#horrors really hit hard this week! damn!

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 20/52: Mother daughter bonding 🤍💙🤍💙

Crystal Springs FACT for you all: during the 20s/30s, Winter and Jacqueline were living it UP in prohibition hotspots! Running speakeasies, shipping alcohol all clandestine like, they had a BLAST--and Winter is a BIG FAN of the fashion of the time!

"I used to wear dresses like these way back in the day when your father and I were courting!"

"Courting. Right."

Dresses were INSPIRED by some 1920s fashion plates! Jacqueline's HERE and Winter's HERE. Also, would strongly recommend following historic-fashion-polls it's SUCH fun blog! Voting on what you'd wear/fave outfits AND a great resource for historical costume art references >:)

Wardrobe malfunction notes (v funny):

Jacqueline's dress was meant to show CLEAVAGE. Guess who accidentally coloured over it with the blue lmaoooo

(I went over it with the skin tone pencil crayon and now it looks like a sheer bit--it works!)

Winter was supposed to have a two tone bodice but ya girl coloured over it again lmao

there were a LOT of lines so I uh. I got a little discombobulated. BUT HEY! SCRIMBLES!

I fucked up Winter's magicy glow hand lol. I was able to fix it?? But I think you can still see how I fucked it 🤭🤭🤭

There are LINES on Winter's skirt AND sleeve--the photo washed them out, rudely enough

here's the un-cam-scanned version:

The lighting in my house is TOO YELLOW and it's a long weekend so THESE PHOTOS WILL HAVE TO DO BC I AM EXCITED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU ALL!!

And yes Winter's scarf is orange because Blaise 🤭🤭🤭 sorry your honour, I just LOVE THEM

And this is deffs one of my fave scrimblies so far. Winter looks so CUTE!! 💃🏻🥰😘💥 The magic glow on the hands could be better but I can't fookin remember how I did it in this scrimbly so THIS WILL HAVE TO DO, I'M AFRAID.

Up next: It's fucking MERMAY what is WRONG WITH ME

[temis-de-leon]

Love potion and Dateables - Part 3

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Intro , Part 1 , Part 2

Masterlist

CW: fluff, hurt, insecurities, Barbatos is living in a horror movie for a hot minute, boys are crushing hard and MC is implied to be crushing hard too, pre-established relationship

A/N: I didn't know what to do for Simeon's part and it turned out to be the longest

.

Diavolo

His extensive knowledge on etiquette begged him to knock the door, but his longing asked him otherwise. He didn’t have much time until Lucifer came looking for him and he really, deeply, needed to see you.

RAD’s latest festival had been a massive hit, various stalls displaying regional costumes, homemade food and games, and he had been naïve enough to think he finally had the chance to take you on a real date. A moment with no interruptions for him to show you how he felt and for you to, hopefully, love him back.

Sadly, spirit week passed by and Diavolo barely had any time to see you. All he watched, from your stunning features to your sparkling eyes, had been from afar. And now, days later, he still felt a tingle in his chest whenever he remembered how you looked during the festivities.

So he knocked once, twice, thrice, until his impatience got the best of him and made him open the door.

The room was dark, but your scent still lingered. It felt weird, however. What was it? Your blood and sweat? The products you used on your body and your clothes? Scented candles, perfume, food…? What was it? A mix of everything, it seemed.

The guilt of intruding your private space mildly subdued when he saw the cauldron on the table.

So that’s what it was. Surely homework for Solomon, although he’d had to ask the sorcerer what was the purpose of this particular assignment.

The potion looked like blood covered velvet and it immediately reminded him of his future: a rich fabric drowned in danger. On the other hand, its warmth soon embraced his face, allowing him to imagine your fingers caressing his cheekbones, your lips covering his in a smile with ridiculous care.

Diavolo sighed and walked away from the table, not sure of what to do. He couldn’t stay and risk being caught by you, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he went back to the castle without talking to you first.

He checked his uniform, straightening his tie before brushing his hair with his fingers.

If he was lucky, he’d cross paths with you on the hallway.

Barbatos

The House of Lamentation was introduced to a new routine the moment Barbatos saw that rat. Mandatory deep cleaning once a week and very recommended evacuation once a month for disinfecting purposes. Barbatos would refuse to enter the house otherwise, which was the last thing he wanted to do because he hadn’t spent any quality time with you in days.

There had been chit-chat in RAD whenever he saw you, as well as short trivial conversations on the phone. He’d also tried to invite you to his tamest shopping trips and as much tea parties as he was capable of organizing, but damn the brothers for being jealous and making everything so difficult.

Never in his life he would’ve believe he’d feel thankful for a rat’s existence.

However, MC, if you didn’t open your door in the next ten seconds he would open it himself.

Barbatos knocked again, mouth full of saliva and heart jumping out of his chest. He could feel something crawling up his back, whiskers and soft fur exploring his skin under the uniform and tiny claws scratching whatever they could.

Unable to keep waiting in the deserted hallway, wide enough for any rodent to run up to him without being detected, he rushed inside your room and closed the door with a bang. He felt deeply embarrassed, thankful that you weren’t there to see his dishevelled state, but his demeanour changed when he smelt the room.

It was something he was very familiar with: the tea blend he made just for you! Smiling softly at the realization, he created an image in his mind; you trying to do the blend on your own and succeeding. It made his heart soar in pride and apreciation.

His mood quickly changed without him noticing and soon the only thing occupying his mind was you. How thankful you were of his actions, MC, how happy you made him feel by simply existing.

Feeling stronger than ever and giving himself a few more seconds to breathe and regain his rationality, Barbatos opened the door and stepped out of your room.

His fears be damned; he was in dire need of your presence.

Solomon

Your smell vanished soon after your departure and Solomon had to grip the edges of the table to stop himself from grabbing the vial again. He knew what would happen then, as it happened before. He would lose himself in the potion and the memories within, every reason he had to love you and to feel loved by you.

Your humanity, tainted, but still present, the colour of your eyes, the softness of your skin; the lack of horns and wings and tail. How you trusted him against everyone’s advice, like you knew there was more to him that no one else bothered to see.

And he refused to feel threatened by someone like Mammon; Barbatos or Simeon he could understand, but why Mammon? Why did he have to sit and stare whenever the Avatar of Greed reached the limit of his jealousy? And why did that limit lower when Solomon was present?

He frowned in anger and frustration. Ironically, the thing he knew would make him feel better was the one he was viciously trying to avoid. Was he even an option for you, MC? Asmo did tell him from time to time to go for it, but he also inserted himself in those fantasies, so Solomon tended to take his words with a pinch of salt.

Unable to resist the temptation of your comfort, he walked towards the cabinet and grabbed the vial again. How could such a small container radiate so much warmth? For so many years he had it and in just a few months it grew stronger than ever.

Reinvigorated.

That’s how you made him feel. You may call him an old man and he may be an old man, MC, but he wasn’t one to bend the knee and he wouldn’t start doing that now.

Feeling determined, Solomon vaguely waved his hand and watched as his room tidied up itself. Books flying to the shelves on the walls, spell equipment returning to its original place in the table and clothes resting in hangers.

You once called him Mary Poppins and he had yet to understand, but never mind that for now.

He’d give you enough time to make your own potion during the evening and then he’d go to the House of Lamentation. Having your friendship was enough, but King Solomon the Wise never settled.

Simeon

The moment he heard Solomon’s door close, his heart went up his throat, blood rushing through his body in excitement. The table was full of vegetables, meats and fruit native to the Devildom, the result of experimentation as a cure to boredom, and he deeply hoped you could stay for dinner. He needed more testers other than Luke’s sweet tooth and Solomon’s destroyed palate.  

To his disappointment, the only thing you did when you entered the kitchen was wave goodbye.

“Gotta leave, Simeon! Enjoy dinner!”

“Wait! MC!”

You turned around, fighting to force your arm inside the jacket with your schoolbag tightly secured between your legs. You looked at him silently, embarrassed? Probably due to the unnecessary effort when gathering your things.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? There’s more than enough for all of us”

You smiled back at him, suddenly bashful, before pointing at your bag.

“I have homework to do, blame your roommate”

He laughed and rolled his eyes, trying not to show his dissatisfaction at seeing you leaving once again, but he could try another time. Probably best to ask in advance, though.

“What did he ask you to do?”

His hands went back to the food, cleaning, cutting and slicing with carefulness, but his eyes were set on you. Simeon couldn’t help but feel anything other than delight when he noticed you leaving the bag on the floor and coming closer.

“It’s a love potion, he said it might come in handy in the future”

“Did he now?”

For what, he may wonder. He hoped you never felt the need to use it; your heart was more than enough to enchant anyone you encountered.

“He showed it to me once, too” he confessed, not really thinking through what he was saying “It smelled rather nice; although I suppose that’s its purpose…”

His mouth stayed open, unsure of what to say next, before finally closing with a snap. Simeon’s attention went back to the food once more, failing to see your uncertainty at his words.

“And what did you…?”

He raised his gaze when you stopped talking and your shy demeanour took him by surprise. Did something happen? Did he say something wrong? He was about to ask, worried at your silence, but you beat him to it.

“Forget it, it’s nothing. I’m going home, okay? I need to study”

“Stay safe, MC”

You nodded, then grabbed your bag again and left the kitchen. Barely a minute later he heard the front door open and close one final time.

Whatever happened? Everything seemed to be doing okay, although he did stop looking at you for a short moment. Did the love potion have something to do with it? Solomon better pray that wasn’t the case, otherwise he’d be learning a new method of teaching very soon.

Fortunately for the sorcerer, thinking about the love potion again made him remember what he smelled when he saw it for the first time. A faint scent of old books, like a memory, and a stronger coat of cinnamon, cocoa powder and whipped cream.

He had a great idea.

Maybe a couple of pastries would make you feel better! He’d need to notify Lucifer in advance so someone could hide the desserts from Beel until you were finished.

Or should he deliver them in person? Simeon couldn’t avoid imagining you opening your bedroom door, smile wide in your face upon seeing him and offering him to eat his baking together, like many times before.

He’d make sure to prepare your favourites; he knew them by memory.

.

.

@hello-gloomy  @the-sassiest-toaster  @hero-nii-blog  @yourlocalyin  @elaemae  @eliciria  @darkflowerav  @zarakem  @yuuvis32  @anxious-chick  @commets-space  @deepestartisanhumanoidshark  @ourfinalisation

[ftl-faster-than-life]

Trying to articulate the eldritch horror aspect of the Speedsters is really difficult because it's hard to put into words…You're Wally West, you're nineteen years old. You loved your deceased uncle more than almost anyone (except your aunt, but she's dead too.) You're working with a nutritionist to try to understand why your powers have changed since his death (you never needed to worry about starving to death in five minutes before.) She tells you something you don't want to hear: That power you're using came from that dead man. He wasn't human, not since before you met him, in being hit by lightning he became it. He was an energy source with a smiling face.

