#i think i am going to have to make a list putting them in order because the plot thread in canada is in a few of them

[docholligay]

Thicker Than Water

Do I even think this is good at this point? Could not fucking tell you. Probably not. But it's more than I have written in a long long time, and it combines just, so many of my favorite things, and it's with the new dollies Papa brought for me from across the seas. About 4300 words, I would love it if you could find one nice thing to say! This will absolutely be the regular liveblog draw and I reserve the right to give extra draws if you lie well.

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 17. PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME AND KNOW I AM AWARE I AM JUST MAKING SOME SHIT UP BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAT'S FINE WE'RE FINE.

The trouble with Hawkeye was--among other things Roy would list--you had to be able to read her. Hawkeye considered what she was feeling at the moment to be, like so many other things, on a need to know basis, and not relevant to the overall mission. 

Luckily, Roy had become very good at reading her. 

Unfortunately, not needing to explain herself to Roy had left her with little will to improve in this arena. 

Even less fortunately, a decision had to be made, and quickly, with nearly a dozen of his men around him, and Hawkeye doing everything she could to hide any anxieties in particular. 

It was like solving a Rubik’s cube colorblind. 

Roy took a long look at Hawkeye, her arms crossed and staring straight forward. A hellish barb stuck out of her leg, blood pooling around it. 

“The convoy should be here soon.” A kid. Probably nineteen. Roy guessed he should probably dismount the high horse about being and recruiting young in the military, but anyone could be a medic. You didn’t need to get to them young. 

“So we should wait?” Roy snapped his fingers, and the medic’s eyes widened at the sparks. 

“Uh, well, the thing is--I mean I don’t have anything to give her, so it--it’ll be bad. But…” he looked over to the wound, making a mental calculation, “Given what I know about the coating, leaving it in might be worse. If we wait. So. But, yeah.” 

“Love the confidence.” He muttered under his breath, walking over to Hawkeye. “Thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

She looked up at him, and Roy tried to read. Her eyes flicked over to a staring group of men, mixedly loyal, annoying, or both, waiting to see her squirm. But she would not give it, and she nodded stoically. 

“Take it out.” 

“Agreed.” Roy spun around and gestured to the entrance of the tent. “If you aren’t operating, being operated on, or me, I need you to leave. Go to your tent, go to the mess, go to hell, I don’t care, but get out of here, and be far out of the way.” 

“I need someone to hold her down.” He nearly stuttered it out. 

“I’m not here to be decorative.” He looked back over to the group. “That was an order I just issued.” 

He eyed Roy as several much bigger soldiers, not to mention what was possibly a good quarter ton of Al, left the canvas tent. Even Ed said nothing to question him, the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. 

“I’m not sure...this is going to be excruciating, sir. I--” 

Roy delivered his well-practiced glower.  “And I’m sure she loves hearing that. I wasn’t asking for a consultation. We’ve got it.” 

Roy knelt next to Hawkeye and took off his gloves, folding them neatly and laying them to one side. 

“Give us a minute.” he gave a smirk.  “Please.” 

The young medic looked to them both, and then nodded. “”I’ll get my tools.” 

Roy took off his coat and put it underneath her back. “Remember how all Alchemists are weak and pale and don’t have any physical fitness requirements, so we’re like squishy little baby birds? You’re always telling me this. So, if you fight back too hard, you’re going to hurt me. Having physical standards and all. There’s a reason I don’t mess with you and Hughes’ little war games. You need to try and stay still.” 

“The only weight an alchemist has ever lifted was a book.” 

“You like to say.” He rolled up his sleeves. “So be careful with me, I’m delicate.” He looked her in the eye.  “Me and you. We’ve got it. We don’t need anyone else.” 

He could feel her trembling as he put his arm around her shoulders and grabbed her elbow. It twisted his stomach into a cramp. The medic walked back over to them with a cart, rolled over the stone and dirt. He sat on the ground next to Hawkeye and ever so slowly cut around the wound, exposing the sick burgundy of it. Roy took a quick glance at the ceiling. 

Hawkeye took a short, brave breath and closed her eyes. “Keep talking.” 

“Boy, is that something I thought I’d never hear from you. Maybe he was wrong and you are dying.” He nodded to the young man, who was pale with anticipation. “I was thinking about our office the other day. My office, of course, but I let you in there. Who in the world let you set that up? Was it me?”

There was the high metallic ping of some tool Roy was too cowardly to look at, and she stiffened. 

“If it was me, I’ll write myself up. If it was you, I’ll make you do the paperwork.” Hawkeye’s back arched, and a cry stalled in her throat. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’ll have you do the write up either way. Your penmanship is neater.” 

He heard the rasp of something against flesh, and listened instead to Hawkeye, taking a deep breath. 

 “You don’t even--” A swallow “Know where the forms are. Ah!” 

“Exactly. Exactly.” He held her tighter, and she twisted against him. “Makes me feel like a damn kindergarten teacher. And don’t try to make me feel bad about bringing this up now,” he tried to keep hold of her, “you never make yourself available to discuss this when I want to, so I have to take what I can get. Let me tell you what else is irritating--” 

His mind raced through a dozen things. Something she thought would be stupid, and funny, and would irritate her in the way only he could. Something that would make her forget the same thing he was trying very hard to forget. Had she pushed him aside, when the attack came? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t ask, because Hawkeye would roll her eyes at him and say something about how he was always in the way, so why should this be any different, or just roll her eyes and expect him to supply the sentence himself. Should it be him, gritting his teeth? He was a talker, he was a wheedler, he was a weaver, that was what he did, was talk and explode things, and if here he was failing at the first one when all he had to do was try and hold on to Hawkeye, to keep her still, and say bullshit, but the sound of it all was so loud, and the smell of Hawkeye’s blood was tin in the air and--

“Sir?” The medic interrupted, his hands bloody and his eyes soft, “This will be the worst part. It’s wrapped--”

Roy popped like hot sap in a fire. “Just do it!!” 

He complied with a twist and a tug, and Hawkeye found the end of her tether. 

“Roy!” She screamed it as she bucked her head against his shoulder, and a sheet of ice went down his back, the taste of bile in his mouth. She stopped herself and bit her lip, a prickle of blood coming from it.  She must have felt him freeze up. Hawkeye.

“No. Don’t.” He grabbed his glove and put it in her mouth. “Bite on that. You know, I think you’re trying to give me a complex about my name.  I always liked it, but you must not.  I am never having a good time when you say it. Not once.You know it means king? What do you want me to change it to? You think I look like an Andrew?” 

There was a crisp yank of Hawkeye’s leg, and then she collapsed into him, panting. There was an arc of small holes across his glove. The sweat from her forehead dripped onto his neck. It took him a moment to realize he and the medic were panting too, the three of them having run a race to the finish. Hawkeye remembered herself first, raising a hand to push the hair off her face. She closed her eyes, took two very calm breaths, pushed herself to to sitting, and promptly threw up in the instrument basin. 

“I got it out.” The medic remembered, the spell broken.  He held the twisted, bloody thing aloft. There was a small chunk hanging from the top barb. 

“I see that.” Roy lamented, his gaze sharpening,  “Go get something to clean her up.” 

The young man sprung to his feet for some fresh towels, and Roy took her shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s over.” He reassured himself as he squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Water.” She spat. “Please.” 

“Right.” He shook off the haze of the moment and began to fix his shirt, buttoning it at the sleeves. “Thanks for missing my jacket. I’ll charge the glove to your paycheck.” 

He walked to the other end of the tent, took the water from the bottle and drank deep himself, the cool of it breaking against the dry of his throat. He poured some of it into a small cup and went back to Hawkeye, who at least had been supplied a towel to wipe her face as the young man bandaged her wound. 

“Here.” He crouched by her. “I suppose you’re going to want the afternoon off. Lucky for you I don’t have much to do.” 

She drank the cup in one gulp, and handed it back to him without a word. She leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. 

Roy stood up and went back to the water bottle, pouring another glass. He motioned to the young medic, who looked even younger than he was in the wake of the incident. He scampered over to Roy. He should be playing tag or something, Roy thought. It was easy to talk kids into games they had no business playing. It was part of the job.

“You like being a medic?” he nodded. “You want a better position?” Another nod. “As far as you’re concerned, she didn’t even whimper, and I expect that to be the gossip I hear at dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and it seemed like he meant it. 

“Is she cleared to leave?” Roy wished he’d put his coat back on. He looked more authoritative with the coat. “I’d like to get back to my quarters.” 

“Yes, sir. I doubt she can put much weight on the leg, sir. It’ll be better tomorrow, sir. She needs some rest--” 

“Sir, I got it, I hear you.” He strolled back over to Hawkeye and gave her the cup of water. “You’re dismissed. The only thing I want from you is to tell the doctor to bring something for the pain when he arrives.” 

He gave another stiff salute, and left quickly, seemingly forgetting this was the medical tent and technically his domain. 

Hawkeye set down the empty cup and took a slow breath out. She pushed herself up onto the good leg, and tried to stand up, wobbling nearly over until Roy rushed under her arm. 

“Goddamnit Hawkeye, knock it off. I’m going to go get Armstrong. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder or something. Be done with it.” 

Her eyes widened. “No.” 

“Don’t be more irritating than usual. “ 

“I can manage.” She took a hop, and leaned heavily on Roy. Too heavily. It was easy to forget by looking at her, by seeing how quickly she moved in battle and with a grace that could surprise you, but she was not a delicate fairy of a woman. Roy struggled and nearly fell, which he did not consider very flattering to him, but to think any further than that would be to consider that possibly Hawkeye was right about his book to gym ratio. 

“You can’t. I’m getting Armstrong.” 

“Don’t!” 

He leaned her up against the sturdy metal table, which was currently holding both a bin full of instruments and puke, as well as several bloody towels, and picked his coat up out of the dirt. 

“Listen to me. I cannot carry you. Remember my very moving speech about being a fragile baby bird? I thought it was pretty good, but maybe I was the only one listening.” 

She snapped at him. “What would you do if I fell in combat?”

“What I’m trying to do now! Tell Armstrong to pick you up and move it before I burn a hole in his ass!” 

“I’ll walk. Just--a second. I can do it.” 

“I don’t like your color.” he stiffened up and threw his coat back over his shoulders..  “Lieutenant. I am your superior officer. As your superior officer, I am telling you, you are not going to walk anywhere. As your superior officer, I am telling you to accept the help from Major Armstrong.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” She said, unimpressed by the coat. 

Her eyes attempted to bore a hole in him, but he deflected the gaze with a wave of his hand. 

“No. Denied. I have a pretty good idea of what you’ll say, Lieutenant, and I’m not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair, and it fell into his face just as quickly,  “You have my permission to shut the f--” 

There was a set of footsteps, rapidly approaching the tent, and Roy turned to meet them. 

Hawkeye gave an exhausted smile. “Hughes.” 

“Knock knock.” Hughes walked in and quickly surveyed the bloodied towels, Roy’s crossed arms, Hawkeye’s bandaged leg, and the general sense of argument and exhaustion in the room. “You two have all the fun without me.” 

Roy threw his hand up. 

“Is he allowed to know you’re human, or is that verboten too?” 

---

Out in the dust and sand, things were more like they had been in the war. One of the few aspects of it Roy had never particularly hated, though plenty of people did. There wasn’t enough room for officers to have their own quarters, so there was a tendency to double up in whatever arrangement made sense. No one had even asked if he wanted Lieutenant Hawkeye with him. No one ever needed to. 

They hadn’t asked where he’d wanted his quarters, however. He would have said, “Closer to the med tent, or closer to the officers’ mess tent, or closer to anything at all.’ Or maybe he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t realized he’d be hauling one half of Hawkeye across the field. Hughes had his arm wrapped around her chest, under her armpits, and was doing a fairly impressive job of hauling her along. Roy both realized he was mostly providing balance, and that he was exhausted by the effort. Thank God for Hughes, he’d thought more than once.

The tent was large canvas, with a large bed, plush as Roy remembered for all the annoying higher ups he had now become, and a smaller, less nice bed for the subordinate officer. When had he become this? It seemed the years had been such a grind, but when he looked back at them, he wasn’t sure what the moment had been. 

Roy gently dumped Hawkeye on the larger bed, Hughes following suit. 

“This--” she protested.

“I’m tired of carrying you. This is where you stay.” Roy grabbed the pillows and piled them behind her back. “Where’s your bag? You’re sweaty and you’re making my bed sweaty.” 

“They told me as soon as I got off the convoy. Doctor’s right behind me, though I’m sure he’s probably reassuring the medic that Roy’s not gonna burn his tent down. Here, I stole this for you.” He took a slice of cake in a cardboard box out of his bag, and set on the side table. “The fancy lads with the fancy food are in camp. You deserve a treat.” 

Roy brought over one of her multiple grey t-shirts, and Hawkeye slowly took off the sweat soaked one and replaced it. Hughes squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little smile. 

“Can I fix your hair?” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Of course you are! I wasn’t worried about you for a minute, you could do this twice a month and come out swinging.” He looked at her.  “Maybe once a month.” He whirled around to look at Roy. “You, I’m not so sure.” 

He grinned and rubbed at his arm, wincing. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” 

“Precisely. Honestly, it’s more that as the father of a daughter, I should learn to do more than pigtails.” He sat down next to Hawkeye.  “Elicia’s hair’s not long enough for a braid, but she’s going to want them any day now. I don’t want to be a leech on Gracia. So let me practice on you.” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a haze of true exhaustion. “Okay.” 

“Thanks.” He took Hawkeye’s hair out of its bun, and smoothed it as he began an uneven low braid, filled more with kindness than with skill, and he laughed. “You see I need the practice.” 

Hawkeye’s eyes were far away, and she started to shake, just a little at first, enough that Roy could ignore it, and then a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Roy could read Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could also read him, which he found at equal parts annoying and useful. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Don’t be worried.” Her voice did not shake, but only through sheer will. 

Hughes roped up the end of her braid “Who’s worried? We’ll just get you warm. We’ll get some food in you.” He looked at Roy, “This is just a thing that happens.” 

Roy wanted to argue with Hughes that he knew that, that he had seen more combat and more destruction and more ugliness than Hughes had ever seen riding a desk, that he was condescending, but it was so damn comforting that he couldn’t manage any of it. Fucking Hawkeye. Fucking Hughes. How they fucking cared about him. How annoying. 

Roy grabbed an extra blanket from off the end of the bed and tossed it over Hawkeye. “You need to lay down and rest. You’re off duty.” 

Hughes picked up the piece of cake. “You should eat this.” 

“I don’t want it.” She closed her eyes. 

“Where exactly is the rumored doctor?” Roy wondered aggressively. 

“Colonel. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“It’s Grand’s. I thought you’d enjoy that. Considering your feelings.” Hughes sat down on the bed. “I stole it at great personal and professional risk, so it’s the least you can do for me.” 

There was a call from the front of the tent, and in came a serious looking man, who Roy was delighted to see looked old enough to be shaving. He nodded to Roy and Hughes with an the confidence that could only come from a man who had gotten to avoid the hard work, and set a bottle on the small table next to Hawkeye’s slice of cake. 

The examination was mostly perfunctory, and mostly to avoid having Roy as an enemy, and all that was fine by Roy. Hawkeye looked over at the bottle, sitting poker straight, holding herself still as possible, as the doctor gave her some instruction about rest and signs to watch out for that she mostly planned on following as long as it didn’t get in her way. 

Roy took the bottle and twisted off the top, handing it to her. “Take this.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly, giving in the twin temptations of modern medicine and her own bone-deep exhaustion. She should measure it, she should reject it, she should do a dozen things, but the number one thing she wanted to do was the thing she did, which was take a reasonable drink of the bottle and let it numb her tongue. 

Hughes turned and smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.” 

“That means you’re dismissed.” Roy added. 

“Roy. C’mon.” 

Roy smiled in his charming, warm, and utterly fake way. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I’ll have someone report to you in the morning. That will be all.” 

“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up his bag and left through the flap, Hughes securing it before his shadow could even fully leave. 

Hawkeye laid back on the pillows with a deep sigh and a heavy flop, eyes closed. 

Roy shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous person. I don’t know why I bother.” 

“Stop talking.” 

