#it’s easier than admitting he wishes he was dead.

[gojonanami]

GOT YOU - SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time. (in other words, feral dub gojo had me by the throat). ☆ cw: 18+ only, dead dove, do not eat, smut, yandere!gojo, non/con (at the start), dub/con, mentions of noncon masturbation w/ clothes/in bed, manipulation, gaslighting, light choking, degradation (slut, whore), fingering (f!receiving), panty sniffing, oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, cumplay (slightly), multiple orgasms. ☆ wc: 3,132

“Got you,” a familiar voice hums in your ear, and the floor was yanked from under you - mentally and physically, because now you were pinned to the floor, looking up at the same blue eyes you had prayed you would never see again, “miss me sweetheart?” 

And he knew the answer from the wide eyes and trembling lips, but that only made him all the more eager. He leans down, pressing his lips to your soft cheek, “come on, baby, not even a hello? I’d even settle for a kiss or a smile,” he pouts, feeling your hands squirm under his grasp, as he straddled you, “trying to wave hello? Thought we were closer than that,” he hums, “don’t I deserve a warmer welcome, after all the effort I took to find you? To wait here all day for you,” 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, harsh and bitter, as bitter as the words you wished to scream at him - but you know that would get you nowhere, “how about you let me go, and I’ll give you the welcome you deserve?” And the quaver in your voice isn’t what gives you away, he knows you all too well, and you know he won’t let you go that easy. 

“Aw baby, I'd love to believe you,” he sighs dramatically, “but after I lost you for two years, I can’t risk you slipping away again,” he noses your neck, inhaling deeply, “I had to have such patience over the last few weeks, had to make sure you hadn’t picked up on my presence, and you didn’t,” he grins, as he traces a finger down your jaw, “you know how hard it was? I spent so many mornings in your bed after you went to work, slept in it, still warm from your body, and I could smell you,” his lips curled into a smile that would have been so gorgeous, if it weren’t terrifying, “made me so needy for you baby, I had to relieve myself,” he admits with a sigh, “luckily, your hamper was full of clothes with your scent, and in your bed, it made it even easier,” 

And your stomach twisted at the thought of him touching himself in your bed — and oh god, with what clothes? 

His thumb brushes against the length of your cheek, “why did you run from me, baby?” and you’re silent — he knows why you ran. 

Satoru Gojo was perfect when he was your best friend — the perfect shoulder to cry on when one of your crushes didn’t work out, when a job prospect didn’t pan out, or a friend had hurt your feelings. What you didn’t know was he was the reason none of these crushes ever had worked out, why a job prospect that took you too far from him didn’t hire you, and why these friends who hurt your feelings and took up too much of your time had left shortly after. But to you, he was your savior, his compassion limitless, his patience infinite — and so you fell for him, just as he knew you would. It was a drunken kiss one night when he knew you were vulnerable, when he knew that your feelings for him were so close to the surface, you couldn’t help but kiss him. And kissing lead to a confession, and then the two of you were together. 

It was perfect — for a while. 

Soon, you couldn’t deal with his jealousy — over coworkers, friends, even your family, and with his controlling tendencies — he wanted you to spend every waking moment with him, he even wanted you to quit your job, to let him take care of you, and you couldn’t handle his constant suspicion — the constant questions of where you were (even when you had told him) and the accusations that came along with them. 

So you tried to break it off — tried. The first few times, Satoru sweet talked his way back into your heart — and your bed — with false promises and sweet kisses. But that soon wore old when his promises remained broken and his kisses left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. And when you tried to leave for good once — your bags packed — he had grabbed you, held you down, and stared at you with the same paralyzing look he gave you now, lips twisted into a smile you had never seen before, as he whispered the same two words he said when he greeted you now, “Got you,” and then he added, “and I’m never letting you go.” 

“Are you going to answer?” the present Satoru snaps you back to reality with a gentle hand around your throat, his thumb running over the hollow, before he kisses it, “or should I make you?” 

“Satoru, please, stop—” 

“That’s what you always say, baby,” he rolls his eyes, as if he was exasperated, “and then you always end up under me, begging for more,” and he squeezes your throat lightly, “nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” and you gasp, as he loosens his grip again, “have you whored yourself out to any of those men at work?” and he’s grazing his teeth against your jawline, “if I leave a mark, that should keep them away, right? They’ll know you have a loving boyfriend — one who’s not afraid to claim what’s his,” and he’s smiling again, “now, tell me, have you slept with anyone else?” 

And you don’t want to answer — the answer’s no, you hadn’t, but you didn’t know whether that would make it worse or better. But his hand around your throat tells you, you don’t have a choice. 

“No, I haven’t,” you confess — and his smug grin only serves to irritate you, as he sighs far too contently, parting your legs as he moves to settle between them, “please don't—” 

“I have to check, don’t I, princess?” he murmurs, and his hand is drifting up your tight skirt, “such a slutty skirt for someone who hasn’t been sleeping around. Did you wear it just for me?” and he’s raising a brow, as his fingers roll your skirt higher, fabric straining as he did, “well, I don’t want you wearing it for anyone else, so—“ and the fabric tears apart, your legs jumping as he does, and his lips press to your knee, “there’s my perfect baby,” 

Your hands are free as his hands busy themselves with spreading your leg, inhaling your scent, as his fingers trail up your inner thighs. Your hands are trying to push him away, kicking your legs helplessly, but he’s got them under his grasp. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh a little too hard, and you know he’s going to leave bruises at some point or another.  

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he hums when he finds a wet spot on your underwear, “look, you’re already ruining your underwear, and I’ve barely even started  — you’ve been wanting this too,” and your hand finds his face, trying and failing to push him away, but he only licks the space between your fingers, “now be a good girl for me or I’ll make you,” the last words a growl, “and you don’t want me to do that,” but he feels you grow more damp with your slick as his fingers press against your clit through your underwear, “or maybe you do.” 

“Satoru, please don’t do this,” you’re begging, but his crystalline gaze only grows more cold, as his lips curl as he sees hot, fat tears well in your eyes, “just let me go, I won’t run. I just don’t-“ 

“C’mon now, what’s wrong? How could I ever let you go?” He coos, as he watches the first tear roll down your cheek, as he leans down and tastes it, “I need you, baby, and now that I got you,” his two fingers sneak into the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin, “I’ll never let you leave my sight again,” 

You flinch from his touch, squirming underneath him, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, just don’t—“ and his thumb pressed against your lips, as his lidded eyes and smirk only draw nearer. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, don’t you remember? You asked for this — you made me promise to never leave you,” twisting the words you had muttered to him that drunken night, whispered after your first kiss with him and now he purred them as he bent down, breath warming your lips, as he tilted your chin up, “and I always keep my promises,” 

“Now tell me,” he smiles that same smile that had caught your heart, “tell me you want this,” he’s nibbling at your neck, and you’re melting into his touch — and he knows you’re so close to submission, “tell me, baby,” 

And you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your body burning from his touch, “I want you,” 

His lips curl into a wide grin, teeth flashing. 

He kisses you, lips sliding against yours, and your lips shut even as his tongue tried to slip inside. And he bites your bottom lip, drawing a delicious gasp from your lips, and his tongue plunges in, as you moan, boneless and helpless. 

And his hands slide down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt, “Fuck, baby, I’m addicted to you — you taste so good,” and he’s tugging your shirt over your head, as his lips attach themselves to your jaw. You whimper as his teeth draw marks along your jaw, before trailing a path down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, before leaning down to the swell of your breasts right above your bra. 

His fingers press against your soaked panties, the fabric doing little to prevent the full force of his touch, thick and mean fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit, “Too fast,” you whine, back arching against the rough carpet of your living room, “too much,” your mouth falling cutely open and eyelashes fluttering, as your slick leaks through the thin material making his fingers grow sticky. 

“But your pretty cunt doesn’t agree, sweetheart,” he reaches around and unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, his teeth grazing your nipple before sucking, a grunt leaving your throat, heat blooming a trail down between your legs, “it wants me to fill you — fill you like you deserve,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and then pulls them to his nose, “so fucking sweet,” and he’s pocketing them for later use — your cum not going to be the only thing staining it later. 

And he’s slipping down your body, kissing down your breasts, mouthing each nipple, before placing wet kisses between the valley of your chest, and down your stomach, pausing to slip his tongue into your bellybutton to make you gasp, as he hums against your skin. 

“Been dreaming of tasting this sweet pussy,” he sighs dreamily, as he settles between your thighs, his large hands spreading you open for him, fingers spreading your dripping folds, making you clench around nothing, before, not one, but two fingers slip inside with ease, making you choke on air, as he steadily begins to fuck you open, “you sure you haven’t whored yourself out baby, or do you just want my cock that badly?” and he tuts, “nah, can’t be. You’re too tight, so fucking gorgeous,” 

And you swallow thickly, hating the way his words make your resolve buckle — want seeping through the cracks, leaving only need behind — why were you weak for him like this? He knew you too well — knew where to touch, knew what to say to make you lose all sense, and he knew he could. 

And he would do it too. 

Soon enough, he’s pulling his digits from you, only the tips pressed inside as he spreads you, his mouth leaning do to press a sloppy kiss to your weeping cunt, “this pretty thing was made f’me, wasn’t it, princess?” and his hot tongue dragging your release up and down your pussy, before his fingers sink again for a hot minute, deeper than they had until they find that spot that has you seeing stars, making you moan louder, “Ah, this is where you’re weak, right, pretty baby?” And his mouth latches to your clit, sucking as his fingers bully your walls, “fuck, you’re so wet f’me, practically leaking all over your carpet, now what will your guests think?” he hums, a grin on his lips, “maybe after I fuck you, I’ll make you lick it all up f’me, clean up your mess,” 

And his words drive you over the edge, making you cum all over his fingers, your slick slipping onto his palm, as he pulls his fingers from you as you moan wantonly, his tongue darting out to lick and clean his fingers clean, pressing his digits into his mouth, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, baby,” and he’s parting you again with the tips of his fingers, before his tongue slips in. 

And his tongue parts your cunt, beginning to fuck you in earnest now, as his jaw aches as he does, hot and warm muscle reaching depths you didn’t know were possible. He’s licking, prodding, and sucking, and your soft grunts and moans only made him even harder, straining in his pants, “g’nna make me cum in my pants baby from your taste and sounds alone,” and you’re already so close, too close — your first orgasm making you so sensitive, but right as you give that telltale clench,  he’s pulling away a moment, to watch your chest rise and fall with half lidded eyes glazed over with lust, pretty, pretty cunt quivering from the lack of sensation, and a long whine leaving your lips. 

“Want you to cum on my cock this time, baby, not in my mouth,” he says, lips and chin glossy with your slick, “we have time for that later,” and now you’re growing desparate as he just watches you, cleaning up your release from his mouth, tongue darting out to lick what he could, before using the back of his hand to wipe away what he couldn’t. 

And the plea leaves your mouth before you realize it, “Please,” you swallow thickly, your words weak and broken, “Satoru, please,” 

“Please, what?” he teases, as he pulls his shirt cover his head, your eyes raking over his abs and lingering on the v-line as his sweatpants rode low, doing very little to hide the large bulge that your eyes were glued to, “want me to split you open with my cock?” and he wanted nothing more, as he slips his pants and boxers off with ease, his dick nearly slapping against his stomach as he did, a pearly white bead of pre-cum resting on the flushed red tip, his hand grasping it, as he pumped it slowly to spread his release, “gonna have to use your words baby, don’t care if they’ve been fucked out of that little brain of yours,” 

You pout so beautifully, bottom lip quivering, all of your resistance and fear eroded away by lust and need, “I want you, need you to fuck me, please, Toru,” you squirm, thighs parting for him, “need you inside me, please,” 

It doesn’t take more than a second before the tip of his dick is pressed to your folds, “Look at you now, baby — you were begging me to leave, and now you’re begging for this cock,” and you’re moaning as he feeds your insides his dick, inch by inch, “fuck, practically swallowing me up — want to be fucked that bad baby?” And finally he’s inside you, fully seated in your sweet cunt, “or maybe, you want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy, sweetheart? Make me a daddy?”

And he’s starts to fuck you, hips snapping against yours — and he was unrelenting in his pace, cock breaching and bullying your insides, brushing against your sweet spot again and again. Your teeth bared down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back your noises, but he can’t have that, can he? 

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “Wanna hear every pretty sound, sweetheart, wanna hear you scream my name as I fuck you,” and he begins to fuck you even harder, hips slapping against you, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching from his cock, your sweet moans of his names, and lust glazed over gaze was almost too much for him. 

But it only made him more desperate to fuck you harder, until all you could feel was him between your legs for the next month, as he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders, making himself sink even deeper, deeper, deeper. 

And it was too much, too much for you, as you came around his cock for the first time in two years, and god, it was the most beautiful thing Satoru had seen. Your mouth parted in ecstasy as your release slicked up his cock, as he fucked your cum back into you, as your princess cunt clamped down on him hard, again and again.

You were moaning his name again and again, the only word you knew now, mouth parted open as he fucked you through your orgasm, “Yeah, baby, cum on my cock, pretty pussy was made just for that. Gonna make you cum again and again, until you can’t live without my cock between your legs. You’d like that, huh? Make you walk around with my cum inside you, even when I get you pregnant, I’ll fuck you again and again, until you’re leaking with me.” 

And you’re just moaning, nodding and broken, lost to the pleasure, as he grits his teeth, cock twitching at the sight before him, watching his dick slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release around the base of his cock. 

It wasn’t much longer, until he notched his cock as deep as he could, holding himself as he gave only shallow thrusts, his hot release pumping into you, continuing to fuck it deeper, “gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we, sweetheart” he murmurs with a smile, as he captures your lips in a kiss, cock still stuffed inside of you, “can’t let you get away from me now. It’d be much harder with a baby, won’t it?” 

And he’s easing himself out, groaning as he watches your mixed releases beginning to trickle out as the tip of his cock slaps against your weeping cunt. He pools the cum on his fingers, pushing it back in, making you flinch and moan, utterly blissed out, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him. 

He only smiles the same way he always did, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.” 

☆ a/n: i usually don't write things like this (i.e. non/con), but the dub feral gojo lines lived rent free in my head, until i wrote this (they still do, it's fine) I also don't post fics this often, but I am writing a lot of fics.

☆ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @miss-nightray

[tremendouscreationperson]

A few of you wanted a part three so here goes

Reader gets called Doll and Toots but other than that I think it's pretty GN

Part 1 Part 2

Ford - no Stan - had spun his tale. You weren't sure any of it could be possible. How was you supposed to believe that Ford was alive but not in this universe/realm/reality?

You sat in the lab he had brought you to - it was cold and dank, stark lights illuminated metal plates and cascaded up the walls to show off a large triangular 'portal'.

"Why'd you have to die?" You asked, eyes glued to the journal upon your knees.

For-Stan had been waiting for any questions, willing to provide you answers. "Seemed easier."

"And lying to me?" You flicked through the stained pages. "That was easy?"

"It wasn't." He told you honestly, just hearing his voice was crazy. You had believed he was dead for two years and he wasn't! He was here the whole time. "Gotta admit, I had you fooled."

The attempt at a joke was not humourous in the slightest. "This isn't normal behaviour."

Stanley didn't know what else to do. He hadn't thought you would ever realise, perhaps that was stupid on his part but he really thought he was able to coexist with you as Ford.

"So..." You took a deep breath. "Recap: this is Ford's journal and he wanted you to take it away and you both argued and he got sucked into that thing and now you're him and Stan is dead and you're trying to get him back?"

Stan nodded, twiddling his thumbs. "Yeah. It's been hard, I had to relearn math."

"Who else wrote in here?"

"Huh?"

You pointed at the page. "That's not Ford's handwriting. Although look, 'ford' signed it." A humourless chuckle escaped. "Who else is pretending to be your brother?"

Stan was at your side in an instant, looking over your shoulder. Being so close to him was maddening.

He was alive.

Your Stan was alive.

Yeah, maybe he was a fraud and there was weird space mumbo jumbo that you still don't entirely believe but he was alive.

Your face was turned towards him as he studied the page, his fingers grazing yours underneath the words. How did he look like him now?

You didn't see Ford in him at all.

The way he stood, his neutral expression, even his hair was different. Was Stanley.

"I didn't notice that." He spoke lowly due to the proximity.

"Is there anyone else in the town called Ford?"

Stan's gaze landed on you, his nose inches from yours and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it and just observing you. He really took you in.

Despite the lies you were still here. Still entertaining this. He really wished he had more to offer you but he didn't.

He was just him. He wasn't his brilliant brother or full of mysteries or answers. He was just Stan, a con artist who scammed people daily.

"I don't know." The words finally left his mouth and he quickly stood upright.

~~

Rather than leaving tonight, you had stayed longer because of the news, calling in sick at work, how often could you say someone had come back from the dead?

The two of you ate half the pasta you made, sitting awkwardly opposite each other at the table.

He had been open and honest, answering all of your questions keenly and encouraging you to ask more. And you had to admit that was nice but the news still sat heavily on your shoulders.

Mostly because: FUCKING HELL THIS WAS CRAZY and a slither of: you had told FORD THAT YOU LOVED STANLEY AND BROUGHT HIM UP IN MANY CONVERSATIONS AND HE WAS THE ONE YOU WERE TALKING TO AND YOY WERE EMBARRASSED AS FUCK BUT YOU NEEDED TO HELP AND HDJAKSIEIES

"You, er.. you okay?" Stan toyed with a meatball.

"It's just a lot to process." That wasn't a lie. "I'll probably be like this for a few days."

He gave you a sincere smile, "take your time, do-"

Your eyes snapped up to his pink face. "Were you going to call me doll?" He nodded in affirmative, his ears reddening as well. You weren't sure why but you spared him with: "Hmm, better than toots."

"That was one time!" He insisted.

"That's all it took."

"I only said it to piss you off." He smirked cheekily, his face returning to its usual hue.

"It worked." Rolling your eyes as you giggled. You didn't hold any real malice, he was being cocky demonstrating his pick up moves and they did not work... Well they did but it was easier to pass off your hot face and wide eyes as anger rather than awe.

Stan laughed along with you, enjoying the sound. Loving how easy it was to just be himself. He didn't have to wear the gloves which made everything impossible, he didn't have to act stiff and drop big words into his 'lexicon', and he didn't have to lie. He could be himself.

He knows he doesn't deserve this, by God he knows that, but he would take all you'd willingly give; if that was just dinner before you drove away forever then he would take it and be thankful for the time.

"Want a beer?" He found himself asking.

You didn't reply straight away, ideas tumbling around your head. He loved watching your mind work. "Got anything stronger?"

Stan winked and disappeared to get the whiskey he'd stashed away.

And so the two of you found yourselves sitting on his 'balcony' (a little ledge, that you had to climb through a window to access, underneath the 'mystery shack' sign) forgoing glasses and passing the bottle between you.

"Must feel good to tell someone." Your words slurred as you laid on your spine, staring at the stars beyond the trees.