He was some kind of monster.

Because then he met you and you got hit by lightning, too, the accident was identical except it wasn't an accident, not really. He remade you in his image--not just with the silly tailored down costume you were happy to wear, proud to be like your hero. He connected you to him, fed you power. Made you into his companion because he was lonely in his inhumanity. Made you not-quite-human, too. You remember how much the idea that he wasn't entirely human haunted him and how he clung to the things that made him ordinary. Denial.

And now he's dead, and your powers are on the fritz, and you have two kinds of dreams: The ones where he rejects you and takes his powers back and you're left with nothing. And the other ones which are stranger (you don't have to unpack those first ones, really, the meaning is obvious.) You dream that you're talking to a dead man. He still cares about you, still wants to look after you, asks you about your week like he used to and tells you you're doing a good job, he's so proud of you. It's harder to believe these ones.

You keep looking for a way to fix your powers, you need to be faster but you can never quite push past a certain point. A man from the past tells you it's all in your head, you're afraid of being faster than a dead man, you don't want to replace him. You're damned if you're going to let anyone else do it, though. You push past that limit which you grudgingly acknowledge really was self-imposed. You nearly die anyway…but you're saved, last second, by a bolt of lightning.

You say thank you, because you know that was him.

You spend years getting faster, more powerful. You have a spiritual connection to the power that's unrivaled by anyone, past or present or future. You're the Fastest Man who Ever Lived. Sometimes you still see signs of intervention in your life, in other speedster's lives. He shows up for your cousin, then disappears again.

Then one day….he comes back. Not as a time traveler, not as a brief manifestation. He's alive and breathing and at first you feel pure relief… then you feel nervous.

What does it mean for you if he's alive?

The other shoe drops soon enough, you don't even get to the Welcome Home parties before the reveal: He was dragged out of the Speed Force by his worst enemy, who has remade himself in the process. He's not like you anymore, he's like him. They're unique, two of a kind. Connected, it turns out. It takes all of you to beat him this time.

Your uncle's got something on his mind, though--a murder over a decade old, his mother's. It's unnatural, a change to history written by his enemy. He's desperate to make it right. He wants to save her.

They fight. You're not there for this confrontation and afterwards, you aren't anywhere. He draws the entire Speed Force into himself and with it, he takes you. And your cousin, your kids, your mentor…Every other speedster.

You, your friends and family, all spend the next years in a strange state: Not alive, not dead, you never existed and no one remembers you. Then one day someone does--he does. He draws you out, fully formed and as you remember yourself (as he remembers you.) You fall into his arms and he holds you and you know the love you're feeling is real.

No one else remembers you at all at first, which isn't his fault it turns out. You're angry and you have every right to be but lashing out at him doesn't feel right either.

But you know he'll forgive you, so you let your helpless anger and grief break against that forgiveness.

Then someone, an enemy from an era you can't go back to, offers you a way to save your children. To get your life back.

All you have to do is destroy the power that is shared with you. Your uncle begs you to reconsider. He reasons with you. You can't help but see that for what it really is, a selfish plea for continued survival from that force.

You make the choice.

Because ever since you were nineteen, you've known your uncle was some kind of monster.

[itsohh]

Ghost and Price Soulmate AU

A/N: G/N reader, posted as seperate fics on ao3 with each specific tag relating.

Warnings: Angst, self-mutaliation, reference domestic abuse

AO3 Masterlist

Ghost

He never believed in soul mates. Not in the matter that most people thought. Sure, they were real, sure there was someone out there destined to be ones other's match. Ghost just didn't believe it meant anything. Not really.

He of course had seen what it lead to.

His mother, destined to be with his father. They were soul mates and yet he treated her just as bad. His father loved his mother, sure, but he loved himself so much more.

So when that fated day came, that one when a bullet hit Ghost directly on his thigh, he couldn't help but be a little relieved.  The nurses had been so sympathetic, the doctors too. They hadn't been able to save the soul mark. Now replaced with a gunshot scar. A blessing in disguise. It was a weight off his shoulders.

Escaped. He had escaped destiny.

-

Legs rather comfortable on Soaps lap, you hand your arm over your eyes while you quietly rest. "How'd you get this one?" He poked the scar just under your knee. If anyone else had asked, you would have given them a piece of your mind. Asking about a scar wasn't a line that everyone could cross.

"Some dude tried to go for my kneecap and missed."

"Ouch."

"Didn't even hit me hard enough to shatter my kneecaps regardless of his shit aim."

The door clicked open and you heard the quietest of footsteps enter the room. "Sergeants." Ghost.

"Hey LT, what's the sit'?"

"Price's put us all on mandatory vacation leave." Your arm lift from your face at his voice as you stared at him.

"For real?" You asked, disbelief written across your face.

"Two weeks." You heard a huff from his voice as he sat down opposite to you. There was almost a relief in his eyes. He had been working hard. Too hard.

"Well gives the pair of you a perfect amount of time for a honeymoon huh-" Soap's tease was cut off by your kick but only made him laugh harder. Your relationship with Simon wasn't a secret, not to Soap anyway.

"Alright, alright I was joking. Shite."

"Perhaps you could use that two weeks to learn how to be funny." Your eyes narrowed at him.

"You wound me." He jabbed a finger next to a scar. "Speaking of wounds, How'd you get this one?" You looked over to the exposed skin just under your shirt.

You froze for a moment and your eyes didn't go to Soaps, but to Ghosts. The pair of you had never brought up the matter at hand. Soul marks, it never seemed important. So many people so dedicated to finding that person that the world designed for them, it just didn't seem to matter for you. You loved Ghost, you didn't want to know it was because of an outside force. You loved him and nothing would change that.

"That's my soul mark."

"Damn, that's rough. Not a pretty one." Soap looked down at the nasty scar.

"No, I mean it was. Alright, so when I was a kid I was totally in love with this girl at school called Lilith."

"Oh yeah?" He raised a brow while Ghost continued to watch.

"But she had a different soul mark than mine and wouldn't even look at someone who wasn't her soul mark. She was only gonna date her soulmate."

"What happened?"

"I figured I couldn't have the same one as her but maybe she would date me if I didn't have one. Like how would she ever know if I lost it."

"So you burnt it off?" Soap looked at you with slight horror.

"Cut actually. It uh, really fucking hurt but man she was really pretty." Soap straightened his back slightly and you swallowed.

"I presume it didn't work out."

"We started dating happily and were together up until right before I joined the military. Until her actual soulmate showed up."

"Ohhhh, rough." He gave you a look of sympathy.

"At the time? Was not happy. But I think everything worked out okay." Your eyes locked onto Ghosts for a moment.

"Cute. What about this one?" Soap asked and you looked at the scar on your hand.

"Think that was when I burnt myself making an omelette." Soap barked out a laugh and you could have sworn you saw Ghost's eyes squint from a smile.

"For fucks sake, Soap!" A grumble turned into a yell and the pair of you froze at Price's voice. In all honesty, Price didn't shout like that very often, especially at one of you. Normally it was more akin to a tired sigh.

"Whaddya do this time?" You removed your legs from his lap.

"Better go find out." He jumped up and cracked his neck. "If you don't hear from me in three hours then I want stripers at my funeral." He gave you a wink and headed out the door. The fact he locked the door after him wasn't something you missed.

Silence settled between the pair of you. Eventually, Ghost spoke up. "Can I see it?" Your eyes lift up and met his. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure. It's just a scar now, nothing special." Ghost stood up and towered his way over to you. He replaced Soap and your feet settled on his lap. Carefully, Simon removed the mask from his face and placed it on the coffee table next to you. You watched as he bit the top of his glove and slid it off his hand for it to join his mask.

His hand gently grazed the old scar. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Not really, to be honest after things didn't work out with Lilith I didn't think I would date again."

"Why did you?" His brown eyes settled on yours while he continued to stroke the scar.

"Well, we spent what like three months skirting around each other?"

"Four."

"Mmm, I mean you're an attractive man Simon. Enough to make someone change their mind."

"You couldn't see my face."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for tats." You grinned and he raised a brown. His curled lips betrayed him and you let out a small laugh. "Honestly blame Soap, dunno if he did the same to you but god fucking dammit was he a persistent wingman. I enjoy your company and he didn't let me forget that."

"Hmm, seems he played matchmaker for the pair of us."

"Are you really surprised? It's Soap, he loves to meddle."

"Probably why Price is ripping him a new one," Simon muttered and his eyes sent back to the scar.

"Does it bother you?" Your voice was small, quiet and concern drew across your face. "That I don't have a mark anymore. That we will never know if we were made for each other." Simon paused and then suddenly got up from the chair only adding to your uncertainty. He placed his leg on the coffee table and started to pull up his trouser leg.

Confused you watched him until he pointed to a particular scar. "See that there?"

"You got shot?" You raised a brow.

"That there's where my mark god before it was shot. Lucky bullet. Can't be upset with you an't having one if I don't have one now."

Simon let the trouser leg fall and sat back down on the couch. This time he grabbed your legs and pulled you up onto his lap. It was a swift movement that had you automatically let out a small laugh. He had that adoring look on his face. The corners of his lips all crinkled up. Now with you in arm's reach, his bare hand caressed your face. "Couldn't give a flying fuck about that shite. I'm with you because I want to be, not because some destiny bullshit tells me to. But because I choose to love you."

Price

It had been a completely innocent moment that he saw it. That mark on your torso. A cropped singlet showed it off while you played netball with your squad. A particular game that Gaz had joined. Price wasn't even supposed to be there, he was only getting Gaz. Yet he froze when he saw that mark. The one that was identical to the on his wrist. Just under his watch.

Gaz forgotten about, Price had a call he had to make.

"Look, Kate, doesn't need to be somewhere safe or dangerous just anywhere but where I am."

"John I can't just have people reassigned for no good reason. Are you trying to sabotage their career? Is this a personal thing?"

"No, fuck, I'm not trying to fuck with their career. I'll be compromised around them, it's not a problem now but it might be in the future."

"Are you in a relationship with this person? Or were you?" Kate asked and John let out a sound of slight frustration through the phone.

"They're my soul mate Kate. They don't know it but I saw it." The line went silent. John eventually heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'll do what I can."

-

After that phone call, John hadn't heard from you again. Despite the desire for companionship feeling deep down inside of him, he knew he did the right thing. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't his. Yet he had decided to override date, to override destiny.

Laswell never told him where she sent you. On any other day, he would have said that was for the better.

Any other day.

Gaz sprinted alongside him, guns firing about near them. "Fuck!" He could hear Gaz as the building nearby crumbled down into dust, a building they had just come from.

The pair of them were overrun and for a moment he looked at Gaz and regretted bringing him to his death. There were just too many from too many directions. With no proper cover, the pair of them were fish in a barrel. Bullets came from in front of them but not at them. By some miracle, a door opened while gunfire continued to cover them.

The door promptly shut behind them as both Gaz and Price fell to the ground in their hurried movement.