Hughes grinned. “See? She’s fine. You know you should probably get to--” 

“I don’t need it from you.” He looked down at Hawkeye, pulling up the blankets. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t be paranoid.” he tucked them in around her and turned back to Hughes. 

“Well, you need it from someone, and Hawkeye’s tired, so it’s just me. If you didn’t want to get dinner, I do have some new pictures of Elicia to show you, and--you’ll never believe how cute she’s gotten--you know, Gracia was just saying the other day about you--” 

“Maes, it’s been a long day.” 

“Sun’s not even down yet.” 

“Maes.” 

“Anyway, Gracia was saying you--Hawkeye, are we keeping you up?” 

“No.” She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “I like it.” 

“Great. Anyway, she was saying you should really meet this girl --” 

___

Roy sat down on the small bed and took off his shoes. He blinked back a wave of exhaustion that had finally crashed over him, as if his body had suddenly remembered the effort of holding so much tension. 

“She’s out cold.” Hughes gave him a glass. “Here. Have some brandy.” 

“I do think I hurt my shoulder.” Roy massaged it for a moment. “God, she’s strong.” 

Hughes sat down next to him and took a drink. “You’re not usually on the receiving end, so it’s easy to forget, but considering she’s flipped me over her back a time or two, I’m not all that surprised. ” 

“Thank you.” He stared into his glass. “For being here.” 

Hughes considered a moment. “She scare you?” 

“It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but mostly wetted them. “Hawkeye. God. She’s so stubborn. I fought with her at--” He glared playfully. “See, this is why you need to pick up a job in Eastern. She listens to you. ” 

“No, she lets me get away with things. Besides, Gracia hates the east. You’re on your own.” He shook his head. “Roy, I know we’ve had a lot happen, but you remember the early days. She had to be more. Everyone treated her like garbage for the crime of being a woman. Hawkeye holds a grudge.” He chuckled.  “Honestly, like no one I’ve ever met. Impressive.” 

Roy swirled around the brandy, the heavy legs of the liquor making rivers back into the sea of the glass. He took a drink, long and slow, flipping over the events of the day in his mind and assembling them, like a man playing solitaire. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.” 

“No wonder Information gave you a promotion.”

“Ass.” He snorted, smiling. 

Roy sighed heavily . “She pushed me out of the way.” 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but, she’s just kept doing the same job since you met. You’re her Alchemist. She keeps you alive.” Hughes laughed. “And honestly considering the Alchemist, they ought to give the woman a medal.” He swirled the brandy in his cup. “Hawkeye’s Hawkeye, and I don’t try to fix it. You’re you.” 

“She could burn her life better.”

Roy glanced over at Hughes, who was considering. He took a drink and moved the words around like scrabble tiles, waiting to present them. 

“Not to her, Roy. And that’s her choice to make.” He nodded. “I don’t try to fix it.” 

Roy looked up at the ceiling. Hughes was annoying: Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design, but he was much keener and smarter than he pretended to be. He was a fantastic fighter, a brilliant informant, because he watched people. He understood them. It had been that way since they were young. All these things benefited him.

Hughes interrupted his thoughts by ruffling Roy’s hair with a smile. “And I like you both.’ 

But the greatest thing he was, was kind. This was also by accident and design. 

There was an unsuccessful tangle with the knot Hughes had tied at the midpoint of the zipper, and an angry man called through the tent flap. 

“Hughes, are you gonna come do your job, or are you gonna keep playing grabass with your little friends?” 

“I better go.” Hughes poured the remains of his brandy into Roy’s glass. 

“Pretty sure I outrank him.” Roy said, unsure if it was true, but sure enough that he could make the man think it. 

Hughes stood up and nodded to Roy. “I’ll come check on you after.” 

“I’m beat flat.” Roy shook his head, set down the glass, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hughes took a moment to look around the room before grabbing his bag. 

“Well, if she’s not gonna eat this, I will.” He picked up the slice of cake and gave a little rub to Hawkeye’s arm.  “Goodbye, little friends!” 

He left out of the flap and zipped it behind him. Roy thought about getting up to tie the knot, but his body felt like it was made out of lead. The bed felt so soft beneath him. He tossed his shirt onto the floor and laid on his back. Hawkeye’s breaths were deep and slow on the other end of the tent. It was okay. Everything was fine. He didn’t need to fix it. 

He fell into sleep like a child falls out of bed, without warning, and all at once.

[gracieheartspedro]

Cherry Stems

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

description: eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. so you use them to your advantage. piss eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. maybe.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, age not specified but i imagine eddie/reader are 20+, porn without much plot, major teasing, reader is a brat, mentions of eating food, reader has no food aversions, nicknames, reader is flirting with eddie's bandmates, jealousy, possessiveness, name calling, face grabbing, eddie is lowkey a dom, unprotected p in v, fingering (vaginal), oral fixation, eddie puts his fingers in your mouth a lot, reader gets off on being bullied, orgasm denial, cum play, cum eating.... think that's it.

author’s note: hi i wrote this in one night. i am a whore for eddie, what else can i say. i'm also down to take requests, so if you see this, hey, send me an ask. maybe i'll cave and do some. as always, thanks bestie girl @amanitacowboy for helping me with this. let's never forget how much of a whore we are for this man. it keeps me (in)sane <3

Eddie had been teasing you all night and it was really starting to get to you. 

After a pretty electric performance at The Hideout, Eddie and his friends decided that they were hungry for some burgers from the empty Shiny Diner nearby. You had already had enough of Eddie’s shit at this point, so as soon as you sat next to him in the big half moon shaped booth, you knew it was game on. 

From eyeing you while he sang filthy lyrics from the stage, to the way he was working his hand up the hem of your dress when you sat at the bar, Eddie was truly being a menace. When the band got loud in the car on the way to the diner, you decided to make your move. You had rested your hand on Eddie’s crotch while sitting in the bucket seat next to him. While Eddie loved giving a good show, he was not keen on letting his friends see you in such a way. So he brushed your hand away and gave you the ‘not now’ eyes. 

You were for him and him only.

It aggravated you to no end, watching him rejoin the conversation with the guys, while you crossed your arms in disappointment.

But you were going to push some buttons tonight. You were going to get him back.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were all very sweet boys. Each of them have never been nothing but respectful of you. Gareth had known you longer than Eddie and he was actually the one who introduced you two. Jeff was usually a know-it-all, but he never dared question anything you said. And Grant… he was just quiet. Always following along with the antics and very well mannered. 

While you respected all the boys back, you also knew they found you attractive and that you could take advantage of that. After one specific smoke session together a couple months back, Eddie asked them all if they had a crush on you. He only ever said things like that to make them squirm. Teasing each other was the way they showed their love for one another. He also liked to remind people that they never stood a chance with you. And they all said that of course they found you pretty, but they would not dare go after you. 

Well, for one night only, you would give them believe they had a chance. Just to piss off Eddie. 

You had done this before. A year into your relationship, you had unintentionally made him jealous and it led to the most mind blowing sex of your life. The sex was so memorable that you do not even remember how you made him jealous. 

You needed that just about now. 

You were the only group there along with the waitress and line cook, so you were not worried about making a scene. You game plan how you were going to achieve such a feat as you scan the diner menu. You already knew what you wanted, but spotting the milkshakes on the list of drinks, a light bulb went off in your brain. 

The older waitress took down the boy’s order while you sat quietly staring at the menu. When it came down to you, you look up at the white haired woman and smiled. 

“One chocolate shake, extra whip cream and cherries, please.” You hand her the menu and glance over at a confused Eddie. You usually got a Dr. Pepper and a cheeseburger value meal, hold the lettuce. 

“Not hungry, baby?” He asks, reaching out for your black painted nails. You slide your hand away, acting like you are reaching for something in your purse. 

“Just wanna try something new.”

You pull your lipgloss out, still not looking over at Eddie. You twist off the top, placing the applicator on the middle of your bottom lip as your eyes flicker over to Grant’s. He is not paying much mind to anything, his eyes looking towards the window behind you. When he takes note of your gaze, he finally looks at you. 

You swipe the gloss across your lips, smirking devilishly. 

“What did you get, Grant?”

He thinks for a beat, realizing even he forgot what he ordered. “Uh… BLT with onion rings.”

You smack your lips together, rubbing your top lip on the bottom one painfully slow. 

“You gonna share your onion rings?”

He was not expecting the question, his lips curling upward before he chuckles. You can feel Eddie’s body stiffen as you ask the question. 

Grant nods, though, “Of course. You can have some-” “Baby, you’re not gonna eat his food.” You shoot a glare at Eddie, tossing your gloss back in your pocketbook. “Grant said I could, so… yeah I am.”

Eddie’s eyes search yours, trying to figure out what you are trying to do. You disguise your pleasure at his curiosity, rolling your eyes and pointing your attention at Jeff. He’s positioned right next to Grant, fiddling with his fingers. Before you can press him with a question, the waitress comes and puts down your drinks. She’s missing your milkshake. 

“That’ll be out in just a moment,” She says, grabbing her tray as she returns behind the counter, seemingly preparing your shake. You watch Jeff fiddle with his straw wrapper and you finally decide to bother him next. 

“Is that Dr. Pepper?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Jeff always got Dr. Pepper, just like you. It’s something you two bonded over often. He just nods, taking a sip of the bubbly beverage. You look over at the waitress quickly, seeing she’s still fiddling with the milkshake blender. 

You grab Jeff’s ice cold glass, your eyes glistening with innocence, “You mind if I have a sip? I’m parched.” And of course he’s too confused to say no. You pull the drink over and once it crosses to your side of the table, Eddie’s hand presses into your bare thigh. You do not react, taking Jeff’s straw into your mouth and sucking in a big sip, your eyes never leaving his. Once you pull the plastic away, you smirk. 

“Thanks, hun.” You push the drink back to him slowly. His cheeks heat up instantly when he notices your lipgloss on the tip of the straw. Eddie’s hand only squeezes more, trying to get you to look over at him. 

He wanted your attention so bad, his body curving closer to you. You can feel his gaze stuck onto the side of your face. 

Before anyone says anything else, the white haired lady returns with your chocolate shake. You giddedly grab the glass and stuff a straw into the frozen drink. 

You use your tongue to toy with the end of the straw, pulling it into your open mouth. Your eyes flicker away from Jeff and take aim at Gareth, who’s seated right across from you. Since he’s known you so long, you can already read on his face that he knows what you are up to. He may be a nice guy, but he too loves to fuck with Eddie. 

He was going to help you in whatever way possible. Instead of you initiating conversation, he speaks up. 

“Chocolate, huh? Thought you’d like vanilla.” Your eyebrow quirks up. You know Eddie’s face is bright red next to you. The heat radiating from him is pressing into your shoulder and thigh. 

“You got me pegged as a vanilla girl? That’s a bit offensive, Gare,” You smile, calculating your next move. You look down at the pile of whipped cream on the top of the shake. You drag your pointer finger across the top, gathering the cream all around it. 

You hear Eddie whispering beside you. “You better fuckin’ not.”

You smile, bringing your finger to your lips, not peeling your eyes from Gareth. You know the tension is palpable because Gareth’s smile is only widening when you lick the cream off your finger. 

The other guys are gawking at you at this point. You were putting on a show and they could not even fathom that it was happening before their very eyes. 

Gareth finally says something, nodding at the milkshake. “And extra cherries?”

“Gareth-,” Eddie’s voice fades over yours. 

“Oh yeah! You know I can tie the stems with my tongue?”

Eddie’s rings are going to be imprinted on your leg with how tightly he’s gripping onto you. You grab one of the cherries, getting your fingers covered in more whipped cream. You lean your head back a bit, your nose facing the old tile ceiling. You drop the cherry in your mouth, stem up. Tilting your head back, facing Gareth, you pull the cherry off the stem between your teeth. It’s unbelievably sensual the way you chew the red fruit. 

You show each of the boys the stem, even Eddie. When you glance over at him, you do not believe you have ever seen him so annoyed. He’s not hiding it well. You drop the stem on your tongue, returning your gaze over to Gareth. 

You roll the stem around, using your teeth slightly to do the stupid party trick you learned in 10th grade to impress a boy. It’s not impressive when every hot girl in school could do it, too. But nonetheless, it was something you could do to layer on the eroticism of the moment. 

When it’s tied, you contemplate taking it out of your mouth and showing it off. Maybe even drop it in Eddie’s hand. Instead, you decide to just extend your tongue out and show the stem on the very tip of your tongue. 

The color drains from Eddie’s face. It’s the end of the show for him. 

He grabs your forearm, ripping you out of the booth. You look back at Gareth, who’s still smiling, all the while Jeff and Grant look even more confused.  

When the fresh air hits you when he slams the glass door open, you flick your head to the side and spit out the stem in the gravel. His grip is so tight around your arm as he drags you to the van. It’s parked on the far side of the lot, occupying a spot that’s backed up to some woods. 

“What is wrong?”

Asking such a question only pisses him off further. Once you reach the van, his left hand flings the side door open. He practically tosses you onto the shag rug that lines the very back of the vehicle. 

“Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” His voice is intimidatingly deep.

Your legs hang out while Eddie stands over you, his hand resting on the top of the van. The back of your knees feel the sting of the frayed metal that hinges the door shut. You swallow, contemplating if you should continue messing with him. With the way he’s looking at you, you felt that this was not going to lead to the jealous sex you two had before. He’s actually angry. 

“You pushed my hand away when I wanted you earlier.”

Your voice is so small and unsure. His eyes narrow at you, his mouth slightly ajar in complete disbelief. The silence hanging in the air makes your heart rate increase. 

His mouth closes and you watch his jaw clench, “So you flirt with my friends right in front of me? Even when I explicitly said you better not.”

With his free hand, he swats your bare leg as you squeeze your thighs together. “Answer me.”

You watch the red mark appear on your flesh and decide to keep playing into the game. You had nothing to lose. If he’s actually angry, you could always have amazing make up sex instead. Eddie could not stay mad at you for too long. 

You shake your head, lifting your chin up in defiance. “All I did was tie a cherry stem.”

He does not accept that answer, slapping your thigh harder this time. 

You knew then that you had him where you wanted him. His eyes were giving him away. His pupils dilated as soon as he realized that you did not yelp at him slapping you around. 

Your eyes widen, watching him jump into the van beside you and dragging you back further. He slams the door, rattling the hunk of metal. The only light being let in is from the front windshield. A hazy warm lit streetlight only lights up Eddie’s face as he’s pining you to the ground. 

He positions himself between your legs, pushing the back of your thighs up with his knees. The skirt you chose for the occasion was pretty flowy, so it slid up your hips as soon as he props you up. “You want to act like a whore in front of my friends? All ‘cause I slapped your hand away earlier?”

His voice does not even sound like his. You hear the jiggling of his belt as he asks you the question. But the more twisted Eddie was, the more aroused you felt. You were drawn to him the first moment he teased you and bullied you a bit. You got off on him being callous. 

“Words. Now.”

You look down between your legs and see his cock springing free from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. You groan, the pulsating at your core coinciding with your heart rate. “Wanted to get your attention.”

He smacks your inner thigh, painfully close to your pantyline. You moan at the action, propping yourself up a bit more on your elbows. You watch as he carefully drags his pointer and middle finger under the hem of your lace. He smirks to himself, “That’s not what I fuckin’ asked.”

His fingers dip under your underwear, gathering the slick between your folds. You throw your head back, unable to hold back the sob as he spreads you open. You were putty in his hands, always bending to him. “Yes, Eddie.”

Your response leads to him sliding his fingers inside your cunt, a wet squelching noise filling both your ears. Your back thuds against the rug as your muscles give out under his touch. He fucks you with his fingers, the look on his face unreadable. He usually takes his time with foreplay, but this was different. He was testing how far he could take you in a limited amount of time. You were in a parking lot with his friends less than 500 feet inside, he could not take his time torturing you. 

His fingers retract from your pussy, gripping onto the lace of your panties and tearing them down your legs. When he sits back on his heels, you watch his long cock bounce with his movements. It sends a smile across your face. When he zeros in on you again, he tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk anymore.”

It makes you giggle at first, unsure if he’s really being serious. But when his face does not twist up into a smirk like it usually did, you realize you were in trouble. He takes ahold of his dick, leaning forward onto you. Your mouth falls open as you study Eddie dragging his tip between your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. 