"It does." He took a sip. "Feel bad that it was you though."

You swivelled your neck to give him a confused face. He bellowed out a laugh. "Oit, don't laugh at me." Your socked toe jabbed his thigh.

Stan placed a hand over your foot, just holding it, forcing your hips to manoeuvre into a more comfortable position. You faced him as he watched the treeline. "Sorry to drag you into this."

"Sorry I didn't notice sooner." How didn't you? He was clearly Stan. There was nothing here that said Ford. "You're so obviously my Stan." You rolled your eyes and folded your arms in annoyance at yourself.

Stan's brows shot up and he turned to catch you grumbling at yourself. "Your Stan?"

Your eyebrows met and you scrunched your face in confusion again. "What?"

"You said 'my Stan'." His lips began to lift into the smuggest smirk as he leaned forward, entering your bubble. "I didn't realise I was your Stan."

"Shut up." You playfully pushed him away. "We're drunk, you don't know what you heard."

Stan didn't let up, instead he found your hand and intertwined your fingers. "I kinda like being someone's Stan." He spoke with a half shrug.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Was this a dream fueled by your longing and whiskey? "Well, you know how I feel because you were spying on me! Pretending to be Ford to hear what I had to say about you!"

"Hey, I told you Stan liked you too!" He defended.

"Do-" You paused. When did the two of you get so close? You were nose to nose. "Does Stan still feel that w-"

You weren't given a chance to finish the question because his lips were on yours. He kissed you slowly, one palm on your cheek as the other wound around your spine, pulling you in close. Your hands were pinned against his chest as you kissed him back enthusiastically.

Stan's slow kisses morphed into an intense make out session as he ran his tongue across your bottom lip and you gave him access. His hands exploring all over your body, squeezing and caressing your sides and chest causing your spine to curve.

The two of you were buzzing and the kiss was a little sloppy but it was perfect. You wouldn't want it any other way.

He finally allowed the two of you a breather, kissing his way down your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive flesh. You squirmed again, back arching as a whispered moan tumbled from you.

That sobered him up, Stan raised his head from your neck, looking down at you and saw the needy look in your eyes. "Maybe we should wait 'til we're not blitzed."

The automatic frown you wore had him chuckling as you pulled his face back to yours, kissing him with as much vigour as you could muster.

Stan bit your bottom lip and his fingers settled on your thighs, how he managed to find himself in between them he didn't know but you pulled him closer with your legs and he had to pinch himself.

This was real.

All the shit he had done.

Every scam, every fraud, every crime, everything.

And you still looked at him with those eyes.

Fuck.

Maybe he loved you.

.

.

.

@aratheegreat @ngs991-2 @seahorrorz @misty-eyed-memory @50shadesofwinchesters @ryoiii @viceroywrites @atseoks @countlessimagines @aweleyirene @hesthermay @darlingdia1007 @piningforstan @emmygirl33 @imafangirlofeverything @daniel-meyer-03

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I work in a DIY shop and this is what I had to look at for the majority of my shift 😂😭 he haunts me

[coffinclownery]

Okay so I saw the posts talking about the preview before I was able to watch it myself and I wanted to note some things that hasn’t been mentioned as much.

First off the reason Andrew snapped so harshly was this sentence.

It barely even implies anything, it’s a phrase with no backbone. Not even saying anything about the siblings relationship specifically, just the “situation” being a little off. The vaguest of sentences is what causes Andrew to snap.

Then the slamming of the phone. It’s one thing to be told he slammed the phone, but when it’s the only sound effect it really emphasizes how hard he slams it.

I talked about how much easier it is to sympathize with Julia than Ashley because Julia’s nice when posting on main, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel for Julia! Every time we see her poor girl is always walking on eggshells, and it’s definitely something she learned through how she’s treated. Don’t know if it’s from a family situation, her dead childhood friend, her current very volatile “friend” who happens to be her boyfriend’s sister, or her boyfriend himself. Maybe it’s a combination of all these factors, it’s too early to say. I’m getting “last girl in slasher film” vibes and I really don’t appreciate it!

Then there’s this face. He wasn’t planning on snapping, but he’s used to snapping at Ashley this way. Since Ashley’s the personification of a snapping turtle and is guaranteed to reply with a snarky comment he doesn’t see the issue. But here he’s reminded that Julia isn’t like Ashley. And I don’t think this is the first time he’s made this mistake, where he treated Julia like Ashley and had to backtrack.

Of course, instead of admitting to his mistake he throws the responsibility onto Julia’s shoulders, it was her words that made him snap. And Julia, who already was on eggshells before this moment, has to be the one to apologize for something she didn’t even so much as imply.

Andrew literally could have stopped at “It wasn’t a fight” and left it, but he just had to add the second half. He’ll forgive her, implying she’s done something that required his forgiveness. It’s not surprising that Julia breaks up with him after he’s quarantined, in a place where he couldn’t as easily smoothed things over with a peck on the forehead.

At this point Andrew is clearly talking about Ashley and imagining her in his arms. His eyes are literally glazing over and we deliberately can’t see Julia’s face in frame anymore. He might have caused Julia to feel responsible, but make no mistake, he’s once again blaming Ashley for what happened. He’s forgiving Ashley for causing this rift, not Julia. But when Julia tries to respond-

He covers her mouth. If she talks it breaks the illusion that it’s Ashley. This is the part I wished people talked more about, the fact that he literally silences her so he could continue to fantasize. Shudders man. Shudders.

In the words of Ashley Graves in Chapter 1

[copinghex]

Lie | T.S

Summary: The end of vendetta brings the crisis in Tommy's marriage to light. When his attempts of conciliation fail he refuses to face the truth, finding much more comfort in a lie.

Tommy felt his heart gripping on his chest hearing his wife's laugh from across the living room. Not exactly melodic or exemplary from a lady, but genuine and deprived of worries, something he hadn't heard in months.

The end of the vendetta didn't bring the relief he thought it would, with John's death and a crisis in his marriage, he didn't have much to celebrate.

Nevertheless, the party went on, Arthur talked to Bonnie with the same excitement a father would to a son, Ada and Finn seemed to be rebounding after so long apart, Lizzie and Polly had their own internal jokes going on, Linda seemed to have a hard time socializing and at last, Tommy's wife chatted with Aberama while he stood alone in a corner.

He bit his inner cheek, jealousy taking over his most rational side, he used to make her laugh, even after the war killed his youngful sense of humor, his ironic or critical remarks rarely failed in putting a smile on her face. However, he was well aware of the space growing between them, if he didn't do anything the chances of losing her were huge. Clearing his throat, he raised a toast, distracting her from Aberama and initiating his plan to get her back.

As the night fell on, the guests naturally collected themselves. Finally, Tommy was alone with her, the bedroom felt as tense as a battlefield, a step wrong and he's out of the game. 

Sitting on the edge of bed while she removed her jewelry on the dressing table, he tried to start a conversation.

"It's over," he referred to the vendetta.

"...it is," she sized him up through the mirror, "the children are happy to go back to school," 

"Yeah," Tommy breathed out, surely the months every Shelby had to be recluse affected their learning process, he couldn't help but to feel guilty, his babies doing well in school was one of his biggest prides since he didn't have this privilege, still, at least they were alive and everything would go back to normal, "could've been worse," 

"Yeah, I wish John's children could go back too," she pursed her lips hesitantly, "y'know, sometimes I-"

"Yeah?" Tommy encouraged, surprised by the cold way she brought John up.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like if none of this happened, it started with the guns and we never had peace after," she looked down at her own hands, "sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been easier if Polly, Martha and I still ran the business and you- you and Arthur-" 

She gulped, getting completely silent. Tommy felt his lips dry staring at her, did she just admit she wished he was dead? Taking a drag of his cigarette, he preferred to believe his paranoia got the best of him. He had to believe it or he'd go mad, if one of the few things keeping him alive wished he was dead, there was no point in everything he'd done for him, her and their family.

"Anyways, I- hm," she continued, "I think I'll take a shower before bed," 

"C'here," Tommy reached for her arm, what should've been an affectionate gesture of pulling her to his lap felt awkward and forced.

Her body was rigid in his embrace, seeming to avoid touching him more than necessary. His arms locked around her waist and his lips rested on her shoulder, at the same time she held his forearms with certain pressure, as if she could push him away at any moment.

The sweet scent of her perfume intoxicated Tommy's senses, he barely remembered the last time they intimately touched each other and by then, feeling her soft skin and her comforting weight on his thigh, he craved her badly.

"I love you," he whispered, still focused on putting their marriage back on the tracks, uncomfortable silence started with her lack of answer, he had no other option but to continue, "I know I pushed you away in the last months, I was-"

"Scared," she cut him off, "I know," 

"...and it's over now," Tommy completed, "now we have all the time in the fucking world," 

"To do what?" 

"Well, for me personally," he changed his tone, sounding hopeful, "to take care of you," 

She sighed, pushing his arms away from her waist and cupping his cheeks, a pout showed on her lips as if she'd just been asked to do a long, boring task. 

His eyes fell to her lips darkening with lust, he was the one to initiate a kiss, slow and full of desire. An unfamiliar, complaint-like sound left her lungs as he laid her on the bed, trailing the way down to her neck and collarbones.

Usually, Tommy's passionate acts would've ignited her fire, giving her shivers and the overwhelming urge of being close to him. That night wasn't the case, she laid down in silence, watching him lift her dress and massage her thighs in a pathetic attempt to turn her on.

When he removed her underwear and put his head in between her legs, she struggled to keep quiet, regardless of everything his tongue was still skilled, licking circles on her clit as his fingers toyed with her entry.

Soon, she came undone, a tiny smile crawled into Tommy's face, that was a good sign. However, as soon as she closed her legs, pushing herself up into the mattress, far from him, he realized an orgasm wouldn't be enough to win her favor back.

He kissed the exposed part of her thigh and smacked her arse before heading to the bathroom. Tomorrow would be a new day and with some luck, she'd recognise his efforts.

The morning arrived suspiciously quiet in the Shelby household, Tommy sat alone in the large dining room, the table was already set for breakfast but his family was nowhere to be seen.

The scene looked like a joke of poor taste for those close to the family, Thomas Shelby, known for skipping meals, was the first to get on the table. 

He peeked at the clock, frowning as he realized everyone was terribly late, the children would miss some classes and his wife usually didn't stay in bed until late hours.

After two or three cigarettes, the food went cold and he was ready to go search for them. It wasn't necessary when his babies ran through the door and grabbed bread from the table.

"I'm gonna miss three more classes today, daddy," Florence, the youngest, started.

"Mama said she'll call the principal to explain what happened later," Anthony, his firstborn, completed.

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy asked, "And what happened, my boy?" 

"I don't know," he shrugged off.

"She forgot to wake me up," the daughter explained, "the driver will go real fast so I'll get the french class!" 

"That's a rhyme!" Anthony pointed out.

As they giggled to themselves, the worried mother showed up wearing pajamas covered by an expensive robe.

"I told you to go straight to the car!" she scolded.

"We wanted to talk to daddy!" Florence argued.

"Well, I suppose you just did," 

With the mother's final words, the children lowered their heads and walked out, leaving her and Tommy alone.

"Flora said you forgot to wake her up," he commented.

"Tommy, I-" she whined, annoyed by his tone, "I got an important call, alright?" 

"Whose call?" 

"From the institute!" she took the seat beside him, "What the hell was I supposed to say? Call later, I have to get my children ready for school? The maids are here to help with this too!" 

Something was deeply wrong, from her defensive tone to the said institute call at early hours in the morning. As much as it hurted to realize, Tommy knew she was lying to him, he only had to find out why.

"At least we'll have fucking breakfast together," he ironically spat.

"Oh, isn't that great?" she retaliated, filling her mouth with a piece of cake and avoiding looking at him.

The minimum appetite he had earlier was completely gone with the conflict. All he wanted was to have breakfast with his family, mainly with her, so she'd warm up to him again.

Everything went absolutely wrong and as a matter of fact, felt worse than yesterday.

"Look, I just-" Tommy started, "I just wanted to have breakfast with my family after a fucking vendetta ended, can I do that?" 

"I don't know, can you?" pouring herself a cup of tea, she stood up from the table and headed out, "I'll change off these pajamas," 

Watching her leave, Tommy squinted, thinking of what else he could do for her to go back to herself, because that wasn't her, that cold, dismissive woman surely wasn't the one he married. As a last shot, he decided to offer what his kin seemed to like the most about him - his money.

Another day went by and they didn't have much contact. Still, when nighttime came, they were unavoidably reunited in their shared bedroom. With the children in bed, the house was quiet, if it weren't for the lights on, anyone watching from outside would think it was empty.

"Did you speak to the principal?" he asked.

"Did," she sat on the end of bed, putting moisturizer on her arms.

"And?" 

"They'll have some extra homework, he said they're smart children, they'll recover soon," she explained, "and about those months they missed, they'll stay until later hours twice a week," 

"And the institute?" 

"What about it?" she gulped.

"Someone called at fucking sunrise," Tommy questioned, "I imagine it must've be something important," 

"Yeah, hm-" she stuttered, "someone wanted to make an anonymous donation," 

"Oh, there's no registers in the book," 

"Because I haven't made any yet," she argued, "what is it, Tommy?"

"Just curious," 

She scoffed, turning her focus to herself.

"I've got something for you," he continued.

Her eyes slightly widened, it had been a long time since he surprised her, "For me?" 

Opening the wardrobe's drawer, Tommy took a black velvet box, he stood in front of her and revealed a diamond necklace sparkling in its expensive glory.

"What did I do to deserve this?" she quietly asked, "It's not even my birthday," 

"Does a man need a reason to gift his wife?" 

"I suppose," she allowed him to clasp the jewel around her neck.

"Well, what do you think?" 

"It's beautiful," she pouted, "thank you, Tom," 

His shoulders dropped with her carelessness, she not only didn't seem excited, she seemed sad, tense about something he couldn't guess. Caressing her shoulder, he tried to get something out of her, "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," 

"So what's with that face?" his hands traveled from her shoulder to her cheek.

"Nothing, I just had a long day," she removed his hand from her. 

Tommy watched her take the necklace off, get a blanket and make herself comfortable in bed, as if he wasn't even there, as if both he and the diamond were irrelevant. Then she peeked at him, silently asking if he wouldn't lay down.

Turning off the lights, he went back to his office, it wasn't an invitation to lay down with her, she only wanted him to stop demanding her attention. Tommy felt like he ran out of options, there was nothing to do but wait until the situation reached its peak.

Two months went by, time in which they practically lived alone, the others presence didn't add anything, few words were spoken and physical touch seemed forbidden. 

No words could express how much Tommy missed his wife, to have her greeting him when he got home, to hear her excitedly dumping news from the institute on him, to feel her neediness in kisses that were meant to be a simple goodnight peck.

Frustrated and irritable, he decided to go home earlier on a cold Friday evening, he'd never expected the scene that welcomed him home. She happily talked to someone on the phone, laughing like she hadn't for long, realizing he was home, she put the phone down.

"You're early," she greeted.

"Who was that?" Tommy was quick in asking.

"Oh, just a friend of mine," 

"Friend," he nodded, "he must be really fucking funny, right?" 

"Her," she corrected, "and yes, she's really funny," 

"You should invite her over, maybe she can bring some fucking happiness to this house!" 

"What the hell are you talking about, Tommy?" she shrunk her shoulders, intimidated by his loud tone.

"I'm talking about you talking on the fucking phone like everything is alright," he pointed out, "as if you hadn't fucking ignored me for two fucking months!' 

Sucking the air between her teeth, she whimpered, "I'm sorry," 

"What?" he froze, he expected anything from her except tears and an apology.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," she cried out, "I just- I didn't know what to do with everything we went through, I didn't know how to deal with it, I didn't know what to tell the children- I-

"Hey, hey-" he interrupted, guiding her into his embrace, "you could've said something," 

"Say what, Tommy? It 's pathetic!" she hid her teary face on his neck.

"I know, love," he soothed, "should've told me earlier" 

"I'm sorry,"

"I know," 

Holding her tightly against him, his most selfish side feasted on their closeness, she went back to him even if she had to fall apart for it.

"Let me make it up to you," she whispered, hands moving to his waist.

"Hm?" 

"I've been such a terrible wife," she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, "and you kept up with me, let me thank you," 

"Thank me, eh?" he teased, "and how would you do that?" 

"However you want me to, sir," 

Tommy gently held her neck, bringing her face closer to his. In this circumstance, he could have her in any way he wanted, she wouldn't argue. Nevertheless, he didn't want roughness, he wasn't even mad at her anymore, all he wanted was to be desired by her.

"Take me upstairs, hm?" she continued, brushing the tip of their noses together.

Three hours later, they laid together in bed, while Tommy stared at the ceiling trying to find out what exactly went wrong, she was in deep slumber. Considering her tone and apologies, he expected some passionate love making or at least something that wasn't her just laying there, uninterested.

Peeking at her, he didn't know what else to do, perhaps he was the one getting mad after all, missing a sort of relationship that only happened in his head. Officially, there was nothing else to do.

The only thing to change in her behavior was from then on, she had her eyes on Tommy all the time, observing, seeming to wait for the perfect moment to something.

After another four long weeks, he learned what she was waiting for. On a warm evening, Tommy took some time away from the business and sat under a tree, enjoying the sun rays on his skin.

"Can we talk?" she asked, sitting beside him.

Arching his eyebrows in surprise, he positively nodded.

"Tommy, I don't know how to tell you this," she hesitantly started, "I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing by telling you this," 

He felt his body tense with her tone, as if it was a bomb about to shell.

"I've been avoiding it for the last months because I thought it'd be temporary, I thought it'd be something that'd end soon and I'd go back to you but- ugh-" she sighed, "There's someone else," 

Tommy's throat burnt, he couldn't even believe his first reaction was the urge to cry. Still, his face remained blank, he looked away from her and frowned, as secondary emotion, rage came in a wave.

"Who is he?" was all he managed to ask.

"It doesn't matter," 

"Yes, it does," he threateningly drawled, "I wanna know who you consider a better fuck than me," 

"It's not about the sex, Tommy," 

"What is it about then? The dresses and jewels I filled your wardrobe with? Or perhaps the driver I picked wasn't of your liking-"

"I'm not going to fight you," she cut him off, "I've said what I had to say and now there's this, he wants me to move with him," 

Tommy gulped, some fucker had been planning to take away his wife right under his nose and he hadn't done anything about it.

"And I think I will but only if I take the children with me," 

"Oh," he scoffed, "and what makes you think I'll allow that?" he challenged, in any other circumstance he would, knowing how much children usually were attached to their mothers but his ego was hurt.

"The judge will decide that," she calmly answered, "he might not let a cheater have them but he certainly wouldn't let a gangster either," 

"...you wouldn't," Tommy argued, perplexed by her coldness. His beloved wife just threatened to snitch on him.

