#i've been so tempted to write a fic like that but i probably never will bc I barely have time to do anything lately

[papa-evershed]

Martin Evershed & Mandy Carter ACKLEY BRIDGE

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I am going FERAL over this imagine:

So basically Bruce brings reader home to be his new daughter/the boys' new sibling but Uh Oh! They now want you carnally and reader is just like "you said you wanted me as a daughter/sibling, wtf is this" and being their platonic darling is better than being shared between them romantically so reader tries to come off as innocent and child/sibling coded by being like "yeah I've never actually kissed or dated anyone before aren't I just so innocent" and the boys are like :)))

So then Dick says you can call him your boyfriend "just to feel it out" and Tim starts blatantly stealing your panties and Jason says he can give you your 1st kiss so you can "practice" with him and Bruce offers to teach you how to touch yourself and (and him) and when you try to walk it back cause the boys are being Freaks they're in their delulu era so eventually you end up tied to the bed with the boys and Bruce drawing straws over who gets to take what 1sts (like 1st date, kiss, virginity, ect).

And Damien is just in the background absolutely SEETHING cause the the boys and Bruce's Horny Time keeps interrupting his Mommy Time with the reader

And reader using Damien as kind of a shield cause what are they going to do, feel you up in front of a CHILD? Like just, "Stay Platonic :))"

Just that kind of pseudo incest makes me Feel Things (*/∀＼*)(///∇///)

I'd love your thoughts/a fic based on this! Ty ❤️

TW: Brief mentions of pseudo incest(y) scenarios/behavior, manipulative tactics, yandere tendencies

(Okay so I’ll answer this with my thoughts for right now.)

I know I primarily write incest(y) related topics for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stuff but I have been tempted to/curious about branching it out into some of the other fandoms I write for 👀. (I’ve had a few ideas rolling around in my noggin for a bit if anyone is interested.) So I would be willing to give this a try. I’m down to experiment with some new stuff, within reason of course.

I imagine the Reader being older (probably 19-23), maybe even having been a runaway of sorts or not having a very stable home life, so when they’re given the ‘offer’ to become part of the family they’re looking to fulfill a familial void they’ve never experienced or have forgotten how it’s felt like. I definitely see Bruce and the rest of the boys keeping a very close eye on the Reader before they decide to finally bring them into their family, basically full on stalking them from the moment they caught their attention (you know how the Batfam works). It wouldn’t be a surprise if even before the Reader was with them physically that the boys developed a more carnal desire for them. At first, their intentions were completely platonic, but with all the lengthy observing and information gathering of their supposed-to-be-new-family-member eventually something changed in how they all saw their darling.

I really see the change in their obsession starting with either Dick or Tim first. Especially regarding some accidental or purposeful peeping Tom foolery. I feel like Bruce would be the last to fall victim to the change in direction or at the very least he’s the last one to admit to it. If Damian is younger than I see his obsession staying strictly platonic, but if he were much older than I could see him involving himself to the same depths as his family.

At first, I see things happening subtly. Knowing that at the very least a few of them are already in an obsessive-romantic headspace in regards to their darling before they even physically become part of the family the guys would try to be as welcoming as possible without revealing their true intentions. They don’t want to scare you off right away, they want you to walk into it semi-willingly at least. But the interactions with the Reader would show something else. The lingering touches, the being much closer to you than really necessary, the heated grazes over your clothes here and there that leave you wondering if that actually happened or not. I also kind of like the other members not being fully aware of each other’s change in obsession, everyone giving each other the side eye until it sets in and then all out war of who gets the darling to themself unfolds only to eventually end up with them working together and agreeing to share. That’s when Bruce’s heel-turn is revealed.

Once things get truly amped up, the interactions with the Reader really begin to escalate. The boys would walk around shirtless more often, all of them trying to get their darling to look at them, to really look at them. Eventually, it’s not just them being shitless but either them in nothing but their underwear or nothing at all. They start out as accidents but eventually it’s pretty loud and clear that the guys want you to see them, all of them, to even touch them and feel them to your hearts content. But thats not all, of course it’s not. The touching of their darling only gets all the more intense, to the point that you know damn well that they’re touching you and they want to leave you wanting for more. So much more. The Reader’s innocence and lack of experience would only spur them on even more. They absolutely thrive off of it. They all want to be your first, your first everything. There will be a lot of secret ‘lessons’ being given behind closed doors and telling of “Don’t tell Batdaddy or he’ll get real mad.” “Don’t let Jay know, or he’ll want to punish you for not doing this with him.” “Let this be our secret, (Name). Something just for you and me.” “Can’t tell anyone about this or they’ll ruin it for the both of us.” And they only get even worse from there.

I can’t see Alfred being okay with this in any situation, whatsoever. I think he especially would feel like Bruce and the other boys completely took advantage of the Reader and he would try his best to aid them in trying to keep up with the platonic intention of this entire fiasco. He would be a total cockblock, even going as far as helping Damian in his cockblocking endeavors. Alfred’s intention would be to play both sides so he knows how to help the Reader when it comes to Bruce and the others but it wouldn’t take too long for them to figure out that Alfred is working against them. Like, Alfred was all for the familial-platonic obsession but when things started getting more romantic he was ready to shut that shit down ASAP. You can’t tell me he hasn’t, at least a few times, locked Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim out of the house to give the Reader some peace and give Damian his much deserved allotted time with them.

Speaking of Damian, he is a menace (as per usual) but even more so than normal. He really doesn’t take too well to the new direction of his father’s and brothers’ obsession for the Reader. He thinks it’s pretty messed up but he sincerely likes and cares about the Reader and he wants them to stay, he wants them to continue being a part of the family forever so he’ll let some things slide. Some. He even may be willing to look the other way when it eventually comes to Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim baby-trapping the Reader if it means this whole ‘family’ thing becomes set in stone with the arrival of a new ‘sibling’. But for the most part, at least early on, Damian would be a huge pain in the ass for the other family members. He feels like he needs to step in to save his darling from the others and their ulterior motives. He’s all his parental/older sibling figure needs, at least at that point. He may even try to runaway with them to keep them safe from the others. Hell, he may even get his mother involved if he was desperate enough, especially if he saw the Reader as a parental figure. Or maybe even another Justice League member to either adopt him and the Reader so that he could have that family experience he was promised with the Reader. Or he would be completely content just living the rest of his life just him and the Reader, platonically of course.

It would either take Bruce or Dick to have a talk with Damian to get him to come to some agreement to allow them to continue with what they’re doing in regards to the Reader. I think Dick would get away with manipulating Damian much better than Bruce could. I think Damian would have some opinions about his father especially throughout this whole situation. Especially since I see Damian being very observant of how Dick, Jason and Tim are behaving towards the Reader early on and picking up on the fuckery taking place, even going as far as telling Bruce about it under the belief his father would be on his side (not ever fathoming the idea of his father also doing similar things to the Reader without him ever knowing). As far as Damian knew his father was completely platonic towards the Reader, as a ‘father’ should be. Right? So understandably Damian feels not only betrayed but also disgusted when he finds out that his father was and still is taking part in, acting in a similarly depraved fashion as the others.

Eventually, I could see them coming together and being one big ‘happy’ family. But it sure as hell comes at a price. (Usually the Reader’s freedom and sense of self outside of the obsession they’ve been dragged into, to drown in alongside their yandere(s).)

[aemondsbabe]

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?” 

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.” 

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

 Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home. 

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well. 

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it. 

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement. 

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was. 

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk. 

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it. 

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face. 

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you. 

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings. 

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly. 

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does. 

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin. 

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks. 

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor. 

“A… A great victory, master!” 

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare. 

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?” 

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you. 

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall. 

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded. 

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –” 

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately. 

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always! 

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything. 

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts. 

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.” 

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow. 

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours. 

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad. 

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer. 

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet. 

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone. 

A kindness, even now. 

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly. 

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.” 

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head. 

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers. 

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot. 

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter. 

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace. 

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow. 

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.” 

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.” 

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them. 

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way. 

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill. 

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again. 

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?” 

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip. 

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his. 

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same. 

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you. 

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers. 

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself. 

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. 

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. 