He sinks into you, raising your hips a bit to meet him straight on. The stretch is always overwhelming for you at first. You and Eddie fucked at least three times a week, but he always made you cum before shoving his cock deep inside you. Stretching you out for a couple minutes with two fingers is not enough for you. He hisses when he pulls back, his hands grasping onto you for dear life. 

He wastes no time setting a bruising pace. There’s no build up, he is simply taking his annoyance out on you. You are reaching out to anything around you, trying to find something to hold onto as he rams into you. You find a sweatshirt nearby, squeezing it as tight as you can as you breathe out to relax your pelvic muscles.

“Eddie, please-” You try to say, throwing your head forward. He shifts your hips a bit more, opening you up wider. As he does that, he rakes his hands upward, pushing your skirt up higher to your belly button. He shakes your head to your pleas. 

“Eddie, please.” He mocks, relocating his hand to squeeze your cheeks together. When your jaw unhinges, Eddie inspects your tongue as he drills into you. “Put my fingers in your mouth.”

“Ed-”

He sandwiches your face harder, cutting you off from being able to say anything. He fills your mouth with the two fingers that were plunging inside of you earlier. The taste of your own arousal is still present on his fingers as you swirl your tongue around the digits. You mewl as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. “Shut up,” he orders, his face centimeters from yours, “Now suck them while I fuck you.”

You have no way to talk back, so you do what he says. You hallow your cheeks out, lathering all your saliva around his fingers. The build up in the pit of your stomach only gets more intense when Eddie hoists your leg up over his shoulder. You clench around him, tears pricking your eyes as you vibrate his fingers with your moans. 

“Do not fuckin’ cum yet,” He warns, pulling his fingers in and out of your mouth. His hips are faltering as he chases his own climax. Your body feels like every nerve ending is about to implode under the pressure of you holding back your orgasm, and Eddie can sense that. He drags his fingers out from your lips, rubbing your own spit into your lips. He grabs your jaw with the same hand, pulling your face closer to his.

“Say you’re mine. You’re only gonna be mine.”

You nod, knocking his forehead slightly. “I’m only ever gonna be yours, Eddie.”

With your foreheads touching, you watch as he falls apart inside you. 

And with three vicious snaps of his hips, he spills his seed deep inside you. He does not let out a sound. His mouth is agape as deep heaves fan your face. 

When he finishes, he slides his cock out of you and sits back on his knees again. Him exiting your body is so frustrating, you want to scream.  

He uses one arm to hold your one leg back as spit covered fingers swipe up your cunt. His spend is leaking out of you and you know if he works his usual magic, you will cum in 30 seconds. 

“Please, Eddie. Please let me cum.”

He smirks villainously, “Why should I let you, hm?” He spreads your pussy lips, getting a good look as his cum dribbles down to your asshole.

You are getting desperate. You never had to beg Eddie to cum, ever. He was always so generous. 

“I promise I’ll be good. Please, please.” He chuckles dryly before sinking his fingers back into you. “Fine. Since you asked so pretty and promised to behave yourself.”

His fingers scissor into you, that familiar burn in the pit of your stomach returning. As his two fingers make work at your entrance, his thumb swipes your clit in meticulous circles. His bottom lip is tucked under his top teeth, watching you fall apart on his fingers. You are practically chanting his name as he brings you to your peak. 

When your chest heaves, finally relaxing from your orgasm, Eddie slides his digits out of you and brings them up to his plump pink lips. He licks them clean, just like you did with the whipped cream earlier. 

“Hm… Don’t see how Gareth thought you were a vanilla girl,” He states, smiling sinfully at you. “You, my dear, are a fuckin’ vixen.”

-

tags of friends who may like this idk (if you wanna be tagged in the future, just lemme know <3):

@hockeyhughes @pedgito @mediocredreams @the-unforgivenn

[bitchinbarzal]

Team Mom | C Keller

summary: you’ve become somewhat of a mom to the team.

-

Clayton isn’t an outwardly emotional guy. He keeps things pretty level, takes things as they come, and never makes too big a deal out of anything. But when he’s named the first captain in Utah’s history, he almost loses it.

Almost.

He holds it together in front of the cameras, in the locker room, even when his teammates shower him with congratulations. He keeps it together when he shakes the GM’s hand, when he hears his name in the announcement, when he pulls on the jersey with the “C” stitched on the front. But the second he gets home and sees you standing there with a cake that says Congratulations, Captain! in slightly smudged icing, he feels the emotions creep in.

“Did you bake that?” he asks, stepping closer, a small grin tugging at his lips.

You scoff “Absolutely not. You think I had time to make a cake between running errands for your team?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. You smell like vanilla, probably from the frosting you insisted on fixing yourself “Thank you” he mumbles into your hair.

“For the cake? It was the least I could do—”

“No” he cuts in, pulling back just enough to look at you. “For everything. For dealing with the guys. For being here”

You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in them “I don’t deal with them. I like them”

That’s debatable.

The thing is, you’ve been around Clayton’s team long enough that you’ve become part of the fabric of it. And somehow, without realizing it, you’ve ended up being something of a—

“You know you’re like our team mom, right?” Logan says casually one night at dinner.

You nearly choke on your drink “Excuse me?”

“Oh, for sure” Dylan agrees “You’re always checking in on us, making sure we have food, giving us rides when needed—”

“I once drove you to practice because your car was in the shop.”

“Yeah, and you packed snacks,” Logan reminds you.

“I was already going to the grocery store!”

Clayton, for his part, is having way too much fun with this. He leans back in his chair, watching as his teammates list off all the things you do for them.

The way you remind them to bring extra layers when they travel somewhere cold, the way you make sure they eat something green at least once a week, the way you’ve somehow memorized their coffee orders and deliver them without asking.

“I also pack your lunches” you argue, looking pointedly at Clay “Am I your mom, too?”

He smirks “Nah, i think that makes you my wife”

Your face burns, and the guys lose it, laughing at your expression.

The nickname sticks.

You don’t particularly like it, but you don’t hate it either. At least, not enough to stop the guys from calling you “Mom” every time they need something.

It starts off small.

“Mom, can you sew this button back on?”

“Mom, can you look at this text and tell me what it means?”

“Mom, I forgot my headphones — do you have an extra pair?”

And then it escalates.

“Mom, I may or may not have spilled coffee on my white dress shirt, and I need it for a team event tonight”

“Mom, can you send me that soup recipe?”

“Mom, I think I have scurvy”

“Mom, I—”

“I am not your mother!” you remind them.

“You’re the team mom” they reply, like it’s a fact of life.

And the thing is? You kind of are.

Clayton never says it out loud, but he loves it. He loves the way you’ve made his team feel like a family, how you take care of them in ways he never even considered. It’s not just about the meals or the reminders—it’s the way you care. The way you sit through their rants about bad calls, the way you text them good luck before games, the way you make their wins feel bigger and their losses feel smaller.

He knows he’s the captain, but he also knows that this team wouldn’t feel the same without you.

And maybe, one day, he’ll put a ring on your finger to make it official.

For now, though, he’ll settle for knowing that when he puts on that jersey with the “C” on it, he’s not leading this team alone.

He’s got you.

[cleoselene]

from facebook of all places

posted by Jay Michaelson, and sourced by him as well:

Hello! I'm posting in response to the many sincerely anguished claims that not enough is being done to stop Trump. This is not reflected in the facts. - Represented by Public Citizen Litigation Group and State Democracy Defenders Fund, the Alliance for Retired Americans, the American Federation of Government Employees (AFGE), and the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) filed suit on Monday against the Treasury Department “for sharing confidential data with the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), run by Elon Musk.” Go to Public Citizen's website to learn all about this lawsuit, which is very likely to prevail. - On USAID, appearing with other Democratic lawmakers outside USAID offices on Monday, Representative Jamie Raskin (D-Md.) shouted, “Elon Musk, you didn't create USAID. The United States Congress did for the American people … like Elon Musk did not create USAID, he doesn't have the power to destroy it. And who's going to stop him? We are... This a constitutional crisis that we are in today.” Lawsuits have also been filed in this matter, and are also likely to prevail. - Hakeem Jeffries has announced lawsuits have been filed regarding the firings of inspectors general. - On Jan 21, Democracy Forward, was filed at 12:01 p.m. ET on Monday and accused Elon Musk's DOGE of being a "shadow operation led by unelected billionaires" that flouts federal transparency rules. That should win. - National Security Counselors filed a suit arguing that DOGE meets the requirements to be a federal advisory committee and is therefore legally required to have "fairly balanced" representation, keep regular minutes of meetings and allow public access to meetings. Clearly accurate. - Eighteen state attorneys general and a slew of immigrants' rights groups brought swift legal action against Trump after he signed his executive order seeking to ban birthright citizenship for some children born in the U.S., arguing that it violates the Fourteenth Amendment. Obviously, clearly unconstitutional. - "Schedule F" has been challenged in court by the National Treasury Employees Union, which represents employees in 37 agencies and departments. - Several immigrant rights groups in the United States, as well as the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), have filed a lawsuit challenging President Donald Trump’s ban on asylum claims. - GLAD Law and the National Center For Lesbian Rights (NCLR) have sued to stop Trump's ban on trans people in the military. And there are many more - I'll link to a great list of them in the comments. Yes, there are Trump judges in the courts, and if Aileen Cannon types get these cases, Trump may prevail. But most judges are not like her. These actions are clearly illegal and/or unconstitutional, and they WILL be stopped. Just like the tariffs were not meant to prevail -- Trump won that round, "forcing" Canada and Mexico to take "action" on fentanyl -- these actions are not meant to prevail. They're meant to flood the zone with shit, confuse and immobilize us. They said they'd do "Shock and Awe" and that's what they've done. Nothing here should be surprising. Shock and Awe is up to YOU. I am not shocked, I am not in awe. Oh, and the "mainstream media" has reported on all of these. The info above has come from Newsweek, the NY Times, and other mainstream sources. Please stop attacking journalists when we are being threatened by the FBI. Who do you think you're helping by doing that? Stop it with the doomsaying and gloomsaying. Want to make a difference? Give thousands of dollars to Public Citizen, the ACLU, and similar groups. Show up at marches. Put your ass on the line and help protect people from ICE. If you're safe, do simple symbolic things (like changing your social media pictures) to support people who are not safe. Just like we should not obey in advance, we should not panic in advance either. This is not the end of democracy. That is just what the bad guys want you to think. Get over it and fight.

I don't know how many times I've heard "Dems do nothing!" when they are in fact doing a lot of things. You just don't hear about it because the mainstream news doesn't pay attention or you don't see out news beyond your social media feeds.

The other thing is, Dems don't break laws in their fights the way Republicans do. Your desire to turn every Dem POTUS into the Dick Cheney Version of the Executive but then screaming injustice! when the GOP does it -- you see the problem there?

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 10

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 1.9k (short this time!)

cw: angst, self doubt, comfort, reader is referred to with she/her twice, cussing

Synopsis: Sylus gets Luke and Kieran to investigate a certain group of four men. You and Sylus are left to figure out the remaining inconsistencies in this game world.

author’s note: this part is really dialogue-reliant. im not really sure if i like it but i thought i needed to have more of these kinds of conversations (figuring out the world) before I moved on to talking with the others. i should also mention, since i only said this in an ask, i started writing this before the death and rebirth main story bits came out, so im just not going to address it at all. it would have changed how i write things, and i don’t want to deal with that right now. so as far as reader is concerned, the last bit in the main story is homecoming wings. anyways, im really pushing sylus x reader in this part heheh <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

“I’m a bit nervous,” you muttered.

Sylus smirked, glancing down at you. “You really shouldn’t be.”

“Gee, thanks.” You narrowed your eyes. “Such wonderful advice.”

He huffed out a laugh. “It’s just Luke and Kieran.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” You sighed. “I’m just worried I’ll do something wrong. I always loved them in the game, but now I’m actually meeting them and that’s a very different thing,” you rambled.

Sylus put a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone. “Just be yourself. Forget about the game. The rest will come naturally.”

The door creaked and in came two little crows, hoods up and masks on. You straightened up, watching their seemingly lax posture as they walked in. Sylus made a beckoning motion with his hand and they stepped closer, stopping just in front of the two of you.

“Luke, Kieran, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” he announced.

As you exchanged names, you tried to see how you could remember which one was Luke and which one was Kieran. Maybe that’s a task for another day, you thought.

“I want you both to treat her the same way you treat me,” Sylus continued. “She’s just as qualified to give you orders as I am.”

The twins gave a mock salute. “Got it, Boss-man!” They turned to you, still saluting. “Reporting for duty, Little Boss!”

You laughed. “Glad to see I’ve already earned a title.”

The twins nodded enthusiastically, seemingly proud of their new nickname for you.

“I have an assignment for you two,” Sylus interrupted. The twins perked up, shoulders back as they waited for his instruction. “I need you to look into these four men.” He handed them a list.

Without even looking, you already knew whose names were on it. “That’s not necessary,” you whispered.

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Still, I like to have an advantage over my opponents.”

“What makes you think they’re your opponents?” you asked incredulously.

Sylus merely grinned.

“We’re on it, Boss!” Luke exclaimed.

“Any time you need it done?” Kieran asked.

“As soon as possible.” Sylus nodded, and the twins turned to leave.

“And be careful!” you called out after them.

They turned around. Another salute. “Will do, Little Boss!”

You looked at Sylus as the door shut. “Do you really need to look into each of them? I know enough.”

“Enough is not everything, dove. I don’t want you going in, alone, missing something,” he said firmly.

“I’ve already met them before.” You shrugged, leaning back on your heel. “I doubt they’ll act much different. And when I met them the first time, they acted about how I expected after playing the game. Although…”

Sylus’s head snapped up, immediately meeting your thoughtful gaze. “Although…?” he urged you on.

“I don’t know what it was exactly. It’s just that every Love Interest I met seemed more comfortable with me than they should have for a first meeting,” you sighed.

Sylus paused. “Explain.”

“It was like they knew me. Sometimes, I thought that one of them would be nicer to me than to Em.” You halted for a minute before taking a deep breath. “Zayne even said something. He asked if we had met before. Said he felt like he’d loved me before.”

He stiffened. “Loved you before?” Sylus repeated.

You nodded. “And now that I think about it, you got cozy pretty fast, too!” You stared at Sylus. “I just don’t understand why. It’s not like I did know any of you before. I couldn’t have, you were just game characters,” you muttered.

“Was there… anything in the game where you would interact with a Love Interest? You’ve said you could watch memories where it’s a Love Interest with Em, but is there anything where the player directly is with a Love Interest?” he asked, spinning a coin between his fingers as he thought.

You furrowed your brows, trying to ignore the detachment with which he spoke of the game. “There was the Destiny Cafe,” you offered. “It was the home screen. You could choose one of the Love Interests to show up, and they would stand there and you could tap on them to talk. If you had higher affinity levels, you got more interactions.”

Sylus raised a brow. “Affinity levels?”

“You could up your affinity levels with each Love Interest by completing battles, getting memories, buying outfits, and winning plushies with them. The higher the affinity, the more… romantic the interactions got,” you explained.

Sylus was quiet for a moment, piecing together what was going on as you elaborated in confused fragments. “And what were your affinity levels with each Love Interest?” he finally asked.

“Shit, I don’t know if I remember.” You paused, wracking your brain. “I know Caleb had the lowest. I think it was around upper fifties? And then it was Xavier, in like the sixties. Rafayel and Zayne had a mid-seventies level, and I think you were in the eighties.”

A few beats of silence.

Sylus finally nodded. “And did you notice that Xavier and Caleb were more hesitant to be comfortable with you compared to the others?”

“I guess so?” You shrugged.

Sylus carefully sat down in one of his plush armchairs, nodding along as if he’d cracked the code. You took a step closer, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Hold on, now,” you sputtered. “Do you think the Affinity is the reason everyone’s acting weird?”

“It would make sense, yes?” he asked as if it were obvious. “It seems everyone feels that they had a connection with you before. If you can directly interact with the Love Interest in the game, and the Affinity dictates how comfortably they act, then it seems like it translated over when you first came here.”

“So, when Zayne said he felt like he’d loved me before…” you said slowly.

Sylus nodded. “He wasn’t far off from the truth.”

“Then every Love Interest actually does care for me? Even a little?” you asked.