"Well, I'll be damned, long time no see Gaz." You held a hand out for him and Price watched as you pulled Gaz off the ground.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Didn't expect you to be here." Lieutenant? Price never knew you were promoted. Then again it's not like he wanted to hear about you, it was easier pretending you didn't exist.

"Yeah well, not the worst place to be at. I presume you guys are here due to the attack three days ago?"

"Affirmative on that." Price finally spoke up, he could pretend at least now that you weren't his soul mate.

"We have been here since then, then you two were running through dead man's land."

"Are you guys stuck here?" Gaz asked while you lead them over to a table with a map on top.

"Of course not. We have an underground pathway in our access. But they don't know that. They think that we are stuck here, they tried to push a could of times but Katey up in the best keeps taking them out."

"Are they hoping to starve you out then?" Gaz asked and you nodded.

"Yup in the meantime we have been setting up."

"Setting up what?" Price asked and you gave him a big grind.

"Fireworks show of course. The tunnels below here are far more extensive than everyone originally thought. It goes directly under their set up so we are going to hit the supports."

"Have it crumble from beneath them." Gaz breathed and you nodded.

"Only problem is that there's a high chance that our tunnels will collapse too, we are right on a cliff face so it's gonna be close." Your Sergent popped up next to you.

"This is Sergeant Lawyerson. Demolitions and structural expert."

"The idea is we will evacuate everyone first. " You explained.

"Speaking of, we should get to that. I onto have one set of charges left."

"Right we have to be quick then, when they realise that we don't have people at their posts they might push."

"I'll go get them in place now. Captain, Sergent do you mind looking after my men? There's a side path on the mountain we need to take, it goes from tunnel to straight cliff face. It's pretty risky but KitKat knows the way."

They both gave you a nod and started to work with the squad to leave. Yet Price's eyes lingered on you for a moment. You were a storm, not one to be trifled with. You spoke with certainty and confidence. The perfect leader for your squad. He could see the trust in their eyes.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Katey?"

"Fuck, they got a tank out here!" Price watched as you froze for a moment then sprinted to the exposed gap then swore.

"Right, everyone evacuates now. KitKat eyes front."

"What about Attorney?"

"I'll get Lawyerson, the rest of you go." Price was swept up with the small crowd and followed KitKat down a tunnel. He only had a glimpse of you before you ran down a different path away from him.

"Captain, this way." KitKat had a kind smile on her face but he couldn't help but feel the pit in his stomach form. Was this a result of the bond? Or was this a gut feeling? He couldn't tell.

With Gaz in front of him, he was led through the path until he reached outside. It was an old climbing path, the bridges were old and wooden while the actual path was thin. It didn't allow for fast movement.

A few minutes later his head whipped around to see you following your Sargent. "Blow it." You commanded as the pair of you expertly hurried down the path. Far faster than everyone else had. He couldn't help but wonder how many times the pair of you had travelled it in the last few days.

"We're too close to the blast!" Price's eyes went to the entryway as more voices started to echo down.

"We can't let them reach here else everyone's dead. There's no cover here."

"We can handle some!" She protested.

"Some, not a goddamn army." You were right. She glanced at you over her shoulder then hit the detonator.

A rumble echoed it as the pair of you continued to sprint. Echos of your enemies' screams carried through the tunnel and out into the open. True to Lawyersons suspicions, the tunnels on your side had started to collapse too.

Unfortunately, not all your foes were caught. A brief area by the exit was reinforced rather well and they survived. Meanwhile, the path around you started to crumble. Gaz lit up his gun in an attempt to cover the pair of you.

Price snapped to action just in time for the wooden bridge to collapse under both you and Lawyerson. She managed to barely leap over to safety but your jump, slightly further back didn't make it.

But he caught you.

Price's hand found yours as he dove prone to the side. With one hand off the side, you dangled to his hand. "I got you." His eyes bore into yours as the pair of you tried to pull you up. Yet the wood that you used cracked under your weight and all progress was lost. Lawyerson recovered and went to help pull you up but a bullet in her leg had her cry out.

A curse left John's mouth as a gunshot hit his shoulder. They were getting lit up trying to save you. Your eyes turned to see the small group that had survived. They were aiming for the three of you.

"Let go, you need to leave." Your voice came and for the first time in a very long time. He froze.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You will die if you stay and I'll die regardless. Don't water your life like this. " He felt your hand go limp against him and he used all his strength to continue holding on.

"I can't."

"They always said you were such a level-headed man. Let go. Don't put the weight of your death on me. Lawyerson will need help with that leg of hers. Save her."

His eyes glanced at the small mark on his exposed wrist, your eyes followed him and you gave him a weak smile. John couldn't say it out loud, that he was your soul mate. A man you only knew from word of mouth.

"I already knew. Gaz showed me a picture of the pair of you, your wrist was showing." His lips parted.

"You didn't say anything."

"Love wasn't an option for me. Soulmates? That's a fantasy for civilians to have. Not us. But for what it's worth, if there was anyone worth being cosmically tied to, your a pretty damn amazing man to be it."

He shouted your name and with your free hand, you pried yourself from his grip. "Go!" So John watched as you fell, a love finished before it had even started.

[tonixe]

so I needddddd a randy meeks x reader where Randy records reader when they fuck and billy or stu is at his house and finds the tapes the rest is up to you pls and thank you—🧸🫧

``💿📷

n.o.t.e.s - There should be more randy fics tbh. Lowkey, thank you for requesting this. 💗 Im fully going to open requests next week <3

w.a.r.n - unprotected sex, penetration, p in the v, sex tape, dub-con, oral sex (m receiving), Randy is a virgin.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - Randy Meeks x fem!reader

w.c. - 1.3k

"Randy~" you whined, laying down on his bed wearing nothing but his oversized shirt and your f/c panties. You tilted your head to the side as he approached you.

"What?" he muttered under his breath, going back to searching for a movie to watch in his drawer. "Im bored" You turned our body to him and slightly got up from his bed.

He made a victory noise as he grabbed ahold of two horror movies in his hand, shaking them to you. "Hellraiser or Carrie," he smiled before opening the DVD player.

"What about..Body double?" you said, holding it up.

"That's basically porn in a movie," Randy said, turning to you. "I know, I just want to watch something that eventful, you know." you pointed at him. Randy cocked his eyebrows at you.

"What about..Sleepaway camp?"

"Let's do something better" You got up from the bed, slowly massaging his shoulder, kissing his neck, and pressing your bare chest on his back.

"Instead of watching it, let's record it," you whispered to his ear before you lowered your hands toward his crotch.

"What are you doing, Y/N" he steps and turns around to look at you, "just being entertain, besides what the harm I'm in that" you cocked your head at him, teasing him.

"I have to stay a virgin, people who have sex always die in the end" Randy exclaimed at you, "really, but what if" you walked up near him, lifting your shirt and throwing it on the floor, "Nobody has to know, we can record our little horror movie, while you fuc my guts" you whispered to him.

His face turning brightly red, before accident looking at your cheat, before he look away covering his eyes.

"What the hell, Y/N" he yelled,

"Come on, Randy your acting like you never seen me naked before" you sighed, "besides you can't be a virgin forever, ran~" you whispered, slowly kissing his neck and gently biting his ear.

You glanced down at his pant, seeing that your attempts were working, "your hard" you said, gently taking his face.

His face is still red, "Come on, babe" you said, looking at him while battering your eyelashes. Randy didn't think of losing his virginity he would lose it to you, he muttered a yes under his breath.

"You'll never forget this, I promise" You backed away from him, you took out a tripod, setting up near his bed randy to his surprise.

"You brought a fucking tripod, Y/N" he exclaimed, biting his lip.

"I was hoping you would say yes, just something to keep if I'm not here" You winked at him, before hitting record on it.

"Lay down" you ordered Randy before you got down on your knee before him, looking up at him, "You ready" you smiled at him.

"S-sure" he muttered out.

The sound of you unzipping his pants made randy sweat, before you threw his pant to the side, taking off his boxers, revealing his hard dick, with a red tip.

"God, Randy I didn't know you were hiring this from me" before you took your hand to pump it.

"F-fuck" he stutters out, he argued his back, hiding his face from you. "Don't be shy, ran~" you teased before taking his length laying the tip. On your tongue, licking it.

Sinful noises came out from Randy's mouth, before you took his fick into your mouth, you lifted your attention to randy red face.

"Damn it, Y/N" he moaned out.

You pushed your mouth further down his length,. gagging on it a little before going down and back. Before you felt randy's hand forcing your head down on hiss pelvis, gagging you. Tears pricking up on your lashes, before looking at randy.

He face fucked you before he spilled his cum down your throat. You took his dick to open your mouth, wiping your saliva off your face, "Damn, Randy I never knew you could do that" you said, giving him a little smile, before discarding your panties. "Sorry" he responded, before you got on top of him.

"It's okay, I love this side of you" before you lifted his shirt, surprisingly showing his tamed muscles. "Ready" you whispered, giving a little glance to the still-recording camera, you blinked your long lashes at him.

You held his shoulder before lowering yourself to his length, the sharp pain. You heard a moan from randy, as he gently gripped your waist. As you got adjusted to his large size.

"Fuck Randy, your huge" you whispered, already feeling full.

"F-fuck" Randy stuttered out, looking at you his eyes filled with lust, "just move...please" Randy begged out, gripping your waist desperately.

You rolled your hips, lifting yourself and pressing yourself down slowly, his size ripping you apart. Biting your lip in pain.

Randy gripped on your waist digging into your waist, he groaned. "S-shit" you slowly ride him, you pelvis pressing into him

He threw in head back, groaning. Before he gripped your waist forcing you down, in a reckless pace.

You moaned out loud, your breast bouncing to the thrusting of his cock into you. You back arch, as closing your eyes.

You wall spasming around his cock, your tongue lolling out, with pleasure. His pelvis slammed into yours.

"F-fuck, Randy I-im close" you moaned,

"M-me too!" he groaned, before his pelvis slammed into yours, your boobs bouncing to the pace.

Before moaning out, wetting his cock. Randy slammed his waist into you one last time, "W-wait Randy-" you got cut off by him spilled himself into you, your cunt milking his cock.

You body trembles before getting off of Randy, falling onto him, trying to catch your breath, his did still inside you.

The camera still recording.

"Holy shit" Randy muttered, he turned his head toward you, "That was the best sex I ever had"

"It the only sex you ever had" you muttered before Randy got on top of you. "That was better than any movie" he exclaimed happily, his hand near your head, as he was on top you.

"I fucking love you, Y/N," he said; you gently grabbed his hand and caressed it, "I love you too, Randy," you whispered with a smile.

You towards the camera, "Randy," you rubbed his shoulders, "Let's call it the virgin night" you gave him a sinful smile, Randy looked at you with a smile before leading you into a make-out.