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm. 

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold. 

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine. 

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking. 

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives. 

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason. 

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his. 

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm. 

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend. 

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine. 

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her. 

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion. 

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore. 

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now. 

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again. 

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you. 

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say. 

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly. 

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close. 

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew. 

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips. 

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.” 

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you. 

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else. 

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet. 

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[the-marshals-wife]

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

[blixssily]

yaaaay ∑d(°∀°d) will look out for those, can't wait!!! if its okay, can i request for jingyuan fic/hc where he remains in luofu while his s/o is a nameless on the astral express travelling the universe, and finally reunite with jingyuan after ○○○ years when the train stops by luofu again? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

happy writing, remember to take breaks and drink/eat well ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

"it's hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you."

| you leave your lover behind to travel the world, one day you decide to finally come back to him.

| jing yuan x reader

˓ ꒱ notes and disclaimers: bad attempt at somewhat angst, reader is gender neutral, probably ooc.

˓ ꒱ authors notes: thank you so much for this request!! i'm so sorry if this isn't what you were picturing for jing yuan as i'm not too well versed in his character but i'll try my best!!

he tried to be supportive about your decision to stay on the astral express despite his many offerings for you to remain in xianzhou luofu. there's not a day that goes by that he doesn't think about you. the bed that couldn't barely fit the both of you (he insisted that it made it easier to hold you) now seemed like too much space for him. the side of the bed that you claimed as yours is now as cold as the midnight breeze. he shivers as he recalls the way you'd snake your arms around his neck, keeping him warm.

you two had almost gotten into an argument actually. when you announced that you weren't going to stay in xianzhou luofu with him. he just didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't want his afternoons to just be filled with paper work, he didn't want his home to be dead silent whenever he'd creak the door open. he didn't want the bed to be cold when he knew it wasn't meant to be.

he didn't want you gone.

he eventually came around and apologised to you though. "i'm sorry for what i've said before. if this would really make you happy, they by all means go for it. just come back to visit me once in a while okay?" he smiles, you can tell that smile is ridden with sadness, ridden with forced acceptance. "i promise." he feels your soft lips against his. it's at this moment that he realises just how weak you've made him. he'd give the whole world to you if you just asked.

he moment he bids you off on your journey he's so tempted to just leave his entire life in xianzhou luofu behind to be with you. wherever it may be, he just wanted to be surrounded by your warmth.

he stands there for a moment, almost as if the ground below him had shackled his ankles to the ground in a sick twisted way of forcing him to see you leave him. he felt so wrong walking away from the entrance of xianzhou luofu (?)

he's dreading having to open up the door to your once shared house, now devoid of all light. all your stuff is gone, albeit a few shirts and little pendants you bought were still lying around. it made it seem like you had passed on, and god he did not want to think of that.

he can't even focus on his job as the general anymore, he thinks he should be able to finish the bare minimum tasks like before he met you but now it feels like he can't even pick up his pen. the pen being one that you had bought him.

he honestly couldn't function well without you, he thinks it's pathetic how he's reduced to what he is now when the only thing that wasn't there was you. you two still kept in touch through your phones but it just wasn't the same. he'd call you every night, sometimes you wouldn't pick up because you were either already asleep or you were busy with something.

he thinks he's never felt more alone in his life.

it's been months, time seemed to pass by slower when you weren't by his side. the snacks he once bought you to try because he knew you'd be home to enjoy them, now never enter through his front door. it was supposed to be a normal day for him, fill out some paperwork, play chess with yanqing during his break, go home a little earlier than yesterday and just rest.

you didn't tell him this during your call last night but the astral express was visiting xianzhou luofu for awhile, the reason was unclear to you but you didn't care. you wanted to surprise your boyfriend! you still remembered his timings for when he goes home and he mentioned that he'll be back home a little earlier since he's been feeling tired lately so it was perfect!

you decide to go back to your shared home to wait for him, not before buying some ingredients to cook him dinner, which he probably hasn't done for himself in a while.

on the other hand, jing yuan gets a little startled when he realises that he lights in his house are on. he thinks hes being robbed but then again who else would be that stupid to rob the general or xianzhou luofu? when he's at the door he can smell the familiar scent of his favourite dish. his mind flashes to you but you didn't tell him you were coming back?

"welcome back! i wasn't sure what to do while i was waiting for you so i made you this." he honestly can't believe the sight that's in front of him right now. he never thought he'd hear your warm welcome so soon even though it's been months.

you walk up towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "i missed you." you whisper into his neck. his arms immediately find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer to him. "i've missed you too my dear." he nuzzles into your hair, taking in the scent that's almost left his, no, your shared home.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" he pulls away slightly to face you, god he's missed you. "i wanted it to be a surprise." you smile, shreds of guilt showing in your eyes for leaving him for so long. "let's eat, i'll tell you all about my adventures." you tug his wrist, the food already being set on the dining table.

moonlight pours through the windows to your bedroom, jing yuan's arms are wrapped tightly around your frame. you're nuzzled into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. your hands are tangled in his silver locks, occasionally giving his head a little massage.

"please don't ever leave me." your hands still at the sound of his voice. you're barely able to hear it, voice betraying his role as a general.

"i won't, i promise." you tighten your arms around him, pulling him impossibly closer to you. you look up at him to place a kiss on his lips. "get some sleep, i'll be here when the sun rises." you whisper as you snuggle back into his chest, relaxing your arms.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

notes and reblogs are heavily appreciated !!

[aziraphales-library]

Heya!

I've read a LOT of GO fics in my time, but I can't remember if I've seen crossovers/AUs of the following movies with Aziraphale/Crowley, can you help please?

So my favourite rom coms of all time are the following, and I'd love GO versions (if they don't exist I may have to write them)!

French Kiss (Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline)

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks)

When Harry Met Sally (Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal)

Runaway Bride (Julia Roberts and Richard Gere)

Never Been Kissed (Drew Barrymore)

I won't bother asking about Pretty Woman because I've read so many versions with either of them in either role lmaooo (and I have loved Every. Single. One.)

Or basically any late 80s/early 90s rom coms with Meg Ryan (except Sleepless in Seattle because I find it incredibly boring) or Julia Roberts!

Thank you so much for everything you do! You've helped me discover so many amazing fics and writers and it is much appreciated!!! 💖💖😇😎

Hello there!

Did you know there is a whole collection from the Good Omens Rom-Com Event that was run a couple years ago? You might find what you're looking for there! (Some of the fics are unfinished so keep that in mind)

We have previously recommended a bunch of You've Got Mail/She Loves Me fics HERE, so check those out.

As for the other ones you've asked about:

French Kiss AU:

A Bit of Crumpet by Fyre [E]

With a handsome, successful fiance and a respectable home in Manhattan, Aziraphale Fell thought his life was more than adequate. He never expected to be jilted in a long-distance telephone call and so he sets out for England to find out exactly what's going on and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

When Harry Met Sally AU:

it had to be you by curtaincall [M]

“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”

*

A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

I don't know of any fics with your two last wishes but there is also:

Notting Hill AU:

Soho by Lurlur [E]

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Music and Lyrics AU:

pop! goes my heart by attheborder [E], WIP

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Kate & Leopold AU:

Until by Nadzieja [T]

“I don’t want to go home.” Half-asleep Aziraphale murmurs into his ear and Crowley's heart clenches. His grip tightens reflexively around the warm soft body in his arms, around the smell of old books and sandalwood.

“Then don’t.” He’s trying not to sound like he's pleading, but his throat is tight and his voice hoarse.

*

Crowley lives his average life, working in a high-end advertising company at London that pays just enough to get him a room in a shared accommodation. That's just his luck that he ends up living with a literal witch. One day she brings home an even more eccentric man that has a taste for 19th century fashion, as if Crowley didn't have enough things to worry about. Little he knows that the man will turn his world upside down. Literally. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

~Mod N

[uzis-dopeaf-hat]

Murder Drones HumanAU + some updates

Summary: Uzi doesn't get along with anyone in her school, let alone her town. Why would she ever do anything for them?

After a fiasco in their chemistry class, she and three other students are forced to compensate by participating in the entertainment portion of Copper-9's big fall festival.