“It would seem so,” Sylus confirmed. He stood, taking a few long strides before stopping in front of you. Leaning down to your eye level, he ruffled your hair. “Although I can’t speak for the other men, I know I care for you a great deal.”

Feeling your face getting hotter, you turned away. “That would explain some of the interactions,” you muttered. “And if Em’s relationship with them is only what it’s at after Homecoming Wings, then it would make sense why they’re not all lovey-dovey with her just yet.”

You turned back around, looking at Sylus. He was already watching you, an amused expression on his face. You walked past him, feeling his eyes on you even as he barely turned with you. “Everything makes sense, but I still don’t get it,” you sighed, collapsing onto one of the armchairs behind him.

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “What don’t you get?”

“The Affinity levels are sort of making you and the other guys closer to me than to Em. I just don’t get why any one of you would pick me or care about me over Em. She’s so outgoing, so bold… she’s everything I’m not.” Your last words, though coming out as a mumble, did not go unnoticed by Sylus.

He stepped closer, kneeling beside your armchair and taking one of your hands in his. “I care about you for who you are,” he said reverently. “All the little things you do that make you, you? I adore them. You’re not something to be compared, dove.”

Seeing your hesitance, your disbelieving stare, he sighed, fingers tightening around your own. “When I first met Em,” he began slowly. “When we were a sorceress and her dragon…” he paused here, choosing his words carefully. “There was too much anger between us. Sometimes, I think that rage carried over into this life.” He let out a humorless laugh as he seemed to remember their first meetings.

His gaze found yours again, any sharpness melting into a molten softness. “But with you, things are calm. I’m at peace, little dove.” His soft smile now matched your own. “I feel like the dragon inside me no longer needs that thirst for vengeance anymore. The dragon can finally rest.”

“Boss?” Kieran called into the seemingly empty armory.

“Boss!” Luke repeated, louder now.

The two stepped further in, scanning the walls of weaponry and technology for any disturbance, any sign that their boss was there.

Hearing a muffled caw, they pushed further, moving to the back of the room.

They stepped into a small room, filled with all kinds of security monitors, Mephisto perched proudly on top of one. The twins were silent as they stood behind Sylus, watching as he examined each screen carefully. A quarter of them were focused around the base, mostly showing empty rooms and hallways, except for one which showed you nestled in a corner of the library. All the other monitors made it clear who he was watching.

Em.

Eyes in her apartment, at the Hunters Association, at the Kitty Cafe, at the Arcade. All places she frequented, all showing no sign of her.

“I assume you have something to report?” Sylus broke the silence.

“Yeah, Boss. All the guys you wanted to know about,” Kieran said as he handed Sylus four thick files.

“You found all of this in three days?” Sylus asked as he flipped through them.

“Uh-huh! Proud of us, Boss-man?” Luke leaned in over Sylus’s shoulder.

Sylus was quiet for a moment. “Maybe.” He stood, nodding the twins forward. “Come with me. I want to talk with both of you about this.”

The twins followed on Sylus’s heels as he walked to his office. They looked at each other silently, wondering just what the Boss was planning.

Sylus sat behind his desk, laying each file open across it and taking out his own notepad. Kieran eyed the messy scrawl, barely able to make out any words from across the desk.

“Give me your thoughts on each man you were to investigate,” Sylus said as he leaned back in his chair.

“The hunter Xavier seemed really suspicious. Lots of links to past jobs, no consistent or complete past. He disappears at random hours, but we didn’t have enough time to follow him to figure out where he went,” Kieran reported calmly.

“Who was next? The doctor?” Luke asked, looking for a nod from Kieran. “Right, so Zayne seemed like nothing was wrong. Seriously, nothing out of place. Which is weird in itself, if you ask me. But I guess doctors don’t have much free time,” he explained animatedly.

Kieran now. “Rafayel is the artist, who frequents the Nest more than an ordinary artist should. Seems like he’s got eyes on someone, but we don’t have access to figure out who.”

Then Luke again. “Finally, Caleb. We didn’t have time to infiltrate the Farspace Fleet to get everything on him, but it looks like there’s some conflicting documents about him. Not to mention an official death certificate from Linkon.”

Sylus nodded along with them, confirming that everything they said matched up with what you had said. “Take a couple days��� break, and when you’re ready, I want you to track two people. Full reports on their doings.”

“We can do it now, Boss-man!” Luke offered.

Kieran agreed, “Yeah, if it’s urgent, we can take care of it, fast.”

Sylus shook his head. “It’s not exactly urgent. I just want to see something.” Sylus watched the twins, eyes sharp and calculating. “I want you to track Em and the Colonel, alright?”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

Fanfic Thieves on Youtube

A collection of youtube channels have been uploading preexisting fanfictions in videos with little to no credit to the original authors. These are not podfics, these channels copy-paste the fics into text-to-speech readers then upload the unaltered audio over static or unrelated backgrounds, either art that is also stolen or mobile game footage. In addition to not naming the authors, they alter the title to make it that much harder for readers to recognize or find the original uploads. Some go so far as to pretend they themselves are creating the fics in question. Many claim that their stealing actually helps give fics "exposure" despite the intentional steps they take to conceal the origins of the fics they profit off of. However, this practice has lead many authors to discontinue fics after the frustration of having their hard work stolen. Many of these channels claim they will remove videos upon request, but will either argue with the author in order to keep it up, or simply unlist the video for a time until they think the author isn't paying attention anymore. And their solution to receiving strikes against their channels in the past has been to further obfuscate the origins of their content instead of even considering asking first.

”I got caught stealing, so instead of not stealing anymore, I’m doubling down on stealing even more so it’s harder for people to find out and prove I’m stealing. Stealing doesn't count if the specific person I stole from didn't call me out. I am the real victim.”

That, plus the incessant tag scumming in all the videos (spamming unrelated tags in order to appear in more search results) proves to me that these are lazy attention seekers who don't want to put in creative effort when they could just leech off of the passion of others.

In order to report them, go to their channel's "About" page and click the flag icon. Said icon might be behind the three dots in the top bar on mobile. Go to "Report User" at the bottom and tick the "spam and scams" button. This will allow you to list multiple videos as offenders instead of reporting them individually. Youtube's policy states that video spam constitutes:

Massively uploading content that you scraped from other creators.

Auto-generated content that computers post without regard for quality or viewer experience.

If you recognize one of your fics among the stolen, say so in the additional comments box, and perhaps call out the channel directly in the video's comments. If you recognize someone else's fic, please let the original author know so they can report the channel as well. Many have been confronted for stealing previously and refuse to admit wrongdoing.

Most of what I've found has been My Hero Academia fics since that's my fandom and those are the ones I can recognize as stolen, but there are many other channels that steal from other fandoms, so I invite anyone and everyone to reblog this with their own findings.

The reality is that this extremely low-effort content and new youtube channels are both very easy to make, so most likely they'll start new channels once the ones on this list are run through. But hopefully, if we all work together and keep whacking these moles, perhaps we can instill that same defeatism they caused so many creators who didn't deserve it, and eventually they'll give up.

My sincerest thanks to everyone who helped bring additional channels to my attention. A special thanks to ao3 user InArduisFidelis who brought the initial attention to the issue, and @owlf45 whose work was stolen.

Links under the cut.

YurikoFanfics - Not only stole content, but acted in comments as though they were the one writing these stories.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@YurikoFanfics

What-IF-Anime - Has the exact same "disclaimer" about not being the original author as the one above. Either they're the same person or the thieves are stealing from each other.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@What-IF-Anime

quirkywhatif7 - Either an alt of the above, or all these people are talking to one another because this one made a community post identical to a comment the one above made in response to being called out (the above screenshots).

https://www.youtube.com/@quirkywhatif7/about

DekuFanfic - It's the same fucking guy again.

https://www.youtube.com/@DekuFanfic/about

InfiniteParadoxfanfics - Nothing notable, same deal as the others.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@InfiniteParadoxfanfics/about

WhatIfAnimeChannel - Admits in their community posts that other people write the fics they post but still doesn't give credit. Migrated to a new channel after issues with youtube, likely being flagged previously.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfAnimeChannel/about

WhatIfAnimeAll - Alt of above.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfAnimeAll

FWNWorld - Makes sure to tell you that the videogame footage is theirs, but can't bother to credit anyone else.

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@FWNWorld/about

WTFW - Claims to have "[A] team of talented writers, voice actors, and artists work together to create immersive fan fiction stories that are sure to captivate your imagination." Just the same test-to-speech stolen content over videogames. So straight up lying claiming that everything is theirs (and that anything they make is quality).

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/@WTFW

MHA2.0Fanfics - Lots of crossover theft.

https://www.youtube.com/@MHA2.0Fanfics/about

Collerwhatiif - Pretty sure this one is the same guy as the previous 2, also has one for another fandom.

https://www.youtube.com/@Collerwhatiif/about

https://www.youtube.com/@GoJoFanfiction/videos

ko_sensei - Another that claims to have a "team" that makes the stories they steal: " passionate about creating compelling and engaging fanfiction that explores the various "what ifs" in the anime universe."

https://www.youtube.com/@ko_sensei/about

FantasticWhatIf - Multifandom stealing, uses the exact same bs disclaimer as many others.

https://www.youtube.com/@FantasticWhatIf/about

LettuceHeadFanfics - No credit, no acknowledgement of anything. Next one is an alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@LettuceHeadFanfics/about

brocollifanfics - Alt of above, once again admits to stealing with a declaration of "☆If you want to takedown any videos. You can mail us or leave a comment below the video☆"

https://www.youtube.com/@brocollifanfics/about

whatifofficial786 - Focuses on MHA/Naruto crossovers. Identical format.

https://www.youtube.com/@whatifofficial786/about

NotWhatIf - I've lost track of who's an alt of who but yet another identical format, descriptions, and bullshit claims of "enhancing the viewer experience" by putting a robot voice over bootleg fortnite footage.

https://www.youtube.com/@NotWhatIf/about

weebxds - Same again.

https://www.youtube.com/@weebxds/about

ItachiFanfics - Naruto channel, we can at least confirm that this one is run by a human given the rare different descriptions and a real voice at the beginning of videos before the robot comes back.

https://www.youtube.com/@ItachiFanfics/about

WhatIfDN - As if mockingly, a bunch of videos have a "credit" section in their descriptions that is of course blank.

https://www.youtube.com/@WhatIfDN/about

SpiceandBooks and spiceandfiction - Apparently Youtube itself has started picking up on the bullshit, because this multifandom channel is being dinged as ai spam so they started a new one.

https://www.youtube.com/@SpiceandBooks/about

https://www.youtube.com/@spiceandfiction/about

theoriginalastra - Doesn't even bother with disclaimers, the following are multiple alts/potential alts for different fandoms.

https://www.youtube.com/@theoriginalastra/about

SillySenpai12 - Highschool DXD alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@SillySenpai12/about

RosieRealms - Naruto alt.

https://www.youtube.com/@RosieRealms/about

DekuWhatIfs - Potentially another astra alt but not sure, doesn't matter because all these channels do the same thing anyway.

AnimeStark688 - No credits or disclaimers.

https://www.youtube.com/@AnimeStark688/about

Please take the time to report these channels, spread this post around, and reblog with any additional offending channels you find.

[aellesira]

— YOU'RE ENGAGED??

pairings, various x reader. (albedo, alhaitham, cyno, kaveh, kinich, neuvillette, venti) summary, how does he react when he accidentally hears that you're getting engaged to someone who's not him? content, ooc characters potentially, unrequited love, slight jealousy.

notes, if someone wants like a part 2 like an aftermath please let me know ! or any asks really <3

“Wait wait wait! Hold on just a moment!!! N-no way this is true!! (Name), you’re… ENGAGED??!” 

The Traveler’s silver-haired, fairy-like companion, Paimon, visibly wasn't able to keep her surprise and excitement to herself. She and the Traveler had known you since forever, so when he heard that you were going to get married soon just seemed like something so surreal to her; to both of them. And yes, immediately, the Traveler created a mental list of potential fiances, since you were set on hiding the person’s identity until the wedding out of your own embarrassment.

“Sh-shush!! Paimon!! People are going to find out! I’m trying to keep this under wraps until a few weeks before the wedding!! But… Yes, I am.” Some passerby turned their heads at Paimon’s outburst, and your cheeks suddenly felt warm. But your eyes were alive with an unbridled excitement and anticipation for your wedding, because you were truly happy with this arrangement.

“Well,” the Traveler, also your best friend, Aether, stepped towards you, before enveloping you in a hug. This had been a dream of yours since forever, he was so happy for you! “You’ll invite us to your wedding, won’t you?” Aether joked, but he already knew you would. Of course, neither he nor Paimon would miss it, even if it took some time away from their journey on Teyvat as this was something they both wanted to be here for.

“There’s no way I wouldn't! You know…” But for someone who happened to be listening in on you, the rest of your conversation tuned out as time suddenly stood still for said person as he thought about what had just come out of your lips.

—

ALBEDO.

Happened to stumble upon you all by chance.

One time, Sucrose told him that he’d been writing the wrong formula for some chemical for some time now, he was doing this absent-mindedly, and she understood that something was distracting him. 

So, in order to get rid of the distraction, he confided in her the odd feelings that he felt whenever you’d come around to help. Sucrose chalked it up to a crush.

A crush… Albedo didn’t understand fully what it meant to “have a crush” on someone. 

But maybe, just maybe… the tightening feeling in him… was part of that “having a crush”. He did know, however, that he didn’t like this at all.

ALHAITHAM.

Was sort of surprised to hear about it at first.

When he went back home to his books, the word “marriage” somehow came up in his texts, and he remembered what he’d heard earlier.

Skipped past that page as the chapter later branched into a new topic, but he was still thinking.

Though he’d never seen you as a potential romantic partner before, he couldn’t deny the distaste he felt as he pondered the idea of you being called someone else’s wife. 

Still, doesn’t want to think that he feels anything for you.

CYNO.

He’d actually been infatuated by you for quite a while, and he’d only told Tighnari about this.

Because of his job as the General Mahamatra, he knew that if he tried to pursue a relationship with anyone, it would put their life at risk: so in this case, it would put your life at risk. So in the end he just decided it would be best if he kept his feelings to himself.

Who knew that you’d be snatched up by some other man so soon? Well, he had anticipated it… but perhaps he should’ve done something about his feelings before it was too late. And now it was.

Finds himself trying to find out about this person when he’s supposed to be doing his job.

KAVEH.

Stunned, but knows he should’ve expected this. He’s absolutely heartbroken.

He makes an effort to avoid you whenever he can, drowning himself into his architectural work and goes out to drink more often. 

He accidentally spills his emotions to Alhaitham one evening when he came home after drinking particularly heavily one night. Alhaitham doesn't quite comfort him, the two having a strained relationship after all… but Alhaitham did know about your engagement before Kaveh did, but he chose not to tell him himself.

In the end, he accepts that he’s lost you, drowning himself in his work more often.

KINICH.

Mualani was walking with him when this happened, and she hadn’t known about Kinich’s infatuation with you, so she kinda fist-bumped the air in a fit of giggles, she was so happy for you! So happy that she didn’t realize Kinich was walking away until a bit too late.

He goes on with his day, his thoughts somehow always tracing back to you no matter what they were.

In reality, it doesn’t affect Kinich the way it might affect someone else, and that was solely because Kinich understood he had a price to pay for not acting on his feelings quick enough. He didn’t even know if he had the courage to ever try anyway.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t upset though.

NEUVILLETTE.

Being the Chief Justice of Fontaine, Neuvillette never had the time for relationships. Not until he met you, when he found himself wanting to see you happy, liking it whenever you visited him, for any personal matter or work-related. 

The reason he didn’t tell you how he felt was because he was always so busy, and for some time it didn’t occur to him that he didn’t exactly have eternity to spend with you.

Even though the look on his face is apathetic, he truly does feel remorse for not telling you how he felt before it was too late. It rained heavily for the rest of that day.

VENTI.

Doesn’t take it seriously. But perhaps he was just denying it in his mind; you couldn’t be engaged. You were his best friend, how would you have time for him if you had a husband?

Spends his days with you normally, even forgetting what had occurred earlier and enjoying his time with you more – not that he notices how you don’t look at him much at all anymore.

