#i want to flesh this out as a fic

[disastersareajoy]

Pussy Drunk Thomas Hewitt - Drabble

Thomas Hewitt x FEM!Reader

Tags: established relationship, cunnilingus, forced orgasms, talk of bruises, wet and messy, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Word count: 1.1k

fucking obsessed with the idea of Thomas getting absolutely, down bad, pussy-drunk as soon as he gets a taste

like his virgin-ass being too afraid of hurting you to fuck you at first and getting on his knees for you. he gets a taste, kind of pulls back and licks his lips and you can see his pupils dilate and his eyes fucking glaze over and he just falls face first into your pussy

sloppy, wet, spit slick, hungry oral from that man. his teeth bump into you in all the right ways sometimes. one moment he's whimpering into you and the next he's grumbling and trying to get his tongue deeper and deeper into you to taste more

and it does not matter to him when you beg for him to slow down and how you can't cum anymore. because you keep dripping on his face and tongue and making wonderful noises and you just taste so fucking good, how could he stop??

his arms wrap around your thighs and he holds onto them hard and firm and keeps you pulled close to his face. you can feel that it's gonna bruise and you're going to cherish those bruises for days

he doesn't even notice how hard he's gripping you because he's trying to get all of his senses filled with you. he tastes, smells and feels nothing but you. the only thing his ears can focus on are your moans and whimpers. his hands massage your thighs periodically and when he opens his eyes it's just to look at your face, thrown back in pleasure. the only thing better is when you're looking down at him with tears in your eyes, still moaning for him

Tommy is completely drunk off your taste. he loves the feeling of your pussy on his tongue and he loves the little whining groan you let out when he sucks on your clit

now, when he keeps going and going and your hand in his hair trying to push him away finally falls to your side, he doesn't even realize what he's doing next. it's all out of instinct when his hands readjust so his arms stay wrapped around your thighs but his thumbs are spreading open your folds. that's when he really loses it

because he can get his tongue even deeper like that. he can bury it inside you and find the spot that makes you drip a little more and that makes you moan all broken and needy. once he finds it he abuses the fuck out of it. keeps licking over it, poking at it with his tongue and savoring every drop of you that spills into his mouth

and then. his holy grail. you grab his hair again and moan louder. you're sobbing and begging him to slow down because it feels different this time. he doesn't listen of course. all he knows is you're about to do that thing again where he can feel your pussy flutter and twitch and your thighs squeeze around him and your moans get all whimpery

he keeps going until your hips lift up into him. he stays attached to your pussy and keeps doing what he's doing, knowing he can't stop. needs to keep going to get you to do that thing

suddenly you gasp and go completely quiet. then you moan so loud it's almost a scream. a sobbing sort of thing that's absolutely gorgeous to him. on top of that your hips start wildly shaking along with your legs and your pleasure starts gushing out of you

Tommy moans into your juices and gets closer if that's even possible at that point. he shakes his head so he rubs over your clit side to side while he keeps his tongue abusing that spot inside you. and fuck does he get drenched. he swallows down as much as he can of you and whimpers into it. anything he can't get, drips down his face and drenches his shirt and lap

once you come down you realize he's still going and you can't handle it anymore. you start crying more and weakly kicking your legs out which finally makes Tommy look up. he sees your devastated face and while he thinks the sweat mixed with tears and drool, as well as the tortured pleasure in your eyes is a heavenly sight, he listens to your weak pleas

he finally pulls away and you sigh in relief. Tommy stays away from your pussy (as much as he hates it) and spends his time licking your thighs clean. just a minute away from your pussy makes him whimper and look up at you pleadingly. your legs are still shaking and you shake your head at him

so Tommy whines and starts biting your thighs instead, getting closer and closer to your pussy until he's mouthing right next to it. you're shaking and sweating and still losing a coupe tears when he licks flat over your clit once. then your back arches and you gasp, trying not to make too loud a noise

you know if you moan he's gonna start again and you think he might actually kill you that time. he softly licks over your clit again, wraps his lips around it and you slap a hand over your mouth. but Tommy sees your lack of noise as a sign to keep going and starts sucking on your clit. when his teeth graze over it your hand whips away from your mouth to his hair and you yell out a moan that ends with a broken whine

immediately you know you're in for it. Tommy moans happily and grabs your thighs hard once more. he dives into you again and gets back to his sloppy, needy and enthusiastic pace without hesitation. all you can do is moan, whimper and whine as Tommy makes you see stars over and over again

he's obsessed with making you squirt on his face and listening to your whimpers as he tastes you. he loves the feeling of your heartbeat in your clit, pounding against his tongue

sometimes you can't get him off of your pussy until he's had at least a couple hours of his way with you. he's obsessed with your pussy and a single taste makes him entirely lose his mind. he'd do anything to fall to his knees in front of you

he would spend forever between your thighs if it was up to him

your pussy is his paradise and his salvation. every gush of your juices is a baptism of wonder. you are his goddess and he worships you at every turn

[sadisthetic]

limewire virus

[ravenvsfox]

soooo hypothetically if someone was inspired to write a fic based on someone else's 'brainworm' on twitter, posted it on ao3, credited and linked back to the original idea, sent the story to that user and offered to take it down if they weren't into it

and then. were told that that they were CARELESS and it was a GUT PUNCH to be robbed of the opportunity to write it and that it was unfair that they were being made into the bad guy by asking for it to be deleted

would that be like. a fair or crazy response

[arsenicflame]

steddyhands modern au inspired by this post:

(1828 words, themes of kink but nothing explicit, established blackhands & gentlebeard-centric. Happy Pride!)