Uzi is almost tempted to just take the three weeks suspension and marks on her record, but if she wants to get out of this town she can't have anything stopping her. So, VERY reluctantly...

She agrees.

-

A/N: Still planning on a Nuzi post, but I've been so busy that I haven't had time to work on it too much this weekend.

As compensation... I have this?

I pulled that summary out of my ass, but I have a very vague idea of how this series would go. There would be probably at least two parts, each being multi-chapter with, of course, eventual Nuzi. Planning on sprinkling a bit of SmokeyBat and... Thuzi? Thi?? Uzid??? I don't actually know since I don't really... ship them?? Lol, which is a bit funny once you read what I've cooked so far.

Obviously, human au, with like 50 other themes mixed in (eventually). ALSO nothing supernatural (sorry if you wanted that, admittedly I did ponder the idea), but I still think this will be super interesting if I'm able to get a good outline going. I've been thinking about this idea for a few weeks.

Partly inspired by both Broken Balance by Gamecube19 and by chance by spero11 (which if you somehow haven't read I highly recommend). If I end up writing more of this it'll make a bit more sense where my inspiration came from.

Anywho, enough about me, lemme share my weird ideas with you all!

Sidenote: This fic will have NO smut or gore but WILL end with Nuzi if I pursue it, it just needs to simmer :)

-

Words: 2444

-

Uzi grumbles as the two idiots sitting in front of her continue their discussion on whether or not they can create their alcohol with the chemicals they were provided with for their chemistry lab that day. They were testing reaction types with certain compounds in various ways, which is up to their lab groups.

This usually isn’t a huge issue as her seatmate- Thad- is typically her assigned partner. Each lab table could fit four people, and since Thad was constantly to the right of her, he’d usually take pity when the teacher made the students choose their partners. Fortunately, that was a rare case when the teacher was in a good mood (which was never) and decided to let them choose their partners freely.

And in those rare cases, every single time Uzi tried to insist she was fine by herself, hide, or even pretend she already had a partner, the teacher has always either caught her or assigned her to an already made group (and this never ends up well for anyone in the classroom). Hence, why Thad (literally the ONLY person who talked to her outside of class occasionally) would always partner up with the girl.

She pretends it doesn’t make her chest feel funny.

But in a not super rare case (unfortunately), the whole lab table was required to conduct today's experiment together. 

In front of Uzi sat Sam, the typical resident stoner one can probably conjure up easily in their head. The stereotypical guy, except maybe the lack of obnoxiously dirty and long hair. He always had a beanie on like Uzi herself, though he has a buzzcut whenever it's off… which is seldom (once again, like Uzi).

Uzi wouldn’t mind the boy if he remembered… well, anything about her… but more importantly their freaking assignments that he constantly forgets to finish (she makes Braidon do Sam’s share). 

He always forgot her name, and even after re-informing him, he again forgets within the next few minutes. It's probably because of all the edibles he eats. Uzi thanks god every day she doesn’t have to deal with the stench of weed by this boy because god only knows if he’d survive her rage of having to smell that shit all day. They have close lockers so she wouldn’t be able to escape that reek even if she wanted to.

As for Braidon, he was a stuck-up, rude, and obnoxious redhead. He and Thad were definitely on the higher ranking when it came to their school's hierarchy, but unlike Thad, he flaunted that status in the stupidest ways Uzi could imagine. Constantly cut others in line at lunch, always making sure he’d “accidentally” spill his food onto the girl (which, way to get creative, idiot? Lizzy’s pulled that one back in Middle School), being the goddamned teacher's pet while borderline tattling on Uzi for things that never even happened (like the one time Rebecca stuck gum in another girls hair and had Braidon blame Uzi for it), and most recently, decided to “confiscate” Uzi’s belongings for a search as another student has supposedly reported to a staff member that she had firearms on her. 

Yeah, Uzi wasn’t fond of the asshole. Her dad always tells her not to fight so much with the other students, always urging her to make amends with the boy. She knows this is only because Braidon’s dad had a huge say in the community, along with one of the bigger funders of their shitty school. Uzi knows she could easily bend that bastard if he ever tried to get physical with her. She knew better than to retaliate physically with so much stacked against her (police chief's daughter or not), but she had her exceptions. 

The last time a bully tried really hurting her she kicked them straight in the face. Uzi had never felt more alive. Her dad wasn’t pleased with her two-week suspension, though.

But back to the shithead, he and his annoying ass tie made its presence known by discussing loudly with Sam about the lack of possibility of turning their little chemistry experiment into alcohol of all things. 

“Sam of all the things you could contribute, why choose this ridiculous notion? Whoever you give that to is going to end up in the hospital.” Braidon states, seemingly uninterested. Thad lets out a chuckle as Sam just gives a lazy shrug, mixing some chemicals he stole from one of the cabinets into a spare beaker that was left on the shelves. “Just lookin’ for somethin’ to do. Wasn’t this the uh- like, what we’re supposed to be doing anyways?” Sam questions, still casually mixing.

Braidon scoffs as he recites their assignment to Sam. Uzi growls and gets out her worksheet, intending to finish her work before class ends. With or without the help of her partners. Braidon will just figure out the work himself and give the information to Sam to copy.

She notices Thad watching her as she prepares their materials. She flushes a bit but elects to ignore her the heat rushing to her face as she finishes setting up, turning to Thad when she’s deemed everything ready.

“Ya ready?” She asks, making sure she doesn’t sound too interested in what he’ll have to say. Thad nods before he quirks a brow at the two in front of them. “What about them?”

Uzi rolls her eyes, “They’ll catch up, as always”. Uzi cracks her knuckles. “Let’s just get this over with already so I can stop talking to you idiots”.

Thad only nods, used to Uzi’s blase and hostile nature to be able to not feel too offended.

As the two work, Braidon seems to notice them moving on without him and Sam and huffs, before beginning to write down their data and shoving Sam in the arm to try and steer his attention at the task at hand (which has about a 30% success rate).

Despite Uzi’s general dislike of her school’s populace (or her town), they’re usually able to get shit done with minimal issues. Thad and Sam typically make for good buffers between the others. If left alone with each other for too long, an argument is guaranteed, along with a high chance of Uzi having a nice visit to the principal's office. 

With that being said, minimal incidents does not mean zero incidents.

The group finishes their lab reports first, thanks to Braidon and Uzi’s high intelligence (not that anyone is singing her praises), and they proceed to turn in their papers. Uzi cleans up the lab table since Sam is too doped up to realize it needs cleaning, while Braidon doesn’t care to help if it means any more interaction with Uzi, which neither of them wants.

Thad, of course, helps. And Uzi makes sure to be extra careful when he hands her a beaker he just rinsed, cautiously preventing her fingers from grazing his (even if she may desperately crave to). It doesn’t take long to finish, and Uzi lets out a sigh as she places herself back on her stool, checking her phone and noting that she only has twenty minutes before class ends. Luckily, this is her last class of the day. Once that bell rings she is out. 

Uzi leans down to grab her bag below her seat, struggling, before letting out a defeated groan and hopping out of her chair to reach it instead. She places it on the table before jumping back in her spot yanking her earbuds from the bag's side pocket and shoving them in her ears and phone aux. 

She puts on one of the many random playlists she’s painfully curated over the years on,  turning up the volume probably too high to drown out her shitty class, before grabbing one of her journals (which looked to have been used quite a bit), a blue and a black ballpoint pen (she’d need new ones soon), and a thick folder filled with varying sizes of used paper (both blank and assignments).

The others ignore her, Thad knowing better than to look at her work as last time he did so she shouted at him so suddenly that he couldn’t hear out of his left ear for the entirety of football practice.

Uzi turns to where she had left the journal’s bookmark ribbon, the page showing different designs for a variety of weapons, the next page is the start of a messy sketch of a landscape being made with small notes added here and there. It was a blank journal, so no lines obscured the mess of ink she had left behind.

Uzi hums as her music continues to blare, turning it up more as some lab tables away a group is having a spat about their results. 

