#maybe? not really but for the sake of filters

[egophiliac]

(Geats 20 spoilers)

speaking of being hilariously bad at predictions...

I was SO convinced that the twist was going to be that nobody was the Desistar, it was all just to psych the players out, that actually having it turn out to be, like, a real thing completely blindsided me. you got me again, children's show!

[guzhufuren]

the world doesn't look as vibrant and colourful as it did after february 1st (Love for Love's Sake finale premiere). hm

[merigoldaround]

I used to love spending time in the jikook tag (or did I, it's been over two years, maybe I'm just nostalgic). But these days when no one seems to have anything good to do they come and complain about one thing or another, it's more trolling and debunking and taking some moral high stand for "seeing the truth". All I want is to see people sharing cute jikook moments even if they're not new or maybe some actually good takes and positive asks (oh those were the days when we got more content and people didn't get so easily bored, I mean the complainers were there still, but it felt like they were the minority).

Personally I just care that the guys are happy and wish people would be kind. And certain people here are not kind at all. Like who hurt you? Maybe do some self reflection, see to your traumas, I swear it makes a real difference. Negativity bias is a thing, maybe look it up.

[alittlebitofsainz]

- just don’t want your friends to see -

prompt: “said you needed me, wanted to be with me, just don’t want your friends to see”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: the pressure of keeping the relationship a secret is getting to you both. is he ashamed of you? (everyone needs a little soft and reassuring lando in their lives every now and then)

a/n: can be considered a lil’ part two to told her you were just a friend. lyrics from ‘you to you’ by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“hey, you guys, hope you haven’t been waiting long!”

your head turned to follow the sound of the voice, seeing max and his girlfriend pietra approaching, a few minutes late for lunch. you noticed lando doing the same, his fingers immediately disentangling from your own as soon as he spotted them, your hand feeling empty without his clasped around it as he took a step away from you. you knew you should be used to it by now, you’d both agreed that this was for the best, keeping your relationship in the shadows, locked behind closed doors. I want this relationship to be just ours, he’d said. it had sounded nice at the time, poetic, even, and you’d agreed, maybe a little too eagerly. but as you sat at lunch with max and pietra, perched awkwardly on the edge of your seat so as not to seem too close to lando, listening to him laugh off questions about his romantic life and saying he hadn’t really met anyone special yet - you had to admit that it stung. it stung the same way it did every time, and you found yourself unnaturally quiet throughout the meal, eyes flicking between person to person as the conversation continued around you.

if you’d thought it had gone unnoticed by lando, you thought wrong.

“baby, everything okay?”

even the pet name stung, the façade of ‘friendship’ falling by the wayside as soon as you made it back to lando’s apartment. just the two of you, a safe space, away from prying eyes and listening ears. you could be in a relationship again, having put it on pause for the time you were out in public.

you looked up, trying to plaster a fake smile across your face, the expression faltering slightly at the edges.

“yeah, fine. just tired, that’s all.” came your reply. but lando wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t blind, either. you tried to escape through to the kitchen, but he wasn’t having any of that.

“y/n, I know you. I can tell you’re not fine. talk to me, please.”

the gentleness of his voice coaxed you to be honest, letting out a sigh as you turned to lean against the kitchen counter, facing him. you couldn’t quite meet his eyes, almost embarrassed. you’d both agreed on this - why were you suddenly feeling so upset about it all? you knew lando loved you, appreciated you, but something about the way he acted when the two of you were out in public, around colleagues, around friends, even, that just got to you.

“are you embarrassed of me?”

the words left your mouth before filtering through your brain first, and you regretted them immediately; the way lando’s face fell, pain and guilt etched across his features - you swore you would never forget it, and you never wanted to see it again.

“no, no. fuck, y/n, I could never be embarrassed of you.” his voice was strained as he took several paces towards you across the kitchen, casting a cautious gaze over you as he tried to decide whether to give you space or comfort. you felt emotions bubble up inside you, ones you’d been trying to keep hidden for months, for the sake of your relationship. you’d always worried that if you caused a fuss or spoke about your emotions in any way, it would push lando away. why would he want someone who was such a problem when he could have pretty much anyone he wanted? it was irrational and you knew it, but keeping it inside for so long, unable to talk to anyone about it…? well, it had festered in your mind until it had taken over.

“I just feel like that’s why you don’t wanna tell your friends about me…” you eventually said, voice coming out as more of a whimper than you’d intended. lando closed the remaining space between you, hesitating for split second before taking your hands in his, his eyes searching yours imploringly.