Stede picks up leatherworking in the wake of his divorce. He's not exactly sure how it ended up being such an important hobby for him, only that he had always admired the intricate designs on his horse's best bridles, and with little else to do with his time, he decides to give it a go.

It's rocky going at first, but he's having fun working with his hands for the first time in his life, and there's a sense of satisfaction in seeing the design come to life as he works. With practice, his skills improve, and he learns how to make things that are truly one of a kind.

He starts off posting his pieces online, as a way to reach fellow enthusiasts, but quickly finds himself with a rather large audience. Stede’s style is unique, and, after many requests from his followers, Lucius encourages him to make some more basic pieces he can sell. It's not about making money for Stede, but another way to meet new people who share his interests- as Lucius keeps telling him, it's sad that his personal assistant is the main person he talks to these days. 

So Stede sets out on a new adventure, and has quite the time designing a new range of patterns for the market. He makes purses, belts, bracelets, and, most importantly, dog collars- all still with his unique designs embossed into them, of course. He rents a booth at his towns monthly craft fair, and very quickly finds himself with a new group of friends in the other regulars- Pete, his usual neighbour, who sells an array of wooden figures he carves, Roach, who runs a stand for his bakery, and Frenchie, who isn't actually a stallholder, but is almost always busking near his friend Wee John’s stand of knitted goods, bringing life to the market even in the pouring rain. There's also Buttons, another regular at the market. Nobody is exactly sure what he does there- he doesn't sell things, or seem to buy anything either, but rain or shine, he's there with the birds.

Stede’s been doing this a few months by the time June rolls around. As he's setting up his stand, he notices that the area is much busier than it’d normally be at this time of morning. Lucius, who got roped into helping run Stede’s stall somewhere down the line (despite his protests that this is not what personal assistant means… But hey, he got a boyfriend out of it, at least), reminds him that there's the parade today, too- not realising that Stede had no clue there was a parade today, and especially not that it was pride. Stede immediately jumps to fretting about the amount of stock he’s brought, and Lucius takes the cue to escape, saying he’ll go and grab them coffee (but really, he's off to flirt with Pete)

Lucius is still missing when Ed stumbles across the little leather stall. Stede’s just ran back to his car to fetch his last boxes of inventory, and by the time he returns, Ed’s already begun to narrow down his choices. Stede greets him, starting to tell him that they're not actually open yet, but before he gets more than a couple of words out, Ed’s exclaiming “You're a Kiwi!!!”

The two of them smile at the shared recognition, and Stede says he’ll make an exception, just for Ed, and asks him what exactly he was interested in. Ed tells him that he's looking for a collar “for his boy”, and points out the particular design he was looking at. It happens to be one of Stede’s favourites from this latest run of work, a fact he mentions to Ed. It leads them into a discussion about Stede’s craft, and Ed’s Izzy, and then everything in between. Ed’s listening intently to the things Stede’s telling him, completely drawn in by the process, and by Stede himself. He watches as Stede stamps Izzy's name into the collar, and Stede even lets him have a go at one of the stamps. 

Lucius reappears sometime in the middle of this- only to immediately retreat again, seeing Stede engrossed with Ed. He sets up camp at Pete's booth opposite, watching this man flirt intensely with his boss- and Stede flirt back just as hard. Does Stede even realise he’s doing it? Lucius had known Stede was gay since before Stede even admitted it to himself, but this is on a whole other level.

The pair stand there so long that Izzy comes to look for Ed- the two of them are manning a float on the parade with their crew, and it's past time for them to get geared up. He's already worked up, frustrated to have been left to set up everything alone, when Ed had just gone to see if he could get them both coffee. So maybe he's a bit of a prick, approaching with a brash “where the fuck have you been, Edward”, to which Stede brings the same energy, giving a bitchy “Ed! Do you know this guy?” Izzy tenses, ready to snap, but then Ed cuts in, excitedly telling Stede that this is “his Izzy!” Which confuses the hell out of Stede. 

Forgetting his earlier attitude, he asks Ed if he “really named his dog after his friend”, only to be met with confusion right back from Ed at where the hell Stede got the idea he had a dog from. Stede gestures at the bag with the collar in it, to which Ed has to tell him, “oh, no, that's for him.” Ed tells Stede that they're here to run a float for their local leather society, and while Stede is certainly shocked by what Ed’s saying, he's not finding himself… uninterested. It's simply that he’s never even considered any of this before, especially not that people would use the things that he made for this, but Ed sounds so enthusiastic about it all. He tells him about how his friends would love to see Stede’s work, about how classic leather gear is always so fucking boring- but not Stede’s stuff, no, Stede’s stuff is “fresh” and “fascinating” and unlike anything Ed’s ever seen before. 