Next, she grabs her folder, which is purple and made of cheap cardboard. The spine was starting to deteriorate and the smaller subfolders had been repaired with black duct tape to help keep it together, barely keeping all her papers together (she’d have to delegate some old papers to recycling or her closet soon). All of the papers were filled with notes from over the years, keeping the most important ones to the left, and the most relevant to the right. Uzi grabbed one from the right subfolder and turned it around to check the back, before setting it down and closing the folder. 

On one side of the paper was a one-page assignment that had been graded and returned, a large ‘100%’ in red marker covering the top. On the other side, there were more notes, mostly about some sort of story concept, along with side notes to footnotes, unorganized and multicolored. Uzi looks at some of the purple ink left on the paper, making a mental note to grab a pack of purple pens as well when she eventually goes to the store.

Looking at the paper, she smiles a bit before getting to work in her journal, making certain lightly sketched areas more detailed, adding elements she had previously intended to incorporate. In the corner in all caps in small letters, the words “DEATH’S DRONES: PLANET-9 CONCEPT.” Underneath in an even smaller font was “title a work in progress.” Uzi wasn’t very proud of her naming abilities. 

As the girl continued her sketching, she didn’t notice her table mates suddenly begin to speak. Not until someone rounded the table and painfully ripped one of her earbuds out.

“OW, What the absolute f-” She’s interrupted from her anger by the suspect, Braidon, tutting at her and waving a hand. 

“Oh, hush up you’ll be fine. We just needed you for something real quick.”

Uzi growls as she narrows her eyes, now noticing that Thad and Sam are also staring at her, with Sam at some point having also stood up and placed next to Braidon. He was still holding the beaker from earlier. She checks her phone. 

‘2:53,’ a little over five minutes left of this hellhole. Uzi detested the idea of getting into an argument with the idiot in front of her and having to stay at the school for any longer than she wanted because she had somehow “instigated” the dickhead and would probably have to attend detention. 

With a groan, the girl relented. “And why the hell do you need me?”

There’s a flash in Braidon’s eyes, and Uzi glares harder. It’s so unfair that the three surrounding her are still taller than her even on this death trap of a chair. Bullshit is what this is, but she’s not about to back down just because of a little height difference.

“Just drink this, Doorman.” He grabs the beaker Sam is holding and shoves it in Uzi’s face. Uzi looks down at it, eyes widening in surprise. Thad lets out a small noise, seemingly debating whether or not to step in. Sam, to his credit, finally looks a little less out of it and gives Braidon a confused look.

“Uhh… I thought you said if someone drank that it would-” He’s cut off when Braidon holds his hand up. The taller of the two glares, “Ah- I was just being hyperbolic, Sam. She’ll be fine! And hey, if this works, Chad and Brad will have something new to serve at their next party. Or you, Thad.” He gives a glance to the jock as he gives out a mirthful smile.

Then, he turns back to Uzi, placing the beaker in front of her. “Whenever you’re ready.” He grins, eyes sharp.

Uzi stares at him, then at Sam, then Thad. 

Braidon has a smug grin, his arms crossed as he waits impatiently for Uzi to take a sip of Sam’s concoction. Sam himself looks a little confused but mostly tired. He gives a small yawn and when he catches Uzi’s gaze gives a lazy wave. Thad just looks pensive, smiling encouragingly when their eyes connect.

Uzi takes a breath, pausing her music and calmly taking out her other earbud, before picking up the beaker.

Then, as she stares directly at the redhead, pours the liquid down the sink drain that lies in the middle of their table.

Sam laughs a bit, not caring about his half-hour of work being drained away. Thad looks a little relieved, though stares at the sink confused. 

And Braidon looks pissed.

Uzi sticks her tongue out at him and as she’s about to speak, a slow, crescendo of sizzling reaches her ears.

Confused, she turns to Thad who’s still looking at the sink, seemingly startled. She turns only to jolt when she realizes something is coming up from the drain. Both she and Thad bolt up from their seats (Uzi with some difficulty) when the sizzling gets louder and louder.

She bumps into the two boys behind her, but she’s too spooked to care. It seems they have the same mindset as neither comment on it.

Suddenly, there’s a loud ‘pop!’ and a large flash that engulfs the whole room.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And when the light fades away? Uzi pales at what she sees.

The sink was ruined, the metal corroded away and the surface of the table surrounding the sink also had been damaged. Whatever Sam had mixed had eaten at the metal and table, leaving behind smoke that thankfully seemed to be teetering out.

The entire class was quiet, staring at the ruins of the corner lab table with wide eyes and open mouths. 

Until a very angry teacher marches up to the four and shouts.

“YOU FOUR, TO THE OFFICE. NOW.” 

None of them protested as all four rushed out of the classroom.

Uzi’s hands were shaking.

She ignores it.

-

...so uh... let me know what y'all think! I don't have a name for this AU or story yet, but as I type more behind the scenes I'm sure I'll think of something... hopefully

I also had a helper with me as I wrote both this post and the "first chapter" so to speak.

Okay, so I don't have a beta and I probably won't need one (Grammarly has my back! I uh... think,,) but N was nice company lol. Uzi will be out soon and you bet I'm gonna go crazy with that when it comes.

The N Shimeji was created by Polar Summit, and you can find their other Shimeji projects here where they update their works!

Thanks for reading all my bullshit if you've made it this far! If I end up pursuing this I'll post it on my AO3, with some potential changes to this "first chapter" (which I want to make a little closer to 4k-5k words).

I won't reveal too much since I really like this idea and I uhhh kinda don't want people to take it? But feel free to ask questions and speculate lol love y'all <3

...

aannnd they've multiplied. goodnight.

[metalbvcky]

Recently I've been in this "we need to find our next big multi-chap WIP" mood since I'm insanely close to finishing up writing Aster, and my brain is torn between two options

1) Doctor Steve + Patient Bucky, Modern AU, rich kid Bucky who's like, "I have an unknown illness that no one seems to understand, a father who wants me to pursue real estate, and a desire to find love in the hopeless shithole known as my own separate wing of my parents' mansion."

2) Post TWS recovery fic, Steve getting Bucky back and the two growing and rediscovering each other, possibly with Avengers missions and Bucky feels and all that

The first I already have a planning doc going (for two years now!!) with several notes and ideas, yet the second I only thought of recently. What's the deal, brain? I've been wanting to write that doctor/patient AU for so long now and I feel like I might be able to tackle it after After (there's also the uh, wedding fic, god knows how long that'll be) yet I'm suddenly in the mood for canon typical violence and Winter Soldier Bucky??? lolol

So yeah. Anyway, this is just a lil brain dump rant because I'm being tossed around with all these ideas and need somewhere to get em out. Toying with ideas is fun, and even though I've never written a TWS longfic (it's on the bucket list), I'll probably stick to reading xD

But while I'm here, I'm a bit curious, even though I stick to writing what the loudest muse tells me to

[illfoandillfie]

Heyy, i know this is so cheesy and such a trope but can i request 'stuck in a lift' in maybe like a fancy hotel where queen are hosting an afterparty, reader is somehow connected to the band and obviously fancies rog despite thinking he's a bit obnoxious, is heading up to bed, and Roger is going to get something from his room, when bad, they are stuck in the enclosed space for quite some time leading too... 😆

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 21

Okay i've had a vague notion of writing a stuck in a lift fic for like years because someone had requested one when i was doing blurbs another time but i didn't really know what to do with it. So thank you for giving me a reason to think about stuck lifts again! Your ideas were perfect and exactly the jumping off point I needed to actually write it!

Warnings: Roger the flirt, it ends before the real smut because otherwise it would have been too long, so apologies for that, but references to p in v sex and oral sex and handjobs/fingering,

If someone had told you that you’d be attending Queen’s end of tour party, you’d never have believed it. Of course it wasn’t really so mad to suggest you’d get your name on the list. Your dad worked as a roadie, specifically on Queen’s latest tour, so you had an in. The problem was he could be a little protective of you, even though you were a grown woman. Especially around hot young musicians who liked to flirt with anything in a skirt AKA Roger Taylor. As it was when he’d brought you backstage to meet the band he’d watched Roger closely. You’d gotten a bit of a tour of the stage and all the work that went on behind the scenes and Roger had even shown you what the interior of the tour bus looked like. It had made your brain whirl with ideas of what might happen there but those thoughts were dampened by your dad standing to the side glaring daggers at Roger whenever he so much as breathed in your direction. It was a shame since Roger was easily the cutest of the band and the one you found easiest to talk to. He could be a little bit obnoxious sometimes but he was usually sweet and funny. If you were being honest, you were a little pissed your dad had probably scared him off. You wouldn’t have minded something happening if the chance arose, but that wasn’t likely to if he’d been warned off. All the same, once your dad had invited you, you were determined to have fun. Even if you didn’t get to make out with the drummer.  