"Damn, Randy, how many movies do you even have" Stu yelled, turning his head toward Randy, Billy sitting over on the couch, laying his feet on the coffee table.

"There are never enough movies," Randy grabbed DVD from Stu, "Besides, it's the shining; it's a fucking classic," Randy exclaimed before placing it on the coffee table.

"If you say so dude" Stu responded, before Stu looked for a movie to watch, searching through Randy's movie collection. "What's this" Stu picked up, which caught Billy's attention, "The virgin night, never seen this before" Stu took out, the DVD.

"Probably wasn't released yet, Randy does work at the video store" Billy took his leg off the coffee table, as Stu sat down examing it, "Sounds like a porn movie" Billy muttered, looking at the DVD.

"Wanna watch it?" Stu asked.

"Sure,," Billy shrugged before Stu placed it into the DVD player, grabbing the remote, turning it on.

Not before long, they saw you naked laying there, before billy interrupted "Isn't that Y/N" he said in disbelief.

"No fucking way, that nerd actually did that" Stu looked at the screen, before Randy walked into the living room with a bowl of popcorn, "Did you guys found a movie?" Randy asked

"Yea" Stu answered still looking at the screen.

"What is it?" before Randy sat down, with the bowl of popcorn.

"Your sex tape" Stu and Billy nonchantly responded.

"What.."

[quiet-saint]

sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ!ɴᴇʀᴏ ʜᴄs

✮

With just a splash of Nero/gn!reader

Cw: slight nsfw/suggestive. Nothing serious just a toy is mentioned near the end.

A/n: Might be ooc as this is the first time I'm writing anything for Nero. Purely self-indulgent ngl. Already working on a pt 2 ft more nero/reader tbh, I just really like this idea. +18 pls.

✮

• Not a huge streamer but still pretty popular. Has been streaming on and off for like, four years before he got popular.

• There's definitely a compilation out there of his funniest gamer rage moments. The majority of the time Nero isn't even mad at the game, Nico purposefully annoys him whenever they play together. People love their dynamic.

• Has kicked her from the group but then she'll just watch the stream and irritate him in the chat. It's pretty pointless to kick Nico from the group though because she can and has come down to his room just to pop up in his live irl. Anytime this happens chat starts a 'Nico Nation' chain and Nero jokingly threatens to end the stream.

• People bring up his "pretty boy phase" constantly in which Nero's hair was longer and he wore jewelery, saying they miss it and he should bring it back. Nero's a little shy/embarrassed when people bring up his early streaming days but he is in the process of growing his hair out. You were the one to fully convince him.

• Loves interacting with his audience even though they're a little outta pocket sometimes. "Chat who the hell said they only watch my streams for Nico? Dude your name is literally–" squints his eyes in confusion and disbelief "Nerofeetpicswhen oh my gOD!"

• Plays more light-hearted, easy games most of the time. Plays fortnite but not often. Teams up on overwatch with Nico, V, and You (Nero gives mercy main energy don't ask me why)

• Will play horror games but gets jumpscared super easy. Curses a lot during those streams. Damn near shatters eardrums with his shouting.

• His favorite streams are when he has one of his friends there with him at home. Especially if it's you.

• Will do a stream as an excuse to have you over. "Dude I spent the weekend at your house just last week?" "Aw c'mon it'll be fun!" As if you really needed any persuading. It's nice to hear him beg though, isn't it?

• Gets so excited to tweet about it too. Lowkey giddy about it.

• Will be the type to say "can't end on a loss guys." Even though his rank is dropping.

• Everyone loves his wii-sports streams. Nero once broke his tv on live because he didn't use the wii strap while playing baseball. People still bring it up and he gets embarrassed because just moments before it happened chat was warning him.

• Had V over for the weekend once and they were playing wii tennis in his room but there wasn't enough space. As a result Nero ended up swinging hard and clocking V in the face, giving him a bloody nose. He still feels so bad for it. Especially because Nero gets tagged in videos titled "Nero hits V on stream NOT CLICKBAIT" V thinks it's funny.

• Nero gets so happy to do fanmail livestreams. Loves opening all the things fans send him. Displays art proudly on his walls as well as all the plushies and figures people send. By the end of the fanmail streams Nero is wearing a different, clashing outfit because of the clothing he receives.

• Although sometimes the packages are a little inappropriate.

• Nico once went through the trouble of ordering and sending a ridiculously huge dildo. He felt the weight and shape through the packaging and, due to the note left with the gift, Nero knew it was her immediately. It's still sitting in his closet in the corner because he doesn't know how to get rid of it.

✮ random bonus hc ✮

Nero drinks Monster. His top two choices are Pipeline punch or Ultra blue. If he drinks one on stream he'll say "monster sponsor me" lmfao

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

-

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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[mariaofdoranelle]

Fake It Till You Make It

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

I got my driver’s license this year, so I wrote this a few weeks ago for today because I’m kinda invested in DMV horror stories loll

Warnings: language

Words: 1,2k

For Rowan, becoming an employee at the Department of Motor Vehicles—also known as DMV—was a fairly easy process. He was unemployed, they had spots open, all the pieces fell right into place.

The hard part was staying in this damn job.

He grabbed the information of the next applicant he was going to examine. A 62-year-old woman who failed her driver’s license exam five times. Rowan tensed. As long as she didn’t kill anyone with that car, it’d be alright.

He crossed the threshold between the restricted area for employees and the waiting room, stepping inside that crowded space that reeked of cheap room deodorizers.

“Evalin Ashryver?” he called over the low chatter.

The woman who approached him was… not what he expected. Apart from the gray roots in her hair and conservative clothing, this woman didn’t look 62 years old at all.

"Ma'am, can I see your ID?"

The charming smile she gave him hit Rowan right between the legs. He looked away, waiting while she searched her purse. Holy rutting Mala, he needed to get a grip. The woman was old enough to be his mother.

She handed him the ID, and Rowan held it right by the woman's side to examine it.

She looked like the same person in the ID, but not quite. In the picture, the nose was a bit different, and it showed more signs of her age. Sagging skin, a few more wrinkles. But is there anything doctors couldn't do these days? It was the exact same shade of blonde hair, the exact same blue eyes with golden hues.

He cleared his throat and handed back the document.

“Ma’am don’t get me wrong, but…” Rowan trailed, carefully selecting his next words. “You should consider replacing your ID.”

Evalin tilted her head, exposing her neck that looked way too smooth and lickable for someone twice his age. “Is something wrong with it?”

“Your fillers.” Rowan gestured to his own face with a swift twirl of his finger. “It could confuse a security agent.”

Her grin was bright, assuring him that she wasn’t embarrassed. "I have a very good doctor, thanks."

Evalin's slow smile built, her eyes studying his biceps and shoulders.

Was this unbelievably hot old lady flirting with him? Rowan took a step back and gestured for her to walk ahead of him. He didn't mind her age, but he also noticed the wedding ring on her finger.

Rowan cleared his throat and led her to the garage. He braced himself when she started the car, his stomach as hard as his muscles felt tight, but the deadly driving he expected never came. It was actually smooth, and the car didn’t stall once.

Weird. That was the kind of conduct he expected from an experienced driver, not someone who failed this test five times.

He narrowed his eyes at Evalin, studying her relaxed posture. "I see you’re not nervous.” Rowan was sure of it, but his tone made it sound like a question. It was strange, seeing a repeater so at ease when most of them reeked of terror and anxiety.

"I had lots of practice with my daughter." Evalin wiggled her eyebrows. "She's single, you know?"

Rowan froze. Something dawned on him, an odd gut feeling, but it made him inspect that woman further.

"Is she?"

"Yep. Her name's Aelin. I can't show you a picture now, but she looks a lot like me." Evalin—was that really her name?—winked. "But with cuter clothes."

Rowan gestured for her to take a turn to the left—not the regular path the DMV used for this exam. Evalin didn't seem to notice this change, which was unusual for someone who was doing this for the sixth time.

"And I'm assuming your daughter was very invested in your exam?"

"Aelin's the most wonderful person who ever existed." She let out an affectionate sigh. "She's clever, fascinating, very, very talented. Not to mention that she's a rare, staggering beauty."

“I’m sure she is,” Rowan sneered with his arms crossed. That woman couldn’t be serious.

He told her to make another atypical turn. Another one she didn't question. Another one she did with too much ease for someone who historically struggled to drive.

She didn’t even pretend to have a hard time. That woman—who wasn’t Evalin, and he suspected it was her daughter—was so confident about this she didn’t even notice Rowan gave her the directions to the nearest police station.

"Can you parallel park in front of this building, please?"

She did it in a matter of seconds, on her first try.

"How did I do?" she asked with a big, smug smile. Aelin had no clue about the route she was supposed to do for this exam, but at least she knew that parallel parking was the last part.

Instead of answering, Rowan swept a finger against her hair.

It came out with gray paint.

He gave her a bored look. "Fake gray roots? Seriously?"

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "It's blonde spray to cover gray roots. You're colorblind."

"And you're under arrest for identity theft."

Her mouth fell open, and it took a second before she yelled, "You're from the DMV, you can't arrest me!"

"That's why we came to the police station." He left the passenger side, rounded the car and opened the driver's door. "Come on, Aelin."

"It's Evalin."

"Aelin."

"E-va-lin," she repeated as if he were mentally disabled.

“Well, E-va-lin, can you please explain your identity issue to a police officer?”

Aelin leaned back on the driver’s seat and crossed her arms. Her head was cocked to the side, her lips pursed as her probing gaze focused on him for a moment.

"If you don't snitch on me, I'll let you take me on a date."

He raised his brows, surprised by this offer. "What makes you think I'll accept that?"

"Because not every man gets to take me out, and you'd rather do that than spend your evening filling all the paperwork it takes to explain why you took an examinee to the police station."

To be honest, she had a point.

Rowan hated this job. He didn't give a fuck about it, especially since most people forgot every driving rule the second they got their license. Aelin committed a crime, but who didn't? As far as he knew, she wasn't a serious threat to society.

"Get off the car."

She sighed, shoulders slumped in resignation, but complied. However, he stopped her as soon as she closed the car door.

"Are you vegan?"

"What?" She blinked. "No, I'm not," Aelin said in an uncertain tone.

"Good. Meet me at Emrys' Steak House at seven." He gripped the door handle to get back to the DMV, but before he left, Rowan looked her up and down and said, "I'm not expecting sex, but please don't wear your mother's clothes."

“Oh.” Aelin perked up, her eyes sparkling this time. “Okay. Did mom pass?"

That bold question made him snort. “I didn't even meet her, so no.”

She smirked. "You wanna meet my parents already? That was fast."

Rowan shook his head in disbelief and got in the car, but not without watching Aelin walk away from him, her hips swaying since she knew he was watching.

There was no way someone could look this good in her mother’s granny clothes. Rowan drove away with a smirk on his face.

If that woman could flip his boring morning routine on the DMV like this, he couldn’t wait to see what she’d pull tonight.