Ed's enthusiasm is incredibly infectious, so when he invites Stede to come back to see their float, he readily agrees. It’s a concept Izzy’s less than enthusiastic about. He doesn’t really want to bring this man who’s dressed like he just walked out of a HOA board meeting to their kinky little corner of the world, but he is having a lot of fun watching Stede squirm, so decides not to raise a protest. He does demand he gets his long-overdue coffee first, though (Stede pays for it- as “compensation for him distracting Ed from his job”, he says, not giving Izzy a second to process before he's tapping his card)

By the time they return to the float, Fang, Ivan & Jim are waiting for them, all already geared up. Stede is stunned silent at the sight for about 5 seconds, before he starts actually looking at the quality of Jim’s harness, and proceeds to go off about the poor quality of the craftsmanship, about how the hardware is tacky and completely the wrong choice with this leather, how his “ten year old daughter could do a better job!!!” 

There's complete silence from the group, until Izzy, of all people, bursts into laughter at Stede’s audacity (and, the fact he was staring at Jim's tits completely unabashedly, like he hadn't even noticed them in the first place). Izzy's laughter sets Ed off as he tells the group about Stede’s misunderstanding- “you didn't say he was a person!” “I mean, he's my dog”- and soon everyone's having a friendly giggle at Stede’s mistake.

It's somewhere in the middle of the retelling that Ed remembers that this whole thing happened because he was buying Izzy a gift. After a moments fumbling, he presents Izzy with the collar-  It's a rich, deep black, embossed with a rolling pattern that resembles waves. It’s made from a firm enough leather to take the tooling, and to remind Izzy that he’s owned while he’s wearing it, yet still soft enough for long term comfort. Izzy's eyes immediately lock on to it, an unreadable expression coming over his face, and Ed turns it; first so he can really see the design and Izzy’s name embossed into it, and then so he can see the small “Ed ♥” on the inside of the collar, right over his swallow tattoo. 

“I did the heart,” Ed says to him softly, intended only for Izzy’s ears. Izzy's eyes flick up to Ed’s, and he raises his chin to give Ed the room to put it on. Ed buckles the collar around his neck almost reverently, a test of the tightness turning into a caress of Izzy's neck. It's a perfect fit.

It's as though something comes over Izzy; so twitchy and abrasive earlier, now silent, staring at Ed with a look akin to worship in his eyes. He obediently tilts his head for a kiss as Ed's fingers move to his chin- It's a sight to behold, and one that has Stede intrigued. He wants to know more about this lifestyle, and these men in particular. He wants to be the one to put that expression on Izzy's face.

The moment breaks as Ed and Izzy pull apart, and Ed calls for the crew to finish the last bits of set up. Izzy shakes himself a little before running off to bark orders again, but even still, there remains a softness to him that wasn't there before. 

Ed turns back to Stede with an apologetic smile, already obvious that he has to get going. Before he can speak, however, Stede jumps in -“My business numbers on the card in the box… I'll be around all day”- Ed’s smile turns more genuine at that, promising to stop by if he gets a moment, and that he’ll send his friend's Stede’s way- “if he wants that kind of business.” Stede says that he does, actually- that he's seen a whole new world already today, and, while he was a little taken aback at first, he can feel the passion Ed and his friends have for this life. If there's one thing that's ever mattered to Stede, it's other people's enthusiasm. Maybe he doesn't completely understand yet, but he would like to try.

One year later, Stede’s back at the market on pride weekend again, far better stocked for the crowds this time around. Lucius is finally free to spend the day flirting with Fang & Pete to his heart's content, now that Stede’s roped his own boyfriends into helping him run the stall- and into modelling the merchandise. Ed loves that part, while Izzy needs a lot more convincing, but the puppy eyes Stede & Ed weaponise against him make a very good argument.

[2dmenenthusiast]

I'm having Graves brainrot so accept this little thought dump cuz I love a southern man

Thinking about Graves before he enlisted, young, southern Georgia boy (its not explicitly stated where he's from but we're going with it) with the charm and smile to match.

Thinking about how he's got rough hands and strong arms from working on a farm, bailing hay and helping his family with cattle. His boots are dirty, blue jeans hugging his thighs, and his most of his shirts are missing the sleeves, cut deep down the sides so you can see his toned waist

Thinking about meeting him at a county fair, playing one of those dart balloon games, and he can see you're having trouble cuz your aim is just atrocious.

So he sidles up next to you, being all respectful and asking if he can help. He places a rough hand on your elbow to adjust your aim, another hand on your waist for no other reason than you're just so darn pretty, and boom, you did it!

You're so excited with the small stuffed bear in your hands, he just can't let you go without knowing your name. And he repeats it to himself when you say it, loving the way it forms on his tongue and slips past his lips.

Ofc, he meets you afterwards, finds out his parents know your family, and he ends up getting pretty close to your father. You see him over at the house more and more as time goes by, helping your dad with little projects around the house. You watch him as he works on your father's truck, in one of those damn sleeveless shirts with grease on his hands. Its damn hot out, so you bring him a fresh glass of lemonade, and he takes it with a breathtaking smile and a "thanks, darlin'."