One day while at the tavern, drunk and playing his songs for anyone who spared him a glance, he heard some gossip, as he does whenever he’s there – but it’s about you. You, and that hottie who is your fiance, how cute you guys looked together, how–

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like hearing that.

[coldfanbou]

It Started as a Rental

So to explain this piece, me and @i-am-lifeform24 were both struggling and decided to challenge each other with a concept decided by the other person.

Length 2.9K

Hanni X Mreader

Waiting outside the cafe, you look around, waiting for your date to arrive. You flick through your phone, looking through her profile again. “Hey? Is this you?” You look down at the petite woman in front of you, her long, straight hair swinging as she comes to a stop. It was your girlfriend for the night, Hanni. She held her phone up to you, showing your profile. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Let’s head inside,” You say, opening the door to the cafe and letting her in first. As you order and sit down, you think about your situation. It was a bit pathetic having to rent a girlfriend, but you thought it necessary. Your sister’s wedding was coming up, and you didn’t want to be the only one without a partner; you had bluffed your way into making your family believe you were dating. You just need to find the right woman to bring with you, and Hanni was the first profile you liked after a friend told you about the website for renting girlfriends.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say nervously, trying to start a conversation. 

“Let’s get down to business before this date really begins,” she says politely, with a hint of amusement. Getting this part out of the way first is a lot easier. So, you hired me for five days, one of them being a wedding. I hope you're prepared to play the role of a loving boyfriend." She ruffles through her purse as she looks for something. “You saw my rate on the website; there is just the matter of extras that I personally provide.”

You give her a quizzical look, “Extras? What do you mean extras?”

“Well, most guys want to have sex, and that costs extra. The website might say sex isn’t allowed, but I’m willing to make some…under the table deals. There are limits to what I’m willing to do, and each thing will raise the price, so I just need you to fill this out so I can name a price.” Hanni hands you the piece of paper with kinks listed on one side and prices on the other. 

“Uhm, I’m not interested in this. I just need you for the wedding and these few days to get to know you.”

“Oh, well, that's alright then. I’ll just bring this along with me if you change your mind,” Hanni says, somewhat surprised. She grabs the paper and places it back in her bag. Let’s have fun these next few days.” Hanni puts her bag down and gives you a gentle smile as your drinks arrive. The next few days, you and her go out to different places, and you learn more about her. After your initial worry melts away, you begin to feel close to her.

The day before the wedding, you meet with Hanni again. As you walk by your cafe meeting spot, you find her munching on a piece of bread. She excitedly waves at you, “Right here!” She yells with a mouthful of bread. You take a seat beside her, feeling a little shy as you feel her kiss your cheek. “Did you sleep well?” 

You give her a nod, “Yeah, I slept well. Thanks for asking, did you?” 

“Mhmm! I dreamt of you last night.” She says with a giggle. 

“The wedding is tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Ready as can be,” Hanni says, taking a sip of her coffee before returning to her bread. “I have my dress picked out and everything. She grabs your hands suddenly; you can feel the crumbs on her fingers as she intertwines your hands. “I’m really nervous about meeting your family. Do you think they’ll like me?”

“I’m sure they’ll love you, Hanni. Come on, we have a busy day ahead of us.” You say as you stand up, taking Hanni by the hand as you walk out of the cafe. Spending the day looking at clothes for the wedding, you can’t help but think about Hanni’s beauty and just how cute she was. Hanni lifted a dress off one of the racks, placing it in front of herself and imagining how she looked in it. 

“Do you think this is okay?” The dress she chose was a simple black one; it had oval gaps along the chest as a distinguishing feature. It wouldn’t attract any attention at the wedding otherwise. “I think I’m going to try it on,” Hanni says before scurrying to the closest changing room. She comes out a few minutes later wearing her chosen dress. You looked her up and down; she looked cute. If she had a different shirt under it, it would look better, and you told her so. Hanni pouted before looking around the store and finding a shirt she thought would look better. It had some slight frills that she liked, and as she came back out of the dressing room, you thought she was right. Her outfit was nearly perfect. “How about now?”

“You look great,” you gulp, “Really pretty.” You bring a smile to Hanni's face. She jumps toward you, wrapping her arms around you. You slowly wrap your arms around her, enjoying the hug until you feel her arms tap your side. You let her go, and she changes back to her regular clothes before you begin to search for your clothes. You’re forced to change into several outfits as Hanni hands you several different pieces of clothing, unsatisfied with each one. “Hanni! We’ve gone through so many clothes. Is there nothing that looks good?” You complain.

She brings you another outfit and kisses your cheek as she hands it to you. “I’m sure this is the one.” Her soft smile is enough to convince you, and you head back into the dressing room. As you come back out, Hanni claps her hands, her teeth shining, and she smiles. “That’s the one!” Hanni walks around you, looking it over one more time as she compliments it. As you head to the register, you pay for both sets of clothes. “I can pay for the dress and shirt.”

“No, I got it. Let me take care of it.”

Hanni looks at her feet for a second, and a small sniffle escapes her before she meets your eyes. “Thank you.” After you leave the building, Hanni spins around on her heel, beaming a smile to you.“We have everything now.”

“Yeah, I can pick you up tomorrow for the wedding.”

“No, no. I’ll meet you at your place. Just give me the address. I’ll be there early in the morning.” 

You nod your head. “Alright, that sounds good.” After you give her directions, you and Hanni part ways for the day. 

As you walk away, Hanni grabs your arm, turns you around, and presses her lips onto yours, having to stand on her tippy toes to do so. “There, now we can say bye. Get home safely.” She says with some concern in her voice.

“You get home safely, too.” 

Early the next morning, you wake up after hearing a knock on your door. Hanni is waiting in her wedding outfit. You blink a few times and rub your eyes as you stare at her. She had added a pair of thigh-high socks with a small bow design around her knees and a bow around her head. She gives you a simple smile. “Wake up, sleepy head.” She says cheerily. Today’s the big day, and we need to get you ready. I’ll make you breakfast while you get yourself dressed, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks, Hanni.” You say before kissing the top of her forehead. 

She playfully pushes you away, her small hands cupping your cheeks. “Stop!” She yells, a smile on her face. “You’re going to ruin my makeup. Go change already, mister.” She watches you walk into your room, looking over her shoulder to make sure you didn’t sneak up on her. When you come back out a few minutes later, Hanni is sitting by the counter with an omelet. “You…didn’t have very much in your fridge.” She says weakly.

“Today is when I normally go for the groceries,” You reply. 

Hanni pats the seat next to her, “Sit. Let me feed you.” You follow along, sitting next to her as she stabs into the eggs and brings some to your lips. “Say Ahhh.” You open your mouth and take in the freshly cooked eggs. Hanni giggles as she watches you chew. “How is it? Good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Thanks, Hanni, you’re a pretty good cook.”

“You have to be when you like food,” she says with a chuckle. Now, eat up; we have to get there early.” Hanni takes the time to wipe your face. “You look very handsome in this,” she says as her eyes meet yours.

“You look beautiful too. I really like the bows; they’re cute on you.” You pinch Hanni’s cheek; it’s squishy. You finish breakfast before heading to the chapel, where you introduce Hanni to your family. She greets them well, making a good first impression. 

“I think they like me.” She says as she sits next to you on the bench. 

“Why wouldn’t they like you? You’re so cute and cuddly.”

“Don’t embarrass me!” Hanni slaps your hand away as you try to pinch her cheeks. She gives you a cute pout, her eyebrows furrowing as she tries to look angry. A few seconds later, she breaks, smiling and laughing, and she links her arm around yours. “I hope this part isn’t too long. I get antsy if I sit for too long.” Lucky for the two of you, it was a short ceremony, and you were soon off to the party.

You felt happy with Hanni by your side as you made your way to your seat. She attracted some attention as people asked how she ended up with you. It hurt your pride that they would ask that in front of you, but Hanni’s response made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s kind and makes me feel safe. He makes me feel special when we’re together. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.” She’d say those words while she held your hand, sometimes holding your arm tightly. As you sat down with her, Hanni scooted her chair closer. “Some of your family can be very mean. Do we have to stay here for a long time? I’d rather just spend my time with you.” 

“Just a little while. They’re going to want to do a few dances.” Hanni nods her head, staying by you the entire party. When it was time for the couple dances, Hanni gripped you tightly; your hand and shoulder felt like they were going to be crushed. “A little looser would be great, Hanni.”

“Oh, sorry,” Hanni says as she loosens her grip. You stare into her eyes, knowing she’ll be gone after this. You can’t help but get a little teary-eyed as you look at her. Hanni tilts her head, giving you a confused look. “Don’t cry. There’s no way it hurt that much.” She says, wiping away your tears with one of her hands. “There, all better.” She places her head on your chest as the dance continues. Once it was over, you and Hanni took your leave, wishing everyone well before making your way home. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” She says as she kicks her shoes off. 

You take a seat on the couch, taking a deep breath before looking over at Hanni. She strolls over to you, her hair swaying as she comes to a stop in front of you. She places a hand over your chest and straddles you. You’re caught off guard by her actions. “Hanni?”

“Just this once, I won’t charge you,” You’re confused by her words, but your train of thought goes off the tracks when you feel her press her lips against yours. Her hands move down your biceps to your forearms before she places your hands on her waist. Her hands shift to your shoulders, holding onto them as you feel her grind against you.  

You hold your lips against Hanni’s, your hands digging into her. When you finally break apart, you stare at each other in silence. Hanni undoes the buttons on her dress and lifts it over her shoulders, leaving her in her shirt. You kiss her neck softly as she begins to lift her shirt; your hands snake under it, and you squeeze her modest chest through her bra as she throws it off. Your eyes move up and down her body, taking in her perfectly smooth skin and the clothes she was left in. All that remained were her bra, panties, and her thigh highs. You run your fingers along her spine, moving up toward her bra. You can feel her shiver. Unlatching her bra, you drop it to the floor. You lean in and kiss Hanni’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses as you move upward. She cranes her neck back, cooing. “Take your clothes off, too.” She whines. 

You stop for her, throwing your blazer and shirt off with haste. Hanni helps you with your pants, having to stand up to pull them off you. Now clad in only your underwear, you stare into Hanni’s eyes again. You both knew what you wanted. You leaned down and picked Hanni up. Carrying her to the bedroom, she wrapped her arms and legs around you, clinging to you as you kissed her neck again. 

You dropped Hanni onto your bed, on top of her, before you stripped her of her underwear. She was shaved. As your eyes wander upward, you notice her breathing heavily. You take the time to get rid of the last piece of clothing keeping you from one another. Crawling back over her, you press your lips against hers, your hands running up and down her thighs. You felt her thigh highs; the thin fabric was smooth to the touch, allowing your hands to continue gliding over her. Hanni spreads her legs slowly, and you take notice. You glance down and reach for her slit. Hanni trembles as she feels your fingers run along it. A gentle moan escapes her lips as you tease her.  Hanni holds onto the bedsheets as her mind becomes filled with the pleasure you’re giving her. 

Your fingers were becoming slick as you teased Hanni, your cock began to ache as you watched the petite woman enjoy herself. Your cock tapped against her belly. Hanni looked down and reached for it, her small hand struggling to wrap around it. You groan as her palm rubs against the head. “Don’t tease me anymore,” Hanni moans. She stretches her legs outward and pulls apart her lips. You take a step back, taking in every detail. “Please…fuck me.”  

You gulp and nod your head slowly. Aligning yourself with Hanni’s cunt you push the head in slowly, watching her reaction. Hanni cranes her neck, her eyes closed as she grips the sheets and lets out a deep groan. You hold onto Hanni’s waist, shuddering as you feel her walls squeezing your cock from all sides. You push more inside of Hanni, feeling her walls split apart as you move deeper into her. You moan her name, feeling her walls tighten around you as you do. 

Hanni grabs your wrists, gripping them tightly. “Keep going; I feel so full.” You thrust the rest of your cock inside. Both of you moan loudly, filling the room with the sound. Hanni wraps her legs around your waist; you can feel her feet trying to push you further inside.  You remain buried inside Hanni for a moment, allowing you both to catch your breath. You thrust slowly at first before picking up some speed. Hanni’s warm and wet walls rub the head of your cock as you push in, granting you great pleasure. Her moans are like music to your ears, but you can’t resist her lovely lips. You steal a kiss from her, muffling her beautiful moans. Her arms wrap around your head, keeping you connected to her. 

The rhythm of your thrusts breaks down as you go on; you can feel yourself nearing your climax. Hanni’s walls began to squeeze you tighter as well. You met her eyes and saw she was reaching her limit. “Hanni, I’m going to cum.”

“Me too,” She whimpers; her hands wrap around you tightly, and she pushes you in deeper with her legs. “It’s okay if you cum inside,” She whispers into your ear.

You give her a few more thrusts before cumming inside of her cunt. Hanni’s wall clamps down on your cock as you trigger her climax. You paint her walls white as her cunt greedily takes it all. 

Pulling out slowly, you stare at Hanni’s body. She had a thin layer of sweat over her. You fall beside her, staring at her. She turns onto her side, staring back at you. A soft smile forms on her face. “I’d love it if we could meet again.” She says with a hint of shyness in her voice. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, “I…um, had a really good time with you these past few days. You weren’t like the others.” Hanni pauses again, “I meant what I said at the wedding. You’re really a good guy, and…” Hanni struggles to find the words. “Do…you want to meet again? I mean…without the website.”

You caress Hanni’s cheek, your thumb moving across it gently. She places her hand over the top of yours. “I’d love to go on another date.” Hanni gives you a sincere smile and moves closer to you, burying her head in your chest as you both drift off to sleep.

[bonbonly]

same anon from pussy drunk max and I just thought of this and had to share. Hold my hand on this one, pussy inspection. Doesn’t matter who you write it for but just wanting to “check” you at random times through the day. Holding you spread, checking if you’re tight and punishing you for ruining your panties telling you that you can’t just walk around wet all the time or else he’ll have to confiscate your panties and pants. The idea of him spreading you out and nudging your clit, sliding his fingers in and out, maybe even checking if you still take his cock perfectly is so hot to me. Especially if he’s successfully restraining himself from fucking you, after all he can’t fuck you unless he inspects you properly. Going insane over this idea please add more

ASDFASDFASF I AM GOING FERALLL OVER THIS YOU CAN'T JUST PUT THIS IN MY INBOX AND THEN EXPECT ME NOT TO EXPLODE I-

ok deep breaths, deep breaths bon, you got this asfasdfasf

bon thoughts (18+)

you know who i see this as? collegeau!charles leclerc. this is so him, and I'm going to make sure ALL of you see why this is him. he's the sweetest boy ever in the university, and he volunteers and goes training to be an inspector because he thinks it'll look good on his resume. and he's very hell bent on being professional, but then he sees you and all he can think about is how he's hoping you end up on his list of patients so he can finally inspect you.

when he walks into the room one day, he sees you naked and spread out completely, your pussy on display for him, as if you were made for him. he's biting his lips, taking a deep breath in and trying to keep his reputation intact. good sweet boy charles couldn't possibly try to ruin you, but the demons in his mind told him otherwise. he sits on a small stool, his face inches from your cunt. you prop yourself up on elbows, asking him how long this will take because you had a class to attend to soon and he's smiling like an idiot, nodding his head and talking about how he understands your concerns. he grabs some gloves, slipping them on carefully before taking his thumb and massaging your clit slowly. his eyes are on you, watching your reactions as you gasp out loud, head thrown back before you ultimately fall back onto the head of the bed you were laying on. when he thinks you're wet enough, he slips a finger in,

"just checking to see how tight you are, ma chérie," he murmurs, licking his lips, he wants to wrap his mouth around your cunt but he's holding himself back. he'd have to wait. he's adding a second finger, astonished how your body's welcoming him and when he curls and hits a spot inside you, you're moaning out loud. he pulls his fingers out, nodding his head and taking some notes and tells you that you're good for your first check-up.

and then the days pass, and you didn't show up to a couple of his checks, which has him a bit impatient. everyone was busy with their lives, though, but you? oh, he spent days thinking about you, how could you do this to him? so when you do show up, he's upset at you but even more upset that you're pussy is glistening in the light. you're dripping onto the bed beneath you, and he has no idea why that's so, but he doesn't like it one bit. you explain to him that this boy said something to you that made you feel funny. charles isn't happy one bit, and he's rubbing your clit harder than he's supposed to, watching your pussy hole clench around nothing,

"ma chérie, you cannot be walking around like this. ruining your panties, drenching what ever you wear. what if someone else sees? is that what you want? you want people to see how wet you are?" he's scolding you, and you're getting wetter at his words, unsure as to why your tummy was feeling weird, as if there was a pressure waiting to be unleashed. charles is shaking his head, not even waiting to hear your response, "i might order you to never wear anything to cover this cunt of yours, so that everyone can see how needy your pussy is."

his restraint is out the window, and he now has his cock out. his tip is crying for you, leaking excessively and you tilt your head, trying to understand what part of the procedure this was. charles notices your confusion and reassures you, "just to see if you can take a cock, or specifically my cock."

and he sinks himself into you, watching you moan out loud as he begins to fuck you at a pace that might be a little too much for you, but he doesn't care. he's been waiting for days for this, and he has no signs of stopping now. he almost catches himself leaning forward to kiss you, he knows better than to get involved like this but he figures in the next appointments he could get closer to you. right now, all he wants is to fill your cunt up with his cum, "you can only ever do this with me, no one else. never take anyone's cock outside of this exam room unless it's mine."

and you nod your head, willing to follow along with whatever he said. he's the sweetest boy on campus, he obviously was doing this for your own good!