You’d gotten there a little early so you could check in, dump your bags and get changed before heading down to the rapidly filling party. The glitz of it all was almost overwhelming. The band had coopted their hotel’s event spaces entirely, people milling between the three halls and spilling into the main foyer. You were suddenly very thankful your dad had been able to get you a room for the night otherwise you might have been tempted to hookup with someone just to make the night a little easier.  

The party ended up being a lot of fun. You ran into a few people you knew – roadies you’d met through your dad, girls who hung around the band – some of them groupies, some not. You had a few drinks, danced for a bit, talked to whoever you bumped into. You even managed to run into all of the boys during the course of the night. Freddie, life of the party as always, was surrounded by a group of people you didn’t know but he pulled you over all the same just to check that you were having a good time. The other three were almost as equally sought after so you barely got to say more than a few words to each before they were whisked off. Still, it was a good night as you bounced around from room to room, taking drinks from the roving waiters, turning down lines from the party animals. But, by one in the morning you’d had your fill. The party was in full swing though the guests had dwindled a little. But you felt as if you’d drunk enough and danced enough and talked to enough people. Making your way across the foyer you bid a few people goodnight and grabbed the first lift heading upstairs. Once inside you breathed a sigh of relief that it was miraculously empty. But that didn’t last long. The doors were beginning to shut when you heard someone call out for you to hold the door. For half a second you contemplated pretending you hadn’t heard but you manners won out and you were glad they had. Roger Taylor was jogging towards you.  

He looked a little worse for wear but bright eyed and bushy tailed nonetheless.   “Thanks,” he puffed, a little out of breath, “These things take ages for the next one to come,”  “No problem. Good party?”  “Yeah really good, might be the best we’ve had. You leaving already?”  You laughed, “Well not all of us have tour buses we can sleep on while we’re driven around. I have to get myself home in the morning.”  He hummed, “You might have more brains than the rest of us then. Sensible girl.”  “What are you doing then?”  “Oh, getting a pack of smokes. Must have left them in my other jacket and no one wanted to bum me one. Something about me being rich enough to afford my own.”  You giggled at Roger’s less than subtle brag. Coming from him it didn’t sound quite as arseholeish as it might have from someone else. Roger was an easy conversationalist and you were happily chatting about what he’d be doing now the tour was over when the elevator made a strange grinding noise.   “Well that makes tot- fuck that was a weird nosie.” You said, glancing up at the roof though there was nothing noteworthy there.”  Roger seemed as if he were about to say something, hopefully reassuring, when the whole lift jolted and everything went dark.”  “What the fuck?” You asked the black space where Roger had been a second before.  “Don’t worry,” his voice said from the darkness, “probably just a problem with the electrics in the building. It’s an old hotel and the party’s lighting is probably fucking with things.”  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” you said, feeling a little spooked all the same.   “They’ll have a backup generator, probably just takes a minute to switch over though.”  You counted the seconds in your head as both of you waited to see if he was right and then let out a sigh of relief when moments later the lights flickered back on, though a little dimmer than before. The lift didn’t move but you weren’t too worried. The mechanism probably forgot what floor it was heading to with the power reset and just needed the button pressed again. Roger must have had the same train of thought because he leaned over and hit his floor’s number again.   “Get floor 10 for me will you?”  “Fuck,”  “Yeah good one,” you laughed, “we stuck are we?”  Roger turned, for once seeming a little fazed, “Uhh, I think we might be.”  “Please tell me you’re joking,” You stepped around him so you could reach the buttons yourself and began hammering the tenth floor button.  “I wouldn’t joke about this. But it’s okay, there's an emergency help button. Someone will come for us soon.”  You felt less reassured when he pressed it an absolutely nothing happened, “Is it meant to do...nothing?”  “I don’t actually know. I was expecting more but maybe it just sets off an alarm somewhere?” He looked over to you, “You’re not claustrophobic are you?”  You shook your head.  “Okay, good. We might be in here for a little while.” Roger shrugged, back to his usual unflappable self.  

“No. No, we can’t be stuck in here.” You moved towards the door and banged a fist against it.   Roger watched as he slid down to sit on the floor in the corner.   You banged a few more times until Roger finally told you to stop. “People will come when they come. We’ve done all we can. Just sit.”  “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I’m going to die in a dodgy lift with Roger Taylor.”  “We’re not going to die, don’t be dramatic. And I’m a little offended thank you very much. There are worse people you could be stuck here with. At least I’m easy on the eyes.”  You rolled your eyes before sitting down against the back wall beside Roger.  Roger laughed at your reaction, “You’re not bad yourself, by the way. So, y’know, there are ways we could kill some time...” his hand stroked against your calf and you jolted like he’d given you a static shock.   “Are you really hitting on me? Now? While we’re stuck in a broken lift?”  “Well why not? Just us, a bit of mood lighting, and who knows how long it’ll take them to find us...” his hand rose a little higher.  “Aren’t you scared my dad’ll kick your arse?”  “Oh terrified. He's much stronger than me. But, well, that’s the beauty of being trapped in here alone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or make him hurt me.   You laughed again, feeling calmer.  “I’m being serious, in case I wasn’t clear. I’ve not hit on you properly out of respect, and maybe fear of your father, but I do think you’re fit. And I think fucking would be a fun way to kill some time in here.”  You weren’t really sure what to say so settled for just staring instead.  Roger took that as encouragement, “I don’t have any condoms on me but I promise I’ve not got anything. I’m also, not to sound too up myself, a fucking good lay. And I suspect you’ve thought about shagging me before in which case I’d be more than happy to show you my cock for real. It won’t be the most comfortable fuck ever but it’ll be fun and take out mind off our current predicament and we can always move it to my room once we’re out of here.   You were still gobsmacked, “I don’t know what to say.”  “If it’s the condom thing putting you off I’m happy just to do mouth or hand stuff. Or if you don’t want to do anything that’s fine too, we can find something to talk about instead. But who knows how long we’ll be waiting.”  “I’m....fuck it, okay.”  Roger broke out into a grin, “I knew you were into me. You definitely wanna?”  “Nothing fucking else to do is there,” you laughed, scooting a little closer to Roger, not quite sure how he wanted to go about it. 

Roger shifted forward too, angling himself to be in a better position so he could cup your cheek and lean in for a kiss.   “Hey,” there was a bang against the door that made you jump apart before your lips had even touched, “You okay in there?”  Roger sighed and let his hand drop before he answered, “Yeah, we’re okay.”  “Just sit tight, we’ll have you out a jiffy.”  “Terrible timing,” you murmured and Roger laughed derisively.  There was a lot of talk and banging from the other side and Roger’s gaze flicked in its direction, back to you, to the door again. He shrugged when he next looked at you, “Fuck it, we’ve got time.” His hand was on your cheek again and he was pulling you close, stealing your breath as his lips landed on yours.  

The kiss continued until a particularly loud bang reminded you that people would be bursting in imminently. But you didn’t want it to end at all. You wanted to keep kissing Roger, for as long as you could, more if he was still up for it.   “Y’know,” you said softly, glancing at the door to make sure no one was about to burst in, “Being trapped in a broken lift if a good excuse for an early night. Maybe we could continue this in your room?”  Roger raised his eyebrow at you but then grinned again, “I like the way you think.”  You had just enough time to smile conspiratorially before a loud scraping sound made you scramble to your feet and you saw the doors being forced open.  