It isn't long before something forms between you two, sneaking glances at each other whenever you can, slight touches that linger just a little too long. And whenever he comes over, you find yourself sneaking away with him, grabbing his hand and leading him up to your bedroom while your father passes out on the couch. He sits on your soft bed and brings you into his lap, warm hands on your hips and his lips leaving burning kisses all over your skin.

He takes you out in his old truck, cleans it out and makes sure its nice for you, because something so pretty deserves the best. He watches when you stick your head out the window to feel the wind against your face, knowing damn well he should be watching the road. He's just so enraptured by you, a hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel whilst you belt out the lyrics to whatever song playing on the radio

Your first time is in the back of his truck, parked somewhere secluded on his parents' farm. You both crunch yourselves into the backseat, and while it's a little uncomfortable, he's never felt so alive than when he's with you in that moment. He tells you he loves you, wants to marry you, and you kiss him so hard he thinks he forgets how to breathe for a second.

He swears he'll give you the best. Best house, best car, best life. He's so incredibly devoted to you, practically obsessed, that he can't imagine giving you anything but you deserve.

[hiyogdh]

some svsss oc scribbles to start a new sketchbook

[emily-prentits]

those early seasons where meredith was "friends" with derek and addison were like what if we were completely poly coded and no one did anything about it.

[brb-on-a-quest]

I had a thought last night, and even though the only canon bat source I've had is WFA, and I've only *just* started getting into fanfic, so characterizations may not be accurate/have been done before, but IDK. I need this to exist out there.

Timothy Drake-Wayne writes fics sometimes.

It started off with the necessity of creating so many fake IDs. One thing led to another and Tim was coming up with backstories for all the Johns, Marys, and Joes that he invented while doing his Gotham digital surveillance. After all, he was trying to make these people's fake IDs look as real as possible, which meant more than just a name on a couple of sheets of paper.

It means creating a fake digital footprint. For each one.

So, on the rare occasions when things are calmer, and he's not immediately needed, he sits on his computer and types out head cannons for each of the OCs he has created. He spends a lot of time doing research on different cultures, neurodivergencies, physical abilities, and backgrounds to try and 1) paint accurate pictures and 2) learn. He hides the world building tidbits in a secret folder that he's taken so many measures to hide from Oracle (she already knows, but she doesn't actively look after finally figuring out what the folder of names, complete with physical descriptions, life stories, and preferences is out of respect for Timothy). (Also, all this writing knowledge actually comes in handy for crime-solving things, but he doesn't fully realize it at the time).

Tim even went as far as to make social media accounts for some of his favorites and posts bits and pieces of the head cannons to make them, again, seem like real people. Just in case. As a precaution. You never know.

Jason finds out somehow, in a freak accident and collision of siblings that so often happens. Tim is sweating bullets, trying to steel himself for the endless teasing. He is fully prepared to delete every single file that's in that folder and deny that it ever exists for all eternity.

Except Jason doesn't. Jason's too much of a literary nerd (granted, he prefers more classic literature than social media fics, but this is another thing he can connect with his little brother on- he's *excited*) to tease Tim about the writing. He kind of persuades Tim to take more time for his hobby because Tim has some markings of talent in his very specific creative niche. Tim may have also convinced Jason to try it exactly once, to create a fake Twitter profile for Mr. Darcy and create shitposts from his point of view. He has a great time with it once, and then he moves on (but sometimes he creates other accounts for other characters that Tim doesn't know about).

They make a pact between the two of them not to tell the others; they'd ask too many questions and make it less fun.

But every once in a while, Tim would walk into Jason's place to crash for a bit, steal all of his Red Bull, update Jason on his writing projects, and get writing advice.

[catscidr]

im sorry i know i should be writing reqs but i just can’t stop thinking about slightly creepy office au coworker dottore...... im horn

you have a boring 9-5 job, trying to find joy in the mundane, else you go crazy. waking up to birds chirping outside of your bedroom window, the tasty to-go coffee and breakfast sandwich you always get in the morning, and your coworker greeting your still-sleepy self when you step into the office. always one to gossip, she’d motion for you to hurry up and sit at your cubicle so she can gush about whatever rumor was currently roaming the building. 

“have you seen zandik lately? his temper is worse than usual! think he just got broken up with or something? honestly, i see why his partner would call things off, it seems like he’s always prioritizing work over people...” you take a long sip of your coffee, relishing in the newfound energy that flooded your system. it takes you a minute to process your coworker’s claim. 

“how do you know he was even in a relationship in the first place?” you ask, scoffing in amusement at how fast her brain seemed to work; it was almost impressive, really. “well, he’s handsome, for one. and he’s loaded! i don’t understand how he can afford such a nice car with a salary like ours,” she sulks as she finishes her rambling. you take the opportunity to finish your food, setting your half-empty cup down to start prepping your workspace. 