[judenostopwaitkeepgoing]

A Class Analysis of the Crown Villains

Analyzing all of the EN-released Villains from who would be the most to least wealthy in 1890s Victorian England.

A/N: This is just for fun! These characters/stories are not that deep, and I don’t want them to be! I just find it fun and silly to think through what this world would actually look like in history, and maybe you do too! 😊 Spoilers for pretty much every villain on the EN server, so read at your own risk! Also I am not a historian or economist, just a gal with a computer, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

Also, I’m assuming that Ikémen Villains takes place sometime in the 1890s in London, England—the tail end of Queen Victoria’s rule. This estimated time frame is based mostly on Harry’s love of Arthur Conan Doyle and passing mentions of when “he has a new novel coming out.” Doyle was a prolific writer and wrote for a long time, but I wanted to keep the time period specific enough to really think through what the economics would be like.

Wealthiest - Jude Jazza

Originally I was going to put the villains who belong to the gentry (Elbert and William and ... Victor??? Maybe?? haha) at the top of the list, but the more I thought it through, the more it became clear that in order for Jude to realistically carry out some of the actions in his route (which I haven’t finished!) or various story events/collection events, he would need to be so fucking rich. Like stupid wealthy. Like not quite at Jeff Bezos level of wealth, but pretty up there.

And baby started from the bottom now he’s here, okay! The fact that Jude grew up in abject poverty then became a successful CEO of a trading company originally struck me as one of the more unrealistic things in the game (which I do not care about, he’s still daddy), but the more I looked into it, the more I got on board with it. The writers were smart to add a rich benefactor to his backstory, because in 1890s London, that was probably the only way for a poor kid from the slums to receive an education. Wealth disparity was bad in the 1890s, and people were mad about it! Jude’s hatred of the rich and powerful is in keeping with working class (and even some middle class) attitudes at the time. And with the rapid development and expansion of the Port of London (from the completion of the Royal Victoria Dock in 1855 to the Port of Tilbury in 1886), trading was the business to be in at the time. So it’s not impossible that Jude could have just lucked out in a few key ways and worked extremely hard to get to where he is (although he would still probably be considered a unicorn in this time period).

As for Raven Co.’s annual profit: who knows. I’m guessing it’s in the billions in today’s money. I’m unsure what Jude’s salary would be, he is explicitly characterized in his route as a fair boss who pays his workers a living wage, but he’s also like randomly really generous with like Ellis or Kate (i.e. giving Ellis a blank check for Xmas, giving Kate more than enough money to get a dress, etc.) so he’s probably taking home plenty. And considering how smart Jude is, he’s probably pretty savvy about saving and investing his money. He also makes a lot of deals and has a lot of involvement overseas, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has bank accounts in several countries. The man is committed to building his rocket, okay! I’d say his annual income is in the hundred millions of dollars (in today’s money). But his net worth is probably in the billions.

Lord Elbert Greetia

Okay, now on to our first landed-gentry boy: Lord Elbert. Lord Elbert is most likely the wealthiest member of Crown in terms of generational wealth, with William coming in a close second.

Elbert is a member of the landed gentry or “peerage” and uses the title of “Lord,” which he inherited from his father. Being in this class means that he not only has significant wealth (in literal pounds and assets), but it also means that he has a rock-solid social standing and owns land. Land ownership is a big deal here because it means that Lord Elbert has the power to control anyone who might be living/working on property that he owns. And I’m not just talking servants/staff at his estate, I’m talking residents of any townships or villages on the likely acres and acres of land that he's in control of. So he has a passive income via taxing residents and laborers on his land(s)... forever! Being in this class also makes his wealth a lot more stable and immutable than say, Jude, who is a great businessman but whose income and assets are at the mercy of the market/demand.

Elbert’s character in the game is very stoic (until Kate shows up!), and he has deep trauma from his childhood home, so he doesn’t seem to exercise a ton of the privileges that would be available to him in terms of controlling the people who live on his properties. But, if we’re talking the 1890s here, he would probably have entire villages or even small towns under his economic purview. I think of him as a Mr. Darcy type, probably bringing in about £10,000 a year, or a little over £1.5 million/$2 million in today’s money. This combined with the cost of all of his assets or “beautiful things” that he compulsively collects (artwork, fine furniture, jewels, real estate, etc.) means I’d estimate his net worth to be about $70-100 million in today’s money.

Lord William Rex

I’m only putting William after Elbert because I do think Elbert has more non-cash assets, simply from the nature of his curse which causes him to be greedy. But let’s be clear: Lord William is also loaded. He, like Elbert, is a member of the peerage of the time and owns lots of land/real estate. He probably receives a pretty substantial passive income from all of his properties like Elbert.

I do think there’s one key difference between them: I have a feeling that William would either redistribute some of the income that he gets from any taxed residents/workers on his properties or lower their taxes—he just seems like the type to be about that. So that’s another reason why I think Elbert might have a higher net worth. Still, we find out that William paid for the construction of a hospital in his route, and for a man to do that in the 1890s, he’d have to be pretty freaking rich. I’d say that his net worth is probably somewhere between $50-100 million in today’s money.

Victor???

Big question mark around Victor! I’m putting him here just because he is so connected to the Queen, and unless we learn something different from his route, I’m pretty sure that means he’s at least upper class, if not a (former) member of the gentry/peerage. Or perhaps comes from a wealthier family. He also receives a salary and lodging from the Queen (as do all the members of Crown I think) so he’s certainly getting all of his needs met. He’s also the oldest member of Crown, which just makes me assume he’s had more time to accrue savings. But couldn’t tell you what his net worth is even if you held a gun to my head, this is all just vibes haha.

Liam Evans

Liam grew up comfortably upper class, basically wealthy despite not being a member of the landed gentry. His father owns an estate, or at least did when Liam was a child, and had staff and servants. Because of his mental illness and disfigurement, Liam’s father probably relied entirely on family money after a certain point.

As an adult, and considering he is a successful and popular leading actor at a major theater in London at the time, Liam is doing well for himself! He is now much better off than his father! Good riddance! Actors at the major theaters at the time were typically paid anywhere between 2-25 pounds per week, and Liam was likely on the upper end of that spectrum. Let’s say he takes home 20 pounds a week, which in today’s money would be about 3,200 pounds, or about 4,000 dollars. That’s 208,000 dollars a year before tax! Not bad at all! But, it’s worth noting, that at the time actors were definitely not seen as contributing members to society (especially women/actresses—they were essentially thrown into the same category as sex workers), so Liam’s social standing in the grand scheme of things is definitely lower as an actor than it was probably growing up in an upper-middle class house.

Ellis Twilight + Alfons Sylvatica

I’m throwing these two in here together because they are probably doing well for themselves, but only because they are attached to a super-rich person haha. Who knows what their salaries/wages are or what kind of deal they have with their respective sugar daddies (hehe) but suffice to say they don’t have to worry about money. Alfons is probably more irresponsible with his money, only because of his lifestyle, but even so he’s nowhere near as big of a spender as Elbert so it probably all ends up a wash. And I’m assuming that Jude pays Ellis pretty well because he loves him lol.

Harrison Gray

Okay, this one took some digging! Harry’s dad was a police officer, which in today’s world would mean that his family was pretty well-off and Harry had a comfortable upbringing. Not a member of the upper classes/gentry, but probably solidly middle class. This is also implied in the game, or at least Harry isn’t one of the characters that we know grew up poor.

But, it turns out, police officers weren’t paid super well in mid/late 1800s London! Harry’s dad would probably be on the better-paid side of the spectrum because he was a chief/high-ranking, but the police were a relatively new-ish phenomenon and weren’t considered “high-value” professionals. Harry’s dad likely only took home about 10 guineas a week, which in today’s money is about £1,400 or $1,700, so he was making about $88,000 a year in today’s money (before taxes). Which would be relatively comfortable for a single person today, but for a family in the 1800s would be pretty much living paycheck to paycheck with maybe a couple splurge purchases a year (like for Christmas or birthdays). So Harry’s family wasn’t anywhere near as poor as Jude or Alfons were growing up, but they likely lived quite modestly!

As an adult, Harry probably makes a healthy salary as an editor/proofreader. Publishing was booming in the 1890s, and writers were most often serialized in weekly publications, which meant a steady income for both writers and publishers. I’d say Harry is probably taking home a couple hundred pounds at the least per week, so something in the thousands of dollars in today’s terms. It’s unclear to me what the rules of living in Crown castle are. Like do they pay rent? I don’t think so? Let’s say they don’t, which means Harry gets to save/keep all his wages and only spends on personal stuff. He doesn’t seem like the biggest spender, if anything he reads as very sensible with money to me, haha. So he’s likely got a cozy little net worth building up but nothing crazy. Since wealth stratification is so extreme in this time period (the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor), Harry would probably be making enough to still be looked down on by the upper classes and enough to still be the object of contempt for the lower classes.

Poorest ? - Roger Barel

Doctors today are very well paid, but this was not the case in the late 1800s! Growing up, Roger’s dad probably had an annual salary of about 300-500 pounds a year, or roughly $45k-$80k in today’s money. Not a lot to live on for a whole family now, but this probably went further in the 1870s/80s when Roger was growing up. It’s implied that his family lived relatively comfortably, so I’m guessing that his dad had a good reputation and was sought after for his surgical expertise. He may have even gotten paid to teach in surgery ‘theatres’ of the time. (I haven’t read or looked much into Roger’s route so this might be wrong!)

I’m only ranking him last because he seems to not be formally employed haha. Since Roger is not a publicly practicing surgeon, he is relying on his income (?) and lodging from Crown for his day-to-day expenses. This could be any amount it seems, haha, depending on what he asks Victor/the Queen for. He doesn’t seem like a crazy spender, so he’s probably not complaining. I have no idea what his salary would be, though. It doesn’t seem like Crown bothers with all that, haha.

[sleepy-with-the-stars]

I think it's finally time to share something I've been really excited about for a couple days now!!

I've started a Bah archival project!! But with a bit of a twist!

It's on simply plural!!

Now, to explain how all of this works :p

I created a simply plural account, specifically for the sake of archiving as many packs as I can ( @ simply-sleepy-bah ). you may be wondering, why simply plural? well, firstly because I love the markddown support :p, but more importantly, because the simply plural account won't have the risk of deactivation! another reason behind the account is that I want a way to give back t this wondrful community even when I am dealing with a lot irl, and archiving packs in general takes a lot less time and effort for us then having to collect all the info in making one ourselves.

Now, How does the set up work? well, we create profiles for each pack, picking a faceclaim used in the pack as the avatar, and putting some core info in the description, along with credits, a link to the original post, and pretty web graphics :p

for example:

then, we add them to groups in order to make it easier for anyone looking for something more specific! we have groups for: species, roles, age, alter type, source, original creators, and finally, warnings!

Warnings include anything I can think of that could be considered triggering, as well as certain things added to packs that may make people uncomfortable or may be something someone is specifically looking for (ex: NSFW, MUD's, Paras, Etc)

Any listed roles will include descriptions (generally copy and pasted from pluralpedia when applicable), though we often make a few profiles before going through and adding descs to all of them so they may not have them right away.

We then have the filled out custom fields sections which include

"general info" "personal info" "system info" "other info" "alternate faceclaims" "web graphics" "other images" and "aesthetics" // these will be made up to include any and all info on the original packs.

to finish off the post, feel free to ask any questions you may have as well as going and adding the account! thank you so much to all the blogs who allowed me to include their packs when getting started while I was seeing if I thought this was something doable for me, including @bah-theater , @sketchygardenbah , @jellyfish-bah , @wishfulbah , @enadream-bah and @snowflake-bah !!

any BAH blogs seeing this who would like their posts included in the archive feel free to comment and I'll try my best to get to yours! I'll be trying to check the friend reqs on the account as much as possible to let you all in, have a nice day guys! I hope you're as excited aboout this all as I am!

[sideblogtointeract]

Theseus' Guide to Ruining a Perfectly Good Ship in a Bottle

A list made on the loosest association of words, with an even looser tie to this fanfiction

Stan

Give him an Amati model kit and he is happy as a clam. He's moded several already and resold them as "ghost ships" in bottles and "wreckage of a ghost ship" in a bottle for the ones Soos or Mabel drop.

Mabel

Lego model of ship in a bottle. After its built she'll change out vingettes/scenery. Soos, Wendy, and Stan are deeply invested in the unfolding soap opera Mabel crafts with it.

Dipper

Is really excited to make his first ship in a bottle, and he'll make one! Just as soon as he finishes reading a book on how to do it, and reads the other three he asked for his birthday. Maybe he'll go to the library to checkout the books the books he got used in the citation. He's going to build the ship, believe you me, he really isn't going to move onto something else in t minus 4 months. This ship? Getting built.

Ford

"Oh you meant as in an actual ship? Hah!" Ford has been maintaining an excellent example of Darwin's "Beagle in a Bottle" experiment for years now NOT a replica of the HMS Beagle in a bottle you silly.

Bill

It's the 1940s, your run is just beginning but already you feel like your life is over because prom is in two weeks and you just know Arch is going to ask Beronica not you to go with him. Can you blame him? You're just good ol’ dependable Vetty, girl next door Arch's on again off again no-on again “let's not put labels on this” girlfriend. Beronica is everything you're not she wears short skirts which you also wear but it's different. She's cheer captain and you're… also cheer captain — sometimes your co-captain it depends on the issue. Anyways she's rich, and beautiful, and perfect, and wonderful, and if it wasn't for the fact she was a brunette you'd have nothing on her.

“Oh Pops! What am I going to do?” You whine to the man working the bar at the soda shop.

“Well it's as I always tell you crazy kids, answers aren't found at the bottom of an Egg Cream.”

“But they sure are delicious!” Your longtime friend Bottlehead — wearer of cool hats and, more recently, cooler shades —  stops eating table napkins long enough to quip.

“And how!” All three of you laugh before Bottlehead goes back to slurping down  plastic straws like they're spaghetti. 

“If you want Arch to take you to the dance, just ask him yourself.” Pops suggests, like an out of touch square.

“This is the prom, Pops, not Sadie Hawkins!” You complain, pushing your half finished Egg Cream away. 

“Besides, I tried. I think he’s avoiding me.” You add, sinking into your seat.

“Say! Why don't you go ask that cursed fortune telling machine at the abandoned fairgrounds?” Bottlehead suggests, reaching for your abandoned drink.

“Golly that's a great idea! Bottlehead, if your mouth wasn't full of glass I could kiss you!!!” Bottlehead suffers a hug from you instead as he continues to consume your discarded order. cup and all.

You sock hop out of the establishment and cross the street to the abandoned fairgrounds.

Hopping over the rusted turnstile and side stepping some police tape you make your way to the culturally insensitive but period accurate fortune telling machine. Feeding it one of your hard earned and always valuable pennies the automata jolts to life. 