"I don't want to, so don't force me," 

Tense, dangerous silence fell between them, both looked away from each other, without any words left to speak, they could hear the laughs of their children playing in the garden.

Few minutes passed, the longest in Tommy's life, he often had moments like this, in which his life course could be permanently altered in a matter of seconds.

"Don't do it," he started, still not looking at her.

"I'll not if you-" 

"None of it, don't take the children, don't leave me," the second their eyes met, he sensed hesitation on her, so he continued, "don't you love me?" 

"Tom, I-" she softened up.

"Did you ever?"  

"Of course I did, a lot!" she quickly answered, "But if I say I do now I think it'd be a lie," 

"...so lie." 

[goldengleams]

cut my hair - l. hughes

In which you and Luke come back to each other after you cut your hair.

Warnings: alcohol, underage drinking, angst, college melodrama Word Count: 4.5k words (let's go!!!)

A/N: Super excited for this one! This is inspired by “cut my hair” by Tate McRae and I would encourage you to listen to it while you read! Hope you enjoy and leave me some requests while you’re at it :))

Just wanna cut my hair, lose myself, make you sweat

Go out and get messed up, find myself in your bed

Just wanna cut my hair, little black dress, can't forget

Just wanna show you whatever she do, I can do it better

"Yo, Moosey, is that Y/N?"

Luke couldn't help but follow your figure from across the bar. He could always find you in a crowd, no matter the amount of people or the size of the room. His hand dropped from the shoulder of the girl standing next to him, his date for the night.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think so," Luke said to his teammate Mark standing next to him. He suddenly felt hot, pulling on the collar of his shirt to allow himself to breathe a little easier.

"She looks good, man." Mark wasn't wrong, you did look good. Your head was thrown back as you laughed at something your friend said, looking happier than he had seen you since you fought before winter break.

Luke wanted to slap Mark but he knew it would do no good and he would be lying if he said he didn't agree with his comment. It had only been a few weeks since you had stopped talking, but he felt like it had been years.

You looked different, but it was a good different, he thought. Your hair was short now, right at your shoulders, highlighting your collarbone and your chest in the strapless black dress you wore. You were surrounded by a group of your friends. He recognized them as the ones who had picked you up from the house he shared with his teammates that fated night. He remembered how hard you had cried, unable to look at him after you fought about him leaving for New Jersey and the trust issues that clouded your vision. Luke remembered how he was unable to answer when you asked when the last time you had gone out on a date was. He wished he could've shown you how much he cared but he was too afraid to admit that he didn't want to lose you. He couldn't admit that he was just as afraid as you were. And then, before he knew it, you were storming out and you were on a break.

Luke regretted that moment. He couldn't tell you, because he was too nervous to text first, but he wanted to apologize. If he could have stopped himself from ever pushing you away, he would've never ended up standing with someone he didn't know.

Luke and a few of his teammates had been invited to a sorority formal, which is how he ended up in the back of a more formal bar far away from campus with a date he barely knew. Rutger's girlfriend had begged a few of the guys to go with some of her sorority sisters and Luke and Mark agreed, but he wanted nothing more than to be by your side.

"Dude, you're staring" Mark commented. "Maybe you should go talk to her."

"I don't know if she'd even give me the time of day," Luke said. “I fucked up.”

"You'll never know unless you try, Lukey. Besides, you probably just caught her on a bad day. What did you say to her anyways?

"I told her that she was overbearing and that I was going to leave soon anyways,” Luke said, close to Mark’s ear so his date couldn’t hear him.

“Oh,” Mark stammered. “Yeah, that’s bad, Luke.”

“Thanks,” Luke chuckled humorlessly.

“She’ll hear you out, dude. Just tell her how you really feel. Trust me, girls love honesty!" Mark said, already moving away from Luke to follow his date to the dance floor.

Luke sighed, rolling his eyes at Mark's immaturity. He knew he was so focused on his future that he had lost sight of the present-his college teammates, his classes. Most importantly, he had lost you. Maybe this was his chance to get you back.

I've been playing nice little too long, yeah

Drivin' on the high road hit a dead end,

I'd tell you but we just don't talk,

I've been having selfish thoughts

Your friends were so excited to go out and celebrate the first week of second semester. You could tell some of your girlfriends were crushing hard for some of the guys in the bar, but your mind was elsewhere after spotting a certain someone across the room.

For almost all of break, besides the holidays, you had been trying to figure out how to move on from Luke Hughes. You and Luke had clicked immediately, and even though you had tried to take the relationship slow, it was no use. Within two months, you were dating. Luke was proud to see you cheering for him at games and you became a staple at Thursday movie nights at his shared hockey house. You and Luke fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Which is exactly why you couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend had started sending short messages and declined your affection starting after Thanksgiving break. Luke constantly claimed he had hockey practice or a team bonding event, but it was all proven to be false when you showed up at his doorstep one night to confront him.

Rumors found Luke Hughes like a moths to a flame. Whether it was his future in the NHL or his relationship status, your Michigan social media gossip pages never missed a beat. That week in the fall, Luke was apparently single and talking to a girl from the sorority the hockey team regularly hung out with. You never thought you were the jealous type, but with Luke’s odd behavior and his lack of communication, you thought the worst.

Even now, as you stood in the bar, you got a chill as you thought about the night you confronted him. Luke had the nerve to sit on his bed as you paced in his room, asking him simple questions that he had trouble answering.

He knew that you cared so much about your relationships with others so he used it against you, saying you were bombarding him with messages and he was sick of it. You couldn’t remember every sentence you spoke, but you could remember the hurt you felt when you realized that Luke just didn’t care about you like you cared for him. He had said it himself, he wouldn’t be around much longer, implying that you should both just move on. You didn’t wait for him to deal the final blow, instead, you called for the breakup and left before he could say anything else.

“Earth to Y/N! You want a drink?” Your friend, Caroline, asked. She waved her hand in front of your face to get your attention.

“Uh, I’m good. I didn't expect him to be here and I'm a little overwhelmed,” you replied. You hadn’t locked eyes with Luke, but you were afraid the moment was coming sooner than later since you struggled to tear your gaze from his tall figure.

“How about a shot then? They’ve got those green ones that are really good, and will make you forget that tall idiot who has been staring at you all night,” Caroline tried again.

I've been working hard while you're six drinks in,

Tossin' in the dark, feel you under my skin,

Once I start I just can't stop,

I've been having selfish thoughts

You were about to decline her offer when you saw who Luke was standing next to. You recognized Rutger and Mark easily, but you had only just got a clear view of Riley Jones, a sorority girl standing next to him. You had forgotten that there was a sorority formal the first week back from break, and of course, you had ended up at the same bar.

“No fucking way.” You muttered under your breath, but Caroline was too attentive.

“What?”

“He’s with Riley. He’s at the stupid sorority formal with that girl who’s in our biology class, C.”

Caroline gasped, always perfectly dramatic in every situation. “It's always the sorority girls, I swear!"

You nodded, finally able to turn your head away from Luke’s direction. Sighing, you pulled out your phone to check the time, only 10:23. You had made a deal with your friends that you couldn’t leave until 11, but that deal seemed much easier when your ex wasn’t factored into the equation.

“He shouldn’t even be here, it’s the middle of the season and he can’t drink, anyways,” you grumbled to your group of friends. They were hoping to have a Luke-free night, especially with the start of the new semester, but you all had forgotten the sorority that would be gracing the bar with their presence that Thursday night. Caroline rubbed your arm, assuring you that you weren’t alone in this situation.

“Well, he's definitely an idiot for losing you, but he doesn't seem too interested in his date," Caroline said. "Don't focus on him, the night is still young! And, not that you needed it, but you seriously just had the glow-up of winter break. Luke's missing out.”

"New year, no more being sad over stupid boys!" You lifted up your nearly empty drink to clink it with your other friends' glasses.

Your other friends chimed in and you laughed, Caroline wasn’t wrong. Despite crying over Luke for a few days, you refused to lay in bed and rot just because he had made you feel small. Instead, you opted to take out your anger at the gym over break, so you knew your dress that night fit you better than ever before. You had also decided to do a hair transformation and cut it quite short, a style your friends at college hadn’t ever seen on you. You knew you looked different and you felt confident.

“Why don’t I get us the shots before we hit the dance floor? On me!” You could feel your layer of liquid courage settle over you. Luke was closer to the bar than you were, so it was almost inevitable that he would see you if you got the drinks.

"You know he's over there, right Y/N? Don't look now, but he's staring at you." Your other friend, Lexi, said to you. Of course you knew. Luke was one of the tallest guys in the bar and he easily towered over the other guys that were hovering close to your friend group. Just as you went to look at him, he redirected his gaze to Riley and laughed at something she said. The nerve of him. You rolled your eyes and stood up a little. If he wanted to play hardball, so could you.

"Yeah, I wanna give him a taste of what he's missing."

“Okay, get it girl!"

You sauntered over to the bar, leaning over just enough so that your chest was on display in the new black strapless dress you had bought. It hugged you just right and showed off your assets quite well. The music was pulsing and the lights were pretty dark, so it was a shock when you felt a hand on your back.

There's no right way to say it,

Want you so bad, I hate it

Good girls, so overrated

So overrated...

Luke watched as you pulled out your phone to check the time. Even from across the room, he could see your bright lockscreen light up your face. The glow illuminated your bright smile and your dimples, and suddenly he wished he was right next to you to see it.

"Hey Luke, want to dance?" Riley's voice caught his attention. She was standing right in front of him, staring up at him with her big brown eyes rather excitedly. He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but Riley just kept on going.

"Mark said you liked to dance, so I thought..." Riley continued to ramble but Luke had already tuned her out. He didn't really care that he was caught in Riley's scheme for the night, he just didn't want it to look like he was actually with her.

"Mark's an idiot," he chuckled. "I don't dance."

Riley rolled her eyes, unimpressed at her date who was standing up against the wall. "Can you at least just put your arm around me again? My ex is like, right across the bar and I need to make him at least a little jealous."

Luke didn't mean to ignore Riley's plea, but he had lost you in the crowd. You weren't standing next to your friends anymore. He felt his heart rate pick up at the thought of losing you again. He scanned the room and finally found you leaning over the bar. If he could get Riley to move over a few steps, he could maneuver his way to the bar counter and maybe-

"Are you looking at Y/N?" Riley asked. It wasn't exactly a secret that you and Luke had broken up. All pictures of him had been removed from your social media and Luke hadn't been playing his best hockey by any means. Luke's trance seemed to end abruptly as he cleared his throat to try to come up with an answer, but it was no use. In the time he had been pondering his plan, some guy had sidled up next to you. Luke recognized him, his name was Chris, he was in your major and lived down the hall from you. He always said hi to the two of you when you passed him on the way to your room and Luke couldn't lie, he was pretty fit, too. He let out a shaky breath.

"Uh, no," Luke fumbled. "I was just thinking about getting another soda up at the bar."

"Luke, I know you've been staring at Y/N over there all night even though I'm your date," Riley hummed, seeming only slightly disappointed. "You should go talk to her. Girls are a little scary, but we just want to be loved. Look, I'm gonna go chat with my ex across the bar and show him a fun time, okay? You got this."

Riley walked away from Luke, leaving him standing there a little dumbfounded. Was it really that easy? Chris seemed to make it look easy, standing too close to you at the bar countertop, making you laugh as you waited for whatever you had ordered.

Luke found himself moving closer to the bar without really having a concrete plan in place. Would you ignore him? His runaway thoughts ended when he heard his name called.

Just wanna cut my hair, lose myself, make you sweat

Go out and get messed up, find myself in your bed

Just wanna cut my hair, little black dress, can't forget

Just wanna show you whatever she do, I can do it better

"Luke! Hey man!" Chris called. In his drunken state, he had practically whipped around and made you fall when he caught sight of Luke. When you realized who Chris was calling for, you immediately shook his hand away and turned back to the bartender who was almost about to get to you to take your drink order.

"Chris, don't," you tried to say as quietly as possible. Luke was getting closer to you to try to say hello but you wanted none of it. You ignored Chris and Luke greeting each other and kept your eyes trained in front of you. You refused to give in.

"I gotta get back to the guys, I'll see you later, Y/N? We can watch that new episode once you get back!" Chris called, giving you a side hug as you said goodbye.

"Hey, Y/N," Luke said. His voice sounded soft and timid and you couldn't help but feel your stomach fill with butterflies. This was the closest you and Luke had been since before Christmas and now it was the middle of January.

"You look beautiful, I love your hair," he tried again, finally standing next to you. You hated how tall he was in the moment, his frame completely isolating you from anyone else, since you were at the end of the bar.

"Thanks," you said. "New year, new haircut is how the saying goes, I think."

Luke laughed nervously, sitting down on the barstool next to you. He had let his hair grow out over break, you noticed. He was turned towards you, trying to get you to talk to him. You felt your face get hot at the thought of him being right there. He was so close, yet the last time you saw him, he pushed you so far away.

"I didn't know you were here," he tried, wanting you to look at him. You couldn't help the scoff that escaped your mouth.

"Sure you weren't staring at me all night? Caroline said she caught you ignoring your date, Hughes."

You held back laughter at the way his eyes widened. Caught. The bartender finally turned your way and you ordered shots for you and your friends, handing him your fake ID and flashing a smile as he handed it back to you quickly. Luke asked for a soda and he went to prepare your orders.

"I didn't know you were seeing Chris."

"I'm not, he just has manners and actually enjoys being in my presence, Luke."

Luke coughed, trying to break up the awkward tension between you two. His mind went back to your first date, where he had taken you ice skating. He remembered how hard you laughed when you fell, needing him to lift you up and hold your hand tightly to stay upright. Even thought you barely knew each other outside of a mutual friend, the conversation flowed easily. You two had never been awkward around each other, even in the early stages of your relationship.

"So," Luke began.

You rolled your eyes and put your hands on your hips, turning square to him. His gaze dipped to your neckline where your chest was accentuated and you almost laughed. While you hadn't dressed for him that night, it was like fate brought him to you just so you could make him weak. Perfect.

"So?"

Couple years back so sensitive, yeah

Movin' like that gets repetitive, yeah

Singin' bout the same old stupid ass things

Sad girl bit got a little boring

"I haven't heard from you in a while, Y/N."

"Well, you weren't interested in texting me anyways so I thought it would be easiest," you taunted him. “Remember when you told me I was too much to deal with?”

"I wanted to apologize for that," Luke sighed. "I wasn't thinking straight and I took it out on you, I'm sorry."

"Glad it only took you two months to realize you were an asshole and lost the best thing you ever had."

Luke was stunned at your bluntness. You stared right at him when you said it, your confidence unwavering. Fake it until you make it right? Your heart was beating fast. You didn't really drink often, but when you did, Luke knew how unfiltered you could be. He always found it amusing, the way your cheeks would flush and how sassy you became. It never failed to make him feel hot all over.

"God, where is that fucking bartender?" You mumbled, quickly looking past Luke to avoid another awkward sentence spilling out of your mouth. You were already two drinks in and wanted to keep feeling good.

"You're right," Luke said, still staring at you. "I know you wouldn't say that if you were totally sober, but I agree. I fucked up and ruined us.”

You could barely focus as the bartender asked you for your card and you fumbled to get it out of your phone wallet. Luke quickly got his card out and handed it to the man instead.

"Luke, don't. You're not even supposed to be in here mid-season," you chided. "And you don't have to pay for me, we're not together."

“Would you ever want us to be together again?” Luke asked quickly.

Luke’s question made you freeze.

“I’m not doing this here, Luke.”

“Just answer the question, Y/N.”

“I never wanted us to be over, Luke. But you made me feel stupid for wanting all of the things you gave me at the very beginning. I wasn’t going to stick around just to get my heart broken.”

You felt lighter now that the truth was out in the open. You’re sure Luke knew it too, by the guilty look he wore on his face. Everyone told you how good you and Luke were good together, but it was the two of you that still couldn’t figure things out.

“What if we get out of here? We can talk about how terrible I was back at my place,” Luke asked. He looked hopeful, almost too content. Three months ago, you would’ve jumped to do anything Luke suggested, but now, with him taking another girl out and his actions, you swiftly shook your head.

“Can’t, the girls and I are staying out for the night. But I hope you have fun with Riley, enjoy your night, Hughes.”

The shots and his soda were set down in front of you, breaking up the moment.

“I hate when you call me that,” Luke grumbled. You smirked knowingly. You always called Luke by a nickname, never his last name.

“Well, I hate when my ex is at the bar with another girl, but here we are,” you fired back.

"Riley went off with some other guy. Her ex, I think," Luke admitted.

"Sounds like fun," you shrugged. You tried not to get your hopes up at his statement. Luke had hurt you in the past.

"We only went together because Rutger set us up, Y/N. I don't even know her."

"Well you looked pretty smitten with her from across the bar, Luke." You said back, not caring that you blew your nonchalant cover. You tried to pick up the small tray of drinks, but stumbled in your haste to steady yourself.

"She's not my type, I thought you of all people would know that, Y/N. She literally just went to go fuck her ex in the bathroom."

"That doesn't make me feel any better Luke, oh my god," you scoffed, a little disgusted that you knew more information about Riley than you needed to know.

"Y/N, wait," he urged, standing up now to tower over you again. Luke's skin was glowing from the heat in the place and he looked at you breathlessly. "Hear me out, please. I know I fucked up, I know that. But I was scared that you'd leave when I play pro hockey and I didn't want to get left behind."

You took in a breath, unable to say anything. Suddenly, it felt like you and Luke were the only ones in the whole room.

“Give me one more chance, please,” Luke said quietly. “I hate that I hurt you.”

No right way to say it,

Want you, so bad I hate it

Good girls, so overrated

So overrated...

As you held the tray, you quickly glanced over to your table, where your friends were staring at you. You were unsure of what to do. You could keep walking towards your friends, forget Luke, and move on with your life. Or, you could do what the new you would do-make him sweat over the mistakes he made, maybe end up in his bed.

“You sure you won’t get sick of me?” You questioned. For the first time that night, Luke could see how sincere you were, the old you that he had loved and lost. He wouldn’t mess up his chance again.

"I could never get sick of you, Y/N. I hated not being able to call or text you and I missed your hugs and the way you laugh when you watch The Office, because you always have it on and you love how sarcastic it is, and how you-" Luke couldn't finish what he was saying, even though you would've enjoyed hearing it, because you had put the tray back down and stood on your tippy toes to kiss him. Your lips crashed against his and you swore you could feel fireworks going off inside your body.

The drinks on the counter were forgotten as his hand traveled to your back, trying to pull you closer to him. He toppled back on his barstool and you stood between his legs, feeling him press up against you. You let out a breathy laugh as you realized how hard he was in his dress pants.

"Jesus, Luke," you whispered in his ear, dropping your head to his shoulder, only a little embarrassed that you just made out with him and your friends were probably watching.

"Don't laugh," he stuttered out. "It's been a long break." You could see how blown his pupils were, pure bliss all over his face as you stood eye to eye.