“inheritance? or he’s crazy good at managing money,” you suggest. just as you thought your coworker was about to drop the topic, she perks up and slams her hand on her desk a tad bit too loudly. “oh! or maybe he works a second job? y’know, the cost of living is getting pretty high, so maybe he has a 5-9 on top of working here!” 

someone shoots her a look that says “it’s still early, lower your voice”, and she grins at them awkwardly before turning to look at you with a smile that rivals someone that just uncovered the cure to a deadly disease. 

you pause your typing, fingertips resting idly on the mechanical keyboard. “why do you care about what he’s up to, anyways? usually you avoid talking about zandik or any of the higher-ups because you know they’ll probably get us in trouble,” you point out, your shoulder getting hit as soon as the words leave your mouth. giggling lightly at how dramatic her reaction was, you turn your attention from your computer to your coworker. you’re met with a petrified expression and uncomfortable body language along with the lack of natural light behind you. 

“and why, pray tell, are we gossiping about my foul mood?” someone says from behind you, though you could recognize its owner anywhere. your blood runs cold— the warmth from your morning coffee having vanished from your body, not a single trace left in the presence of the office’s most intimidating employee (arguably). your coworker flashes him a wide, albeit shaky smile, and shakes her head a bit too quickly for it to be considered normal. 

“n-not gossiping! we’re just concerned for your health! right?” she says your name, nudging your foot from underneath the desk. you don’t have time to decide whether you want to detach yourself from your predicament or to go along with her bullshit because zandik bends down to your level, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his dull eyes as he speaks for you. “then avoid spreading rumors about my personal life, it gives me a headache,” he murmurs quietly.  

you’d catch the unspoken threat in his voice if you weren’t so flustered. he was so close you could smell his cologne— musky sandalwood that made your head spin, losing whatever train of thought you had just seconds ago. “s-sorry,” you’re the one that apologizes since your coworker was frozen in fear, looking more like a deer facing headlights than an office worker. 

zandik’s lips stretch wider, vermillion eyes narrowing at her before flickering over to you. you immediately look away, suddenly now noticing the sheer lack of space between you two. if what you were doing before was unprofessional, then this was beating it by a landslide. although you couldn't help but wish that he bent down to your level more often. though, at the same time, he looked good looking down at you…

he stays like this for a few more uncomfortable seconds before straightening his back and walking away, no words spoken between the three of you. your coworker exhales a breath she had been holding in, and turns to face her desk in silence. 

you're left with a rapidly beating heart and the need to take a bathroom break even though you just clocked in not even ten minutes ago.

[sentientobjects]

an assortment of object ocs :D

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 2: pre-canon with uta snippet

the countdown keeps counting down, the days getting away from me… somehow, there are only two days left until my birthday! 🎉🎉 today, i have for you a bit of buggy pov on the story i’ve been calling the pre-canon uta fic:

“Buggy.  ’S this a dream?” Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?” Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.” Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?” Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.” “Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

(800 words below the cut)

“Hey!” the kid yells at a red-headed figure slumped against the wall of an unimportant alleyway, a hand pressed over one eye.  This must be Daddy Dearest.  “Are you sleeping?!  Look, I found a captain who said he could take us!”  She tugs at Buggy’s arm like she hasn’t seen it pop off, all but dragging him to her dad’s side.

Buggy wriggles free of the kid’s grip.  “Yeah, uh, hey kid, why don’t you scram for a minute, let me and your old man handle the topic of…” The red-head looks up, and fuck Buggy’s entire life, he’s not a red-head, he’s the red-head.

He’s Shanks.

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, before Buggy remembers to finish his thought. “…payment.”

“Okay…”  The kid doesn’t understand the weird energy here—of course she doesn’t, why the hell would Shanks tell his kid about Buggy—but, looking for something useful to do, she grabs their supplies (Shanks’ sword, Shanks’ coin purse, and a cute little backpack no doubt full of a kid’s idea of important supplies, like toys and candy) and says, “Then I’ll just… take our stuff to your ship, Captain Buggy.”  Frowning at the stare down, she says, “He’s… he’s gonna be okay, right?”

Not looking at her, Buggy says, “Oh, he’d better be.”  She runs off.  Once she’s out of earshot, Buggy mutters, “Fuck’s sake, Shanks, what the hell happened to you?”

Shanks shrugs, feigning nonchalance.  “Oh, you know, got into a fight I wasn’t sure I could win from the start.”

Buggy tsks, peeling back the bundle of cotton Shanks has balled up over his eye.  He gives the three parallel cuts a knowing look, replaces the cotton, and strips his glove to press a bare hand to Shanks’ forehead.  “How many times did I tell you that guy was a monster?  If this isn’t infected already…”

“Not enough times, I guess,” Shanks mumbles, swaying dangerously on his feet.  “Buggy.  ’S this a dream?”

Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?”

Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.”

Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?”

Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.”

“Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye.

Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

Buggy stops in his tracks.  “The hell?  Why not?”  Is he not good enough to be family to Shanks’ kin?  The thought hurts unexpectedly, like a haki-infused punch after years of East Blue weaklings.

Shanks laughs and immediately winces.  “Never mind.”  He sighs, and sags against Buggy, hiding his wounded eye from passerby in a way that makes Buggy look like a sailor escorting a drunken crew mate back to their ship.  Perfect.  You’d almost think he planned it that way.

Buggy walks them up to the Big Top to see the kid arguing with Cabaji, both hands wrapped defensively around her father’s sword (which is longer than she is tall, so it’s quite a feat).

“It’s not for sale!” she insists.