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[drabbles-mc]

Last Resort

John Wick & GN!Reader

For Day 13 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: support / "I think I need to sit down"

Warnings: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, blood/injuries

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: My first ever John Wick fic! I have no idea where this idea came from but I couldn't not put it down on paper once it hit me. Hope you enjoy!

John Wick Taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You’d moved around from city to city for years, swapping out one small apartment for the next, without leaving much of a trail behind you to follow. Over the years you’d gotten a knack for finding places that were perfectly unassuming, if anything they would deter people from looking too hard to see who lived there. But you always turned the inside into your own little sanctuary, no matter what the outside of it looked like. No one had ever crossed the threshold to find that out for themselves, though.

After years of being away, you found yourself back in New York once more. You didn’t have a hard and fast rule about going back to the same city more than once, but you’d never felt the urge. However, after you cashed in on your last contract, there was something about the city that seemed to be pulling you back, and so here you were.

Your one-bedroom apartment was far off the beaten path. You kept it dark, but over the last few weeks that you’d been there, you made good headway on making it your home. Never knowing how long you were going to be staying in one spot had never made you sacrifice on making somewhere feel like it was really your own. All the horror that laid outside your door, you’d be damned if you were going to deprive yourself of creature comforts in the one place that was your only safe place to land at the end of the day.

Stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over you and a book in your lap, you turned another page in the newest novel that you’d picked up along the way. The lamp by the end of your couch cast just enough light for you to be able to read, but not so much that it would draw attention and bleed through the curtains that covered your windows. The glass of red wine on the table was nearly empty, and you were debating back and forth in your head if you were going to get yourself a refill when you hit the end of the chapter that you were on.

Just as you were reaching for the glass to take a sip, you heard noise coming from the hallway. Your apartment was silent most of the time. If your life wasn’t what it so clearly was, you would’ve been the type to have the television or the radio playing at all times. But anything that hindered you being able to perceive possible threats had to go, and so you’ve adjusted to the silence. The only noise you ever heard was what floated up from the streets below. Over time, the quiet chaos that made its way to your ears became soothing in its own way.

The noise that was happening outside your door wasn’t that. It also didn’t sound like your neighbors coming or going from their apartment. You waited, trying to see if the noise was going to subside. The heavy footsteps only got louder, only got closer. Shifting gears, you stopped reaching for your glass of wine and instead moved your hand slightly to the left and reached for the gun that was on the table next to it. Your hand hovered, not yet picking it up in case the footsteps just kept on moving.

Then the knocks came, clearly landing on the old, heavy wood panels of the door to your apartment. Your hand wrapped around the gun now, other hand discarding your book and pulling the blanket off you. Standing up, you slowly started to make your way towards the door, the socks on your feet and your light steps rendering you practically silent.

The cadence of the knocks was familiar. Slow, methodical. You kept count of them in your head, and when they stopped at five, your heart sped up in your chest in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. It wasn’t often that you got a visit from a dead man, after all.

You briefly glanced through the peephole in your door—there was no such thing as being too safe. Plus, it’d been so long and you’d moved so many times, and again the man was apparently dead a few times over, so there was every reason to be skeptical about him finding you. Pressing your eye to the glass, you saw him, and you couldn’t tell if you were surprised or not.

Reaching and undoing all of the locks that went down the side of your door, you took a breath before pulling it open. All the while your gun was still clutched tightly in your hand. People changed too much too often for you to count on familiar history saving you. And, even if you weren’t the type to be cynical about history mattering, you knew that the worst parts of him were also born from that history. There was no such thing as a safe person in your line of work, not even if they were your friend.

He had one hand against the doorframe, that arm acting as the only thing giving him enough support to stay upright. His other hand was pressed hard into his side trying to staunch the bleeding of a wound that you couldn’t see, but the red stain that was growing across his white shirt was impossible to miss.

He looked at you through the mess of hair that was covering most of either side of his face. He was breathing heavily, shoulders taking the brunt of the effort each breath he took. He was covered in dirt, cuts, bruises, and blood. Exactly how you remembered him, for the most part. A little older now, but weren’t you all?

“Long time, no see,” you said, your tone casual in direct opposition to how tense your body was.

You watched as he didn’t say anything in response to that, the two of you simply just standing in your doorway staring at each other. That was another upside to living in the places that you did—someone standing in your doorway on the brink of bleeding out in the hallway wasn’t going to make anyone call the cops or anyone who could actually do anything. Everyone minded their own business, and you returned the favor.

If he’d shown up in good shape, you would’ve been more concerned. Showing up with one foot in the grave meant that he needed you, and that meant that you would be safe, at least from him, for a little while longer. That was something you could work with.

“Wanna come in?” you asked, even though the answer was grossly apparent.

“Yea,” he finally said, that same tired rasp to his voice that there had always been, “please.”

Opening the door a little wider, you motioned for him to come inside. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that no one had followed him before shutting the door. Your back was still to him as you redid all of the locks on your door. You could feel him watching you, the way you moved, the way you still kept a tight grip on the gun in your hand. Maybe you had a problem turning away old friends, if you could even call each other that, but you weren’t so stupid to think that that history meant you were safe, or that him being battered made him any less of a threat.

Taking a deep breath, you let your head drop back, looking up at your ceiling for a moment before getting yourself right and turning back around to face him. He was partially hunched over, looking much smaller than he really was because of it.

“Officially burned through all of your other friends, then, John?” you asked as you walked over to him.

He gave a short nod. “Something like that.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad I’m at least still a last resort.”

The silence that followed was weighed down with a lot of questions that both of you knew better than to ask. You knew that he wasn’t going to give you any answers, not ones that would really explain much of anything, anyway. You wondered if he even had questions about you. If he knew where you were now, you had to assume that he’d known where you were before, too. Kept tabs all those years. That was quite the feat, if you were being honest and giving credit where it was due.

Much less work had gone into keeping tabs on him. Everyone knew who John Wick was, knew where he was. That was just step one in being able to cover your ass and keep yourself safe. Keep your enemies closer and all that. You hadn’t spared it too much thought once he got out. That was the whole point of getting out. He was just supposed to be John once he completed his impossible task. It lasted longer than you’d thought it would, him being out. But it would’ve been a lie to say that you were surprised when you started hearing chatter about him working again. It was even less of a surprise when the entire underground world started falling apart at the seams once he was.

“Should I even ask what happened?” you said as you stepped past him, walking deeper into your apartment.

“It’s a long story.”

You were waiting for him to actually ask for what he wanted, even though it was obvious. He was so used to the entire world either coming after him, or simply offering up to him whatever he needed. But that had never been how the two of you operated, not even when you were young. If he wanted your help, he could ask for it, especially after all of this time.

When he peeled his gaze up off the floor and actually looked at you, he saw the expression on your face. While age and hardship had changed the both of you, he still knew exactly what that look meant. One glance at the look in your eyes and suddenly he was just young, lost Jardani all over again, a boy in need of a helping hand. And, just like back then, you had more self-assurance than you should have for someone who also didn’t know what they were doing or what they were really in for.

“I need a place to stay,” he finally grit out past the pain that was shooting through his side.

A small smile quirked the ends of your lips. “Always something, huh?”

He gave one nod. “Always something.”

“You can stay, Johnny,” there was a bit of a humorous lilt to your voice as you used the name that hadn’t fallen from your lips in more years than you could even try to count.

He’d disliked the nickname back then, still disliked it now. You were the only one who ever called him that that didn’t immediately come to regret it. Even so, he made his disdain for it known. But for the moment, whatever annoyance he felt because of the nickname was outweighed by the relief of having a place to stay, at least for the night, where no one would be trying to kill him.

“If they find me because of you, though, John,” you warned him with a shake of your head, “I will kill you and keep the contract money for myself and I won’t feel any guilt about it.”

He knew you meant that. No matter how much either of you looked out for the other, if push came to shove it was always going to be about survival, first. He knew that. He respected it. He was the same exact way. That mutual understanding was what had kept the two of you alive for so long when you were younger—always making sure that you were on the same side of a fight or so far away from each other that you weren’t going to have to worry about what you might have to do to the other.

You figured that you had kept him standing in limbo, in agony, long enough. If he was willing to be patient enough to get through all of that, the least you could do was try and stitch him up enough so that he could live to die another day.

“What do you need?” you asked, not quite sure where you were supposed to begin with him.

“I think I need,” he took a small step towards your coffee table, “to sit down.”

You nodded, clearing the end of the small table so that he could take a seat on it. The short breath of relief he let out at being able to sit sounded exceptionally loud in your apartment, although in reality the sound hardly carried beyond the tiny space that passed for your living room. He still had one hand pressed hard against his side, but now the other was gripping his knee, his arm locked straight to keep him sitting somewhat upright.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” you said.

You almost set your gun down but thought better of it at the last second, tucking it into the back of your waistband instead. You stepped past him, grabbing your glass of wine and finishing off what was left of it in one swig. It was the least you deserved for the mess that you’d just let into your apartment. Apparently now it was a sanctuary for two.

Letting the glass clatter back onto the top of the coffee table, you reached to start helping him take his jacket off. You felt how stiff he was, the hesitation of it. Sighing, you stepped back and looked at him. “You came to me for help, John. If you just wanted to bleed out, you could’ve done that out on the street and saved me the trouble.”

The comment got him to relent. Peeling his hand from his knee, he slipped his arm out of the sleeve. Switching hands that were applying pressure, he let you pull the jacket off of his other arm as well. You tossed the jacket off to the side, hearing how it landed a little heavier than most jackets. Extra weight was the price of not getting pierced by bullets.

“All these years,” you said, a slight scold to your tone, “and you never learned to wear something under the shirt?”

He didn’t have a good argument for that. Or, if he did, he kept it to himself as you continued to help him peel the next layer off. You could see the pain it caused him, trying to peel the white dress shirt off of him. You cringed as well, knowing that it must’ve felt like hell. All those cuts and wounds that were maybe started to clot over being ripped open again as you slipped the shirt back off his shoulders.

For as much as the removal of it hurt, you also knew that there had to be a small wave of relief washing over John, too. Something unique about wounds being able to breathe after being suffocated by fabric and your own unstopped blood-flow.

Sitting in just his slacks and shoes, John was all blood and bruises. Nothing but tattoos, scars, and brands. He was a sight that would’ve been heart wrenching to most, pitiful even in his own way. But you didn’t have that sympathy for him. You didn’t have the fear of him either. His scars and burns and ink didn’t rouse any aversion in you because underneath the layers you were currently cloaked in, you looked almost the exact same way. Two sides of the coin, you and John Wick. Always were. Always would be.

“I’ll get my things,” you told him as you gathered up his jacket and shirt and disappeared off towards your bathroom.

You left his clothes to soak in the bathroom sink while you grabbed your kit, which was more extensive than most, and headed back out to him. All these years and the two of you still ended up like this—one person bloody and one person bandaging. At least you still had each other to fall back on when all else failed. You weren’t sure if that was a silver lining or not.