"I'm not laughing," you said, but couldn't help giggling. "And yeah, it was a long break without you, but I don’t ever want to fight like that again, Luke. I’m serious.”

"Don't move yet," he begged. Luke's hands found your waist and he held you in place, blocking the hard on he was sporting. You smirked as you ran a hand through his hair, you had never seen him so desperate before.

“I was trying to have a serious moment, Moosey.”

“I know, I just can’t focus, not when you’re in that dress,” Luke mumbled, face buried in your neck. You felt your whole body shiver and you knew you wouldn’t last too long. His breath danced along your neck, making you want more.

"I'm glad you like it," you whispered. "I guess I'll have to wear it more."

"Hope it's easy to take off," Luke trailed off, alluding to your intimate moments that he craved.

"Well, what if we move soon and we call an uber and go somewhere a little quieter than this? Then we can talk." You mused. He looked at you contentedly and nodded quickly.

"And you can drop off the shots as a peace offering to my friends when I grab my coat," you said. Luke looked a little nervous but you assured him your friends wouldn’t make a big deal. You knew you weren't very convincing, but it didn't matter, because Luke was practically jumping up to carry the tray of shots over to the table where your friends were sat. They tried not to stare at the two of you as you walked over, but it was no use. There were grins on all of their faces as you said your goodbyes and grabbed Luke’s hand to pull him out of the bar and into an Uber to start the real fun of the night. And if Luke pressed you up against the outside of bar, made out with you the whole uber ride, and kissed you until you knew nothing but his name, that was a secret you'd never tell.

Don't forget to like, reblog and comment! Let me know what you want to see next!

[gyusual]

Hands on or in you?

Smut 18+

Bestfriend!Mingyu , fem!reader

Summary- watching a movie with your Bestfriend Mingyu turns into something else quickly

Word count- 706

In your big comfy bed, head leaning against Mingyu’s shoulder as you both watched a funny romcom together. You both were a fan of them, even though sometimes they got a bit raunchy. Before you knew it, a sex scene came on, of course it turned you on, it was so cinematic. It made sex look like the best thing in the world. Pressing your thighs together as you felt yourself getting wet, feeling the tingling in between your thighs. Mingyu looked down at you smirking slightly, he wasn’t naive nor dumb. He could tell it was getting to you. “God you horn-dog” he said and chuckled deeply. You looked up at him playing dumb “what?”. He chuckled and rested his hand on your thigh “you wish that was you?” He pointed to the girl having sex on the tv screen. You gulped as you looked up at him, keeping your eyes on his brown ones.

“Maybe…” you said quietly and smiled up at him. Mingyu smiled and rested his hand right above your pussy, letting his fingers sit dangerously close to your clit “can I make that happen?” He asked you, immediately saying yes to him rolling your hips up so his fingers ran along your sensitive clit. Mingyu smiled at your eagerness as he gently ran his fingers along your clothed pussy, a small wet patch forming on the outside of your shorts you had on. He smiled and leaned in, pressing a kiss on your cheek and then trailed them down your jaw and neck. You moaned softly as he finally touched your tingling pussy. Mingyu stopped so he could slip your shorts off of you, lifting your hips off the bed so it was easier.

You immediately spread your legs so Mingyu had access to you asap. Mingyu laid down beside you before reaching in between your legs and letting his fingers run along your soaking folds. “So wet for me already” Mingyu said against your neck as he kissed it. You let out a drawn out moan as you felt two of Mingyu’s big fingers dip into your dripping pussy. “Mingyu” you whimpered his name as his fingers moved in and out of you, his thick fingers doing so much more than your own small ones could ever do. You were already brain dead from how good Mingyu’s fingers felt in you. The way his lips pressed against your neck made you go crazy in the best way possible.

Mingyu moved his fingers in and out in a rapid motion all the sudden causing a loud moan to leave you. You reached down and grabbed his wrist as he moaned out in pleasure “fuck G-Gyu” He smiled at the nickname, you sounded cute moaning his name. He trailed the kisses back up your neck, jaw, and kissed your cheek again, keeping his lips against your skin even when not pressing his sweet kisses on you. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back in pleasure as Mingyu fucked you with his fingers, your hips trembling as you came all over his fingers. But he didn’t stop, he still kept on finger fucking you like his life depended on it. You moaned and whimpered loudly as your sweet pussy got overstimulated, reaching down and gripping onto Mingyu’s wrist to get him to stop. “M-Mingyu ahh-fuck-ahh please” you whined in between the moans. Mingyu kissed your cheek and smiled as he felt you tremble and move around in his arms.

“You sound so pretty I can’t stop,” Mingyu admitted to you as he felt your juices run down his hand as he fingered you. You cried out, tears running down your flushed face as the pleasure overwhelmed your trembling body. Mingyu pulled away and admired your trembling body, finally pulling his fingers out but ran his fingers up and gently rubbed circles on your clit. “Such a pretty girl” he complimented you, kissing your red cheek as he rubbed another orgasm out of you through your clit. He pulled his hand away from your body, putting the two fingers that were just inside on you, Into his mouth, licking them clean. His pupils dilated at the taste of you. Mingyu could get used to this…

[tgmsunmontue]

From the top 1/? (WIP)

IceMav, (eventual) Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

Featuring not-mistaken identities (where they (Ice and Mav) pretend to be in the dark for REASONS), Ice is Jake's Uncle Tom, Mav is Bradley's Dad, everyone knows everyone, (un)requited love, coming out as an older person, and a little bit of a circus-vibe where Ice has a horrible realization that this is indeed his circus and these are also his monkeys.

An AU where Mav married Carole and adopted Bradley to make things easier legally. A USNA Bradley who has been very careful to separate Dad/Pete from godfather/Maverick. They had an argument prior to TGM, but it was around Maverick being careless with his life (RE: Darkstar because Bradley got the call that Maverick was missing, presumed dead). So it was about risk taking and thinking while flying, so that was happening and Bradley admits to the Dagger Squadron that Maverick is his godfather and they have a ‘complicated relationship’ which isn’t a lie per se, however it’s… complicated.

                He and Bradley haven’t reached the stage yet where they’ve met any of each other’s family. They haven’t even introduced each other to their friends as boyfriends yet, and their circle of friends overlap. And he’s okay with that. More than okay actually. Doesn’t quite know how he’d broach the whole by the way I’m sort of related to the COMPACFLT through my mom conversation. He’s close with Tom now, closer than he is to any of his mom’s other cousins that’s for sure. Idolized him when he was young, and now also holds a deep-rooted respect and affection for the man. It had also helped knowing he had someone to look to as a role model, someone who was gay in the Navy and got so high up no-one could do anything to him now. Jake wanted that. Badly.

                But he also kind of wants his Uncle Tom to be happy. Although, hell, for all he knew he could have had a secret lover all these years. If anyone could keep it hidden it’s Uncle Tom, face quiet and impassive, unmoving and unflinching. He’d really hoped for a callsign half as cool as Iceman, and even if Uncle Tom jokes that he does have a literal half with man, he wishes he didn’t have the connotations of Hangman, even if it’s because of fucking song lyrics he was forever quoting and now twisted into something that make people assume things before they even know him.

                Not that he really has that problem now, with the Dagger Squadron being made a permanent detachment and with them all knowing each other so well now. They know he’s got their backs when it actually comes down to it. And he likes being based where his Uncle Tom is, because while he’s meant to be based in Hawaii they’ve made some concessions due to his cancer treatment. He knows their entire family is grateful, not least his Aunty Sarah. God, he knows it’s the high of surviving a literal suicide mission but life feels so good right now. He’s expecting Bradley to turn up any minute, they’ve got plans for dinner and a movie and then sex, not necessarily in that order.

                When he opens his door and Rooster is there, he can’t help the little happy swoop his insides do and he lets Bradley kiss him hello.

                “Hi.”

                “Hi. How are you?”

                “Good. Little annoyed… my dad is talking about getting back together with an ex…”

                “Is this the ex you like, or don’t like?”

                “You can safely bet money that it’s nearly always an ex I don’t like. I don’t think he’s ever had a relationship with anyone I’ve actually liked… shit that’s depressing.”

                “Maybe you just have really high standards for him?”

                “You mean unlike for myself, where my standards are really low?”

                “Hey!”

                They end up play-wrestling which quickly morphs into not-play making-out and yeah, the sex comes before dinner but he was sort of banking on that, making food that would be perfectly fine just staying warm in the oven. They end up curled around each other on the sofa, queuing up a movie and Jake asks about his day. Listens as Bradley talks about going out to Maverick’s hangar to work on the plane, having lunch with his dad and he wonders if Maverick has met Bradley’s step-dad. Obviously he must have, he’s been around even longer, although it must be weird to have two people called Pete wandering around, he guesses that’s why Bradley calls Maverick Maverick, and his step-dad dad. Stops the confusion.

                He knows Maverick and Bradley had a falling out of some sort, they’d been very angry with each other. He figured out that Maverick flew with Bradley’s dad, was the pilot when his dad died, and he’d thought it had been that. But then Bradley had dropped the bombshell that Maverick was his godfather and they’d had a fight over something he can’t talk about, but they would be fine. So Jake hasn’t pushed wanting to also hang out with Maverick, because when Bradley talks about the P-51 and the hangar his fingers itch but he gets Bradley wanting to mend bridges with his godfather.

                More than that though he wants to meet Bradley’s step-dad, doesn’t understand Bradley’s reticence about introducing them. It’s not like he’s going to care. But they’ve only been doing this, whatever it is, for a couple of weeks, which he guesses is early days, but with everything they’ve gone through in the last couple of months it also feels like several lifetimes. Then again, he’s in no rush to introduce Bradley to Uncle Tom, so maybe it’s for the best they wait a few weeks. Or months.

                “You still thinking about your dad?”

                “Yeah. I just need to get him seeing someone else. Anyone to take his mind off getting back with Georgia. Or any of his exes for that matter. Georgia especially is… well. I have no idea what she gets out of sleeping with Dad. She’s anti military for a start.”

                “The fact that she gets to sleep with him?”

                “Ew, gross…”

                “Maybe she thinks she can convert him to a non-military life one blowjob at a time…”

                “You could try that on me you know, see if you can convince me to do something with a blowjob…”

                “Don’t think I need the promise of a bj to convince you to do anything,” Jake says with a grin. “You know, my uncle Tom is gay, maybe we could set them up? Well, assuming your dad swings both ways?”

                “Huh. Yeah… He does. Keeps that pretty much on the down-low, very much on a need to know basis. Pretty sure I only know because I saw him trying to sneak a guy out when I was seventeen. Did make me feel safer about coming out to him myself though.”

…            …            …

                “Jake, I am not installing Grindr on my phone, work, personal or otherwise.”

                “Thought you might say that, so I bought you a burner. Well, please don’t actually burn it, but you know what I mean.”

                “Jake…” Tom lets out an exasperated sigh. “I wouldn’t burn it. I know what a burner is. I’m not an idiot. I just don’t want to go on a date…”

                “Okay, so you don’t actually have to go on a date. All my cards on the table. I’m using the app to introduce you to the step-dad of my… uh, a friend.”

                “A friend huh? Is this the same friend you won’t introduce to the family?”

                “Yes. The exact one. Anyway, I just want you to send him a couple of messages. Let’s say ten messages. After that you can go back to ignoring it, remove the battery from the phone and pretend it never happened. Okay?”

                “Will you let it go if I do this?”

                “I mean… yeah. I hope you make a friend or something, but he’s military as well, so you guys have something in common at least…”

                “Fine. But I want the name of your friend.”

                “No! You’ll just look him up.”

                “He’s Navy?”

                “No!”

                “He is! Good job.”

…            …            …

                “Bradley! Why is Grindr amongst my recently installed apps!”

                “I’m setting you up!” Bradley calls out, grabbing two beers to go with their takeout Chinese.

                “I don’t need setting up. I can find my own dates. I don’t need an app!”

                “Yes, you do. You can’t get back with Georgia just because you’re lonely. Look, I’m not going to make you swipe through dick-pics…”

                “Maybe I want to swipe through dick-pics!”

                “Mav, be serious! You just said you didn’t want the app!”

                “Seriously? You’re the one that installed Grindr on my phone.”

                “God, maybe this was an awful idea.”

                “Yeah, you think?”

                “Okay, give me a second,” Bradley mutters, rolling his eyes and pulling his own from his pocket and thumbing into his contacts.

                “Hi… how’s it going?” Jake asks, voice quiet, and he must still be at his Uncle’s house.

                “Not well. You think we can maybe just set them up with an app that blocks their numbers and then just let them talk that way?”

                “Can’t hurt to try… your dad resisting the Grindr approach too huh?”

                “So much. And I get it, HE’S REALLY OLD,” Bradley says, raising his voice while looking Mav dead in the eye.

                “Hey! I heard that!”

                “You were meant to!”

                He ignores the glare Mav shoots him and pokes his tongue out at the back of his head as he walks away.

                “Okay, let’s see what we can find. I’ll message you and let you know.”

                “Sure thing.”

                Fifteen minutes later Jake has sent him the information, an end-to-end encrypted messaging app, one which hides the number of the phone sending the message. It’s silent and has to be manually opened to check for notifications, which is very old-school but means there’s no potential odd sounding pings. The icon is a mundane looking tower symbol and he guesses that could mean anything.

                “Okay Mav – you need to give this guy a chance okay? Please?”

                “What’s in it for me?”

                “I will stop bothering you about… uh… your love life for six months?”

                “No deal. I want to meet the guy you just rang. Who’s he in all this?”

                “Uh… I guess he’s my boyfriend.”

                “Ooohhh… it’s new huh? You’re in that new loved-up stage where you want everyone around you to be in the same stage.”

                “Uh, I mean we’ve known each other for years, but we’ve recently… come to an arrangement.”

                “Is it boyfriends or friends with benefits?”

                “Well, we weren’t exactly friends before, so definitely closer to boyfriends I guess,” Bradley says, carefully skirting the fact that Mav actually already knows Jake quite well.

                “Great. I’ll send what, ten messages to this guy and then I get to meet your guy in two weeks.”

                “No! Three months. And twenty messages.”

                “You realize you can’t force me to do anything right? You have no bargaining power here?”

                “I know, but… for me?”

                “Ugh… sad cow eyes. Fine fine, put them away. I’ll message the guy. But I do want to meet your guy when you feel the timing is right.”

                “Yeah, of course.”

                God he hopes this works because he has no idea if Mav will like the fact he’s with Jake or not.

…            …            …

                They meet up every week when they’re both in the same place, and it’s been a treat these last few months, but also a trial. Usually the distance has been a unintended blessing, making his unfortunate case of unrequited love easier to ignore. When he was younger he’d thought it was just a crush, that it would just… fade away. Instead the opposite has happened, time and distance have hardened and solidified similar to how pressure and temperature turn limestone into marble his love for Maverick is a solid and unmoving object that is ever present. Every time Mav walks through his front door he has to fight the urge to enfold him in his arms and just hold him. Every time.

                “Did you ever want kids of your own?” Pete asks and Tom startles, looks across at him.

                “No. I have nieces and nephews and cousin’s kids coming out my ears. They’re enough trouble to be getting on with, without adding my own genes to the mix. Wasn’t ever going to happen anyway,” he tacks on, and he wonders if this, today, this moment, will be the time it twigs and Mav will ask what he means.

                “Too much trouble by half. Do you know what Bradley did the other day? Installed a dating app on my phone.”

                “What? Why would he do that?”

                “He thought I was considering getting back with Georgia for some reason.”

                “And you’re not?”

                “No. Anyway, he’s trying to set me up with someone. At least you don’t have to worry about that.”

                “You’d be surprised. My cousins kid bought me a phone, a burner phone, with a dating app installed on it.”

                “Oh yeah? Which one?”

                Tom swallows.

                Okay.

                No more subtle hints.

                It’s now or never.

                “Grindr.”

                He didn’t purposely wait for Mav to have a sip of his drink, but he still sprays it out across the coffee table, eyes bugging out and he can’t seem to look Tom in the eye and he feels his stomach start to sink.

                “You… ah… you know that app is for gay guys right?”

                “I’m aware.”

                Pete just stares at him and he wonders if this is it. The moment his best friend just gets up and walks out of his life.

                “You never told me.”

                “You never asked.”

                “Yeah well, there was a whole thing about not asking and not telling until about ten years ago so… sorry if I thought you’d have maybe mentioned it. Or at least… alluded to it.”

                “I did Pete. With something called subtlety. I know it’s not your strong suit, but I tried to leave it there in the open for you to pick up on. I’m only just… getting to the grips with the idea of being more out.”

                “Okay. Uh. Does anyone else know?”

                Tom snorts.

                “Yeah, my whole family for a start. Had to get them to stop trying to marry me off. Slider of course.”

                “Why of course? Why Slider?”

                “He’s known me for a very long time.”

                “I’ve known you for a long time.”

                He doesn’t want to mention that Slider figured it out, because he’s had to learn to be subtle, and his weak point has and will always be the man in front of him. And he can never let him know. Still, Mav sounds annoyed.

                “Slider figured it out. He’s too perceptive for his own good,” Tom mutters, because he’s also the one person who knows about his lifelong torch bearing.

                “Huh. Okay.”

…            …            …

                Tom locks the house up, Mav having left to go home after Tom had soundly beaten him at chess. He knows it isn’t one of Mav’s favorite games, that he really only plays to humor Tom and give them something to do while they talk… his brain is catching on something and it’s going to bother him until he figures it out. Pete. Playing chess simply to spend more time with him...

                He stops.

                Blinks.

                Pete had said Bradley had installed a dating app on his phone.

                Within a day of Jake giving him a phone with Grindr installed, which quickly morphed to a simple encrypted messaging service.

                He’s learnt to not ignore his gut and this is deeply suspicious with the coincidence.

                He wonders if Jake and Bradley are dating. The idea of that makes him smile, even if it’ll cause an administrative nightmare. He knows they know each other, they’re part of the same squadron and there are rules, however it wouldn’t surprise him at all if both Bradley and Jake decided that that particular rule was for other people.

                Wait.

                He suddenly needs to know which app it is exactly that Bradley installed and he has his phone in his hand ringing him before he even considers the time of night, or where Bradley might be right now.

                “Hey Uncle Ice… Everything okay?”

                “Hey Bradley. Sorry for the late call, Just, uh, Mav mentioned you installed a dating app on his phone. You mind telling me which one it was?”

                “Uh… Grindr. Why?”

                “Oh. No reason. Just curious Thanks. Have a good night.”

                Why would Bradley install Grindr.

                Maverick’s not gay.

                To his knowledge Maverick isn’t even bisexual. Or anything else that might imply he’s anything other than overwhelmingly heterosexual.

                Maverick didn’t say anything tonight when he learnt about Tom’s own sexuality.

                Maybe Bradley knows something Tom doesn’t.

                Scratch that.