[sciderman]

How do you feel about different animated Peters? Do you have a favorite out of them?

hooh man, i know i say that i've consumed every little bit of spider-man media ever but it's really not true actually, and i think the thought of trying to watch every single animated version of peter parker kind of makes my brain explode. there are so many. i didn't actually grow up on spider-man cartoons, i only really got into spider-man comics in my late teens so my point-of-reference for peter parker will kind of always be the 616 comics, first-and-foremost.

i did watch a bit of ultimate spider-man as it was airing and i probably am one of the very few people on the planet who's kind of oddly soft on it! i have complicated feelings about ultimate spider-man. i feel about it the same kind of way that i feel about way's deadpool run. that it's an entirely annoying depiction of the character that is full to the brim with irritating jokes that don't land and package up the character to be a nutszo joke-a-minute lols random haha type deal but - i see oddly sincere and sympathetic and self-aware moments in there that make me inexplicably fond of that particular portrayal.

i don't know - i actually really love it when peter's portrayed as an actual weirdo. not the uptight square-boy you usually see, or this quirky boy-scout who's just kind of bland and cute and nerdy - but a peter parker that is actually unapologetically annoying. like you can't stand to be with him. i kind of love to see it. i don't know, i want him to be annoying. i think he should be annoying. and i love that he's fucking insane. like, objectively. he's not a sane man. he's adhd incarnate. and he's stupid. he has heroic moments, yeah, but he's also stupid and a jerk. i don't know. i'm probably giving it way too much credit, but compared to what came after (disney xd's spider-man (2017), looking at you) it's fun and kind of a very weird departure to your usual spider-man fare. deadpool appears in this show for one singular episode also so naturally thta is enough to make my brain go brrr.

(i've actually been really wanting to write a fic set in this universe. it's a universe i'm kind of interested in exploring, actually. been rotating it in my mind for a really, really long time. i'm almost ashamed to admit it, but every version of wade wilson fires up my brain, and i'm really, really interested in fleshing out this strange, i-was-a-child-soldier-turned-teenage-mercenary wade wilson. sorry. off-topic now. spider-man. we're meant to be talking about spider-man.)

disney xd's spider-man (2017) sorry you are so ugly and so boring. she doesn't exist to me. i hate that stupid nerdy off-brand tom holland ass twink with the green eyes. hate her. she is so boring. and her voice is even worse than drake bell (how could that be possible)

60's spider-man fucks. binged it so hard during my college days because it put me into the flow-state while i was working on my animation projects. i love that square boy. i love how macho he sounds when he's in the suit. i love his stupid fucking spider with the six legs. i love that they didn't have the budget for the extra two legs. i love him. he got me through college. almost tempted to do a stream of 60s spider-man so you all can enjoy it with me. it's a treasure. and thank you, 60s spider-man, for all the reaction images.

spectacular spider-man is very beloved, and i NEAARLY watched it all the way through, but – i don't know, i kind of just... don't like that peter parker very much. i couldn't tell you why. he's just a little boring to me. maybe it's the same criticism people slam onto andrew garfield's spider-man, the "he's too cool" argument. he's just not cringefail enough. he's kind of a bit boring. and his stupid SHIRT TAG that is NEVER TUCKED IN makes me FROTH at the MOUTH. i didn't wind up finishing the series because the love-triangle stuff just got way too exhausting for me. usually i eat up the peter parker drama but this particular case it really is a "why on earth is everyone in love with him. he's so boring." kind of situation. sure, it's a universal constant, but in this series it really is true. i wouldn't waste my time with him. sorry. mid. 5/10 peter parker portrayal. but the art and animation and theme song fuck.

i don't think i've watched enough of the other series to talk about them - which i feel kind of embarrassed about. i wanted to watch the animated series (1994) but just - never got around to it. i just prefer the comic-book format over animation, funnily. the irony, of me being an animator by trade, but preferring the medium of comic books. but like - i don't know. i prefer books over movies too. i just like doing more brain-work. it's why i like to write and draw more than i like to watch things. i don't like passive consumption. i want to put my brain to work. so - soooo, when it comes to watching things, i'm kind of terrible at it.

i think i should do a massive research session where i watch every spider-man series (or at least as much of them as my brain is willing to) - so i can do a comprehensive ranking of all peter parkers. if i have the time for that sort of thing (i don't.)

one day, maybe, one day. it could make a very fun video essay. i'd love to make a video essay, one day.

[bbutterflies]

People seemed interested in my slowburn Adrino fic (no distance too far) on the wip reblog post - here's one of my favorite little snippets I've written so far! Context being Adrien was out of Paris all summer and he and Nino are starting at a new school when he comes back.

“You got taller!” Adrien shoved Nino playfully. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s not like I can control it,” Nino laughed, shoving him back. “But I can’t say I’m not enjoying being so much taller than you.”

Adrien pushed him again and then ran into the school before Nino could get him back. He weaved through the bodies, laughing and ignoring Nino’s shouts for him to slow down. Adrien ran aimlessly through the hallways — he’d never even set foot in this school before and was already hopelessly lost — but he could hear Nino’s footsteps and laughter echoing in the halls behind him, so he kept going. Past the crowd at the front, past the more thinned-out groups of students, into relatively empty hallways deeper in the school, when Nino finally caught up to him.

Nino caught him around his waist and lifted him right off his feet. Adrien’s breath caught in his throat at how close they suddenly were. He felt his face getting warm as Nino held on tight. He needed to pull himself together.

“Put me down!” Adrien laughed, pushing against Nino’s arm with little success.

“Stop running away from me, then.”

“Boys! No roughhousing in the halls,” a teacher shouted.

Nino immediately put Adrien back on his feet and took a step away. “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Adrien echoed, but as soon as the teacher had turned around he shoved Nino again. “When did you get so strong?”

“I obviously hit the gym every day while you were gone,” Nino joked. “Had to make sure you were impressed when you got back.”

“Y-yeah. I am.”

“What?”

Adrien turned around as his face heated up. What was wrong with him? “We should- we should go, um, find our first class. So we’re not late.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m great.” Adrien picked a direction, any direction, and started walking. “C’mon. I think it’s this way.”

“It’s definitely the other way. You missed orientation, remember?” Nino grabbed Adrien’s wrist. “I’ll show you.”

Adrien choked back a whine and followed him.

Adrien couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at Nino instead of looking at his notes. Nino had gotten taller, and stronger, since he’d last seen him. Adrien couldn’t stop himself from tracing his eyes up from Nino’s hand — so close to his, close enough he could easily reach out and take it in his own — to his forearm and past his elbow up where his skin met the sleeve of his t-shirt. Even just sitting here typing, it was impossible to ignore how much more toned his arms were than when they’d finished last semester, the faint definition of his muscles flexing as he typed.

(Why did Adrien know that? Why could he remember so clearly what Nino had looked like before?

Had he always been in love with Nino?

He didn’t have time to think about that.

Seriously, though, what had Nino been doing all summer to look like that?)

Adrien wondered what it would be like to be held by him. He wondered what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms.

He snapped his eyes back to his own notes, not that he had any intention of writing anything down. He had to try to focus.

It was inevitable he was looking over at Nino again. 

He found himself studying the curve of his jaw and the shape of his lips, and Nino was warm, probably, and Adrien would bet that he tasted good, and-

Focus!

Adrien stared back at the mostly-empty page in front of him. He was going to have to ask for Nino’s notes. He tried listening to the lecture again but was completely, totally lost. He couldn’t take notes on this if he tried.

Fuck it.

He looked over at Nino again.

He knew from past experience that Nino’s skin was soft. He knew his shoulder was a great place to fall asleep, and it was a tempting offer now, if they weren’t in the middle of a lecture and surrounded by other students.

Was that- was that normal? Did best friends do that? Adrien had never had a good frame of reference for normal-platonic-best-friend behavior, but it was dawning on him that maybe the frequency with which he’d leaned against Nino’s shoulder — cuddled with him, basically — was not necessarily normal. He couldn’t imagine himself like that with anyone else.

But Nino was also his only best friend.

Adrien stifled a sigh, not wanting to draw attention to himself. It was all so confusing and so sudden. Nino’s hair had gotten longer over the summer. Hats were strictly not allowed at this school, which Nino had definitely complained about more than once, but it meant Adrien got the chance to appreciate his dark curls. He wanted to run his fingers through them, to know what his hair felt like. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance to find out.

They were sitting near the window, morning sun filling the room and making Nino’s skin glow like he was covered in honey. Adrien couldn’t help but wonder if it would taste like it, too.