“Come on, kid,” Cabaji says, leaning over her and leering.  He’s still pretty green, but he knows a good sword when he sees one.  “You’re the one who said you needed a ride, and passengers have to pay…”

“Leave it, Cabaji,” Buggy snaps.

Cabaji jumps to attention.  “Captain!  I was just—this kid—” He sees the stranger bleeding on Buggy’s shoulder and shuts up.

“This kid and I have already arranged for her and her father to travel with us,” Buggy explains, nudging the kid further up the gangplank with the side of his foot. She sidles around Cabaji, sticking her tongue out at him.  “Hey, none of that, brat!  You’re sailing with me, you respect my officers.”

She scowls, but nods, and gives Cabaji a mumbled apology.  “Sorry.  But he shouldn’t have tried to take the sword!”

Buggy rolls his eyes.  “He’s a pirate, kid, that’s exactly what he should’ve done.”

She holds onto the sword ever tighter, giving Buggy a suspicious look.

He cackles.  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna take it from you.  I know how your dad works, he’s too honor-bound to not pay me what he owes.”  Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Mohji to find me, and then get us off this island ASAP.  The Marines haven’t spotted us yet, and with these two aboard we really don’t want them to.”  Back to the kid: “Come on, I’ll set you two up in our sick room.”

[chronicowboy]

It's a couple of months after his breakdown when Eddie comes home from therapy to a suspiciously quiet house. Luckily, he and Frank had spent the session working on his anxiety, so he takes a deep breath and begins listing all the things Buck and Christopher could be doing as he goes in search for them.

They could be asleep on the couch, it wouldn't be the first time the early birds had crashed midday from fun, but Eddie finds the couch empty as soon as the thought forms. They could be doing homework at the table, drawing more hearts or puzzling over algebra equations, but the table is empty of its usual clutter. They could be eating in the kitchen, unlikely as neither of them have ever let mouths full of food stop them from chattering away, and he's proven right at a barren kitchen.

The panic rises and crests in his chest like a wave, but he takes another deep breath, reminds himself that the safest place in the world for Christopher is Buck's side.

They could be in the yard tending to their little vegetable garden, but Eddie peeks out to lonely tomato plants swaying in the gentle summer breeze. They could be rearranging Christopher's room again, possibly side-tracked by Christopher's old drawings or Lego creations, but the room is exactly as he'd left it this morning.

Its when Eddie presses his forehead into the doorframe to ground himself that he hears it. A sniffle coming from beyond the cracked bathroom door.

"Okay, buddy," that's Buck's voice, soft and unendingly gentle in a way that makes something behind Eddie's sternum pulse and ache. Eddie drifts towards it, helpless to resist the pull.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait for dad?" Chris asks, voice a little shaky however it is when he's just finished crying. The wave of panic crests again, but Eddie nudges the door open and the wave collapses into foam.

Christopher is perched on the closed toilet, both legs of his jeans rolled up to above his scraped knees, eyes wide and trusting despite his words. And Buck. Buck is crouched in front of him with the first aid kit open at his feet and an expression so tender it takes Eddie's breath away.

"We can, if you want," Buck concedes, trying and failing to conceal just the slightest bit of hurt. Eddie sees it as he sees the guilt lining the tense line of Buck's shoulders, as he sees the anguish swimming in Buck's own teary eyes. "But I specialise in scratches." He grins, wide and way too bright for the fluorescent lights of the bathroom to compete. He lowers his voice, winks, "its all Hen and Chim trust me with on the job."

Christopher's hiccupping giggle is the best sound Eddie has ever heard. And, judging by the way Buck looks up at Chris like the sound fell from heaven, he agrees. Eddie couldn't tear his eyes away if he wanted to. Not with the way Buck looks kneeling in front of his son, like this is some sort of worship and penance all at once, eyes softer than Eddie has ever seen them.

"Okay, superman," Buck cups the back of Christopher's shin with hands so big his fingers could meet around his leg, with hands so gentle Eddie has the fleeting desire to feel them on himself. "Doesn't look like there's anything in there, but I'm gonna pour a bit of water over them first to wash anything away. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah," Chris nods solemnly, and Buck smiles up at him as he reaches for the cup on the sink.

Carefully, Buck pours a cup of water over both scrapes, stopping every time Chris so much as twitches, and Eddie aches. He dries them off with a clean towel, gentler still than Eddie knew a human of Buck's size could be, then reaches for the alcohol-free wipes.

"Okay, I'm gonna make sure they're super clean," Buck murmurs, side-profile illuminated by the afternoon light cutting through the bathroom window, angelic and divine. Eddie has the insane urge to pull his phone out and capture the moment forever. "It might be a little sore, so just tell me if you need to stop." Chris nods again, and Buck uses his free hand to grab Christopher's and drop it onto his curls. "Squeeze as tight as you like, and, if I'm too rough, give me a tug in revenge."

Eddie can't decide which is more beautiful: Christopher's laugh or the smile it provokes in Buck. Both of them are bright and joyful things that make Eddie want to fall to his knees in his own kind of worship. He watches as Buck starts wiping away at the scratches, slow and soft and oh so tender it hurts Eddie himself. Chris waits patiently, bravely until Buck drops one wipe and then tugs on his hair.