                Bradley definitely knows something Tom doesn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Mikaelson!OC headcanons

Elijah's relationship with Kassandra

Their relationship is my Roman Empire! I'll write for the other siblings as well, but Elijah goes first since he's my fave (and kassie's lol)

Masterlist

Elijah remembers the day Kassie was born very well (also he was like 10 btw)

It was a bright and sunny day, despite it being autumn

He wondered if it would be another girl, since their mother gave birth to Rebekah only a year prior

Klaus and Kol were saying it would be a boy, but deep down he wished for another sister

He was with his brothers, training with wooden swords under their father's supervision

Then, Ayana, his mother's friend came down running toward them

"Good news, Mikael! It's another healthy girl!"

He remembers holding her for the first time, her little face red and wrinkly

"What shall we name her, Elijah?" His mother asked him softly

Elijah thought about a name and said the first one that came to his mind

"Kassandra. Like the Greek Princess from your stories"

As he was much older than them, Elijah was quite protective of his little sisters

He remembers Kassie asking their father if she could also train with a sword and later he comforted her when their father yelled at her

As a child (even as an adult) Kassie was scared of thunder. Often when there was a storm brewing, she would hide in Elijah's arm

Many times, little Kassandra would be plagued by nightmares

She was too scared to wake up her parents so instead she would wake up Elijah

With teary eyes she would shake the dark-haired boy and ask if she could sleep in his arms

He never refused her

Elijah also remembers the day Kassie died, because, well, they died together

After the death of their youngest brother Henrik, his parents started acting strange

One fateful night, everything changed

He and Kassie were put in a room and told to wait. Elijah had a bad feeling about the whole thing

Their father came into the house, closed the door, and stared at them

"Father? What's happening?" Kassie asked quietly

Elijah's heart dropped when their father pulled out his sword and lunged toward Kassie

Elijah stood in front of Kassie, shielding her as their father plunged the blade of his sword into his heart

The last memory of Elijah's human life was the screams of his little sister echoing in his ears

Kassie screamed as she fell to her knees. She was in too much shock to defend herself.

She felt the blade piercing her chest and fell next to Elijah

Her last memory was the sight of her brother's dead body

In the early days of their new life, Elijah tried his best to keep everyone under control

Out of everyone, Kassie seemed to struggle the most with their new vampiric urges

She had a hard time accepting the fact that to survive, she had to kill innocent people

Over time, they learned to feed without killing

Kassie would never admit but Elijah was most definitely her favorite brother

Elijah, ever the peace holder, refused to admit Kassie was his favorite sibling

The others knew well that she, in fact, was his favorite sibling

Bookworms, both of them lol

They would spend countless hours in libraries, reading together and discussing the current state of the world

She almost sees him as a father figure, since Mikael wasn't the best father to any of them really

Forehead kisses! So many forehead kisses!

Kassie always had a gentle heart and her vampirism only magnified that

Elijah would always shield and defend Kassie from Klaus when the latter would raise his voice at her

One look into her big blue eyes and her pouty lips and this man is crumbling (see gif above lol)

She knows she has Elijah (and Klaus) wrapped around her little finger

She's aware that manipulating her brothers using their love for her isn't the right thing to do, but a girl sometimes has to use morally dubious means to make her life easier

"Elijah?"

"Yes?"

"Can you give me your credit card? I saw these really cute boots, I have to have them! Please???" She asks while batting her eyelashes

*he sighs and pulls out his wallet*

*she squeals and kisses him on the cheek*

"You're the best brother in the whole wide world!"

Elijah smirks while shaking his head and continues reading

He knows he's being manipulated but doesn't to anything about it

[thedoctorsthings]

Power to the king | Min Yoongi pt. 2

Fantasy/historical AU, viking Au (attempted lmao), Yoongi x female reader

More angst (you know me by now), Yoongi is still an asshole, things taking a dramatic turn

cw: sexism, mentions of war, Jungkook's humour (I've decided I'm blaming my painful unfunnyness on the character now)

word count: about 3k

Yoongi and you had been married for a month now and you’d kept your promise. You were ice cold, you only talked when spoken to and you hadn’t as much as smiled in Yoongi’s general direction. The servants and everyone else in the castle treated you with respect and subservience. One might even say they seemed scared of you. Only you knew this all to be a farse. At night, when you were alone you cried yourself to sleep. It had been a month and you’d made little progress. Every day felt as empty as the last. Days before the wedding your mother had told you that an arranged marriage without love wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. She said you would find things to love, running the household or eventually your children. But as a princess there was no household to run and how were you supposed to have children if your husband wouldn’t even look at you. You admit that you did want children. If you couldn’t have your husband close to you at least you would have them. They would be something that you could devote yourself to in this empty life. Since your wedding night you and Yoongi hadn’t spoken about the subject again. You assumed he would come knocking on your door every night, asking over and over. This was the way most of the men you’d met and heard of acted when it came to sex, but he left you alone. It seemed that maybe it was up to you to come to his door, but over your dead body were you going to give in to him first.

You got out of bed and got dressed. It was customary for maids to help women of your status with this, but you had quickly made an end to this habit by sending the maids out every morning. Now they didn’t even bother coming in anymore. The typical attire of a princess consisted of a white underdress and a heavy garment over it. Today you chose a blue dress. You leave your room and head to the dining room for breakfast. Yoongi is already sitting at the table. You were infinitely thankful for the rest of his family and the ever-present servants. If they weren’t here every moment you spent in the same room as Yoongi would be spent in agonising silence. You always sat next to your husband, as was customary. His brother sat next to you on your other side. Jungkook was a small dash of light in the dark tunnel that your life had become. He was nice, funny and actually tried to engage in conversation with you. He was the reason your days here weren’t spent in complete loneliness. You had no romantic feelings for him, but still found yourself wishing you’d have been married off to him instead. Marriage with him might have been easier, might have worked better than with Yoongi. “Good morning, your majesty. How did you sleep?”, Jungkook asks in that overly polite tone he often liked to use with you. “Nothing to complain about, my lord”, you replied, equally nasal. “Not really suitable for a prince to be playing games with his future queen, is it?”, sounded a grumpy voice from your right. You had already noticed that Yoongi didn’t appreciate it when you had too much fun with Jungkook. It made you want to do it all the more. At this comment you settle your gaze on the empty chair in front of you, the one where the queen is supposed to sit, and rigidly stare at it. “We are expected to attend next week’s festivities together”, Yoongi poses and somehow his voice sounds softer. He’s bent slightly towards you, but you stay unmoving. “okay”. Yoongi finishes the rest of his meal in silence as you occasionally say something to Jungkook. As Yoongi gets up, he says: “your chambermaid will tell you when it is time to prepare. She’ll give you the clothes you’re expected to wear as well”. You merely nod. 

Yoongi walks through the huge, stone hallways while lost in thought. He got what he wanted, a wife that never let her emotions get the best of her, one that was rational and let him do as he wanted. You were perfect, there was nothing you did wrong, and somehow, he still despised you. Whenever he tried to make contact with you, you rejected him. There was nothing but one-word answers from your side. He felt that you hated him and that made him dislike you. He knew he would never be as charming as Jungkook, but you could at least try to form some sort of friendship with him. The most important reason however, was that he hated the way he felt when he looked at your emotionless face. You looked like all life had been sucked out of you, while at the same time there was a deep silence lying in the still waters of your eyes. It made him feel horrible, it was his fault, he’d never admit it. He knocked on the door of his mother’s bedchambers. “Come in”, he heard her weak voice call. He pushed open the heavy, wooden door and stepped into the room. She was sitting half upright on the bed, leaning against a mountain of pillows. The sunlight coming from the high windows hit her face nicely. He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is married life, son?” “To be honest, I barely talk to her”. The queen looked at him with a questioning look. “I just don’t really like talking to her”. “Why?” Yoongi sighed and stayed quiet for a while. He made a vague gesture with his arm and shrugged: “It’s like she’s not really there. When she always responds as short as possible and only speaks when spoken to. I think I don’t like talking to her because I know she doesn’t like me either”. His mother looks out the window a second, before speaking: “You think she’s cold?” “Yes exactly”. “Yoongi, you’re my son and I love you, but you’re not the warmest person either. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like talking to you either”. “But I try so hard to seek contact with her”. “I think a husband and wife should have more than just contact”, the queen said, smiling. Yoongi was quiet again. “Could it be that you feel guilty?” At this Yoongi got up: “No that’s not it!”, he said raising his voice. “No need to get angry”, she said calmly. “I’m not, I just have things to do”, was the last thing he said before leaving the room.

You’re walking through the gardens of the castle. It was spring now and getting warmer. In this kingdom, warmer still meant well below what others find agreeable, but your people were used to it. People had started dressing lighter and the sun shone more often. You also felt lighter. After months of basically ignoring your husband, you had decided to be more welcoming. Your sister had been right. As a woman all you could do was make the best of it. About a week ago you had started being nicer to Yoongi. You smiled at him during meals and asked him how his day was going. Yesterday you spent the evening together playing a traditional board game. You suggested it. It was nice, you’d laughed together for the first time ever, even if it was still awkward. Things started looking up, maybe you could find happiness here after all. You let your hand brush over the newly growing flowers and enter the halls. Tonight was the night of the festivities and you planned to go to your husband and ask him what was expected of you tonight. You could ask any of your maids, but this was the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Yoongi. As you near the corner you hear giggling. Your ears perk, even with Jungkook’s presence everything happening at the castle was a grim affair. Giggling was not something often heard around these parts. “Your majesty, behave”, you hear a female voice tease. Dread fills your stomach. You round the corner and there he is, his hand on her lower back, his nose in her hair as she opens a door. He looks up for a split second. You don’t know if he saw you, you’re still quite far away from them. Even if he did see you, it clearly doesn’t matter to him, because he and the maid enter the room. You hear shushing and more giggling and then the door shuts. You welcome her back with open arms. That all familiar emptiness, or at least that’s what you wish this feeling is. It’s not, it’s pain. It hurts you more to admit it. It’s horrible to realise that you let this man get to you. You promised yourself you would never feel again when it came to him and here you were, seeing blurry from the tears trying to find your way back to your rooms.

Tonight’s festival marked the beginning of spring. Everyone in the city gathered on the main square every year to sing, dance and eat together. It was your favourite thing as a child. Today was the first year you couldn’t enjoy it. You were expected to walk through the crowd at the height of the festival. The king and queen first, although the queen wouldn’t attend due to her illness, then the crown prince and his wife and lastly the second born son. You’re waiting in the carriage. You and Yoongi are seated next to each other, Jungkook sitting opposite of you. The air is tense. You still have no idea if Yoongi noticed you earlier today. You have a feeling that he might have because he’s tenser than usual. So are you. “Alright someone say something before the awkwardness drives me to jump out of the vehicle”, Jungkook says while uncomfortably squirming on his bench. You and Yoongi both remain silent. “By Odin, I bet the mute choachman is better company than you people”. At this you let out a giggle, that in its turn makes Yoongi scoff. Wanting to relieve Jungkook of his suffering you offer: “What do you think the head druid will predict tonight? I hope not another failed harvest like last year”. “Me personally, I’ve been hoping for golden rain ever since I was a kid”, Jungkook jokes with that signature, boyish grin of his. “The druid’s prophecy is no laughing matter Jungkook, Y/N is right. We better hope for a fruitful harvest this year”. “Alright Mr. Cranky, maybe you should jump out of the carriage”, is the last thing Jungkook mumbles before getting kicked in the shin by his older brother. This time you laugh out loud and even if it was just unconsciously, Yoongi is proud that he was finally part of the reason why.

Your carriage arrives after the king’s and when you get out the mass of people outside cheer so loud you almost cover your ears. Almost, because you’re sure that if you did Yoongi would have something to say about it later. You and Yoongi link arms, which is probably the most intimate you’ve been since the wedding. You walk through the path of people to the thrones that have been set up at the head of the square. There are six thrones. The king and Yoongi sit on the two most extravagant ones in the middle. You sit next to Yoongi and Jungkook next to you. Two men are already sitting on the thrones next to the king. These are the head druid and his apprentice. At the end of the evening, they will perform a ritual to predict the fate of the kingdom. During the meal you and Yoongi barely exchange a word. After however, when you’re watching the city’s people dance, Yoongi chuckles at seeing a young man almost trip and light his hair on fire with one of the torches. The man manages to do a sort of twirl and prevent this horrible fate from happening. “That’s Jimin”, Yoongi states: “He’s a bit of an idiot but a good man. He’s the son of the farmer that delivers food to the castle. You might have seen him help his father with the deliveries, the old man is getting sicker and sicker”. You haven’t digested the events of this morning yet and honestly the fact that he’s acting as if nothing happened is pissing you off. “So, you’re just going to act like I didn’t see you grope a maid this morning?”, you ask without looking at him. “Y/N”, Yoongi start, but he’s interrupted by the booming voice of the king. You hate that man for the way he talks to you and for the way he speaks of his wife as if she’s a burden, but you have to admit you’ll always have respect for the way he can make a crowd of hundreds of people shut their mouths. “People of Sargon, turn your eyes to the fire. The Druid will perform the prophecy!”. His voice could reach the deafest of men. The druid got up. You had never seen him from this close. He was quite a young man; most druids were older than stone. He had pitch black hair filled with silver jewelry. It ran over his broad shoulders like a black waterfall. When he turned to bow to the king you saw his face. In your nineteen years of life, you had never seen a man so handsome. After that, his apprentice got up and turned to do the same. This man had dark eyes and an almost equally handsome face. “I think these druids have a potion to make themselves look better, it’s not fair”, Jungkook whispers. “You look fine Jungkook don’t worry about it”, you smile back. “Don’t ya think I oughtta get to the bottom of this then ey?”, he asks in that accent you’ve gotten so used to. “Yes Jungkook, as prince of the kingdom I think you should make it your first priority to find interrogate two druids on why they look so good”, you retort. “Exactly my thoughts”, he grins, but he can barely finish the sentence because Yoongi reaches over you to softly hit his brother upside the head. The druids walk over to the huge fire. The head druid reaches into his pocket and takes out some dried leaves. His apprentice is holding a wooden bowl with a purple looking oil in it. He dips the leaves in the oil and then throws them on the fire. For a moment, nothing happens. The square trembles with suspension. All of a sudden, the flames turn black. In all the years you’ve attended the festival you’ve never seen a fire this dark. It roars and seems to double in size. The head druid is caught off guard and stumbles to the ground. The flames shoot higher than ever, before turning back to their normal size and colour. Everyone is quiet. The man named Jimin, who was laughing seconds before is now looking at the druid with fear in his eyes. That same fear is visible in the eyes of each person in attendance. You feel the heat on your face fade away as the druid whispers: “war”.

After the druid had uttered the word war a shock wave had rolled over the square. The king had ordered the druid and his apprentice to accompany you back to the palace. Once arrived there, he immediately called all his advisors to gather in the main hall. You and Yoongi had followed them in. “What is she doing here?” the king’s voice sounded throughout the entire hall. “She’s my wife and the future queen of this kingdom. She needs to know what’s going on”, Yoongi defended. “Your mother never sat in on things like this”. “I plan on doing things differently”, Yoongi said sternly. The king grumbled but didn’t complain further. “Seokjin, what is the meaning of this”, the king yelled angrily, as if it was the druid’s fault that the fire had behaved this way. “I don’t know your majesty; all I know is that this means war. I don’t know with whom. I don’t know how long, and I don’t know how high our chances of winning are. The rest of the of the evening was spent with old men arguing with even older men about what to do. Eventually they concluded that we would have to wait. After hours the druids had managed to convince the king and his advisors that it was too early to decide anything, but the king decided to start training his men more fervently.

After this evening regular life continued, albeit with a dark cloud hanging above all your heads. Everyone seemed stressed and anxious at all times. You and Yoongi also went back to normal. Normal meant back to how it was before you decided to be nicer. You never brought up the affair with the maid again, and neither did he. That evening at dinner the king showed, once again, why everyone tried to stay as far away from him as possible. “Why is she not pregnant yet?”, the king asked, although a better term would be, demanded. Of course he didn’t ask you. He asked Yoongi and acted as if you weren’t in the room, like always when he said something about you. “I don’t know father. We haven’t had any luck yet”, Yoongi answers stoically, without looking up from his plate”. “I bet it’s her fault. She’s barren and tricked us into marrying her into this family”. “That is not it!” You raise your voice. You’ve barely ever said a word at this table and the king is made of the same thing your nightmares are made of, but you refuse to let him talk about you. The room becomes impossibly tense as the king looks at you. It almost felt as if you could feel his stare sting in your eyes. “Father, you will not talk about my wife like this”. Yoongi says calmly. “Oh, really son? So it’s not her fault? Is it yours then?” Yoongi and the king share 5 full seconds of murderous eye contact before the king delivers the final blow. “I should have known. The God’s refuse to bless you with an heir after what you’ve done”. Yoongi slams his fists on the table and gets up so roughly his chair falls to the ground. He storms out of the room and the sound of the door slamming can be felt in your ears long after he leaves.

Later that evening you are sitting in your chambers. You’re reading a novel when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in”, You say curtly. Yoongi steps into the room. He doesn’t peek his head in first like the servants do. He always enters rooms with the confidence of someone who belongs, something you could only dream of. At least now, when you were a child, you could do the same thing. Somewhere along the way you lost the confidence. It happened to every woman in this godforsaken kingdom. “We should talk about producing an heir”, Yoongi offers carefully. “Oh really, now you want to come to me. For months on end, you leave me alone in the cold of the night but when daddy dearest brings it up you listen”, you bite. “I just think he raises a good point. We’ve been married for months and people will start expecting good news soon”. “What is it really? Are you starting to get lonely, does our stone-cold crown prince need someone to warm his bed?” halfway through that sentence you had gotten up and started getting closer to him. He grabs you by the wrist of the hand you had been pointing in his face with: “You will not speak to your future king in that way!”, he spits through his teeth. You refuse to stand down, so you say: “Maybe my future king should go find another servant to produce a successor with, I bet she speaks to you in whatever way you want, doesn’t she?” Yoongi lets go of your hand. For a moment it looks like he’s about to say something, maybe even apologise. But then he disappears from the room without saying a word. You flop down on your bed. Maybe you were too harsh. You have to admit that you did desire a child to raise. It would give you something to do, someone to love in this cold castle. You would also be lying if you said you didn’t desire Yoongi in that way. When you saw him and that council hall a couple of weeks back. When he had argued with his father about protecting the country, when he had argued to stay calm and not make any rash decisions, he seemed in his element. He was good at this, he was good at strategy, he was a born leader. Seeing him like that had shot a feeling through your body like you’d never felt before.

taglist: @lifeless-firefly @emerald-notes @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @jjkwifestyle @viankiss

[autistic-sidestep]

sidestep scar map

here's all the physical scar mentions of step's ive discovered so far that aren't choice dependent! (choice dep scars will be in another post). lemme know if i missed any!

edit: hi people from r/hostedgames o/

edit 2 (nov 8th): added some more i missed!