No stranger to triage, you set about taking care of his worst injuries first. Laid out on your coffee table like your apartment was an operating room, you stitched and cleaned and bandaged like someone who should’ve been paid to do things like that. If John had been anyone else, you would’ve expected payment in some form or another, the gold coins or at the very least a favor owed. More likely, if John had been anyone else you wouldn’t have answered the door, would’ve just shot him through it. But how were you supposed to do that to him?

By the time you were done, you were surprised that he was even still awake. If the exhaustion didn’t get him, you were certain that the blood loss was going to. But of course it didn’t. For all of the mythic stories that surrounded John, not even you could deny that the man just didn’t ever seem to fucking die and stay dead. You admired that about him, but you were never going to tell him that.

Standing up, you stripped your gloves off and loomed over him, inspecting your work while also trying to gauge where he was at. “Think you can stand up?”

Sitting up, he slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He was about to take a step when you saw the quiver in his leg. Before he could go down, you stepped in and hooked your arm around him, bracing him across his back and landing his arm over and across your shoulders. Both of you let out grunts of effort as you tried to make it so that both of you didn’t end up toppled to the floor.

“Stitching you up wasn’t enough?” you said as the two of you slowly started to make your way towards the bathroom. “Gonna make me carry you to the shower too?”

Even if he hadn’t been in the state he was in, he wouldn’t have given you the victory of a laugh. He never had. It was one of the few things that kept you humble. Instead, he continued to lean onto you for support as you half-guided, half-dragged him to your bathroom.

You deposited him onto the closed lid of your toilet as gracefully as you could, which was never graceful enough. He was kind enough to not make you feel any more guilty about it. At least the stitches held. You could feel him watching you as you pulled back the curtain enough to turn the water on, one hand held underneath the stream while you waited for it to warm up. Your eyes were trained on the floor as you waited, but you could hear the sounds of him pushing out of his shoes.

When the water finally got hot enough, you pulled your hand out and wiped it off on your pants. Looking over at John, you raised your eyebrows, a wordless preface to your question. “Need help with this?”

It was a genuine ask, one with no ulterior motives behind it now like it might have a few lifetimes ago. Back when you were both a lot younger and a different kind of reckless, there would’ve been layers to the question. But as it was now, you were just worried that he was going to pass out and crack his head on the edge of your tub.

“I got it,” he answered, sounding weary as ever.

Shaking your head, you said, “Of course you do.” You set a clean towel on the sink counter for him before stepping back towards the bathroom door. “Yell if you need me. Or I’ll at least hear you fall.”

You were pulling the door closed behind you when you heard him say your name. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw him slowly bring himself to his feet. “Thank you,” he said with a nod. “I know what this could cost you.”

If you’d been feeling angry, or cruel, you would’ve said something along the lines of, “And yet you still showed up anyway.” But you didn’t have it in you. There had never been any space in you for anger towards him.

Instead, you said, “The rest of the world wants you dead, Johnny. Not me.”

He nodded, knowing better than anyone how true that was, and the weight of you saying that you were an honest safety net for him. “Thank you.”

Nodding, you told him, “Clean yourself up,” and pulled the door shut.

[brienneoftarth1989]

Yes Captain part 9

Captain Phasma x fem reader

Previous / next / series

Summary: You and Phasma were just chilling in her room when you finally tell her that you feel the same as well. You would have told her that you felt the same sooner but life had different plans for you at the time.

Warnings: fluff and comfort

Requests open

———————————

You have been living with Phasma for a couple of months now and it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would’ve been. For the first few weeks Phasma wouldn’t leave your side making sure that you had everything you needed. You eventually got sick of her being by your side every damn minute of every damn day.

So you did what you needed to do and told her to go back to work and that you would be fine on your own in her quarters. At first she was quite reluctant but after a few days she eventually went back full time. You were obviously trusted enough to look after yourself without getting hurt.

Since being at home 24/7 you were able to really work on yourself in terms of walking properly and trying to get your memory back fully. In terms of walking you were basically there. You only need the walking stick if you have been walking around for a long period of time. The doctor said that when your strength fully returns you won’t need the walking stick at all.

As for your memory, that has almost fully recovered. You seemed to remember a majority of the event and a lot that happened in the hospital but there was still a dark patch when you were on the ship with Phasma after the ship had crashed. You have been trying so hard to remember but everything seems to be coming back in little snippets so it’s like trying to complete a puzzle.

Phasma was currently at work like normal and you were lounging around in her quarters. You decided that today you were going to have a movie day and do absolutely nothing. The reason for this is all week you have been doing your physio and memory games to help your body and today you just needed a rest.

It is very hard on your body so you just need to allow yourself a rest day. So you grabbed your blankets from the spare room and took them into Phasma’s bedroom where you have been sharing a bed together. It didn’t start out this way but as your memory started coming back to you the PTSD really hit you hard.

You started having nightmares when you slept. Phasma didn’t realise it was that bad until you woke her up screaming from a nightmare. Phasma decided to bring you into her room where she comforted you until you fell back asleep. After that moment you only ever wanted to sleep with Phasma. She made you feel safe and while you were staying in her bed with her company your nightmares seemed to occur less and less often.

So that is why you were currently taking yourself to your now shared bed in her bedroom. She secretly loved the company anyway. You went onto Netflix and started watching We Have a Ghost. The film is a horror and comedy movie so you knew that you would enjoy it. Before you started the film you made your way to the kitchen to make yourself a coffee and something to eat for breakfast.

As you brewed the coffee you placed a few waffles in the toaster heating them up so they were golden and crispy. When they were done you coated some butter on the waffles so there was just enough that there would be some on every bite. With the waffles done you dished them up and finished making your coffee.

Once you had everything you needed you made your way back to the bedroom to start eating your breakfast and watching the film. As the morning went on you managed to get through a number of different films but it wasn’t until you watched dark space did your PTSD really kick in.

You really thought you would be able to handle it but boy were you wrong. Instead it caused another piece of memory that you had pushed down to come to light. “Please don’t leave me y/n, I love you so much and I’m not ready to spend my life without you” you heard Phasma scream before the memory went black.

That is when you must have passed out. This explains so much as to why Phasma didn’t want to leave your side. She likes you, no she loves you. Then everything else fell into place like you had just finished the puzzle. You started out with training, then you slept with one another, then you slept with each other again. She then started ignoring you and told you she was just bored.

You were then angry and isolated yourself before you finally went back to work. That is when the two of you got sent out on the mission. That explains the awkward tension on the ship that you kept remembering. Then the aircraft started to malfunction and then you ended up crashing which basically leads on to everything else that happened.

She felt the same way! You had butterflies fill your stomach. You were so excited! The woman that you had a crush on for the longest time actually felt the same way. You couldn’t wait to surprise Phasma when she finished work with this exciting news. For the rest of the day you watched movie after movie as you snacked on various kinds of food around the room.

Before you knew it was 19:00 and you knew Phasma would be home shortly. You decided to clear up most of the mess you had made throughout the day before putting a pizza in the oven which you knew would be ready by the time Phasma got in. As the pizza cooked you went back into your room and selected the series the two of you had been watching. You are currently watching a series called Chucky which is about a serial killer who transferred his soul into a doll.

It was a horror which you loved but this series definitely wasn’t for everyone. Phasma only watched it because she knew that you liked it but you were just glad that Phasma wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. At least now you know the reason why. Once the series was up on the tv you sorted the bed out so it looked nice and comfortable with lots of blankets and pillows.

The timer for the pizza finally went off so you made your way back to the kitchen to get the pizza out of the oven to cut and portion out the pizza evenly. As you were doing this you heard the door to Phasma’s quarters open and close. You turned to see Phasma in her amour and you couldn’t help but smile.

You continued to sort out the food while Phasma stripped herself out of her armour placing it on the armour stand near the door. “Hey, how has your day been?” you asked her as she came over to you to help herself to a slice of pizza. “It's been alright. Just been training the troops for most of the day. The rest of it I’ve spent in my office sorting out paperwork” she said, grabbing her plate and heading to the table. “How has your day been?” she asked.

“I’ve just been having a movie day. I was thinking maybe we could go and watch Chucky in our room. I’ve made the bed nice and comfy for the both of us” you said grabbing your plate and heading to the bedroom. “Ooo nice that sounds like a good idea” she said standing back up and following you into the bedroom.

The two of you jumped into bed before pressing play on the series and tucking into your pizza. The two of you had such an amazing evening but the only thing you could think about was how you were going to tell Phasma that you remembered what they said to you before you passed out.

That was when it hit you and the most brilliant idea came to light. With you both having finished your pizza you grabbed the plates getting up before taking them to the kitchen but before you could even take a step out of bed Phasma grabbed your arm stopping you. “And what do you think you're doing?” she asked before taking the plates from your hand.

“Well I was going to take them to the kitchen but it looks like you’re going to be doing that for me. While you're up then can you please grab a drink and some waffles?” you asked Phasma as she was now going to the kitchen for you. “Of course, anything for you” she smirked before leaving the room and heading to the kitchen.

You paused the series and waited for Phasma to come back. You did like doing things for yourself but it was nice to see Phasma being so protective of you and not wanting you to do stuff that she can do for you instead. After about 5 minutes Phasma came back though with your favourite drink and some waffles and ice cream for you to snack on.

“Thank you!” you practically screamed due to the excitement. “You're welcome,” she laughed. You pressed play on the series again as you started to eat your dessert. Once you had finished eating you set your bowl aside and snuggled up in bed with Phasma. She was definitely the person you found comfort in. She may have a tough exterior but she was definitely soft at heart.

Phasma wrapped her arm around you bringing you as close to her as physically possible. You took a deep breath and just enjoyed the company. If you had laid there long enough you would definitely fall asleep however you couldn’t let that happen as you needed to speak to Phasma about what you remembered today.

“I love you too” you just blurted out and waited for Phasma to respond. You felt her tense up slightly before grabbing the remote and pausing the tv. “What did you just say?” she questioned you. “I said I love you too” you smiled as you looked up at Phasma as you were still in her embrace.

“You remember?” she whispered as a series of emotions spread over her face. “Yeah, I had a PTSD flashback and I saw myself trapped with you by my side telling me that you loved me and that you couldn’t lose me. That was when the vision went black” you said as you sat up slightly.

“Yeah, you passed out after that. I really didn’t think you would remember that at all” she whispered like it was a bad thing. “Have you changed your mind about me then?” you asked as you went to get out of the bed. You knew it was too good to be true. That was when Phasma grabbed your arm and pulled you back into bed.

“That is not the case y/n. I’m just in slight shock that you remembered. I didn’t think you would remember that moment and I feared that I would never get to say those words to you again. I am beyond happy that you remember and that you love me too” she smiled at you as she caressed your hand.