"Ow!" Buck yelps, pouting up at Christopher who shakes with silent laughter. "What was that for?" When the only answer is a bubbling laugh, Buck's face twitches into a grin like he just can't help it. Eddie understands, doesn't think there's anything more contagious than Buck and Christopher's joy. "Knee number two, no tugging please, sir." And Eddie thinks that some people might forget to be so gentle after that, but Buck only gets more so.

He drops the wipes into the trash before grabbing a gauze pad and pressing it to Christopher's knee. He waits for a beat or two, undoubtedly watching for blood that might soak through even though the wipes came away mostly clean. Buck tapes the edges down and then moves onto the second knee.

And, look, Eddie knows Buck is a first responder, has seen and treated worse than this on a daily basis, but the ease with which he treats Christopher makes Eddie's stomach clench. Especially, when Buck absently rubs his thumbs over the skin of Christopher's legs like its as natural as breathing.

"Almost done," Buck whispers before leaning down to leave a big, smacking kiss on each bandage. Eddie aches. "There we go, now they'll heal faster and you can go back to being superman in no time."

"Thanks, Buck." Chris leans forward for a hug, and Buck catches him effortlessly.

Eddie watches the guilt creep into Buck's expression as he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face into Christopher's hair. When Buck takes a deep breath, Eddie copies him and tries not to get too flustered when Buck's worried eyes flutter open and land on him. A few months ago, Eddie would've shuttered, would have wiped his face clean of the dizzyingly intense array of emotions on display. But now, Eddie lets Buck see, lets him see that he's not in trouble, that Eddie is so grateful for him it hurts, lets him see the admiration and the softness, lets him see the overwhelming love Eddie feels for him right then and there, always and anywhere.

Buck lets Eddie see it all too.

[overly-verbose]

I'm just thinking that Uraume is a great cook, but the real masterpieces are made up of people. I understand that Sukuna will be a little uncomfortable eating people's kebabs (that usually scares teenagers, you know). BUT. The moral mobility of His Evil Majesty's mentality simply says to me: Find the enemy, and the big guy will finally get a nice meal. He worked so hard, he deserves dinner. ("Fu_k, Marry, Eat" game. Start). SO. ONE DAY. People tempura — yes or no? How much Curse is in our King?

Uraume is indeed a great cook, ridiculously even lol

- I mean afaik it's canon that, whilst human meat is supposedly difficult to prepare well, they managed to do it; which is one of the main reasons why Sukuna kept them around aside from the fact that they're a powerful sorcerer lol

(he most probably liked the unaltered taste by itself too (he did in my Series Canon for sure), but Uraume made it additionally enjoyable - so for Mr. I Do What I Want it was definitely a unique plus lol)

As for SIkuna eating people, hmm

Although he's pretty deeply in denial about it, he doesn't actually directly feel anything negative at the prospect

(as showed in Part 4, he actually found the little taste of Yuji's blood he got by accident ridiculously enjoyable, if in terms of Identity Issues and 'Ah Shit That's The Kid's Blood' extremely distressing as well. What a fun combination)

- it's Everything Else around it that makes him uneasy; like the fact that he Knows It's Wrong, The Kids Would Most Freaking Likely Not Like it, and just overall the Character Dissonance he feels about it all

because how the fuck can he be a protective inner marshmallow that would just like to hug the kids, and give them headpats, and heal their wounds, and just overall take care of them as best as he can 🥺

and someone that gets absolutely freaking giddy at the idea and acts of violence and bloodshed (as long as it doesn't involve Some People but especially if it involves Other Ones) at the same time y'know?

(sorry bro, you're not gonna get any less contradictory anytime soon if ever - have fun being yourself, whatever that means, lol

Complex characterisation and all that ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

But returning to the topic; I won't say anything about further down the timeline

(he might, he might not, who knows, probably not in a way that would upset the kids too much if anything but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

but there is this one particular, hm, person that would fit all boxes in terms of being a mostly guiltless but still tasty snack, though not as tasty as possible, who miight be meeting him relatively soon (how??)

- and SIkuna wouldn't even need to break any promises with Yuji (oop spoiler 👀) to indeed have a spooky snack!

So, before anything as sophisticated as tempura - there may be moreso sashimi :] *HeeHee HoHo's a bit as lighting strikes in the background and I comically jump in surprise because wtf the sky's clear-????*

.

[alicent-archive]

Rhaenyra and Alicent go to the Dragonpit to select a dragon egg for Aemma’s unborn baby. Up until that point, Rhaenyra had been the one selecting the eggs, but this time, she wants Alicent to pick one. Alicent selects a black egg, and the reason she picks it is because the colour reminds her of Rhaenyra’s riding clothes.

When Baelon dies, the egg is returned to the Dragonpit.

Once Alicent is heavily pregnant, Viserys mentions that an egg has to be chosen for the baby. Rhaenyra would’ve been the one choosing the egg, but Rhaenyra isn’t on talking terms with anyone.

Viserys chooses the egg instead, and when Alicent returns to her chambers, inside the fireplace is a black egg. Visery’s tells her that it was Baelon’s egg, and Alicent almost snaps and tells him that, yes, she knows it was Baelon’s egg. She had been the person to pick it.