The words are garbled over the loud clacking of the doll's mouth, out of sync with the tinny audio. Which is fine, the opening number is an offensive milieu of ethnic stereotyping. The real magic is when you press the button with your wish in mind and the machine prints out the most accurate supernatural reading it can.

You know it's accurate because, unlike biological fortune tellers, machines don't care about sparing your feelings from the celestial forces that rule over you. Just the facts. 

“Please tell me how to get Arch to ask me to the dance.” You whisper your wish before slapping your hand onto the golden glowing button and watch as your destiny is printed onto gold backed ticketape.

For a brief second you hear a faint whimsical giggle as you rip off your printed fortune.  Looking around you see no one in the abandoned fairgrounds.  It’s just you, the chalk outline you're standing on, the automaton with its outstretched hand to shake, and the police tape surrounding you.

“That’s odd,” you muse. “When did you move?” You ask but the better question is how did it move?  Because aside from the rudimentary motions reserved for nutcrackers the machine’s body was a plaster mold that had no joints to move.

Yet here it is, hand out in greeting.  No. Not greeting, a deal and if you keep over-analysing I am going to take it back.

“What?” You ask as the internal narrative becomes as structurally unsound as the White House during this time period — look it up.

You turn to go to the Daleriver Library — now certified communist book free — to do just that, then are reminded by the text that you still need to read your fortune for our readers!

“If you want to be with your one true… loves?” You pause to puzzle at this but not for any longer than it takes to read this sentence.  “... forever. Then shake my hand.” You Continue.

“Your friend, Bill?” You don’t know who that is but you bet he is really keen and neato to have a name like that. You feel really embarrassed that you don’t remember having a friend like that. It would be really rude to leave a pal hanging, especially when they went through all this trouble for you.

So you shake the cold hand of the automaton before you. You don’t register that the glass pane wasn’t there, that the hard resin arm moves like flesh— no, all your focus is on the bright gold cat eyes looking back at you and the return of a giggle that grows into an outright cackle.  

Wind whips around you, police tape flying like ribbons caught in a tornado, and you stand still in the eye of it.

“Hiya Vetty,” The automaton greets, jaw held open like a snake— or like a smile, let’s not be rude.  “long time fan first time crossover. You and I have got a lot in common.” The machine continues but the tin from its voice box layers with the voice in the wind that has stopped laughing and now talks in sync with it. 

You don’t try to speak, you want to, but I don’t need to write around your wants anymore.

“Both of our fandoms question our interest in men and we share the same banana yellow pantone. Me for my body, you for your hair and… eyes?” The voice coming from all around, you guess correctly that this is Bill — smarty that you are, that earns you a free can of brown meat! — finishes. You don’t know what he looks like exactly but from the description he sounds like a real dream boat.

“My eyes aren't —” You hold that thought and pop a squat in front of the fortune telling machine. You jimmy open the front and reach inside it.

“Bet you weren’t expecting so much organ meat?” You ask yourself but you're not the one talking.

You pull your red stained arm out of the warm pulsing mass before you to free a pristine glass bottle. In its reflection you see your mouth split into a painfully wide grin scrunching your now golden eyes, a mirror image to the automaton leering over you; below that you see a tiny version of Arch banging his fist against his transparent prison. 

“Ever Dream of Jeannie kid?” Asks your new best friend, still borrowing your body and voice.

“Of course you don't! That's not for another 20 years!” Your hands uncork the top of the bottle.

The soft “tink” of glass tapping concrete reverberates in the abandoned fairground.  A moment passes in silence. 

Then you see shoes.

“Two down,” Bottlehead says, bending down to grab you. If he hears you and Arch’s pleas he doesn’t care as he gently returns your bottle prison back into its warm nest of organs. Gold eyes look over slick sunglasses and give you a wink. “... one to go.”

[gold-onthe-inside]

with love, from reid

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: after a case ruins spencer's carefully planned valentine's date, he does his best to make up for it. but all you needed was him. and all the gifts in the world are nothing compared to yours. word count: 3.3k based on: Valentine’s Day Request - Spencer and his partner are separated for Valentines Day (maybe he went to go visit his mom or he was on a special assignment like in Minimal Loss and a storm grounded flights) but he uses every method possible to give his partner the most amazing Valentines Day ever. a/n: i'm so sorry for sitting on this request forever, but inspiration struck today i guess. hope you like it anon.

Spencer’s not like other guys. It’s the mantra you have to keep using to keep your head on straight. But being cheated on by someone you had been about to marry changes your whole perspective on things. Makes it harder to trust, even the most angelic man you’ve ever met. You have to take a deep breath every time he gets a call from JJ or Penelope, have to remind yourself that there’s a valid reason for every missed date, every morning you wake up without him. Because it’s scary how much you like him, how often you think about him.

The scarce amount of time you both get makes the little moments more important, and he knows it. In his head, he’s been building it up, down to the cardigan he would wear on the 14th. He’s calculated the exact amount of time it takes to get from Quantico to your hospital, chosen a restaurant within walking distance — something right up your alley with exotic food and a quiet atmosphere. He knows how many footsteps it’ll take to get there, how many topics you can cover, all of it, down to miniscule details. The flower arrangements that would wait for you both. The menu he had memorised in his head, knowing exactly what you would order. The average time it would take for you both to finish eating while talking. The train back to his apartment, where your favourite movie would be waiting.

If only he could control this unsub the same way. But they were no closer to finding the unsub on the 13th as they were two days ago. He’d been putting off the call all day, staring at his phone until Alex had pointed it out, unravelling the first stitch of his sealed lips. The seam split and he told her everything — the date he’d planned, the flowers he’d bought in advance, the reservation that was waiting for you. He receives the pat on the knee he’d been expecting from Alex, the promise that you’d be understanding (who would know better than her, really?), and her stern voice telling him to call you.

You can hear the regret in his voice when he calls, the tired fatigue that makes you smile sympathetically. “Did you get home okay?” he asked, scuffing the back of his sneakers against the floor, standing right outside the precinct, stars glittering above him, much brighter in Tennessee than in DC. It’s a whole nother date on his bucket list — going star-gazing with you.

“Yeah, just now,” you replied, and he can see you in his mind’s eye, taking off your boots and neatly arranging them in your rack, keys in a clay dish that an 8 year old had made for you, the crick in your neck that he wants to massage for you. “How about you? Any closer to finding your strangler?”

“No,” he huffs, leaning against the railing. There’s a slight chill in the air, but he can’t feel it, not right now. He just wants to hear your voice. “But that’s not important — I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

You huffed a small laugh, and he can hear you bustling around over the call, maybe changing into your pyjamas, or hunting for ingredients to make a quick dinner for one, and a frustrated ache builds behind his eyes. He wants to be there, with you, listening to old jazz music and making dinner and small talk. “I think I’m in less danger than the FBI agent hunting down a serial killer, honey.”

“You’re always in less danger than I am,” he grumbles, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lip. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back and picturing the dimly lit kitchen in your apartment, the scent of spices and the warmth of old vinyl records. “I miss you,” he confesses in a soft, almost broken tone.

He hears you pause, a palpable beat passing before you murmured, “I miss you too.”

“I wish I could be there,” he says. He wants to run a hand down your back, trace his knuckles over your cheek to feel the softness of your skin. “I had a whole night planned for us tonight.”

"I know, lovely," you murmured, leaning on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to your ear. "There'll be other nights."

He sighs. He hates having to cancel on you, especially now, when they’re already so rare. “Not like this one,” he mutters, and he knows you can probably tell by his tone that he’s pouting like a child.

“Why, because tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day?” you asked, talking while making a quick pasta.

He’s quiet for a second. Then — “Yes,” he admits in a near-whine. “It was going to be a special night.”

"Spence... Every day is Valentine's Day with you," you said, knowing exactly how cheesy you sound and running with it anyway.

Spencer’s just grateful you can’t see his face right now, because he knows he’s blushing a little, that he has an adorably smitten smile on his lips and he’s sure it would only embarrass him if you could see. “Sap,” he accuses lovingly.

"Said the man who collects ticket stubs of every movie we see," you retorted, grinning into the phone.

He sputters. “That’s — that’s — you’re not supposed to know about those,” he complained. “I keep those for myself, they’re a private collection for a reason.“

“Wow, what happened to what’s yours is mine?” you teased him, watching the pasta boil, and Christ, you felt like a lovestruck teenager right now, like those sickly sweet couples in Hallmark movies.

“That’s — there’s exceptions to that rule,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare touch those. I’ve sorted them in chronological order, by the way — if one is out of place, I’ll know it was you messing around, looking over my things.”

You laughed into the phone, bright even with how tired you felt, because he brought it out of you, a glowing feeling in your chest that made the ache in your feet hurt a little less. It’s a sound that never fails to make his heart skip — the softest, most wonderful noise he’s ever heard. “I wish I was there,” he says again, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with want.

"I know," you said quietly, watching the water grow cloudy as your pasta cooks. "But those women need you more than I do right now, Spence."

“Stop using logic on me,” he says, only half-joking, his expression serious even though you can’t see it. “I want to be selfish with you tonight.”

"Sweetheart, you don't have a selfish bone in your body," you replied affectionately.

“It’s not fair,” he complains, still playing the part of the pouting child in his mind, just whining and grumpy because he wants to be with you. “I was going to give you flowers, and take you out to dinner, and I was going to drive you home and kiss you so much—”

"We can still do that," you said, cutting him off before he could fill your head with ideas and then you could say goodbye to sleeping peacefully tonight.

“Not tomorrow,” he says. He’s almost definitely pouting right now, staring down at the pavement, his eyes dark under his lashes. “And it’s only Valentine’s once a year, I wanted it to be perfect.”

You fretted as you turned the gas off, putting off straining the pasta as you turned into the phone. “Why’s this so important to you, angel?” you asked softly.

It’s one of the things he loves about you — the gentleness with which you handle him, the way you ooze with care and curiosity instead of coddling concern. “This is our first Valentine’s,” he replies, slightly petulant. “And I wanted it to be good. Something you could look back on. I had it all planned out.”

Christ, you could cry with how much Spencer cared about you. You couldn’t remember anyone, boyfriend or not, who loved you this much. “You know it would’ve been perfect, regardless, right?” you asked gently. “You and me, that’s all I need. Even if it’s over a phone line.”

He’s quiet for a moment, just listening to you speak. “You deserve the best,” he says eventually. “You deserve flowers. And an elegant restaurant. And a movie. And a home cooked meal.” And me, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. “Not a phone call and the knowledge that your boyfriend is across the country.”

"Sweetheart, I get all of that from you even when it isn't Valentine's," you said, in that same gentle tone. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were here when you could be catching a killer."

“Why do you have to be reasonable?” Spencer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face again because you’re being entirely too logical for him to fight with right now. “That’s not fair.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms and leaning on the counter. "We'll have a make-up date, I promise," you said. "Just how you planned it."

That seems to pacify him a little bit, because he lets out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, slightly begrudgingly. “But I’m in charge of planning. You don’t get a say in the matter.”

You fake a tsk, as if planning mattered at all to you. "Fine. Whatever you decide."

That makes a soft, contented sound form in his throat — one bordering on possessive. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and you can all but envision the smirk on his lips.

"Go find your killer," you chided him, grinning stupidly, but there's no bite in it.

He lets out an amused huff. “Yes ma’am,” he teases, before his tone softens again. “I miss you. I’ll try to come home as soon as I can, okay?”

"Okay," you replied. "Stay safe, please."

“I will,” he promises, because he knows how much the thought of him getting hurt scares you. “Don’t worry about me.”

You snorted quietly, like it was possibly to not worry about him on cases. "Bye."

“Bye,” he responds quietly, and he wishes he could kiss you goodbye, trace the line of your lips with his fingers and feel the pulse in your neck against his fingers. “Sweet dreams.”

"You too," you whispered before hanging up. Spencer stands there for another moment after the call ends, his phone still in his hand and his heart heavy, and he wonders if it’s possible for someone to actually ache from missing someone this much.

And then Morgan’s calling him inside with his newly minted nickname since dating you — ‘lover boy’ — to adjust the geographic profile and he’s unwillingly dragged back into the vortex that is his job. And he has to shove any thoughts of you to the back of his mind for the time being, the lingering ache at the edge of his chest a constant, nagging thing that he has to continuously push past to focus on the case.

The whole team is working hard to try and solve this, but progress is slow. Somewhere between analysing blood spatter patterns and doing his own research to figure out their unsub’s deal, he does his best to plan your make-up date, paranoid that someone would see him looking for places to take you and make his day worse. Eventually, tired of having to look over his shoulder, he bites the bullet and calls Garcia for help, even if it would no doubt get back to Morgan and the rest of the team.

And then he has to deal with Garcia’s excited squealing, her incessant questions about you both, her comments about how cute he is and how she needs to meet you. He keeps his head down and grits his teeth, because he knows she means no harm, and it’s a small price to suffer through just to have this night be perfect.

The first thing to arrive was a bouquet of tulips with your morning paper waiting outside your door, a pretty arrangement of red and pink that matched the outfit you were going to wear to work — the whole department had agreed to come in red, white, and pink colours — and you can’t stop smiling as you go to put in a vase with water.

He gets the picture texted to him in the middle of a briefing with Hotch and the team, barely able to restrain his smile as he checked his phone under the table.

You: They’re beautiful, thank you.

He’s oblivious to Morgan giving him an odd look as he texted you back:

Spencer: Only the best for the most beautiful girl in the world.

Spencer tucks his phone back into his pocket when the meeting ends, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Morgan. He knows he’s going to get bombarded with questions he doesn’t feel like answering, and for once he’s glad they have a case to work on so he can use that as an excuse not to interact with him.

The second arrival was a package sent to your office, because of course he had your shift schedule memorised, and you signed for it, grasping the brown paper package that was obviously a book back to your desk. There’s no reason for you to hide it, not in the sanctity of your own office, but it’s as if you’re back in school, your crush sending you a note that you unfurl under your desk, finding a hardbound copy of Persuasion, arguably your favourite Austen novel.

You do your best not to blush, picking up your phone to text him, chewing on your lip before flipping to the right chapter and sending him a direct quote.

You: There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.

Spencer’s in the middle of examining a body when you sent him the text. But as soon as he feels his phone vibrate, he pulls it out without a second thought, uncaring of the fact that Morgan and Rossi are looking his way. He has to hold back a smile because no, he won’t give Morgan any ammunition.

Spencer: You have my whole heart.

“You two are sickening, I hope you know that,” Morgan told him, a smirk on his lips.

Spencer’s head snaps up in alarm at the sound of his voice, and he quickly drops his phone in his pocket, face flushing. He’s silent for a minute, trying to regain his composure and come up with something to defend himself. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he replied weakly.

"Uh-huh," Rossi replied, masking a smile. "Can we look at the body now, or does your girlfriend have more input?" He wouldn’t be surprised if you did, to be honest, but he’d rather keep you out of this part of his world. He just shook his head, stepping closer to the slab.

Your last gift came in just as Valentine’s Day was about to come to an end, Spencer silently tracking into your apartment, 5 minutes away from midnight, cringing as he opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. You’re asleep, your breathing soft and deep, the soft, soothing sound filling the room. He kneels by your side of the bed for a moment, just looking at you: all loose-limbed and relaxed, your face soft and sweet against the pillow. He can’t help the little smile that tugs the corner of his mouth up, and he wonders how he got so lucky. Softly, he reaches out, fingertips gentle as he brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You flinched, startled awake, until you recognise Spencer's eyes blinking back at you. "Jesus Christ, you scared me," you breathed out. "You should have told me you were coming."

“I was trying to be quiet,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so only you would hear. His hand brushed the curve of your jaw, a soft, almost reverent motion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sink back into your pillows, shifting inside so he can sit on the edge. "I would have waited up for you if you'd called first," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip right against your knee, his fingers still trailing along your face, then resting on your thigh over the covers. “I tried to get home earlier,” he said, and he sounded exhausted, the stress of the case weighing on him. “But the team was debating something. And then paperwork...”

"You don't have to explain," you said softly, shaking your head, making a mess of your hair.

He watches you, his gaze lingering on the mussed locks on your head, the sleepy bleariness to your eyes, the pinkness to your cheeks, and he feels a surge of longing so strong it borders on painful for a moment. He loves you like this — soft and sweet and rumpled with sleep, and he wants nothing more than to curl up next to you right here and now. “I hate being away from you for so long,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you so much.”