“So what does that mean for us now then?” you asked as if it wasn’t obvious. “Well I was maybe hoping that you would be my girlfriend?” she asked you as she studied your face trying to read your facial expressions. A huge smile spread across your face. “Yes Phasma, I would love to be your girlfriend” you said as you grabbed her face and brought her in for a kiss.

You and Phasma have obviously kissed before but nothing compared to this moment. This kiss was full of passion and love. The kiss lasted about a minute before you both pulled away for air. You cuddled back into Phasma’s arms and waited for her to press play again. She did just that and you both continued to watch the rest of the series.

It wasn’t long though before you started to feel sleep try and take over your body. You tried to fight it but it was a losing battle and you eventually decided to let sleep win but before you did you had to say one last thing to Phasma. “I love you” you whispered as you shut your arms while still laying in Phasma’s arm. “I love you too” you heard Phasma whisper before sleep finally took over.

[keyh0use]

im begging you, please make Barry the one who gets caught, it would be an amazing idea, and I need to read

The people spoke & Rafe won. But here <3:

Rafe had left the warmth of their bed earlier than usual, determined to drive over to the North side of the island to join Topper and Kelce for breakfast before hitting the golf course. When the plan was first discussed, Barry admittedly felt a wave of relief at the thought of having one morning alone to read in peace, without the kooks scattered conversation and prying hands interrupting him. That was before he had a busy week at work, a sudden influx of jobs to do that had him leaving the trailer early and returning late, barely finishing dinner before the two men passed out for the night. Now all Barry wanted was alone time with Rafe, goofing off and complaining about stupid decisions movie characters make and fucking, obviously. But the last thing Barry wanted to do was bother Rafe by being needy, his boy already doing so much for him all the damn time, practically at his beckoned call.

So, naturally, Barry settled for the next best thing.

After Rafe had toed on his shoes, grabbed his bike keys and kissed his man goodbye, he was out the door and headed for the North side, leaving Barry to return to bed and search for the perfect photo.

His phone was slow and old, the screen much smaller than the kooks new, expensive phone. Barry could have anything he wanted, on his own dime but also on Rafe's, but he made the decision not to upgrade and this was a consequence.

There were dozens of pictures to choose from, most of Rafe in compromising positions; on his knees with Barry's dick pressed to his tearstained cheek, cock-drunk with lidded eyes and drool shining on his chin. The next, Rafe on the damp ground with his back arched and his ass in the air, covered in red hand prints and ropes of Barry's come—something that always pissed Rafe off, he wanted his man's come in him and no where's else but Barry found that shit hot, hence the photo for memory. Then, a shot of the kooks face when he fully sat down on Barry's prick, ass flush to thighs and wearing a look of complete bliss, morning sun hitting him just right where they sat on Tanneyhill's porch furniture.

Looking back made Barry's cock throb but still, the next swipe was from a day the two spent on the Cameron's yacht, Rafe tan and shirtless and smiling so wide at something the older man said.

Fuck, Barry misses him.

Rolling the pad of his thumb over the slit, Barry smears his slick all over the tip of his cock, eyes trained on that beautiful, glowing, happy boy. It's easy to remember what happened after that photo was taken, the sun setting and the smell of the sea, the way Rafe didn't say anything when he plucked whatever novel Barry had been reading and dropped it on the deck.

How in one second the kook was naked and in Barry's lap, grinding down on his dick and begging to be fucked. Begging—not because the dealer needed any sort of convincing, but because it's what turned him on, watching Rafe become desperate for him. Only for him.

Barry's fist wrapped around his length and pumped, attention never leaving the screen as he recalled the way Rafe sounded, the way fully gave himself to the older man, the way it felt to be buried inside the boys tight—

"Oh!" says a startled Rafe, one hand still on the door handle.

For a second all Barry can do is freeze in horror, embarrassment settling over him at being caught. But Rafe has seen him naked more times than they can count, has even watched the older man stroke his cock, so really, nothing about this is new.

"You're home really early," Barry says, dropping his phone face down on the mattress and attempting to cover his dick. When the boy doesn't answer, only stalks slowly towards the bed, Barry prompts, "You're home really early."

"Yup," is all Rafe says in reply, brows knit and mouth drawn in a hard line. He reaches over his man's body to snatch the discarded phone and quickly unlocks it, shoulders dropping as he snorts at the choice of photo.

Barry feels like his face is on fire. There's nowhere to go, exposed and embarrassed on the sheets. So he defensively says, "Ain't you got somewhere better to be?"

"I think you want me here," counters Rafe, tossing the phone and grinning smugly down at his man.

The most humiliating part of this whole debacle is how Barry is still rock hard despite being caught in the act and no longer actively touching himself, except for to try and hide. Between the object of his desire popping up in the doorway and the way Rafe possessively nabbed his shit without permission has his balls aching for release.

And while it's true the last thing Barry wants is for Rafe to go, his intention wasn't to edge himself and he'd like to blow his load and move on to the dozen other odd things he had planned to accomplish during their time apart.

Trying to seem disinterested, Barry mutters, "Nah, you go, friends are waitin' on ya'."

Nimble fingers ghost over Barry's forehead to tuck loose, damp with sweat strands behind his ears and Rafe's other hand settles firm on his chest, sliding further and further down as the boy says, "That's really hot, you know? You jerking off to me."

"I don't know, actually."

"I literally caught you," replies Rafe.

Barry can hear the smirk in the kooks voice and squirms. "You ain't catch shit, country club. Run along." But the last thing Rafe ever does is what he's told, unless Barry's beat him into submission. Curling a fist around the older man's shaft, giving a slow jerk, he says in awe, "Fuck, you're this hard from a photo of me smiling?" "No," grits out Barry, head thrown back. "Hard 'cause you're touchin' my dick." Rafe only snorts in reply, squeezing the base just a little too hard to hear Barry groan and then he's letting go, any protest silenced when he moves to straddle his man. Calloused hands instinctively make a grab for Rafe's hips and Barry's quizzically asking, "Rafe?"

It doesn't take a genius to catch on to what the boy is doing, yet Barry's head is floaty with lust, incapable of realising what's happening until Rafe had slicked spit down his shaft and sank down on the thick length.

Barry's cockhead popping through the tight muscle is what snaps him from his daze, fingers flexing around sharp hip bones hard enough to bruise. A startled noise tears out of him.

Rafe's mouth is hanging open and his brows are drawn together, palms coming to rest flat on the dealers heaving chest.

"Slow down," Barry chokes out.

It's not that they haven't fucked over the busy week, but it hasn't been as often or as long as usual, the two tumbling into bed together to have lazy sex, gentle and loving.

Now Rafe is taking too much too fast, body tense and erection flagging.

"No," whines Rafe.

But Barry cares about his baby, even if the only thing he wants right now is to thrust up. "Gonna hurt yourself," he warns softly.

"I need you," says Rafe easily, then he's taking a deep breath and sitting down fully and Barry is sitting up to lick into his mouth, the two of them swallowing eachothers moans.

Usually, Barry doesn't let Rafe ride him for too long, when they're on the couch or in the trucks backseat being the only exceptions. Otherwise he doesn't see a point in fucking on a bed if he doesn't spread Rafe wide open on the sheets.

Rafe shoves at his man's chest until Barry's lying back once more, curls falling out of the loose bun. "You work so hard, take such good care of me," he gasps. "Let me do this—take care of you."

All Barry can do is lie there and take it, mindlessly spewing compliments about how good the kook is doing. Rafe doesn't have the mind to be smug, whining as he rocks with cock crammed deep inside him, keeping his walls stretched snug around the throbbing length.

Any embarrassment from being caught has passed, and any embarrassment Barry would feel over being so vocal right now isn't exactly at the forefront of his brain.

"Fuck," Barry whines, brows knit and a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Rafe is so damn pretty, hunched forward and moaning shamelessly. "You gonna come?" he asks.

The grip on the kooks hips is bruising, strong hands helping to drag him back and forth, no longer bouncing or rocking, just grinding down on Barry's pulsating cock.

All Barry can give as warning is a low whimper and then he's spilling deep inside, Rafe milking every last drop as his own orgasm washes over him, trembling and convulsing in his man's lap.

Rafe's collapses from exhaustion, Barry's half-hard dick still inside him as he breathes harshly, cheek pressed against the heated skin of the dealer's chest.

"Not that I'm complaining," starts Barry softly, carding gentle fingers through the kooks sweaty hair. "But aren't you supposed to be at the country club, country club?"

"Going tomorrow instead," Rafe mumbles.

A small smile graces the older man's handsome face and holds Rafe a little closer. "Why?"

"I missed you."

[ask-sibverse]

So uh. I've been sitting on this for weeks and kinda forgot I had it oops.

Three am lows always hit different than awake lows ngl

CGMs are great. Wonderful inventions. Really help your A1C.

And yet the incessant shrieking in the middle of the night sometimes made you want to throw your phone against the wall until it shut. Up.

... You should probably check your phone and see what was wrong. But you felt so tired. Maybe it would quiet eventually.

Nope. Not shutting up. Ughhhh time to see what's wrong.

Ah. Low blood sugar. You felt so tired you just wanted to roll back over and sleep, consequences be damned.

But that damn cgm app won't *shut up* and let you sleep until you fix this. With a groan you finally got up and got out of bed. The juice boxes you kept in your room were out.

... Maybe just go back to sleep?

Another shriek from your cgm reminded you why that was a bad idea. Kitchen it is. (A more awake, non-low brain would remember Dust kept juice in his room and you could have *maybe* bothered him. Hindsight is 20/20.)

You trudged down to the kitchen, phone screeching at your periodically. When you finally stared at the fridge it was hard to process what to grab...

Maybe the pudding? No that had Killer's name on it. Not up for explaining yourself later. Ugh and Cross was stupidly protective of anything chocolate.

Horror came into the kitchen to find you staring at the fridge still. "(Y/N)? Its 3am, what are you doing down here?"

"Low. Out of juice."

He grabbed something, you could feel a Check being performed at the same time. "Eat." A spoon was pressed to your mouth.

So you spent the next while sitting on the floor with Horror, eating what he fed you until he was satisfied with your Check and sent you back yo bed.

Unfortunately that meant by the time you got up for the day you were sky high and had a killer headache from said high blood sugar. Oh well, at least Horror seemed satisfied with being able to help you. Worth it.

[itchyeye]

Yea you can really tell that Jon Sims' involvement in tmagp is real minimal. And I wouldn't actually complain too much if the cases/"statement" written by the guest contributors were... yknow, actually good/interesting. I feel like the episodes after the hiatus were especially hit hard with this; I can only say I actually like one episode (Marked) made after the hiatus, and that one was written by Sims, so... (tho then again, maybe it's just the initial high from starting something new is wearing off by now)

It's a damn shame really, because when I started out on tmagp, I felt the way the cases could be differently formatted had a lot of potential, and I can actually name cases I liked from before the hiatus. The one where the guy turns into a tree after implicitly killing his loved one was good, I liked Personal Screening despite (or maybe because) of how simple it was (and also bc it gave me Beholding vibes <3) and Running on Empty's is still a personal favorite of mine.