What was wrong with him?

Nino didn’t like him as anything more than friends. It was weird to keep thinking of him like that, in the middle of class, no less.

Nino raised his hand, startling Adrien back to reality. He asked a question Adrien couldn’t even begin to understand, voice smooth and confident, and took note of the answer. Adrien didn’t even bother writing it down, but he tapped his pen on his page restlessly.

Nino glanced at him and mouthed something Adrien couldn’t make out. He just stared back, confused, so Nino stole Adrien’s pen out of his hand and scribbled down a note on the corner of his page.

you good?

Adrien resisted the urge to rip that piece of paper out and frame it somewhere in his room.

He took his pen back with a smile. Tired, he mouthed.

Nino offered him a smile back, warm and forgiving, and turned back to his laptop.

Oh, god, Adrien was never going to pass this class.

He managed to keep his eyes forward for the rest of class, not that he understood any of the material. 

“I have never seen you so distracted, man,” Nino said. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just jet lag or something, I think,” Adrien lied. He was perfectly synced up with Paris’s time zone, having been adjusting to get back on time for the past week, and had had no trouble at all getting up with his alarm this morning. “I’m alright. Could you send me your notes, though?”

“Mine? Why?”

“I, um, got lost at the beginning.” Adrien pushed his notebook over to Nino. “And then I just stayed lost.”

Nino’s eyes widened when he saw the basically empty page. “Yikes. Yeah, of course, man. Want to come to mine tonight and go over it? My mom’s been dying to see you. She’s worried they didn’t feed you enough when you were gone.”

Adrien definitely wouldn’t get permission, but he didn’t have anything scheduled, and he missed Nino’s mom’s cooking. He could sneak out. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“You’re on.” Nino clapped him on the shoulder. “See you at lunch, then?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

Adrien, by no surprise, had no trouble at all focusing in the rest of his morning classes.

Lunch, though, was spent trying to hold up conversation with Nino without getting lost staring at him.

Adrien felt like he was being a creep. He hated that he couldn't just be normal and talk to his best friend. He hated that he couldn’t stop wondering what the hell Nino had done to get so much stronger, so much more muscular than he remembered.

(Nino had never been able to just pick him up the way he had this morning. Adrien was kind of realizing he was obsessed with that and was stuck wondering what he’d have to do to get it to happen again.)

Adrien had never, ever had this problem before. He was a model, for crying out loud. He was around beautiful people all the time. He’d spent his whole summer around countless attractive people, guys and girls and everyone, each more beautiful than the last. He’d always found it simple enough to ignore any thoughts about them and get to work.

There was no work to be done here. Nothing to do but sit and try not to steal glances at Nino, and try to maybe remember to eat his own lunch while he was at it.

“The food here is so much better than in collège,” Nino said around a mouth full of food.

“Dude, you should swallow before you talk.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I need to impress you anymore.”

Adrien felt his face flushing (which was stupid and not helpful and so unnecessary right now) and tried to play it off by taking a drink of water. “What, don’t care about my opinion?”

“I never said that.”

Adrien froze, staring back at Nino over his glass. “What?”

“What?” Nino parroted. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re being super weird today.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“You look warm.”

Oh, god. Adrien shook his head. “I feel fine.”

“C’mere.” Nino put his arm over Adrien’s shoulders to pull him closer.

Goosebumps raked down Adrien’s arms. “Nino,” he whined, “what are you doing?”

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Nino held Adrien close, despite the fact he was trying to wriggle free (and oh my god he was so strong how was he doing this so easily with one arm) and brought his other hand to Adrien’s forehead.

Adrien was going to scream.

“I’m fine, seriously.” Adrien tried to push Nino away, as much as he loved being close, because his heart was pounding in his ears and he was struggling to remember to breathe. “Dude, let go.”

“Never. Clearly I need to keep you safe.” Nino wrapped both arms around Adrien, squeezing him tight.

Adrien burst out laughing, still trying to break free. “Nino! Let go!”

“Boys!” a teacher scolded from somewhere nearby, and they both promptly let go and scooted away from each other.

Adrien stole a glance at Nino, who stole a glance back, and they both erupted into laughter.

“Could you imagine what your dad would do if we got suspended for fighting on the first day?” Nino said.

It made Adrien laugh all the much harder. “Oh my god. He’d lose his mind.”

“My mom would kill me. She’d be all over you, though.” Nino rolled his eyes. “Like, convinced I’d actually hurt you.”

“Jealous your mom likes me more?”

“I swear she would just adopt you if she could.”

Adrien didn’t hate the idea, except being Nino’s brother would be… super, super weird.

(Adrien could think of another way to be part of the family that would be way more on track with his line of thinking from the day but they were fifteen and he needed to seriously get his head on straight.)

“Hey, we can always just trade places. Think my father would notice?”

Nino snorted. “I bet I could get at least two days before he did, but only because I, like, lost a fencing tournament or something.”

Given how little time Adrien actually spent with his father, that sounded about right to him, too. “Seems like a fair deal to me.”

“What? No way.” Nino shoved him.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it. Your mom loves having me over.”

“Honestly, she probably wouldn’t even care if you just moved in.”

Adrien really wished he could sometimes.

[remytheratking]

I'm pretty sure I read this from someone else, I forgot who though but this isn't entirely my idea.

I've been thinking about Jeth and what their dynamic will be and I feel like they're exes who remained friends. When you think about it, Reth has a poor reputation among the village, and Jel is fully dedicated to his path and is from a known and respected family. A relationship between those two would probably be incredibly looked down upon.

So, I feel like Jel found himself in a situation where he had to choose either Reth or his own reputation, and ultimately decided to break up with Reth. Reth would obviously be betrayed by this decision, but not exactly be mad at Jel. Though he would then begin to avoid Jel for a long time before Tish basically makes them talk and be friends again. While they'll never be like they were before, they would put aside that event and once again become close friends.

The angst potential with that idea is lovely in my opinion, and I'm incredibly tempted to write a short oneshot fic based on it.

[spaceshipkat]

Just saw your tags on my MotA text post and NO, BABE, YOU'RE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT!!!!! WHERE WAS THE HUG AFTER BUCKY PROBABLY PUSHED SOME OTHER GUY OUT OF THE CHAIR SO HE COULD BE THE ONE TO RADIO GALE'S PLANE? WHERE WAS THE HUG AFTER HE DROVE ALONGSIDE THE PLANE BECAUSE HE COULDN'T WAIT UNTIL GALE HAD HIS FEET ON THE GROUND TO TALK TO HIM AND SEE HIS FACE??? THEY WERE SEPARATED AND COULD'VE BOTH DIED BUT INSTEAD GOT THE MOST ROMANTIC REUNION AND WHERE. WAS. THE HUG.

SO GLAD I'M NOT ALONE IN THIS!!!!!! like genuinely, i've tried to hold back on writing fic for mota because i really need to give my writing brain a break after writing 90k in two months, but i'm so. fucking. tempted. to write a proper reunion fic for it because I WANTED THAT HUG. everything else about the reunion was SO perfect and SO sweet. just the idea of Bucky rushing up into the tower so he could be the first one to greet Buck? you just KNOW he raced through the entire base looking for him and, after finding out Buck went on a mission, probably had a minor heart attack because they JUST GOT OUT OF GERMANY NOW YOU WANNA GO BACK and told everyone to tell him as soon as the planes were returning in case he was asleep (but we all know he never slept a wink come onnnnn) i still can't forget that scene in the train, where Buck says Bucky made the past few years so much easier than they might've been

anyway. i'm sad this show is over. 😂💖

[ala-baguette]

OK but now I really want your "whole meta" about how "Remus talks about Harry when Harry's not around" because, ow my heart!

Im never sure on how to feel about Lupin, because on the surface he's likable, but under that-- where you been, dude? Would love to have you change my mind!

Noooo! Don't Tempt Me, Anon! No, really. I would love to, but maybe let's revisit that after I'm done with Knowing Where to Look. I could totally talk about Remus all day, but at this point it would just look like procrastination (which it definitely is). What I will offer you today: Remus is a character you have to love for his flaws. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately?) clinically depressed blurbos completely lacking in self-worth are my peeps. To paraphrase my thoughts on this topic for now:

Remus's absence is not about his feelings for Harry; it's about his feelings for himself.

