? He might be willing to risk it.

Edwin tore his gaze away and glanced down the hall, first one way, then the other. Furtive. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Charles," he whispered. "Are your cellmates all asleep?"

Pulse quickening, Charles forced his eyes away from the prettiest person in the room to have a glance at the others. Everyone looked the same as they had before. Same chorus of snores and soft breaths and muttered, whimpered nightmares. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."

"Right. Excellent." Edwin cleared his throat again and crowded closer to the bars.

Charles' heart was racing. He couldn't lean any closer to the bars than he already was but he wanted to. He didn't mean to, but he bit his lip, eyes flickering down to Edwin's mouth.

Edwin took another wary glance behind him, and tugged his cloak back. He reached inside. His hand closed around something under his arm and drew it out — something long and wrapped in leather.

Charles caught his breath.

"Take it," Edwin ordered, holding the hilt of the sword to the bars and looking Charles in the eye. "Quickly, and quietly."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He grabbed it, his fingers grazing Edwin's. Gods, he even had beautiful hands. Smooth on the back but a bit calloused on the pads. Didn't escape Charles' notice that the blade, though heavy, seemed to be a familiar weight in his hands.

"Cheers, mate," Charles breathed, drawing the cumbersome thing through the gap. If he was careful, he reckoned he could stash it under his thin cloak without anyone knowing.

He hadn't meant to call the gorgeous boy (who also happened to be fucking royalty) mate, but if Edwin was offended he didn't show it. In fact he ducked his head in a bashful little dip. It was so endearing Charles had to do another quick pros-and-cons list in his head about the risks of snogging him through the bars.

"Well," said Edwin, a forced lightness in his tone. "If you must embark upon this fool's errand, you must have the proper equipment."

Charles let out a ragged breath. "Thank you," he said, sincere, as he slid the scabbard through his belt. He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his head. "To be honest, I've... I've never been more scared in my life."

Edwin's shrewd gaze softened. His whole face did. It actually bowled Charles over a little bit, the difference. He felt like he ought to look away, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. A prince shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not him. Like he was something special. Something he was in awe of. "I can only imagine."

Charles bit his lip. "Less scared, now," he said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword. Even though he felt a bit like he'd been flayed open and laid at the prince's feet, he still managed a wink. "Reckon I'll show that big bugger what's what with this thing, don't you?"

The prince’s eyes twinkled over his small, indulgent smile. "Oddly enough... yes. I believe you just might." He seemed to catch himself, a pretty blush high on his cheeks as he schooled his expression back into something a bit more lofty. "And quite a feather in your cap it will be. That beast has been a thorn in my father's side for years, holding the kingdom to ransom."

Edwin's gaze flickered over Charles, head to toe, and the pretty blush deepened. "If you were to end its reign of terror, you'd be more than deserving of a handsome reward."

"Oh, yeah?" said Charles. If he sounded breathless, it's 'cause he was. "What sort of reward?"

He felt dazed. He must've been dreaming. Five minutes ago he was accepting his fate, and now he'd been brought a fighting chance. By a gorgeous prince. Who was fucking flirting with him. They must've knocked his head on the bars when they shoved him in the cell — he was probably lying in the corner, drooling and babbling.

Edwin's eyes were restless, darting from Charles' face to his feet. His throat bobbed around a dry swallow. He looked too real to be a dream — but also too good to be true. His hand lifted, fingers resting on an iron bar between them.

"Well," he said, sounding pretty bloody breathless himself. "You could take your pick."

If this wasn't a dream, it was definitely a trick. Some rich kid teasing him, waiting to pull away at the last second and laugh at him for being so easy to string along. Or waiting for an excuse to run to his daddy and bag Charles a fate worse than death for getting fresh with him.

Except for whatever reason, he didn't believe that. Couldn't. For some reason, he trusted Edwin. Felt like he knew him. Like he'd always known him. And he knew he was kind. Not necessarily nice, but kind. For whatever reason he knew Edwin wasn't the sort to mess around with someone's feelings — or pretend to be interested when he wasn't.

Why he'd be interested in Charles of all people was another thing, but... sod it. Charles was probably gonna die tomorrow, anyway. Why not pretend it was possible for a minute? What the fuck did he have to lose?

Feeling once again like the undisputed king of bad decisions, Charles took a breath, and put his hand on top of Edwin's. He almost couldn't believe his luck when Edwin didn't pull away. His hand was soft — like the little gasp he let out when their skin touched.

Swallowing past his dry mouth, Charles laced their fingers. He let them lay there, woven on the bars; the warp and weft of it felt so right he wondered how they hadn't been doing this for years. How'd he gone this long, not realising how empty his hands were without Edwin's tangled up inside them?

He looked at Edwin's face and saw all his own thoughts reflected. Saw Edwin staring at their hands like they were a bloody marvel. Like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. His face was so open, so alive — so gently amazed and Charles had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.

Charles laughed, quiet, awed. "Handsome prize, alright."