Fast forward to post-hiatus, we got more Mr Bonzo the flesh clown who's most notable aspect to me is that he owns house property, some guy who had snakes in him I guess, and last week's episode had some guy stumble into an alternate world and meets his alternate self which uses a spooky torture dungeon or some shit to help with his anger OOOOO isn't this scary??? (It isn't. Hell, the fact it was written in a "Magnus statement" a la tmagp episode 9 kinda pissed me off more than anything).

I swear, if they just cut down on showing us the office drama/relationships that only the mainstream part of the fanbase cares about and develop more of the cases' horror, tmagp could've almost been okay. We're only 17 episodes in, so maybe there could be a comeback?, but I'm not putting too much hope in that lmao

Still gonna keep reading the tmagp transcripts as they come out at least. Two reasons for this: 1. it's becoming something similar to when an old man reading a delivered newspaper every time even though it's full of the same old bullshit, and 2. I am interested in one tmagp character: ink5oul, introduced in tmagp ep 2 (Making Adjustments). I wanna know more of their deal, and the two episodes post-hiatus that feature ink5oul were decent enough. Anyways hope you enjoy my ramblings

[zavbees]

Y'all help. We Happy Few has me in a damn choke hold now. Apparently my list of favorite genres now includes "WDYM there's something wrong? Nuh-uh, take your happy pills" and i-

Idk what that says about me.

Just something about it scratches my brain so good. Like the aesthetic is so fucking good. Genuinely thinking about a society like that is fascinating to me. Like, people being almost forced to forget everything negative. I Utopian Dystopia. I am such a sucker for stories where everyone is happy (like really fluff heavy), and I am a sucker for angst and characters being put in tough situations. So like. Thinking about it I'm not surprised this is as exciting as it is to me.

It is a horror that isn't gore and super dark. Like, don't get me wrong, the game is plenty dark, but not in the way horror usually is. It's dark partially BECAUSE of everyone being "happy". It literally gives me the dark aspects I crave in the fluffy casing I need in order to be able to fully connect with it. And it's so fucking refreshing.

Also, I really want to make something about if Arthur took his Joy in the beginning of the game (so like he isn't a downer, at least not fully. Idk it's just interesting to me) and he and Sally reconnect. Like, it's just and Every Man being just a normal cog in the machine, and then this woman who he used to be closer comes back into his life. Maybe by that point he barely remembers Percy, because of his Joy use, and the moment that he would have remembered him by is denied (since he takes the pill instead). Then, once he has to choose to either turn Sally in or keep her secret, ESPECIALLY with her having a baby, I think that would also be enough to nudge him off of Joy. Even if it's purely becuase of the moral delema of a long lost friend taking a different path, so now he has to examine his own thoughts.

Like I find the world so fricken cool that they built in this game, but I really want to know what it's like as someone who's IN civilization. Downers are outcasts. That's just how they are. But what about the Wellies who take their Joy every hour on the hour and live in relative bliss.

I think it's just I really like angst, and the best way for this particular flavor of angst to hit best imo is to show just HOW good things are as a "normal person" for a decent length of time, then getting hit with the complete opposite of what you've been hearing and realizing you've been lied to for the past,,, 10 or 20 years??

Idk man. I've been hyperfixating hard. I just started playing the game like 3 days ago because I randomly remembered it existed like last week and now it's all I can think about.

And I'm loving it. I'm Snug like a Bug on a Drug.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 5: Heimlich

I think there’s a reason people tend to gravitate toward Edgar Allan Poe when they’re about thirteen years old. They feel seen by him, and their feeling is correct; he was a grown man with the emotional maturity of a middle schooler. The entitlement, the shallowly wounded sense of self, the absolute certainty that one day the world would pay for its slights against his pride; sure, he gets you. The man spent his entire life wishing he was somewhere he wasn’t. It’s a sentiment that gets less relatable with every choice you make–every time you exert control over something in your life, you get further and further from Poe’s ideology. Damn, though. It’s awfully tempting to backslide.

I’m technically working, though I’m really just leaning against the counter at the cafe, flipping through an anthology of Poe’s short fiction and poetry that I found between the refrigerator and the kitchen sink. I haven’t read anything of his since I was nineteen and forced to read The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket for a class I had no interest in. The novel itself made as good a case as any against Poe, flipping arbitrarily between long, drawn-out descriptions of boat mechanics and comparatively more exciting, though often wildly racist, battle sequences. The titular character was clearly a stand-in for Poe himself: a blatant masochist who hurls himself bodily into the jaws of danger for the chance to live out his fantasy of American masculinity. If the plot was even ten percent less contrived, I think Poe might have had a massive hit on his hands; as it stands though, Pym has become a veritable punching bag for bored and hypercritical undergrads. Not even the men of Evergreen, rugged and adventure-starved as they are, can be bothered to pick up a copy.

I can’t be quite as harsh on Poe’s short stories. The one I’m reading now, William Wilson, is actually scaring the shit out of me–I can never say so out loud, just in case Poe’s ghost is somewhere lurking in search of validation, but there’s just something about the whispering doppelganger that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It reminds me of the summers I spent here, when Len and I used to have “Fright Nights” once a week; he’d draw the curtains and douse the lamps, lighting candles and lanterns so that the shadows of his various oddities were cast high on the walls, and he’d let me pick an episode of the X-Files to watch from his VHS box set. Of all the episodes I saw (discounting the one about the family of inbreeders who kept their mother under the bed–that one he wouldn’t let me watch until I was in college with my own Netflix account), there was one that simultaneously thrilled and terrified me in almost exactly the same way as William Wilson. The agents are in Florida for some kind of conference and get waylaid tracking down an invisible forest creature that’s evolved past humanity–tall and thin, running at unbelievable speeds on the balls of its feet, blending in with the foliage. It’s uncanny and exciting, like looking in a mirror and seeing something not quite human looking back at you. Like William Wilson.

It occurs to me briefly, as I sift absently through the pages, that I have become the type of person one might read about in these stories, or watch on a Fright Night. Isolated, alone, hapless. The perfect victim, in a lot of ways. It’s getting harder to feel sorry for myself, though, and harder still when I compare my life to Edgar Allan Poe’s. Things just happened to him, or at least that’s what he thought. I’m making choices; I’m choosing to work, and when I’m not working I’m choosing to go out and explore, or decorate my home, or sit on my front porch just because. I am making the active decision to enjoy myself, a thought that would have done us out of a lot of classic horror if it had ever crossed Poe’s mind. I am trying, so goddamned hard.

“You in there?” is the familiar question that breaks me from my reverie, and I lower the book to look up into the face of Jasper Stevens, partially obscured by his tousled hair as he tilts his head down to meet my eyes. I’m somewhere in there, thanks for asking.

“What can I get you?” I ask, straightening with a smile as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Something cold,” he replies, “dealer’s choice.”

“Arnold Palmer, coming up,” I say, accepting his payment before he chooses a seat at the bar. He watches me work with the same quiet, contemplative gaze he uses on me when I visit the general store. There’s not much actual work to be done; ice, lemonade, and tea. I fold my arms on the bar and lean forward after setting the drink down, and he mirrors my posture. “So,” I say, “what’s new?”

He cocks his head to the side. “You, still.”

“I guess that’s true,” I say. It’s been two days since the last time I saw Jasper, when he crushed my soul back into my body.

Jasper takes a thoughtful sip of his drink before speaking again. “Would I be correct in assuming,” he says, “that your shift ends in approximately three minutes?”

I check my watch. He’s right, of course. “You would,” I reply, “Janie should be back any minute now.”

“Good. Come to the river with me?”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, for the first time knowing that I’m saying yes to a whole person, knowing that I’m a whole person myself.

Jasper smiles–really, I mean it–and says: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in here before.”

[yfmconfessions2]

THE puff anon is back once again💪 AND IM HERE TO DROP SHIT!!!

Puffs glasses are so thick. Like he cant see shit without them. And if anyone takes them away he will start throwing hands with everything but the person. He once hit a wall so hard it practically cracked and he could barely use his hand for a week and Axel (who stole his glasses) was terrified to come near him for that week.

He actually likes kids but only the ones that can behave and dont cry their eyes out every two minutes. If they do, he starts going insane and will NOT hesitate to fight a literal child.

Puff and the band were wanted by the police so many times that atp they can call the cops their friends.

Pulls the dumbest pranks known to man and finds them hilarious. Like he gave Benatar a glass of water that was literally filled with kilograms of salt, and proceeded to laugh so hard he cried when Benatar struggled to get the salty taste out of his mouth for 10 minutes.

ALSO when Puff laughs like really REALLY hard his laugh goes silent, and then it turns into maniac cackles. If anyone ever heard him laughing that hard at night they ran away immediately.

Hates bugs with a burning passion. If theres at least one spider near him he will slap it with anything he has until it turns into a liquid.

Puff LOVES spicy food but his stomach cant handle it. He will devour 10 spicy noodles at once and then cry in the bathroom for half of the night. But does he care? Absolutely not. He can and WILL do it again.

I bet he once saw Benatar crying and he wasnt the reason of that so he went "Geez pull your shit together pussy." And walked away, a few seconds later Puff came back with a tissue and just sat down next to him, acting as if he didnt give a damn.

He plays video games every chance he gets. That man will rot in his room for 20 hours a day playing Call of Duty, proceed to tell 30 people to kill themselves and then go out of his room and look like he came back from the death

He cant aim for shit. Literally cant. Game wise AND real life wise. He wanted to throw a rock into a wall once out of pure rage but hit a random person that was far away instead. He was never seen in that spot ever again.

Puff's either desperate for a relationship or doesnt give a damn. He will go and literally beg a girl in a random club to be with him and the next day he breaks up bc "Lol nah, ur not pretty i was drunk." And then regrets it so he wants to find a new chick again.

He has a love-hate relationship with horror movies. Like once in a while the whole band has a movie night and Puff always says they should watch a horror movie bc all of them are scared and he isnt. Axel, Benatar and Dee Jay just look at each other and just smirk. When they turn on the movie and the first jumpscare appears Puff literally screams like a small girl, and then just says that he felt something sharp. Hes just a pussy BUT WILL HE ADMIT IT? Never.

Never read a whole book in his entire life.

His favorite ice cream is salted caramel and lemon.

Talking bout lemons, he loves sour shit. Like he can devour a whole lemon without cringing while everyone looks at him like: 😨

AAAAAND THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW! I HOPE U ENJOY READING THOSE BC THERES A BIT OF THEM LMFOAAO

HI PUFF ANON 🤩🤩🤩

YOU SHOULD MAKE A WEEKLY MAGAZINE THAT COMES IN THE MAIL I WOULD SUBSCRIBE IMMEDIATELY

i love these thx snookie 🥰