She doesn’t snap. She smiles. And that’s that.

Alicent realises, looking at the egg, that Viserys didn’t choose an egg for her baby, he chose an egg for Aemma’s baby; for Baelon.

As if the prince was still alive, as if Baelon walked among them.

When the egg hatches, from inside squirms a golden, glimmering dragon.

It reminds Alicent of a certain yellow dragon she used to visit almost everyday.

When Aegon is old enough to say single words, he calls the dragon Sun.

When he’s old enough to understand sentences, he calls the dragon Sunfyre.

[themalhambird]

The world is not real: Charlotte cannot touch it. This -news-, this tragedy  is not real either, and it cannot touch her. There’s too much cotton in her ears, there’s an endless, keening chime slowly boring through her skull- in at one temple, out at the other- a continuous line, all the way through…

She is sitting on the sofa. There’s a cup and saucer cradled in her hands. She doesn’t remember picking it up, but the steam is ghosting over her face. It’s fresh. (Her husband is dead). Polly must have given it to her. (Her husband died at his own hand.) They have a visitor, she ought to be showing more hospitality. She wonders if there’s any of that fruitcake left. (Alfred confessed to murder. Alfred confessed to murder,  and then Alfred murdered himself)

“Mama?”

Polly’s voice, soft and tentative as it is, makes her jump. Tea sloshes, spills over, pools in the delicate saucer. She shakes herself and focuses her gaze on Sir Julian. “That’s not,” she tries, but the sound barely forms. Charlotte pauses, swallows, tries again. “That’s not right,” she says, unsure if she’s really addressing Sir Julian Harker or merely facing his direction whilst trying to bargain with a Higher Power. “That’s not- none of this is right, Alfred wouldn’t- he wouldn’t do any of it, any of this…” But he has. He has, he has, he has, and when he comes home she’s going to skin him alive. “What will we do?” she asks, as the first beginnings of fear worm their way through the numbness of shock. “The disgrace of it-”

“Mama!” Polly cries, indignant. “At this moment, of all moments, your thoughts cannot be of what other people will think- what does that matter, what do any of them matter!”

It matters because they have never been reckless with money, but savings will not last forever and Charlotte doesn’t know if the widows of Police Inspectors who confess to capital offences and then take their own lives qualify for any sort of pension. It matters because the disapprobation of society in any circumstances can be death by a thousand cuts, whereas the widow who has the sympathies of her community has a better chance at maintaining a somewhat genteel situation. It matters because the infamy of the father will cast a shadow over the life and the character of the daughter- the best chance for Polly, now, is marriage, but what respectable, decent man would want a father- in- law six feet deep in unconsecrated ground?

“Mrs Hillinghead,” Sir Julian says solemnly, “I wish to assure you that you and your daughter will have the fullness of my protection. The events of the last twenty four hours- they will not reflect on you, nor on your daughter. You have my word.”

She acknowledges his words without really understanding- it will not be until much later, lying in a too-empty bed and staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep- that Charlotte will consider that Harker told Polly about Alfred’s death before he told her, that he stood as close to Polly’s chair as proprietary allows for, that he has seemed- these past few weeks- to admire Polly: her beauty, her music. And perhaps nothing will come of it but friendship- , but the friendship of a man that powerful is not an asset to be scorned. And if it turns into anything more…

They were nineteen, she and Alfred, when they married- they had been friends their whole lives before that. And she had known about him:  years before they had married, she had known that  his desires steered his eyes not towards the ranks of giggling, frivolous girls who batted their eyelashes at his well built figure and handsome face, but to other members of his own sex. And she had ignored it, because she knew him: he was too good a man to act on those desires. And he was kind, and gentle, and they were friends, and a husband who would be perfectly happy to conduct a marriage with minimal activity in the matrimonial bed suited Charlotte. She had courted him as much as he had courted her, really, although whether he ever realised that…

And he’s dead. Her best friend of nearly forty years. The murder confession, she has already written off- she neither knows nor cares about the details. If it was a false confession, then he confessed to try and protect someone- probably that journalist, given the confession it prompted to her, and she is furious at him. She is furious at him for not protecting his wife and child, and for not letting the journalist face whatever justice he merited- unless, of course, the man threatened to reveal Alfred’s inclinations, and take the Inspector who had detected his crimes down along with him. That seems, to Charlotte, the most likely explanation. And if the confession is- was- true, then Alfred must have had good reason for taking another man’s life: she has seen him carry spiders in the palm of his hand to release them outside, rather than squash them underfoot; she has listened to him vent his frustrations about officers being too heavy handed with their arrests at more dinners than she can remember. Taking another human life…it must have broken something in his mind, which would explain being in such a state that he would…. It does not matter. Alfred is dead, either way- she is a widow, either way. And she will encourage Julian Harker’s friendship, because if Polly can catch him she will have a comfortable home, and a husband who seems a good hearted and generous man. And she, Charlotte, will grieve Alfred Hillinghead. But if his death unravels into the scandal she fears, then she will take care to grieve him quietly. She will survive this. She has to. She has to survive this so that there’s someone who remembers that Alfred Hillinghead played cricket as a boy and took two sugars in his tea.