"Should've caught your guy faster then," you said, shifting up to meet his lips with yours. "Happy Valentine's."

He returned your kiss, his fingers trailing up to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Happy Valentine’s,” he murmured against your lips, before he was kissing you again, harder this time, and you could tell he was tired by the urgency with which he held onto you.

"I realised something when you were away, you know," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, his fingers still trailing along the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and studying your face with those sharp, intelligent eyes of his.

You nodded, looking at him with your own fond gaze. "I love you," you said softly. Plain and uncomplicated.

He had heard those words plenty of times in his life, but he’d never tire of hearing them from your lips. He felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he moved his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Say it again?” he whispered.

"I love you," you repeated, your smile glowing in the dark, streetlights dancing over your ceiling.

He felt something in his chest settle at the words, at the reassurance that you really were here, and you were his. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your nose, the. corner of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “God, I love you so much.”

Your arms winded around him, his face burying itself in your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his arms wrapped around your waist. His hands slipped up under your sleep shirt, his touch warm and soft against your back, and he practically sunk into you, needing the closeness, needing to be surrounded by you.

"I know the day didn't go to plan," you murmured, "but this is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, like he couldn’t get enough of having you pressed against him, and he pulled his head back from your neck so he could look at you properly. “Me too,” he said, then reconsidered. “Well, the whole day was hell, but this… this is perfect.”

"Yeah?" you asked, pecking his lips.

He chased your mouth, kissing you again, lingering on your lips for longer. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Being with you is all I need.”

[doberbutts]

Recently Youtube's algorithm really wants me to watch Schindler's List and I never had so the other night I sat down and actually watched it.

Having a lot of thoughts about it but a major one I keep coming back to is how even an immensely and deeply flawed human being can go against "just following orders" and instead put in the work to actually help.

It may never be fully enough. It may never save as many as you'd hoped. But when you have a choice to either follow orders or save your fellow humans in front of you, I hope you choose the latter.

Schindler died in poverty. He was not a renown war hero nor was he at all famous or widely beloved. But he saw that he could help, even in some small way, and so he helped.

He was a Nazi who saw what the Nazis were doing to Jews and said no more. Enough. If I can even spare those under my charge, maybe a few extras, then at least I will have tried to do something about this.

I think a lot of people do not fancy this type of activism. It is messy, dangerous, and often completely thankless. Schindler survived as long as he did after the war due to those he saved helping him with donations. He was not popular in his hometown due to his association with Nazis, he was not popular in Germany, he was not popular in Argentina. His businesses all failed. His wife left him. A movie about his deeds was released several years after his death, where he would receive none of the benefits. He went to prison multiple times for simply refusing to hate Jews.

I think a lot of people like to think they're activists, but are sorely unprepared for doing this type of work, and then in truth become activists in name only. This is hard work. But without him, another thousand or so people would be on that death toll.

He took his position of extreme power- a Nazi owning a factory almost entirely operated by Jews, making oodles of money off that cheap slave labor- and said you know what? No. I'm not doing that. I can't save everyone, but as long as they are within my factory, you will not kill my workers. As long as I'm here you aren't harming one hair on the head of any Jew under my care. You're not sending or keeping them in Auschwitz. You're not randomly executing them for entertainment. They're people. You're not murdering them.

"Just following orders" they say. But they didn't have to. They could have helped. They could have did what he did, look around and say "what the fuck am I doing here", and stop. He did. They could have. They didn't.

[cheriladycl01]

Would you write a Carlos or Max x reader please where she’s a driver too. They’re always worried about her when she races but they’re not prepared when she gets into a serious crash just running errands to the store. They get a call from her caller ID expecting her to have forgotten something but it’s a police officer or paramedic telling them she’s been in an accident. Thank you!

Is this Mr Sainz? - Carlos Sainz x Driver! Verstappen Reader x (Brother) Max Verstappen

Plot: You get into a car crash when shopping for the first food shop before a race weekend.

You were used to driving, it was literally your job at a professional level as a driver in Formula One driver. And you were good too, having 3 wins under your belt in only your third year in the sport.

Sometimes it felt like you only had your seat because you were a Verstappen, but racing was in your blood and you were becoming just as much of a menance as your brother on track.

You also had your boyfriend Carlos who you’d been dating since you were in F2. You never thoughtyou’d make it as far as F1, but after proving yourself in your F2 season, and not struggling too much without power steering, you were promoted.

Having Carlos and Max on track with you was so fun as you were always teasing and making jokes with each other especially in interviews and on Thursday media days.

Carlos and Max however hated the fact that they had to race you and track an that you were good enough to actually fight for position with the pair of them. They were both pretty worried about you before they got into the car. Once they were on track they both tried to consider you as just another car, but admitidly that was pretty hard.

They never thought about you normally driving… it was such a mundane thing compared to driving round tracks at around 250mph.

“Hello is this Mr Sainz?” the call came through whilst Carlos, Max, Lando, Oscar, Charles and Pierre were all in the hotel lobby just waiting around having drinks and talking. It was your caller ID so Carlos didnt think anything off it when he picked it up to here … well not you on the other end.

You were out, getting some snacks for in the hotel room. Everyone had sent you their orders and you’d gone out by yourself wanting some time alone ahead of the race weekend.

You were walking around the large shop, picking out what was given from the list before heading to the checkout. It was getting kind of late, and it was media day tomorrow so you wanted to go back as soon as possible.

“Hi, how are you?” You smile at check out lady who looks shocked to see you before starting to scan your items.

“I’m okay! How are you?” she asks back still looking over you in shock and you try not to chuckle at her reaction.

“I’m pretty good, just shopping for some snacks for my friends. This was the nearest place, its really nice in here” you smile as you take the items off her and pack them into one of your reusable bags.

“That’s gonna set you back $82.52” she says, her American accent coming through. You smile and shake your head.

“On snacks, my god I forgot how many people I was buying for” you chuckle handing over your black card and putting the food back into the trolley.

“Thank you so much! You’ve been so helpful!” you smile before you walk outside going to the car you had rented and loading up the boot of the car.

“Yes this is he” he says with a confused look, furrowing across his brows as he glances a the group who are also looking over to him.

“You are listed here as the emerency contact for a Y/N Verstappen yes?” the voice asks and Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He looked over to Max, who was now chatting and joking around with Lando.

“Hold for one second please” he says before muting the call.

“Max, come outside. Now…” Carlos says gruffy, before walking outside to a quiet area where there arent any people to interrupt.

“Yes I am the emergency contact for Y/N Verstappen” Carlos sighs and Max freezes.

“She’s been in an accident and we are requesting you and a Max Vertsappen, her second emergency contact at he hospital immedielty” he explains and Max and Carlos share a look.

“What happened?” Max asks, a pause from the officer slighty confused at the different accent change.

“Whos this?”

“I’m her brother Max Vertsappen” he says, his tone cold.

“Well, it looks like she was coming back from the shops and a drunk driver ran through a red light and went into the side of her car crossing the road. She’s in surgery right now but that’s all i can confirm right now” he offers and tears build up in Carlos’ eyes. Max is sort of frozen in shock before he shakes himself out of it.

“We’ll be there as soon as possible, St David’s I’m guessing?” he asks and gets cofirmation from the officer before hanging up Carlos’ phone for him.

“Carlos come on” Max says pulling at his fellow drivers wrist who is now the frozen one with a blank look on his face.

“I-“ he starts but cant say anything.

“Carlos come on, this cant wait!” Max exclaims before the older man wakes himself up from his daze and follows Max to the lobby where their friends are waiting.

“Can one of you drive us to the hospital, we’re both to irratic to be behind the wheel right now” Max asks, looking at everyone who’d stopped their convrsations the minute the absent duo had come back in.

“What? What’s happened are you. okay?” Charles asks standing up.

“It’s Y/N she got into a car crash, drunk driver or something and she’s in the hospital right now” Carlos explains to the group.

“I’ll drive!” Lando agrees quickly, before taking them out to his McLaren, Carlos sat next to him while Max sat in the back.

“Whoever did this is going to pay” Max spits out angrily, tapping against the back of Lando’s seat.

“She’ll be okay, she’s like the strongest person i know” Lando replies looking in the rear view mirror at Max before concentrating back on the road.

They get to the hospital in record time running into the emergency department trying to look for Y/N.

“I’m going to go get some flowers and chocolate for her, you guys let me know the room shes in yeah?” Lando says knowing that they just want to ask and see how she is.

They nod the younger driver off before hounding the receptionist with questions.

“Is Y/N Verstappen here?” Carlos asks.

“She was in a car crash, an officer said she was in surgery?” Max asks.

“She’s an F1 Driver has her team been informed about the accident, what about her family?” Carlos asks.

“Slow down. I unfortunaltley dont have the answer to any of those questions but the first. She’s here, I’m not sure if she’s out of surgry yet but I will. page her doctor to come see you both. Please in the meantime take a seat” she directs them to the smaller and more privte waiting area.

Carlos takes a seat first his head in his hands while Max starts to make calls to his mum and dad and ther sister letting them know what was going on and telling them the limited knowlege he had on the situation.

In the time they’d been waiting, it had gotten out to h general public that you’d been in a car crash and articles and posts had been made online regarding the situation.

“For Y/N Verstappen?” a lady calls in a longwhite coat clipbaord in hand. Carlos’ head lifts up from his hands and he steps up towards the lady as Max hangs up.

“Yes?” Max asks looking over to the doctor.

“Your sister Y/N is out of surgery, it was hard work but she’ll make a full recovery in time. She’s a fighter and we really thought we’d lost her for a second. She’s asleep right now but you can visit” she smiles offering to guide them through the area.

“Thank you” Carlos’ cries pulling Max in for a hug, leaning agaisnt his shoulder before they follow the doctor through to your room.

You were asleep on the hospital bed, some wires and other medical tech strapped up to you and Max never thought he’d see you like this, he’s prayed you’d never ever be in this situation. He hated seeing you, looking so fragile and vulnerable.

Eventually your anesthetic wore off and you were woken up to voices lightly talking and rays of sun bursting through the window. The first thing you notice is how relaxed your body is. Not that you knew right now but the morphine you were on for pain was making you very woozy.

“Mmmmmm” you groan as you try to move.

“Hey baby” you hear lightly from next to you, your eyes fluttering open to meet your boyfriends.

“Hi Carlos” you smile soflty looking at him and the worried look on his face.

That’s when yourmind becomes a little less fuzzy and you realsise you are neither at home or in the hotel.

“You were in a car crash, you had us worried” you hear your brother admit.

“Mmmm Max?” you asklooking around the room seeing the various flowers and cards and noticing it was a hospital room.

“We’re here” he smiles coming to stand the other side of the bed.

“We’ll always be here for you” Carlos adds, holding your hand.

Taglist:

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[transformers-spike]

Hello ummm can I order a uhh wholesome Starscream x human!SO with the SO being into praising him and caring for him? And he of course is drinking it all up because he needs love and reassurance more than he could ever admit

Yet again my brain decided to go for a full length novel, so I had to pull back and came up with this. Think of this as them before they got together:

“Are you alright?” “Of course I am! Why would you think otherwise?” he snarks, puffing up like a disgruntled cockatiel. You squint and look him up and down with the most “dude, just admit it” expression you can muster. He glares at you for what feels like ages, ridiculous brow plates knitted into a “fucking try me” V. You sigh, take off the welding mask and put down the torch. “I’m worried about you.” Those very same brow plates shoot up to the sky. “Pah! I don’t need your worry!” he scoffs like he isn’t bleeding out in the middle of the woods. “Sure you don’t, but I’ll have you know there’s only so much I can do! We should call Ratchet.” His fist slams to the ground, you stumble but manage to catch yourself before falling face first into the deadly spikes adorning his stiletto. Death by high heel isn’t on your “appropriately ironic deaths” list, but you should add it. If your brain didn’t slosh inside your skull like a snowglobe in the hands of a petulant two year old, you could have sworn the mighty ex-commander of the Decepticons looked apologetic for a split second. “I would rather not deal with the likes of the Autobot medic,” he declares in a slightly softer voice, although not without his usual amount of scorn. “After all, you’re doing just fine,” he croons in a sly, buttering tone. Maybe you could have believed him if he hadn’t been constantly berating you for fucking up the impromptu surgery. You are not a medic, goddammit! Much less well-versed in the art of welding shut a metal alien from a planet light years away! You’re just some car junky with pyromaniac inclinations! But seeing him this way… covered in grime and energon, wings hanging low and servos shaking. You’re glad you didn’t send him to voicemail.

You pat his leg. “Thanks, but if this happens again I’m calling Bulkhead to haul your ass back to base whether you like it or not.” Putting on your welding mask, you keep working. Starscream stays oddly quiet, not even bothering to beep at you indignantly when your torch falls out of line. It’s no Picasso, but the bleeding has stopped. After you step back to give him some space, he tests out his leg, standing up and shifting his weight from side to side. The injured leg strains but does not collapse. “Good?” you ask. “Manageable,” he mumbles in his typical “it kinda sucks but I have to be grateful” way.

Pride fills you up like a single mom downing martinis during happy hour. Although not the best compliment, it’s a Ritz-Carlton coming from him.

“Do you want to go back to base? Or just… hang out here? In the middle of the woods?” He wrinkles his optical ridge at you but doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” you drawl out, taking a seat on possibly the most comfortable rock in Nevada. Years pass by – or so it feels like – waiting for the usually extremely bitchy (thus chatty) bot to break the silence. He does not. “I think I should go,” you sit up and thumb at your car, parked all the way across the woods on the main road, a good hike from where you’re currently at. “Don’t,” he hisses. His expression is almost… forlorn if not for his angry brows. Oh fuck off, the emotionally constipated airplane war criminal can’t ask you to hang out without hurting his pride. Which makes you the responsible adult of the situation compared to the billion year old metal chicken. And by God, you are the least responsible person you know (excluding Starscream).

So you sit your ass back down and lock eyes with said chicken. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?” you ask, fully expecting him to shut you down by calling you fleshling and waving your humanity over your head like a shitty “begone” charm.

Instead, he thinks about it, averting his gaze from you and turning it to the vast wilderness beyond the trees. “Vehicons,” he states bitterly. “Either it was a purely coincidental dogfight or… Megatron is after me.” His whole frame shudders, wings sinking as low as they can go.

“I see.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Do you want to tell the Autobots?”

He shakes his helm and loosens a self-deprecating chuckle from his vocalizer. “Like they would listen to me.” You scrunch up your nose. “How about I tell them? Would that be easier for you?” His optics widen for a brief moment before returning to their perpetually conniving state. “I’m not delighted with the option, but it’s preferable considering their propensity for gathering unsolicited information.” The silence returns. “Hey, I know it’s not the best time to bring this up. But you don’t even have to answer, just please hear me out.” He peers at you wordlessly. “You’ve been through-” you gesture at dry neon blue energon adorning his frame “-a lot lately. I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings or anything like that, but if you ever need someone to just… be around, I’m here.” His expression hasn’t shifted one bit. It’s completely unreadable. You continue on with gritted teeth. “Personally, I’ve never defected from an extremely violent faction and been hunted down through the sky, but I find it’s easier to suffer around friends and family. They help shoulder the pain.”

He arches a metal brow. “Are you implying we’re friends?” “I mean-” you stammer, “I definitely consider you a friend. If you don’t, that’s fine, I’m not forcing you or anything. To each their own. But that’s beside the point-” A lengthy chuckle cuts you off. “Does a friend answer their comm in the middle of the night cycle and perform surgery with sub-optimal tools?” You’re not sure if he’s insulting you or trying to make a meaningful point. Maybe both. “If so,” he continues, lips quirking into an intimidating but somehow genuine smile, “we are friends.” Your brain flatlines. “Oh,” you whisper. “OH,” it hits you like an F-15 Fighting Falcon at full speed. “I… okay. So, um, if you want to hang out and stuff, I can stick around until five o’clock. Then I’ll have to leave and get ready for work.”

“Good enough,” he scoffs good-naturedly, having returned to his bitchy old self with slightly less bitchiness. But the smile he doesn’t bother hiding betrays something deeper. Starscream is your friend. Starscream called himself your friend. Holy shit, you think you’re going to have an aneurysm.