(cw for sh/sui mentions and graphic injury description)

general

"Have you seen me?" You don't bother to hide your sneer. Even with your clothes on, there are enough scars and marks that many people would pay dearly to remove them. (ch 22, argent meetup) Regenerate…the notion is a tempting one; could it work on your tattoos? You've tried cutting and burning, but there's just too much, you'd be scarred and mutilated before you were done, but this…this prototype, could it help you too? (ch 19, etc, regenerator discovery) "What?" A moment's confusion and then—finally—he adds up the dots. His frown deepens, and he looks between your face and your chest, marred by scars and brightly orange tattoos, marking you as other. As not human. "Are you saying that—" (ch 22, flystep apartment scene) "Do you like scars?" you tease, taking one of [Daniel']s hands, tracing it across one on your chest. An ugly one, a remnant from an angry attempt to carve away your tattoos until the drugs couldn't keep the pain at bay any longer. (ch 22, flystep apartment date) It's a slow, circling motion over the small of your back, palm against skin, warm fingers tracing the deep scars you both know are there. And a few that ${he} doesn't. (ch 17, hoots makeout) ${his} hands are running over your skin, over your back. You know ${he}'s tracing scars, the same as you, and having an easier time of it. No fancy hospitals for your body, just your own skills, and no need to make it look pretty. (ch 21, chargestep apartment nsfw)

autopsy (incision) scar(s?)

"I obtained…pictures." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Classified. Highly classified. I assumed they were from the autopsy." He focuses on you. "Your autopsy." […] "The damage from the fall was horrific…you looked dead. Opened up." (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

legs

You remember that [Psychopathor] fell against the wreckage, and it moved and caused you to scream out loud as it dug into your leg. There's still a scar there somewhere. (ch 2, warehouse fight)

face

"Yeah, things changed. For me." You touch your face without intending to. The thin scars there are the most obvious legacy of your fall, of the window tearing into you like memories. (ch 21, hoots) "I'm not the only one with scars." He rubs the side of his face as he looks at you, and you have to fight not to do the same. You can feel your own face itch with the need to pick at your scars. "Yeah," you admit with a tired sigh. "Looking into the mirror is not fun." For more reasons than one, but you'd be lying if the scars weren't one of them. Bad memories imprinted on your flesh, a reminder of nightmares you can't ever forget. It's interesting, really, the way they see you as another vet. Are you looking out of place enough for that? A helping of scars. The nervous awareness. (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

hands/wrists

"Does it say that the scar on your hand always itches when you're stressed?" (ch 22, flystep apartment date)

"I'm not sure about this," he says, looking down at your scarred hands as if he could read your mind. Soft. Human. He doesn't want to hurt them. (ch 25, post puppet crash step leg rights, chen apartment minddive)

You let Ortega take your hands in [theirs]. Warm. Calloused. Scarred. Just like yours. You can't help but trace the edge of ${his} mods where they break the skin, strangely cool to the touch. (ch 21, trans mc ortega apartment reveal)

You look down at hands so much cleaner than your own. $!{puppet_name} hides all scars. (ch 18, puportega stakeout)

"It feels like they do," you say, scratching one of the scars on your hand a little nervously. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't." […] Your hands are clenched. Hard enough that your knuckles are white. There are a few scars across them, memories of punching things you shouldn't punch. People. Armor. Walls. […] You press two fingers against your wrist, feeling your pulse, feeling the scars. It's a familiar sensation, but instead of the weight pressing against your shields, you feel like a balloon, ready to burst. (ch 17 - finch therapy scene)

arms

tattoo removal attempts

You tried to get rid of them after your first escape. A specialist, suitably coerced. You still have the scar on the inside of your arm where the lasers didn't quite take. Too deep. Something she had never seen before, and she wasn't lying. Almost as if they were regenerating. (ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag )

You've tried lasers to remove them. You've tried dermabrasion. You even flayed off a piece of your own skin, and while that worked, it left another scar, a deep one. You know it's not possible to do that for your entire body. It's too much surface area; the process would kill you or leave you maimed. Not exactly the life you want. _(ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag / ch 19, puppet auction)

You tug at your sleeve; it keeps clinging to your sweaty skin. The small hairs on the back of your arm stand on end. The scars are visible now, the ones you made yourself. The ones where you tried to remove them. (chapter 19, argent regene reveal)

"I'm not lying anymore." You very slowly tug your sleeve up, rolling it past the scars, past the places where you tried to obliterate the tattoos, up to where they peek out beneath the fabric. Sharp. Orange. Inhuman. Like you. You look away, regulating your breathing, keeping a straight face as ${mhis} fingertips trace the edges of the design. There's a slight "tsk" at the burn scars that cut them off, no doubt ${mhe} is adding the clues together. […] "I tried to burn parts of them off," you say, […] so ${mhe} doesn't need to ask. "Didn't work too well. Needs third-degree burns, or they'll grow back." "Really?" $!{mhe} bends your arm, and you shift to allow it. "Fascinating." "Flaying works if you cut down to the flesh." Your voice sounds dispassionate even to your own ears, and Dr. Mortum takes a step back with a shocked look on ${mhis} face. "I'd hate to know how you found that out." "Other arm." You tug your sleeve down now that ${mhe}'s stopped touching you. (ch 20, "good" mortum mc reveal at the lab)

Holding your breath, you raise your arm in front of you, watching the pale green hospital robe slip back, revealing the intricate tattoos etched into your skin, broken only by scars. Neon orange. (ch 24, mccrash, revoked legrights)

dog bite

Some [dogs] were kept to guard the perimeter; you got bit once for straying outside. You still have the scar on your arm, a reminder that things that are hurt inevitably turn on each other. (ch 15, 1st boneyard scene)

general arm scars

It's so easy to feel human around ${him}. So easy to ignore the fear. Your sleeves are rolled up to your elbows. Anything more would risk revelations you aren't ready for, but even like this, the scars are enough for conversation. […] *if suitag: The bubbles hide most; you keep them buried deep in the soapy water to make sure ${he} doesn't look. (ch 21, ortega apartment dishes)

sh scars (suitag dep)

The scars on your arms are hidden under your sleeves, and maybe they would be something you could talk about. Something she would expect. A safe revelation of self-harm. *if suitag: Across. Not lengthwise. Your one deal with yourself. Not yet. You have things to finish first." (ch 17, finch therapy scene)

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Now You See 'Em, Now You Don't (18+)

Part 1 of Ghosts and Mirages

Warning: Heavy mentions of blood, gore, violence, and smut. Choking, finger fucking, mirror sex, voice kink. Plenty of smut.

!Please beware!

Summary: After a dangerous encounter leading towards your own capture and torture, you; Codename "Mirage", went from one of the best snipers on the task force with a bubbly sense of humor and strong wit, to a stone-cold demeanor woman who let her vendetta get the better of her, almost costing her the lives of her teammates.

Ghost wasn't too happy about this, and based off experience, he refuses to let your mind head down that path any further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Mirage can be many things: A body of water in the middle of a desert, an assassin in the dead dark of the night on a rooftop, a glimmer of light reflecting off hot pavement before the sun set, all disappearing from the eye the moment you get too close.

People could say that the words ghost and mirage have pretty similar meanings, but not towards those who took the names to identify themselves by.

You wished you could say you worked hard to earn that name, which you slightly did. Once the name was put to the wind, it permanently stuck to you ever since.

Your top specialty was your excellent aim, always volunteering yourself to take the liberty of helping the squads you were assigned to. If there was a group of snipers, you would take the lead and give orders. If you had to work alone, you gladly did so.

Your actions didn’t go unnoticed, gaining the attention of those who took an interest in your talents. You couldn’t fully admit publicly that you were proud of your skills, believing that karma could come back and bite you in the ass one day, but you definitely felt a swell of pride with every compliment that flooded your earpiece.

You couldn’t exactly remember when you found yourself working alongside the men of Task Force 141, eventually fully assimilating yourself into the team. While being unaware if any of the higher ups had officially approved it, you doubt they were going to say anything against it now.

Price definitely wasn’t complaining, that was all you really cared for.

After a short while during a mission, an interesting game of name picking occurred after completing your objective to eliminate any enemy snipers. While the option of using a suppressed rifle was possible, there were only five camouflaged snipers along the cliffs, allowing you to sneak up on them one by one and jam a knife into their necks, severing vocal cords before they could even scream.

Soap had taken the liberty of giving you the name “She-Ghost,” which caught you off guard as you hid in the dry grass, a few feet away from your recent victim. Why She-Ghost? None of your enemies saw you coming.

You’re pretty sure Ghost had his own name and reasoning trademarked. You were alright with the man, but you never saw anything between the two of you that you shared in common, let alone enough to share a code name. Price shut down any future commentary on the topic before reminding everyone to focus on the mission at hand.

“She-Ghost sounds kind of sexist, by the way.” You couldn’t help but pitch into the silence that followed after.

“It does not.” Soap retorted.

“It does.”

“Enough,” The gruffy voice of Ghost spoke up. “Calling her She-Ghost makes her sound like she’s my sister.”

“You’re right. I just remembered yer’ old enough to be her dad.” Soap retorted, making you bite your lip to suppress a laugh.

“Thanks for making me feel young, Johnny.”

You wish that night ended much easier than it sounded, but it wasn’t.

Somehow, you missed a sniper to kill, who then alerted his comrades of the lone assassin hiding up on the cliffs. The loud struggles and muffles were heard by everyone through your earpiece before connections were cut, your attackers knocking you out with the butt of a rifle to your right temple.

Where you were dragged off to was a mystery. Where you had woken up was also a mystery, but not the enemies who surrounded you when you were woken up via water being poured over your head, bound and gagged to a chair. You were stripped of all your equipment, leaving you in your simple garments. The room smelled dank, the air heavy with expensive, putrid cigar smoke. The only source of light hanging from a bulb over your head, your vision too blurred to fully make out the faces of the men standing in front of you.

Their were four people in the room: one of them you recognized straight away as your crew’s target. He grabbed ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him, speaking to you in a language you didn’t really care to learn all that well just yet. He stepped to the side, directing your head towards a camera stand a few feet away pointing straight towards you. A tiny red light confirmed that whatever was to happen was all being recorded.

Saying you were scared was a ridiculous understatement. You were at mercy to the men inside this room inside a building in the middle of god knows where, who planned to torture and kill you before sending the video off to your team. Hell, it might even be broadcasted live to those who fought for the enemy, setting an example to what happens to enemy soldiers, especially women such as yourself, for fighting against them.

You were tortured inside that small, dimly lit room for hours, maybe even longer. There was no way you could tell the time, your hands kept tightly bound behind the backrest of the wooden chair. You were pretty sure they even took your watch away.

After constant punches to your face and body, the leader began speaking to you again in his common language. When you didn’t answer any of his questions, you were beaten even more until he tried again. This process went on for a good while, not a single word leaving your lips.

Then, he got smart enough to speak to you in broken English, but the only response he got from you was a wheezy laugh. He wasn’t satisfied with the response, extending his hand, being gifted a knife by his comrade. After asking you one more time and receiving nothing in return, he dug the blade down the side of your face. The sharp sting of the knife scraping your right cheekbone down to your bottom lip made you cry out.

What made it worse was their unique creativity, forcing you to talk once more while slicing the tips off Cuban cigars before igniting them. When you didn’t, their leader proceeded to blow smoke in your face before deciding to cauterize your fresh wound with the burning end of the cigar, laughing at your screams when they twisted it deep into your cheek.

“Hurts, no? You talk now?” He questioned you, gripping ahold of your chin.

“Go... to fucking hell!” You gritted out before spitting blood to his face, making him wince and retort. You laughed at his reaction, seeing him wipe it off with visible disgust before grabbing ahold of your neck, squeezing hard and tilting your attention upwards. He held the end of the blade right in front of your right eye before pulling it back, preparing to kill you right then and there.

Seeing you weren’t afraid, or he was just as chickenshit as he looked, He lowered his hand, clicking his tongue before handing the knife back to his partner, who carelessly left it on a table near the door. Gesturing towards the two others, they yanked you off the chair and dragged you out of the room, leading you to god knows where in this building.

You would think that their expensive taste in cigars meant that they could afford better quality tape. The water they had thrown on you prior had weakened the adhesive just enough for you to allow your wrists some wiggle room.

Releasing one of your hands, you yanked yourself from the men's grips, pulling the tape over the closest man’s neck to act as a last-minute choker. You tugged hard, hearing him choke while his partner quickly pulled out his gun. The bullets he fired naturally hit your new man-shield, quickly pushing the slumping body towards his partner before wrestling for the gun, headbutting the man before firing half the mag into his skull.

Faint bursts of bombs echoed from the outside, letting you know that you were close to an exit, and something was definitely happening outside. The exit was reasonably tempting, but with you now being in possession of a gun, you proceeded to stumble back the way you came from.

A man quickly stepped out of the room when he got notified of the commotion, immediately getting shot in the head before he could draw his own weapon.

You fired the last two bullets towards the only remaining man in the room, sending him to the ground in agony as the bullets punctured the back of his knees. Throwing the weapon aside, you reached for the knife from the table, getting down on the ground to turn the man over to his back.

It wasn’t the leader, you quickly realized that. It was just some goddamn man dressed in a similar uniform. The man you were after had gotten away after you were dragged off.

He pulled a gun from his belt, pistol-whipping you to throw you off guard. He fired, the bullet barely grazing the shell of your ear, making a piercing ring rattle your throbbing head.

You jammed the knife into the man’s neck before he could shoot you again, shouting in his face while you pushed his arm away. Refusing to stop there, you pulled out the knife to embed it straight into his chest, puncturing his left lung. You repeated the action over and over, watching his mouth fill with blood as major arteries were struck. The substance stained your hands and blade, splashing onto your face every single time you retracted. You screamed out your rage with every stab, feeling the knife repeatedly scrape against rib bones and puncture his heart.

The camera had fallen over from the chaos, the cracked lenses capturing an angle of your body sitting over his, witnessing the bloodshed that stained the ground.

A sudden rush of footsteps came running down the hallway towards the room you were in. Those who entered first witnessed firsthand when you jammed the blade into the man's right eye, your throat raw from screaming.

You looked up, seeing familiar looking clad soldiers entering the room, led by an all too familiar man scoring a black mask with a white painted skull standing beside another familiar mohawk wearing man.

“What... took you so damn long Lieutenant?” You panted while raising yourself from the corpse, tasting blood on your tongue from the throbbing gash on your bottom lip, bleeding even more after your consistent screaming.

“Been here for a while actually, I was just enjoying the show.” Ghost set aside his rifle, watching you finally release the knife, wiping your stained hands on your ruined shirt before tugging the remnants of tape dangling off your wrist.

“Sorry it ended so soon,” You muttered, bringing a hand over to your chest while catching your breath, feeling it grow difficult as a tight, painful sensation started under your ribs. You stood slowly, stumbling onto your feet as your relief diluted your adrenaline rush, reminding you of the pain your body was experiencing prior.

“Woah, woah... easy.” Soap brought you into his arms after you took a couple steps forward, allowing you to lean on him for support. “Easy there, lass.” Soap gently held onto your sides, feeling your sharp wince and immediately relaxing his grip. You trembled a bit, your breathing growing raspier than a few moments prior.

“I think they broke one of her ribs Lt.”

“If they did, she’d still be screaming. Punctured lung sounds more like it, go easy on her.”

“I didn’t think.. I just didn’t think you guys would come for me.” You admitted with bated breath, feeling Soap hoist your arm over his shoulders to provide additional support while you stood.

Ghost picked up the abandoned camera from the floor, pulling it off of its stand. It had still been recording this entire time, wondering what kind of footage this thing had received: Important discussions between the enemies next hideout location or our torture. Most likely both. The time he saw in the far corner of the screen showed just how long you were left victim to these men, finding it a miracle you were still alive before it could’ve gotten worse.

He wasn’t a fool to how these men treated women, especially female prisoners.

He dreaded having to watch every single minute of the footage later.

“And lose the best sniper we got on my watch? Don't think so little of yourself, (Y/n).” Ghost came closer, black painted eyes staring at the state of your face. Despite the bruises hidden underneath your ruined clothes and along your jaw and left eye, the intense gash across your face looked nasty, darkened with dirt and ashes as it continued to seep thin ripples of blood, trailing down to the bottom of your jaw.

“Let’s get you out of here, kid.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy the chapter so far? Full (smut) version on my Ao3!

Read here as well on my Wattpad!

[spacexseven]

Ngl god darling is better than darling with a god ability tbh

Also would nikolai try to kill god darling? And I wonder what dearest sigma would think, he's just so lovely

OH ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW XIAO THING? It's been around for a while and idk if I asked you about it but he's so pretty wth

not sure what xiao thing you're talking about but he's always so pretty i want to squish him

cw: yandere themes, bad end for nikolai :<

even with your years of watching people, you had yet to see someone like nikolai.

despite his claims that his motives were perfectly clear and that you should be able to understand him perfectly, he always seemed, to you, like a puzzle missing its final piece. what was that piece for him? was it the morality he lacked? when you asked him that, though, he told you that he liked to think he was a puzzle with too many pieces—sentience when everyone else lived like puppets, desire greater than any other, and so on. how could you complete an anomalous puzzle, with no real final picture?

"tell me," he once asked, voice uncharacteristically somber, eyes gazing down at his blood-streaked hands, "can a human become a god?"

it occurred to you then that nikolai was only trying to run from something. something that made him human, something he hated. you think back to the times when he told you he wanted to be free, wanted to stop feeling. was that the extra piece he couldn't get rid of?

still, he was kind to you. or at least as kind as he could be, between jovial, teasing comments and moments of unfiltered rage. he called you his friend, but he said that about fyodor too, and a few nights ago he was trying to convince you to kill him.

"can a god die?" at your questioning look, he added, "can you?"

"i'm not sure. i haven't gotten that close yet," you admitted "but i suppose for a god, being forgotten is as close to death as they can get."

"i won't forget you," he smiled, but the gesture was far from reassuring when his eyes glimmered with something bright.

you wondered if you had unintentionally sparked something in him. you even considered the possibility that you'd wake up the next morning to find him with a knife at your throat. if he was determined to kill fyodor to achieve what he thought was pure freedom, who's to say you won't be next? knowing nikolai, it was easier to believe that he was a monster, a creature of pure evil, bloodthirsty, and seeking to haunt. but things were never that simple. there were times when your heart ached for him, wondering why he had to go down this path. and those times, you truly felt useless, wondering if you couldn't do anything even in your position.

now, you wonder, if it was your sympathy that made you weak.

"it's not fair. i won't forget you," nikolai sighs, "even if anyone else will. but you'll live on even if i'm not here and you'll forget me."

you wish to tell him that you won't, but in your current position, bleeding out at a rapid pace from numerous wounds and head spinning, you can barely handle the pain, let alone move your dry lips. you remember that nearby you is fyodor's body, cold and long dead. it was almost cruel how the closest you'd ever felt to being human was when you were dying.