That earned him another quick, coy duck of Edwin's head — but Charles could see him preening clear as day. "Be sure you're alive to claim it," he said, soft and serious. He squeezed Charles' hand once before breaking the hold.

Charles sketched a lazy salute to distract his hand from how empty it felt. "No dying. Right-o."

Edwin smiled. A proper smile; a quick flash of teeth breaking through his tight-lipped, regal composure. Charles would've fought the bloody titans to get another glimpse of it.

"You are... odd," said Edwin, matter-of-factly. "And quite mad, I suspect."

"...Cheers?"

Humming, Edwin reached into his cloak once more. "There is just one other thing..."

He brought out something small from a pouch at his waist. Something round, with a leather cord threaded through the middle and tied off in a loop. Edwin held it aloft, thumb and forefinger pinched through the handle. The little round something glowed silky gold in the candlelight, and Charles squinted at it.

"...String?" he asked.

Edwin nodded, reaching into the cell to take Charles' hand and draw it through the bars. His touch lingered as he placed the generous clew of fine, shimmering string in Charles' palm.

"I had the idea that if you were to unspool it behind you, perhaps you might be able to navigate the labyrinth with greater ease." Head bowed, he looked at Charles through his lashes. Pretty, fluttering things they were, charcoal black. "So that when you slay the beast, you might find your way back."

Charles gawped at him. "Mate. That's proper smart."

Edwin preened again — actually, he preened more than he had when Charles' complimented his looks. Handy to know. "Yes, I thought it rather a sensible idea. I spun it myself; I’ve been experimenting with the tensile strengths of different fibres. It shan’t break."

Charles grinned, closing his hand around the clew — and Edwin's fingers, too. "Brains and beauty, eh?" he said. "Where've you been all my life?"

Edwin went pinker, his eyes twinkled. Warmer than the candlelight, brighter than the moon.

Charles would have to offer up a prayer tonight to any god who might be listening. He'd do anything, give them anything, if they only promised to get him through tomorrow alive. He needed at least a thousand more days ahead of him, just to spend finding more and ingenious ways of making this boy smile at him.

Soon, too soon, Edwin sighed, reluctantly extricating his hand from Charles'. "I must go," he said, apologetic. "Questions will be asked if I'm discovered down here in the dead of night."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course." Charles let his hand fall to his side, clenching it around the thread — still warm from Edwin's hand. He laughed, softly. "Well, um. Thanks for... dropping in?"

"And thank you for your discretion," said Edwin, raising his eyebrows as he drew his cloak back around him. "I'm sure I need not impress upon you the fact that I was never here."

Charles mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Good. Very good." Edwin shifted his weight between his feet a moment, finger lifting, mouth opening as if he had more to say. But whatever it was, he thought better of it. He drew his hands into fists in front of him, pressed together knuckle to knuckle, and offered a tight smile instead. "Well... best of luck, Charles Rowland. I truly hope you find fortune on your side."

With a stiff bob of his head, he turned fluidly on his heel to walk away. And it hit Charles again, hard, right between the eyes. The possibility that tomorrow could be his last day alive. A few minutes ago, the idea hadn't bothered him much.

Fuck. It bothered him, now.

"Edwin," he said, almost losing control of his volume as desperation sunk its hooks into him. He grabbed the bars, white-knuckled. "Edwin, wait —"

And he did. He waited, his back to Charles, his posture so, so perfect. Still as a statue.

Charles swallowed. "Can..."

Edwin turned his head, just slightly.

Charles' courage abandoned him. He huffed, shaking his head. "Nah. Nothing."

Of course, if there's one thing Charles knew about Edwin by now, it was that he couldn't resist a mystery. He turned to face Charles, eyes bright and curious. "Is there something else you require?"

Charles forced a smile. "You've already given me two gifts, mate. Bit greedy to ask for another one, yeah?"

"Perhaps." Edwin paused, and took a cautious step closer. "But, between ourselves... I can see little harm in the asking."

Charles' grin bloomed into something more sincere, something real. "No standing on ceremony, eh?"

Edwin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I hardly see the point. I think perhaps you and I might dispense with formalities."

"Right."

Well then. Why not? Last night on Earth, and all that.

Charles ducked his head, laughing softly at himself. "Well. I was gonna be a bit cheeky, actually. Ask you to gimme a kiss for luck. But I reckon that's a bit — mmf!"

Quick, quicker than Charles could've imagined, Edwin was right there; reaching through the bars, taking Charles' face in his hands, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.They were lucky neither of them broke their noses against the iron strips.

Charles startled, gasped, so blindsided he didn't even know what to do with his hands — so he ended up just sort of clinging onto the bars. But soon enough his eyes fluttered closed, his breath rushed out of him and he melted. He kept his grip on the bars, though, holding on tight just to keep his knees from buckling. Edwin's lips were soft, and hotter than fire. His kiss was clumsy and overeager and not even slightly what Charles would've expected from someone so elegant, so refined. But he tasted of honey and home and Charles could've got lost in him, happily. Charles felt like he'd been shoved against the wall and plundered, in the best possible way. He felt like Edwin was everywhere, filling his senses. Hard not to feel wrapped up in him, with the way Edwin had his hands cupped round Charles' face, covetous and claiming. Like Charles belonged to him.

Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Edwin broke the kiss, but he didn't let Charles go. Just pulled back a little, still framing Charles' face with his fingers. His eyes were dark, hooded, his pretty eyelashes fluttering as he stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. Face flushed, breathing hot and fast, gazing at Charles like he could devour him with his eyes. Charles shivered under the possessive weight of his gaze. He felt seen, admired, treasured. He felt owned.

He wanted more. More, more, until he suffocated under it.

Edwin took a shuddering inhale. "Come back to me," he said. And just because his voice was high and wavering with feeling didn't make it any less commanding. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Charles nodded, in a daze. "I will," he promised.

He was as surprised as anyone to find he actually meant it.

Edwin nodded, and pulled him in close once more. Quick as you like, for just one more kiss — this one dry and fleeting, almost chaste. Bit of a departure from the one before, but somehow all the more devastating. Charles could feel Edwin's palms against his jaw, pressing so tight they ought to bruise. He hoped they would. A sword and a string weren't enough; he wanted everything Edwin could give him. Every tangible reminder that this was real, wasn't just a mad dream.

When that kiss broke, so did Edwin's hold. When he stepped away, he went all the way. And with one last lingering, longing look, he was gone, fading into the night. A mirage. A ghost.

And like a broken amphora, Charles remained right where Edwin had left him. Off-kilter, rooted to the spot. His outer shell shattered; his insides pooling at his feet for all to see.

~

It would be a sombre morning, just as the others had been. A familiar and predictable tragedy; as it always was, and always shall be.

At dawn's early light, just as they always had, seven young men and seven young women would be led — marched, bullied, carried — to the mouth of the labyrinth. There, the trembling gathering would be ushered into the embrace of the earth and stone. Pushed by the merciless hands of a royal guard, who'd long learned to look past the blood upon them.

But on this occasion, quite without the guards' knowledge, one youth would hang back from the crowd. From his cloak he would draw a small token, round and bright like a golden apple. A ball of fine yarn — spun in strong, beautiful fibres by strong, beautiful hands. He would find the end of the thread and fasten it, tightly, to an old iron ring within the threshold.

Then, with the clew unspooling from his fingers, painting a trail behind him like a steady drip of molten gold, he would walk into the jaws of death. Not with fear, not even with resignation, but with purpose. He was no hapless sacrifice, no tragic victim. He was a youth who'd grown accustomed to treading lightly through the dark, lest the monster in his house leap from the shadows. A youth with steel in his hand, and his own monster in his belly; a monstrous rage, and monstrous desire. A hunger to rival that of the minotaur’s.

A youth with a promise to keep in the dark; and a path waiting to lead him back to the light.

~~

A ball of thread is known as a clew or, in an alternative spelling, a clue. To this day, we talk about following the ‘clues’ to discover something, and it’s all thanks to the story of Theseus and Ariadne’s thread. — things I didn’t even know when I came up with this idea but make me insane… everything is connected… detective boys forever… Thanks for reading guys! You know I adore your comments 💛 and don't forget to give Robin's amazing gifs some love as well! Dunno if I'll get anything posted tomorrow, but if I do it'll either be something much shorter or maybe some sketches. I will defo see you for another fic on day 4, though! Any encouragement very much welcomed, it's been a rough couple of weeks💛 Painland Week Prompt List

[ceilidho]

I am once again absolutely infatuated with your work - landscape with honey was incredible!! I’m frothing at the mouth. It’s the only thing my rat brain has been able to think about for the past 48 hours.

I was wondering what Price in his true form would be like with reader, and how he would react? We saw a glimpse of it, but I can’t tell if he’d be reluctant to shift or be super pliant for reader… like imagine if he were super sweet and let her cuddle him in his bear form!! Boop his nose perhaps!!!

You can totally ignore this but I simply had to share. 🩷🩷

hi!!! thank you so much, im glad you liked landscape with honey!!

i kind of hinted at it in the fic, but i see Price's bear as a more animalistic mind. it's distinct from him, but still Price at its core.

there's a part in the fic where i wrote "Hardly ever in his bear form, conscious of not totally giving over to the animal, but occasionally he can’t help slipping into like tumbling down a snowbank, just losing his footing for a moment and sliding, sliding, sliding until hours have passed and he finally hears his own chuffs and feels branches crack under the weight of his paws." to point to the way his bear is its own entity but also part of him (i.e. he's still conscious of his own breathing and body as a bear)

i imagine on some level his bear would recognize her. this isn't like a werewolf verse where the beast is a wholly different entity from the human pilot/host. Price is a born shifter, not turned, so i think even though he goes into a more primitive mind when he shifts, there's still a base level of consciousness there.

i don't think he'd be reluctant to shift in front of her! apart from not wanting to freak her out. i don't know how often he'd shift in front of her, because they can't very well do it in the middle of town and she has a job, so it's not like she can be in the woods with him all the time, but he probably does it every so often :)