I'll leave it at that for now and perhaps one day we'll come back with a proper meta on the subject. In the meantime, however, I have several Remus-centric fics I can offer to showcase some of my views on Remus and his relationship with Harry. I somehow always come back to writing Remus and he is featured heavily in several of my Left Behind stories as well as one of my early long fics. I will link here in case you have not read them and are interested:

A Life Filled with Laughter and Ice Cream, Florean Fortescue's Left Behind installment. This one is probably the most relevant to his relationship with Harry (or lack there of). Set during PoA, Florean and Remus share an ice cream and a chat about their lives during and since the first war.

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Remus Lupin's Left Behind installment. Remus takes another stroll down memory lane (and the streets of Godric's Hollow) after his argument with Harry in DH.

To Crave a Dementor's Kiss, Nymphadora Tonks's Left Behind installment. The Remadora story from OotP through HBP. This one is less about Remus's relationship with Harry and more about his relationship with Tonks, but I do think it's a look at some of my feelings on his characterization. (One of these days I'd like to return to this one and rework it-- This was a very early Left Behind story and I was still finding my stride.)

A Lonely Path, my first long fic. An AU with a paternal Remus-Harry relationship. I add this to this list with some hesitancy as it is long, has less basis in canon, is quite old and my views and writing have changed, contains a fair amount of wish-fulfillment regarding Remus's ability to love, and I wrote it when I was 19, so it's rather an immature plot. However, I also don't feel like I can list my writing featuring Remus and not include it. If you chose to take the plunge into my 19 year-old mind, take it with a grain of salt, a little grace, and more as a way to see how my views on this character have evolved over the years.

Thanks for the Ask, Anon, and sorry to not answer you properly. Hope these fics can satiate you for the time being. Now I've got a final chapter of Knowing Where to Look to write!

[womaninwinter]

Writing vs Visual Art

Prompts from @insidethekaleidoscope: if you both write and make visual art, how would you compare the experiences?

Have you always done both or is one a more recent hobby?

I've always been doodler and a storyteller, but it's only recently that I started thinking of them as Art. When I was a kid, I thought I was going to be a writer. When I was a teen, I thought I was going to be an artist. And now I'm writing again.

2. Do you prefer one over the other? Why?

I am a better (more practiced) writer than artist, so I am generally happier with the results of my writing than my drawing/painting. At the moment I'm on a writing kick, but there was definitely a long period where I preferred visual art, and I think this also had to do with the online spaces I was hanging out in. When I'm in fandom spaces, the primary way I can contribute is writing, so I tend to do that. When I was not into fandoms, and was just more generally into Insta art communities, I was seeing a lot of art, so I was doing a lot of art.

3. Are you drawn to the same themes in both?

Hm. Now, I never thought of myself as having Themes in my visual art, again because I'm not that good at it and thus I don't have a great deal of control. However, there are definite stylistic commonalities. My thought process tends towards gothic/intricate/exaggerated/intense and both my art and my writing have those characteristics.

4. Do you see them as connected practices?

This is funny. I've never thought about them as connected, mostly because I only seem to have the time/energy to do one creative hobby at a time. The times when I produce a lot of art are the times when my writing is fallow and vice versa. That said, I think that producing visual art sometimes helps unstick me in my writing, but then again, so does writing longhand on paper, so possibly it's just easier to be creative when I'm not taking psychic damage from the screen.

5. Do you feel more confident in one than the other?

As is probably obvious from my answers so far, I'm much more confident in writing than drawing/painting, but this is mostly because I've had more practice and training in writing. I've had almost no formal art lessons (until a couple of years ago when I did a life-painting class, which did actually rule), but writing was part of my education all the way up, and then it became part of my job, as a translator. Wish I had more time to practice/learn art, but alas, the brain worms are dead set on writing right now.

6. Do you do both at once or do you have periods of time where you only write or only make art?

Also mostly already answered. I can do both, if I really make a conscious effort to build it in, but it takes a lot of discipline and I don't have much of that. I really wish I had the brain space to do both, because I love painting and I miss it. But I do still make art in that I doodle constantly - all my notebooks have little scribbles in the margins, of castles and funny little people and flowers. My work diary is stuffed full of little scraps of paper like this.

7. Does one come easier than the other?

I would be tempted to say writing, but it really depends on what type of art or writing I'm doing. I doodle without thinking or even meaning to. If I have a pen and paper, the difficulty is stopping my hand from drawing. But a big writing project (like a chapter of a fic for example) comes more easily to me than an artistic project.

8. Do you feel more invested in one than the other?

This also varies over time and I think is hugely influenced by what I'm getting more feedback about/what forms part of my social life. At present, my social circle really revolves around writing to a great extent, so I'm super invested in that. But up until very recently, my answer would have been 100% the other way around. I have a drawer full of sketchbooks that I was so so painfully proud of.

9. Does one medium feel more true to you or representative of who you are as a person?

I don't think so, although I think I do tend to be more surprised to see myself coming out in my art. I'm often very conscious of what I'm doing in my writing, and I'm usually aware of a lot of what I'm revealing about myself in it. Because I'm less in control of my art, it's always a surprise to see how specific it is to me, that unbeknownst to myself, I was drawing an experience that I was having.

10. Do you decorate your house with your art and do you reread your writing?

I was going to say 'no' to decorating my house and then I looked up to the right at the massive portrait from my life-painting class stuck up on my wall and rethought that answer. So yes to the art, but not a whole lot. I do tend to reread my writing until I'm sick of it. And then I leave it a few months and come back reread it and think "oh hell ya, this girl knows my tastes exactly." (Actually, maybe this is why I'm less happy to decorate with my art. I'm not really good enough to cater to my own tastes there.)

11. What do you find the experiences have in common?

Flow state I think. It's been a long time since I reached it for either medium (creativity's always in bits and snatches with me, because that's generally all I have time for. It's easier for me to write 100 words though then it is to do a 10-minute sketch.) but the sensation of being totally absorbed, of not noticing time passing, and the burning pride and joy when you produce something good is the same in both cases.

All done! Thank you Mo for this very interesting and much needed exercise in self-reflection. I think I'll draw something now!

[ominousmotion]

Thank you for the tag @nanoa1foryou 💕

I'm sorry this took me so long to get to 💕 (blame baldurs gate 3)

Star Sign: Libra

Favorite holiday: Oh man I am not a big holiday person tbh but I have a kind of personal holiday which is march 11th bc for 2 years in a row I got new tattoos that day so thats the kai gets a new tattoo day lol

Last meal: Chicken Noodle soup with Cheezits

Current favorite musician: Probably We Came As Romans I've had them on repeat quite a bit

Last music I listened to: D4MAGE DONE by I See Stars

Last movie I watched: Uhh I think it was Howls Moving Castle

Last tv show watched: Peaky Blinders

Last book/fic finished: A mandalorian fic called Short debts make long friends

Last book/fic abandoned: A Baldurs gate 3 Astarion/tav fic I chose to read the Mando fic instead

Currently reading: A Mando fic called Eyes of Gold and the first Percy Jackson book

Last thing researched for writing/art: I was looking up custom brushes for Ibis paint X

Favorite online fandom memory: Making the life on the pride side shirt w Gemma and facetiming w her and Ju to surprise them with the shirt

Favorite old fandom you wish would drag you back in/have a resurgence: Im not really out of my old fandoms except marvel but I wouldn't be mad to get draged deeper in to Doctor Who again

Favorite thing you enjoy that never had an active or big fandom: oh man ive always primarily been apart of super active fandoms i guess this might qualify but i absolutely love humans are space orcs stuff and ive never see it super often and i wish i saw it more

Tempting project your trying to rein in/don't have time for: i think i have like 3 or 4 wips rn 2 of which are pointilism portraits and im lowkey avoiding them bc i know that they take hundreds of hours to complete

Tagging @another-sun @kraeuterhexchen @there-is-just-me-myself-and-i @necessarytragedies @tomorrows-unknown as always feel free to ignore me if youve already done this or just if you feel like it 💕