"hey, but you're a god!" he must have thrown his hands up, from your memory of him, but nikolai's voice grows shriller, though you can't tell if it's from excitement or panic, "you'll come back, like that thing you mentioned before? reincarnation! and you have...powers..." you could tell instinctively that he was looking over at fyodor's corpse.

you want to tell him that you aren't sure. you've never been much use, even as a god. you've always liked being a human more. maybe you will come back, but likely not, and you definitely can't save fyodor anymore. you don't think anyone can. but the words escape you as your vision goes black. the only thing accompanying your dying body was a warm hand on your cheek and nikolai's incoherent mumbling.

sigma, admittedly, was your favorite. you saw a little bit of yourself in him and his desire to find his purpose. but most of all, you liked his determination, his unwavering resolve. it was nice to see how he ran the casino so perfectly, and you thought his position complemented him well.

but unlike nikolai who was easy to sling an arm around and drag out or fyodor, who was always ready to listen to any word that came out of your mouth, sigma was a little harder to get to. he was always working, cleaning up after the other two's messes, and keeping his customers happy. always on the go, and it was getting harder and harder to catch him. the only times he seemed to be able to listen to you was when you caught him staring out the balcony at the world below the casino, only accompanied by the moonlight. he was always gentler then, softer, but more solemn. it was during one of those nights that he finally asked you something.

"so, you're really a god?"

you awkwardly shuffle, "yes. i know fyodor is a bit too enthusiastic about it, but i really can't do much anyway. i'm more like...the remnant of what i used to be."

"is this how the world looks like to you?" he asks, looing at the tiny blinking lights below.

"it's...overwhelming. the world is so big and full of life, and i've never felt like i was a part of it. i love being around people more than anything, but i'm always reminded that i'll never be like them."

sigma stiffens up, still not meeting your gaze, "you're looking for it too, right? to feel like you have your own place here..."

and then, for the first time since you met him, he smiles, "at least we have each other." you smile back, not realizing he took it a little too seriously.

despite your differences, you were just like sigma—maybe that was why he liked you so much. sigma knew all his customers by heart, slaving away to memorize each face and the mannerisms behind it, their likes and dislikes, just to design an ideal experience for them here. all he ever had was the sky casino, and he was aware of just how easily it could be taken away from him. because of this, it wasn't anything unusual to see sigma meticulously studying each of his guests, observing them closely, and noting down his thoughts. maybe that's why you never suspected anything when he stared at you for far too long, something other than a sense of duty burning behind his eyes, something unlike his usual concerns dominating his mind. maybe that was why you didn't mind his new interest in you, stepping in to drag you away from nikolai and boldly insisting to fyodor that he needed to talk to you.

if only you had said something then, you wouldn't have to face this situation; sigma on his knees, pleading for you to stay, to not follow fyodor out of the casino again. you might stay away for weeks, he insisted, and it wouldn't be safe. all he had was you, so please, don't leave with him. and looking at the pain in sigma's eyes, you already knew it wouldn't end well if you didn't comply.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

Linda@Flint: "You know you're actually right about this kid being funny." The dragoness chuckled as she points her thumb at Destino. "I hear he's gotten himself into shit a few times cause people take 'em the wrong way. But it sounds like you know a bit about this absol already. You probably know about this prophecy involving him too. But I'm gonna be honest..." She trailed off as she looked around the room, appreciating the size and décor. "I'm a bit more interested to hear about this kingdom you're running. How far would you say it reaches and how long have you been running it? If it's anything like this castle then I bet it's pretty impressive."

Flint: Them. You use them, don't you?

Destino: Sure do. Suits me better.

Flint: Thought so. So, you wanna know about the kingdom? Hey Magmar, could you get the maps please? It'd be easier to show off our kingdom with it.

Magmar: As you wish, your highness.

*With a bow, Magmar ran quickly off into one of the rooms located on the side. Flint continued from where he left off.*

Flint: I've been running this kingdom for a good 30 years now. Inherited it from my father. It was difficult to take his place, I'll admit that. He had a...notorious reputation. But hard work is enjoyable work and work I certainly have. This kingdom is now thriving better than it ever has done before. It has to be partially thanks to the Underdark for allowing us access to their ores. Without those, I imagine many Pokémon wouldn't evolve into their final forms or perhaps even know about them.

Destino: At least we get some appreciation.

Flint: Of course your kingdom does. Our success depends on your trade relations with us.

*Flint caught a glimpse of something emerging from Destino's fur. Something purple. It took him by surprise when this shape formed into that of a creature.*

*Hope stepped up beside her father, knowing he'd never actually seen a ghost type before.*

Hope: Yeah, that's Destino's best friend. Felix. He tagging along too. He's a ghost type.

Felix: And poison. Ghost and poison.

Destino: Felix, out.

Felix: Sorry pal.

*Felix carefully left Destino's fur, making sure to pat down any loose strands. He knew how much Destino liked to keep themselves well groomed and he didn't want to cause them anymore frustration. He levitated next to the Prime. The king tried to settle himself. It was hard to when a mysterious visitor decided to appear from the long mass of fur on Destino.*

Flint: Wow. A real ghost! An actual ghost! That's not something you see everyday! At least, not up here.

Felix: Ghost type. Not a ghost.

Flint: What's the difference?

Felix: Ya see, I ain't dead. Just have abilities that resemble those of spirits.

Flint: Fascinating! I'll have to pick at you for more information about that! Anyway, yes. We could very well mine elsewhere. That's true. However, I'd much rather have the miners know they're going to be able to mine some ore, even if it is a small quantity of it. If they went somewhere new because our trading system broke down somehow, it'd mean we wouldn't necessarily be certain a days worth of mining would harvest results. The guarantee for resources is more valuable and more cost effective for me and the mining companies I work closely with.

Destino: So, without access to our resources, you'd be screwed over? Ha, I knew our kingdom was valuable to the surface. Serves you lot right for locking us away.

Flint: This kingdom tried to fight for your freedom, kiddo. We just unfortunately failed.

Destino: Clearly you didn't fight hard enough then.

Flint: Type advantage is a powerful thing, Prime.

*With a stream of panting, Magmar appeared from behind the king, holding what looked to be a beautifully adorned tube.*

Flint: You did well! Don't you worry too much about it! Which one is this?

Magmar: Land map. I've got the city map rolled up in there too, incase you need it.

Flint: And that's why you're one of the best advisors I've ever had! Good lad! Let's crack this open!

*Flint took the tube with the tips of his claws, unscrewing the deep blue cap from it. With claws that big, there was a little struggle for those fine motor movements but Flint was able to eventually get it off. He gave one of the maps back to Magmar who delicately put it back in the engraved tube. Flint then unrolled the perfectly kept map. It was surprising how neat it looked. No tears, no wear marks, no ageing either. It looked almost brand new.*

Flint: Now this right here is the land you stand upon. We are right here.

*He pointed at the dot labeled 'Terrestria'.*

Flint: And the land all around it is the land I govern. You see those black lines? There the boundaries of my kingdom and will one day belong to Hope.

*Using his claws, he traced the upper right corner of the landmass marked on the map.*

Hope: One day. You've just gotta give me the title first.

Flint: Yeah. It'll come, don't you worry about that. Now, the most interesting part about this is the city is called Terrestria and the kingdom, so everything inside of this area, is also called that too. I'm honestly not sure of the reasoning for that, you'd have to ask a historian or something.

*Destino stared at the map, looking at all of the features it had to show. They saw the rocky structure their group appeared from. This kingdom was absolutely huge. Compared to the Underdark, this was massive. Ridiculously so. Imagine all of the resources this land had to offer. All the space that could be given to its citizens. Destino knew their parents obtained an ok amount of foods and other items from Terrestria though it was never enough to feed absolutely everyone. Considering the amount of trip their parents took, no wonder they decided to continue their trade relations with this kingdom. Destino felt as though their kingdom had been cheated out on more. If they had this much to offer, why wasn't the Underdark given more? There was a growing sense of anger inside of Destino. They had to keep it together.*

Flint: You'll also notice that it's the smallest kingdom compared to the others. There's debate on whether Mechania or Terrestria is bigger but Mechania does seem like the larger kingdom. Naaturo has the largest kingdom but that's because it does the majority of food production. Queen Pollen is incredibly good at keeping her food supply lines going for the rest of the kingdoms. Whimsain also has a substantial amount but they won all that during the Great Type War. Can't really shift the boundaries of our kingdom as we don't want another war going on but it'd be nice to get a little more land to work with. Hope that answers what you wanted to know.

Flint: That's right. It's not completely public knowledge so I'd keep it on the hush-hush when you're outside these castle walls.

Destino: Wait, nobody outside even knows about this?

Flint: Only certain Pokémon do. If we spread knowledge of this union around, it'll end up in the ears of the Whimsain lot and we'd be in a distortion of a lot of trouble. It'd mean we couldn't provide any of our end of the bargain to you.

Destino: My lips are sealed, Flinto. Dunno if I could trust any of these idiots with this information but you do you.

*Flint looked towards Gizmo and Mouse, determining whether they could be trusted with this. He was usually a pretty good judge of character and they didn't seem like the type to spread something like this around. Flint made a mental note to send a couple of spies to watch and observe them for any suspicious activity. With a sigh, he felt he could deal with the risk well enough.*

Flint: Our union was established around 400 years ago. King Alumin of Terrestria and King Estavior of the Underdark met when the Terrestrians were trying to find a new mining route and agreed on a collaboration between the two kingdoms would be beneficial between the both of them.

Flint: Estavior allowed Terrestrians access to their mines, which we found out later on was a guarantee to harvest ores for evolution stones. Alumin offered foods and other resources for this. Kind of him but it's really helped us out in the long run. We've been going strong since then. Ores are super useful for us as we've got the knowledge to turn them into evolution stones. The ores of these stones are incredibly dangerous when raw.

Destino: We had one of our citizens try to use one of the ores scattered around. She did not recover from the deformations caused. So much energy and power to be harnessed. Honestly, if I had an ounce of interest in the matter, I'd be curious as to how I could use that power for myself. A spotlight for my own. That could be good. Always showing the most important Pokémon in the room.

Hope: Of course you'd say that. Surely there could be other things that the energy produced could be used for rather than yourself?

Destino: And what would be the point of that? Honestly Hope, you're not thinking of the bigger picture here. A spotlight. For me. It's a fantastic idea.

Felix: Des, perhaps we should draw the focus back to the King? This is interestin' stuff.

Destino: And bring the conversation back to something dull? Come on Felix. You know it'd be far more interesting talking about how I would use these ores if I wanted to use them.

Flint: Point is, these ores are dangerous when not cut into shape and we're able to turn them into something useful for everyone. The trade union is something that benefits both sides, even with the danger of being discovered. Perhaps you should take more interest in your history, young Prime. If you don't learn about it, you may make mistakes which could lead to the downfall of your kingdom if you're not careful.

Destino: Me? Making mistakes? Ha, that's hilarious. I doubt it.

*The map of Arkaedia is now available.*

@askiceboundlopunny @masked-vee

(6/6 - No more questions for now.)

[ronwestbreeze]

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER THIRTEEN

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: in which tinkers is alive

word count: 2.8k

author's note: i think the psa i posted is enough for an a/n note but if you didn't see it, just remember for future chapters going forward, please don't tell me how to write my story. i write it the way i want it and you can choose to enjoy it or not. and if you don't that's completely fine, just don't be mean about it. okay? okay.

AO3 | prev | next

He thought of the dead, far too often than he’d like to admit.

It wasn’t always a bad thing though, at least that’s what Jake thought. Out of all of them, he had learned the most, he had grown, and he had become the man he was today because of them.

He equally thanked them as much as he grieved them. And to be honest, it took him a long time for him to get to that point. It used to anger him, used to pain him, used to numb him…now Jake only felt, well, he really couldn’t define that yet. It wasn’t denial. It definitely wasn’t acceptance. Just something in the middle, something gray, something nobody could put a name to.

There were different levels to his pain when he remembered those he had lost.

Jake thought of his brother, Tom, from time to time. It was a lot easier than the others as he began to come to terms with his sudden death. They weren’t really close but it was still his brother, you know? Still his other half. And no matter how close or how far apart they were, it still felt as if he had lost another half of himself. A half that he was never going to get back, that would never be replaced because it would always belong to him. And that was okay.

Then there was Tsu’tey. Often he’d find himself doubting his role as the Olo’eyktan and wondered why he was even chosen to lead these people. But the last person he would’ve expected to believe in him, chose him. That had to say something right? That had to be worth something.

He thought of Grace because of course he did. Grace probably had one of the biggest impacts on his life, introduced him to the world of Pandora, gave him a chance even when he definitely didn’t deserve it in the beginning. Perhaps he still didn’t deserve the compassion she gave him. Still to this day, he wasn’t so sure why she believed in him despite everything. It hurt thinking about her, knowing that she would’ve loved to live among the Na’vi like him. Knowing she would’ve loved to meet her daughter…

Jake just hoped that he could do right by her by raising Kiri as his own.

But when thinking of Grace, he couldn’t help but think of…

There was just too much there.

Sometimes he’d feel guilty. Sometimes he wished that Neytiri, whom he had come to love and cherish over the years, wouldn’t see just how much it still hurt him. And he didn’t know why, but this kind of hurt…it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. This kind of hurt scared him, so much that he had to force himself to numb it down in the beginning—still to this day sometimes—because he knew that if he allowed himself to feel this pain, if he allowed himself the luxury of this grief, he’d fall apart.

But Neytiri saw it. She always did.

She knelt down in front of him one day, after finding him sulking silently on a rock one night, and he told her in a broken whisper:

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…I’m sorry.” It was all he could say, it was all that could escape his lips when he faced her, when he saw the look of knowing in her eyes, when she gave him a sad smile. It was just guilt and grief weighing him down, keeping him heavy and stuck to the ground.

Neytiri smiled sadly, “Oh, Ma’Jake.” She’d place a hand against his cheek and say, “Not even the strongest warrior could ever forget their lost mate.” Jake remembered staring at her in both confusion and shock. “Ma tsmuke, she was your first mate. She was always meant to be a part of this family. It is okay to be sad, Ma’Jake. I am sad sometimes too. I miss her too.”

That day just made him realize it would always still hurt. It didn’t stop it. But at least now he knew why.

It even hurt sometimes when Neytiri would say things like, “I pray to the Mother every day for tsmuke.”

“Why?” He found himself asking. “Wouldn’t it be better to just accept it…that she’s gone?”

Neytiri shook her head, “It is not the same as Tsu’tey or ma sempul. No. I do not believe a warrior like that is just gone. Not like this.”

Jake would frown but not say anything to discourage it. Perhaps it was just her training with the Tsahik, perhaps she was just becoming more spiritual each day she trained with her mother. Either way, he couldn’t find it within himself to tell her that you might’ve been gone.

They never found your human body. Your avatar was under Norm and Dr. Max Patel’s care.

It was just better to assume. Better to let it go now.

You were alive! You were alive! You were alive!

Okay, you supposed that was true. But you also felt like shit so you really didn’t know that being alive was the best revelation right now.

When you opened your eyes, there wasn’t a bright light waiting for you anymore. Only what looked like a wooden ceiling or was it made out of sticks? You really couldn’t tell. What you did know was that everything in your body felt weak and terribly sore. But this time you felt like you were able to move.

Well, at least you thought so at first.

It was a slow process, sitting up and finally taking in your surroundings. From what you could see, it appeared like you were in some sort of hut. The walls were made of wood and the ceiling, as it turned out, was made of long grass. There was a door across from where you had been lying and two smaller holes similar to windows. And judging from the windows, it looked as if it were the late afternoon. At least.

Once you were sitting up, your senses were beginning to kick in. A mask was on your face. Sight was already covered so the smell came next. It was grass and fish that hit your nose first. The grass bit made sense but you had no clue where the fish smell was coming from. Then sound. There were voices, speaking in Na’vi, farther away—no it sounded like it was coming from beneath you. Touch. Something was covering—no, wrapped around your hands and fingers preventing you from fully feeling the rough hammock that you lied on.

Your mind was still foggy, still confused at where exactly you were. Of course, the last thing you remembered was crashing the Samson into the other one that had been shooting at you. You remembered one of its blasts caught your wing and had been one of the reasons why you went down. You remembered fire. You remembered your mask had been broken.

And then it wasn’t. Which, now that you thought about it, didn’t make much sense. Maybe your mask never broke and the smoke from the fire made you delusional.

But then there was another issue and you were quickly reminded of it when you tried moving one of your arms, only to feel a sharp pain at your side.

That crash should’ve killed you. Maybe not on impact but after, there should've been no way you survived.

So how…?

Deciding you weren’t going to get any answers by just sitting, you threw the misshapen blanket—which was made of leaves—off your body and moved to stand.

Only you stopped suddenly when you saw…

Both your legs were wrapped in what looked like leaves and through those leaves, you could see the burns and barely healed scars riddled all over your legs. It was bad enough you could barely keep yourself upright but now you realized you could barely move your injured legs. You had no strength left in you to do so.

It didn’t feel real. For a moment you were sure this was some type of nightmare, that you were still asleep. Or maybe you were dead and left in some horrid hell. But once your bandaged hand grazed one of your legs, barely touched it, everything came crashing down. Everything became real.

You were alive. You were alive. You were alive….

“Dr. L/N?”

The new voice startled you, mostly because you hadn’t heard anyone come into the hut. When you looked up you were met with a Na’vi—no, an avatar—standing before you with a kind yet cautious smile. Cautious as if she were approaching an animal.

You didn’t reply. Mostly because you were waiting for the stranger to introduce herself first since clearly she knew who you were. The avatar cleared her throat, “I’m Dr. Chloe Parker. You may not know me but I was one of the volunteers for Dr. Augustine’s Avatar Program…”

The name wasn’t familiar or maybe it was, you really couldn’t think about it right now. There was too much going on. Your entire body, the recent revelation that you were in fact not dead—hell you didn’t even know where the hell you were.

“I imagine you have a lot of questions—”

“Where am I?”

Dr. Chloe nodded understandingly, “We are currently with the Olangi Clan who have been gracious hosts to us for the past few months.” She chuckled nervously, “But to be completely honest, I think they’re mostly tolerating us at this point…”

The Olangi Clan? The name wasn’t unfamiliar but you also weren’t sure what and where it was. That’s when you remembered what had been going on before your ship had crashed. That’s when you realized why everything felt strange. The reason why you were so tense and on guard…

“What happened with the battle? With the Sky People?” Your stomach twisted in on itself. “Are the Omatikaya clan…are the People…are they alive?”

God, if you were the only survivor, if you happened to be the sole person to survive all of it—

“No, no, no, they’re fine!” Dr. Chloe quickly reassured, kneeling down. When she did, you noticed the pit where a bonfire most likely would be lit at the center of the hut. “Our side one—the Na’vi, I mean! The RDA were exiled and some of us were allowed to stay afterwards and sort of live on Pandora.”

They won? They defeated the Sky People? There was a great relief that fell onto your shoulders, but it didn’t overshadow the tenseness, the exhaustion, and the grief. Just looking down at your injured legs, your entire body, it made it all the more heavier, all the more overwhelming. You were happy, you were angry, you were resentful. And you were sad. You were just really, really, sad.

Dr. Chloe noticed the way you looked down at your bandaged legs and frowned, “…It was an Olangi warrior that found you after your crash. Said Eywa pointed him toward you—or whatever that means…” Your brows furrowed at this but you didn’t stop her from continuing. “He brought you back here, to the plains, and it was mostly the healers keeping you alive for a while. Then my research team arrived and they showed us to you. One of the healers said that you weren’t getting any better and that’s where we stepped in…” She gestured toward you. “At first we tried healing you ourselves but you kept crashing. The wounds were too severe and…well your heart stopped a few times…”

Unshed tears clouded your eyes. Even if they fell you couldn’t wipe them away. You should’ve been grateful, thankful that you were alive now. That you were lucky to have even survived this war.

You were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

Dr. Chloe continued, “We realized at some point that we didn’t have the equipment to manage it…so we put you in cryosleep.”

You closed your eyes. The hut was quiet. You felt Dr. Chloe watch you, feeling her hesitation to keep going.

“How long?”

“Pardon?” She cleared her throat.

You looked up at her, “How long was I in cryosleep?”

Her hesitation already gave you some idea of an answer.

“Five years.”

It was quiet again. You couldn’t say anything. Nothing could have prepared you for this. You had been in cryosleep before and that was when you arrived at Pandora for the first time. Since then, you never thought you’d be placed back under in any circumstance. 

You never thought you’d miss five years of your life just to be half alive.

Five years. Five years just like that. Gone. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how much you contributed to the battle, the relief in knowing your side had won, that Grace’s death wasn’t in vain. None of that mattered when you had spent five years of your life asleep. Missing everything.

Your mind wandered and thought of Jake.

“Dr. L/N?” Dr. Chloe spoke again after a while. “I don’t know if you’ve realized but this is pretty groundbreaking stuff. We were able to save you and keep you alive with our newer machines—think of ECMO machines but better! We’re literally keeping you alive right now because of it.” As she said that, you noticed the tubes attached to your arms and the machines next to your hammock. “You’re a scientist, right? Think of the amazing breakthroughs we could have! It could give us more time, more time to heal patients before their body takes over and kills them! Like for you, for example. Your body could have been unsalvageable if not for our life support machines. Without them…well you could be dead, but that’s why we’re working with the Na’vi to heal you more.”

You didn’t know why, but her growing grin was pissing you off. And it certainly didn’t help keep the tears at bay.

“What’re you thinking, Doc?”

You didn’t even hesitate with your words. “I’m an engineer. Not a scientist.” Your gaze then fell toward the ground. “And I’m thinking you should’ve let me die.”

Again, the hut went silent. Your eyes remained locked on the floor. Dr. Chloe didn’t say anything else and you were glad. All you wanted right now was to be alone. Just alone. Except she wasn’t leaving.

Before you could snap at her, shout at her to leave, someone else entered the room. Instead of another avatar, it was a Na’vi woman. And by the looks of her clothes and accessories, she looked like a healer.

“What are you doing in here?!” The woman snapped in Na’vi. Dr. Chloe scurried to her feet. And you realized, tiredly that you were the smallest person in the room next to the two. “She is supposed to be resting! You should not be here!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dr. Chloe backed away so the Na’vi woman could walk toward you with a wooden bowl in her hands. The doctor’s Na’vi sounded rough but well enough for you to understand her. Dr. Chloe nodded to you before finally leaving the hut. You barely acknowledged her though as the Na’vi woman began checking the bandages around your arms and fingers.

You realized then you were still in a hospital gown. She poked your arm with a needle and you flinched.

“Don’t move.” The healer snapped. You mumbled out an apology. “Your body is weak, you shouldn’t move too much.”

Quietly, you watched her observe your bandages and injuries. Some of them you caught a glance of the worser burns and it made your stomach twist violently. It made you realize how badly wounded you had been, how hard both the humans and the Na’vi seemed to work on keeping your body healing despite the severe ones. Really, you weren’t sure if it was worth the hassle.

While trying not to flinch at another needle poke, you ask the woman quietly, “What’s your name?”

“Ìtxata.” The healer looked at you curiously before focusing back on your left leg.

You winced when you tried scooting closer off the hammock, “When will my body…when will it not be so weak?”

Ìtxata didn’t respond right away. It wasn’t out of hesitation but mostly out of thought as you saw the crease appear between her brows. “It is hard to say….” She glared at the machines around you. “But the Sky People think they’re way can prevent death…nothing can prevent death…no matter the machine.” She then placed a gentle hand on your knee while examining it. “Your body is weak. And it will continue to get weaker until you die. This is only slowing the process.”

It was hard at that point. To hold back the tears. But your body eventually became to worn to remain upright and Ìtxata sensed this right away as she guided your body back to lying down in the hammock. The mask didn’t hide the tears or the restrained sobs but thankfully Ìtxata didn’t bring attention to them.

Instead she continued observing your wounds while you cried, and cried, and cried.

You were alive…You were alive…You were alive…

Coming out of her dreams, Kiri felt dried tears on her cheeks…

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @jakesullylvr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari @tojigirl @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @naityelen @dumb-fawkin-bitch @raggedyoldwitch @nhemmingsf @biooiuygjjgfsrb @thatsenoughformelol @thotd-f1 @beaniebeensbaby201 @theoriginalwife000 @3leni @23victoria @lovesickollie @atxara @im-in-a-pansexual-panikk @ladylovegood-69 @punchyprincess23 @lovekeeho @lilithmoon14512 @n7cje @fyfy-world @cleverzonkwombatsludge @goddesslilithmoriarty @itszzmoon @eternallyvenus @bajadotcom

[rriavian]

Major spoiler warning for the end of The Sandman comics below. Please scroll if you haven't read that far or just if you'd like to avoid them. I've tried to make sure I've tagged properly but just wanted to add an additional warning.

Ok so a while ago @two-hands-toward-the-sun made a post about Daniel Hall and Calliope meeting after he becomes Dream, and it made me curious so I started thinking about what that would be like. Below is the resulting ficlet :)

-

There was a question to be asked when Calliope arrived.

The Furies attack had made its mark, scars left on a realm whole but still healing. Despite that she found the Dreaming felt unchanged; still ever shifting, a constancy in how it reflected every Dreamer, in how it reflected Dream.

That same quality carried, that sense of the new in the old, observed when Calliope met Dream of the Endless in his palace and found him at once so recognisable and yet so very unfamiliar. She found it in hair as white as she knew it had been once before, as she knew it had been so very long ago, Calliope found it in eyes that had never been green but had always been starlit. This was the same sky, just as likely to turn black, currently content to match shades with the emerald hanging around a pale neck, its gold chain glimmering against the now white clothes. It made the pain somewhat easier to feel, made the loss somewhat clearer too, the cut cleaner.

Perhaps it would never heal but the wound wasn’t ragged.

Calliope smiled. “What would you like me to call you?”

For the first time he smiled too.

It was a fine thing for that to be the first thing she witnessed, the first discovery she made of him. Calliope had not seen it on this face—younger, so similar and yet not that at all—watched and learnt the way these features softened and found it lovely. 

“Daniel.” He said; still Dream’s voice, low and soft, not quite like hearing a ghost though, not when the voice of a dream had always been so much more than what was left by the dead. “I chose it.”

There was pride in that.

A child’s. Not immature, just fresh, untainted. Calliope's smile widened even as tears began to well in her eyes. “Very well then Daniel.”

“You may also call me Dream.” He added. 

Calliope nodded. “It’s who you are.”

Another smile.

“It is.”

-

Calliope had been invited.

She found herself curious as to why now.

“What has made things different?” Calliope asked, knowing she was here for more than to attend a funeral. “Morpheus was never ready, you are all he was…”

Daniel waited once she trailed off.

He stood silent while confirming that Calliope wasn’t going to continue. It was only then that Dream picked up the thread Calliope had dropped, it was only then that he revealed that he'd caught it as it fell. “You wish to know what I gained?”

It wasn’t a surprise that he’d untangled her question so effortlessly.

Calliope found that remained just as unsettling as Dream’s perception could so often be. Precise in the way a scalpel was; it cut out only what was needed, went as deep as was required by the wound, cut expertly but it still cut. He was right. Calliope did wish to know what he’d gained, though until he’d said that she’d not been sure it was the right word, the right definition. Daniel Hall had been human. Morpheus had always been Endless.

Calliope didn’t know what to think of the amalgamation of that.

Perhaps she never would, but she could still use a perception all her own to try and find both sides of its coin. “Yes, what you gained…and what you lost.”

“I…” Dream paused but didn't stumble, paused not to find the words but to feel them. “I lost them both. I gained them both. We joined and so became new.”

“Changed.”

“Yes.” He shrugged, so simple a motion for so large a truth. “What is that for one such as me? What can it be. To change is to die, and to die is to change.”

“Our son died.” Calliope said quietly.

“I know.” Daniel said. “I know what that is now.”

“I don’t.” Calliope admitted, her own simple statement for far too large a truth. “Not like a mortal does. How can I mourn when—“

Daniel took her hand. “You can mourn with me.”

Oh.

He was kind, wasn’t he?

So very kind, just like her Oneiros had been. Daniel was dark like him too; sharp, resplendent in it, somehow refreshed like a mortal was after a long sleep, less worn and weary in a world the same as when they'd closed their eyes. The nightmare in him reborn too, as it should be, that cruel aspect rejuvenated because it had never been a wound to cast out. Calliope had never needed to find Dream in the darkness, had never forgot enough of him to try, had known no hand was needed to pull him out of what might be dark but would always be him.

The full spectrum of what a dream was; Dream was as soft as he was sharp, the hand that now held Calliope's was as cold as the action was warm, Dream was cruel—

He was kind.

“It takes time, doesn’t it? For us.” Calliope said quietly, part of her always standing two thousand years away. “How long can grief last when one lives forever.”

Daniel considered that for a moment, heard its threat, its hope. “Perhaps even grief must die.”

“Must change?”

He smiled, this time a little impish, a mischievousness familiar and utterly unique. “Indeed.”

Calliope sighed. “I do not think mine can change the way yours did.”

“No.”

“I suppose that is true for humans too.” Calliope continued, then tested specifics, tested going as far down another thread as she could and wondering if he might once again pick it up. “For other parents. Other mothers.”

Calliope didn't trail off this time, dropped the thread all the same, deliberate and—

It changed hands.

“I have lost a son,” Dream said, his eyes as green as the place where the Bacchante had torn Orpheus apart, as green as the forest that had continued growing nonetheless. “And I have been a son who is lost. I have been taken and I have been taken from. I know what hurts you, Calliope the muse, and I would mourn with you if you’d allow me.”

“You lost a mother.” Calliope realised; breathed it like an ode, where grief expressed the fullest, felt an answer resonate as what could only be given as poetry.

“I am Daniel.” He said, somehow agreed, somehow refuted too, both acknowledged what grief that was and what it couldn’t be. His pause was what lay between stanzas, what inspired the next one to begin. “But I am not Daniel Hall.”

Oh Dream. 

A baby had died—oh that hurt, the thought of Orpheus dead like that, the thought of him having so little time—a mother grieving what could never, ever come back. They had spoken of loss, of Morpheus, of Daniel, because there were really two deaths in this one life. A new pain in that to match what else was gained. Refreshed Dream may be but there was always a burden to bear, always one to carry. That was life, was dreams and nightmares, was balance and perhaps it was restricting to call that a caveat. It was neutrality perhaps, a scale that could tip both ways.

It wasn’t failure that made this hurt.

Calliope nodded. “Then perhaps we can mourn him too?”

Perhaps Dream had tested the dropping of a thread this time. Daniel stilled, looked at her searchingly; eyes now black and aglow with stars, the wonder of looking up at the sky, the wonder of looking down at the earth. They shared that between them. Calliope found herself remembering Orpheus—a child asking to stay up late, an adult asking if she’d like to meet his future wife—remembered a searching look that said I need to be sure.

That said do you really mean it?’

She’d never seen it in Dream, found it now. This fragile sort of wondering, this want revealed as if he’d not yet thought he’d be given the gift. 

As if he’d not known he’d be granted the right. 

Dream nodded at last. 

“Yes.”

[teamfortraven]

Was originally going to post the lee and ler Vox headcanons simultaneously, but I don't wanna wait any longer since the lee ones are complete. I'll finish ler soon, just been busy.

Lee

You would catch this man dead before he ever admits that he’s ticklish, let alone enjoys it.

The primary way to discern if he’s in a lee mood or not is subtly sneaking the word into conversation and pretending nothing happened.

His reaction will say everything: on a normal day, he won’t bat an eye, but if you manage to catch him off guard, the reaction will be more than obvious if you’re paying attention. Jumping slightly, his screen and voice glitching for just a fraction of a second, and chuckling nervously… he’s putting all his resources towards keeping his cool, charismatic façade.

He’ll only become more and more restless the longer you tease him, waiting for you to strike, and, if it carries on long enough, wishing for it.

Desperation makes this man a spectacle. Maybe you’ll find him stretching around you way more often than usual, or he’ll call you into the observation room because he “accidentally” got his arms tangled in wires and now he’s stuck, and then yell through his flustered glitching when you ask why he doesn’t just use his electrokinesis to escape…

If you really want to get him going, brush an arm against his side as you pass by or elbow him in the ribs. He is almost guaranteed to blue screen right then and there, just for a few seconds, and then open-mouth gawk at you before recomposing himself and nervously straightening his bowtie.

It’s also important to note how all of his linguistic capabilities go down the drain after maybe a day or two of this.

“Heyyy, so uh, are you doing anything later? You should stop by the observation chamber, I need you to type… umm… type for me. Yeah- YES. Typing! Lots of typing! On a keyboard! Nothing else, that’s for sure! Later. Be there.”

“Can you help me adjust my coat? Specifically around the umm… waist… area. I tried to iron it but I fucked it up a bit, and uhh, it keeps making this weird crease- what? What do you mean you don’t see a crease? W-Well, it’s easier to feel it than anything! See where I’m pointing? Right there- oh. I mean… yeah, I guess I can just reach it myself if I can point that close to it- right. Right, okay, thanks.”

“Hmm? Oh, am I standing in your way? Well, I’m getting a very good signal from this specific spot. No, I can’t get this signal from anywhere else. If you want to get past me, that’s your problem, and I’m afraid you’ll just have to move me yourself. Wh- you’ll go the long way? Alright, well, good! Didn’t want you to move me! I like my signal! Go get your own, you freeloader!”

After a few days of this desperate act – if you choose to go this far, of course – he’ll only become more and more pitiful. There will reach a point where you literally feel so bad you just have to oblige.

He’ll be shocked, of course, and act as though he is outraged. A mere sinner, touching him?! Blasphemous! He won’t be having it!

It’s clear his attempts to “fight back” have almost no effort put in, and if you choose to call him out on it he will struggle just a little bit harder to try distracting you from the fact that he’s very clearly blushing.

And if you choose to call him out on the fact that he’s blushing, he’ll argue tooth and claw that Vox, the great TV demon, one of the supreme Overlords of Hell, does NOT blush, as his screen glows a bright cyan and he stutters over words that his processors seem to just barely kick out.

Once you make it clear after you begin the attack that you’re going to wreck him, he will make it easier for you and “accidentally” fall backwards onto the floor, allowing himself to be pinned down and tickled until he cries.

And you bet every single second that he’s going to pretend it’s the most agonizing experience ever, threatening you with everything in the nine circles he can think of…

If you want him to shut up, bring up the electrokinesis thing again and watch as he flusters himself by refusing to use it to get away purely out of spite, proving you right even more every second that he allows himself to be wrecked, knowing damn well he could get out of there immediately if he really wanted to.

The only reason he’ll actually use his electrokinesis is if you really manage to hurt his ego by teasing him… as soon as that electricity starts to spark up… run.

Death spot would definitely be his ribs. So much as quickly jabbing them will make him squeak at an unnatural pitch, quick to cover the area or grab the wrists of the attacker, sometimes both in that order. Spidering is gonna have this man screaming, gonna be thrashing around acting like it’s killing him.

Will lose his mind if you grab his waist and squeeze. Most sinners will be able to grab it with a single hand given what a toothpick he is, but for those with small hands, it’ll be even worse for him when two sets of fingers dig in on either side.

Can’t handle raspberries, seriously can’t. Right on his stomach?! How dare you! Pushing at your head half-heartedly, gripping his screen, trying to hide his face (in vain, really), squirming left and right to the point where you have to grip his sides and pin him, all while cursing you out and laughing so loud that any audio exiting his speakers peaks.

His laugh is loud in general, though, definitely borderline obnoxious, and as time goes on he’ll slowly fade out of his fake laugh that he molded over time and into a much more desperate and frazzled one. Oh, and god forbid if he snorts. Going to be embarrassed and blushing up a storm, eyebrows furrowed angrily if you react in any way to it, struggling even more intensely if that’s even possible… if he wasn’t already cursing you out, he’ll certainly be doing it then.

Remember the first bullet point? That’s where probably the worst tease for him comes into play: “admit that you’re ticklish, and I’ll stop.” You’re going to be met with a barrage of “no, fuck you”s and “go fuck yourself”s through fits of laughter. And make sure you speed up when he refuses… if you somehow get him to admit it, just remember that once you’re done wrecking him, you need to run, because he’s going to spend the next hour forcing you to admit that he’s better than you, that he isn’t ticklish, and that you’re actually the only one between the two of you who’s ticklish at all, as well as any other teases he can think of.

King of gaslighting! No one close to him actually believes him, they just know from… experience… that it’s better to agree, lest the claws get them >:]

Tickle him for too long and he will blue screen. You’ll get very clear hints that it’s about to happen, though, such as long pauses and glitching, his screen flitting across several different channels, and pixel tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

However, there’s also, of course, the option to make him melt rather than bluescreen.

His antennas are way too sensitive for actual tickling, only responding to light touches – a feather no-doubt works best.

And the effect is immediate. He’ll question what you’re doing at first before shuddering, a smile curling onto his face, and he’ll even do the equivalent of purring if you listen for the hum of his fans.

Going to be giggling shamelessly, definitely flustered but too torn to bother hiding it… lighter tickles elsewhere will make him squirm a bit, but he always seems to squirm closer than farther away.

Eyebrows furrowed from embarrassment but a wide grin and no objections -- just this seven-foot-tall gangly capitalist nightmare becoming putty and leaning against you, giggling quietly and sighing loudly when it’s over.

When he finally collects himself, it's right back to his charismatic TV persona to accuse you of doing it just because you wanted him to do it back.