“baby, I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like that.” his voice was firm, filled with conviction and sincerity, but also tinged with a hint of emotion, upset that he’d ever hurt the person in his life that he cared the most about, “I swear, I never meant to. I’m so sorry.”

“it’s just difficult.” you murmured in reply, relishing the feeling of your hands being in his once again as you dropped your gaze down to look at them. “I feel like I’m always acting in public, like I can’t relax. and I can’t even talk to anyone about it.”

“I wish you’d talk to me.” lando’s voice was equally as quiet as yours, his tone so genuine that you couldn’t help but relax just a little, fears of pushing him away by being too honest dissipating by the second. he reached a hand up to cup your cheek, and it was only when he brushed a thumb across your skin to wipe away a tear that you realised you’d started crying.

“really?” you blinked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t wanna hear about it.”

he took your face in both hands, eyebrows curved up into a soft frown. “why would you think that? is it… is it something I said? something I did?” you could tell he meant it genuinely, but it made you realise just how irrational you were being. nothing lando had ever said or done had given you any indication that he wouldn’t want to hear your thoughts, your concerns, the things that made you upset. you were still navigating things, but you were beginning to realise that this was someone who you could really open up to. someone who cared about you. you shook your head, brushing away your own tears with the palm of your hand, letting out a wet chuckle.

“no, no. you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just being stupid.” you admitted, but now it was lando’s turn to shake his head.

“you weren’t being stupid.” he murmured, dropping his hands from your face and instead wrapping them around your waist, drawing you into his chest as he placed delicate kisses to the top of your head. “nothing you feel is stupid. it’s not easy keeping us a secret, trust me, I know.” he sighed, resting his chin on your head as he held you close. “I’m not embarrassed of you, y/n, I’m just trying to protect you. people… they can be pretty crazy when it comes to people I date. I just wanna keep you away from that just a little longer.”

you nodded into his chest. deep down, you knew that. you just needed to hear it from him. you let out a soft, contented sigh, the sound mirrored by lando as he tightened his grip round you just a little. he didn’t want to lose you, especially not over something like this, a fact he told his mum on the phone later that night as he finally told her all about you.

the final part is out now :)

a smau based on this fic is out now :)

[beware-of-pity]

I don't really mean for this to sound mean, at all, and this is honestly meant to be a sort of constructive criticism but I've been at my wits end these past few weeks when going through stories of some of my favourite characters because all I've been seeing are characters x reader stories being tagged as so only for them, in the end, to turn out to have been character x oc stories all along. I know some people probably do not care to tag correctly their posts, and some probably do so with the intention of posting them in hashtags that are intentionally misleading for the sake of readership and likes, and whatever not, but Tumblr is not ao3 where you can filter out certain characters or certain tags to clear the search of any unwanted characters or triggers and etc, etc because at its core Tumblr is a blogging platform where certain dedicated people and fandoms post fanfics of their favourite characters, which is why it does not possess such a feature like ao3 in the first place. I understand that new writers, probably, also cannot differentiate between a reader-insert and an actual original character created by them for their stories. But I fear it may be, common knowledge that when someone is specifically looking out for an x reader story they more than likely do not want most of the tag to be filled with people self-inserting themselves in the story through an oc. I know that no reader-insert will ever truly be a reader-insert because there is no way that the person reading the story will ever come close to the personality or appearance that is needed of the reader to make the story work but all I ask, at the very least, is for people to be honest about what kind of story they're putting out there and to not mislead people by posting stories that have nothing to do with the tag that it's been posted under only because it involves the character it's being matched with.

Again, this is only a general criticism, and it's not supposed to target anyone. Also, my main aim is not to be either rude or mean but it's something that's been going on for a while and that has been frustrating me so I felt I had to finally speak up about it.

Also, ps for certain writers, if you don't like using Y/N maybe reader-insert-centered stories are just not for you, because by then naming the reader it automatically makes the story an oc story.

[sicutpuella]

Reddit User | Simon “Ghost” Riley

Her laptop developed an overheating issue and had to be sent to the repair shop. Consequently, she's been relying on Simon's laptop for work. Yet, when she noticed he had left a Reddit tab open, curiosity inevitably got the best of her.

User100889, that was his username. She felt a flutter of nerves as she scrolled through her boyfriend’s Reddit history. It was filled with the usual suspects — bodybuilding and gym subreddits, nothing too revealing. There were posts about tactical gear and tips on fixing flat tires; typical manly-man interests.

"Huh," she murmured to herself when she stumbled upon a subreddit he frequented: r/dating_advice. Huh, indeed.

Her eyes widened slightly, a small gasp escaping her lips as she noticed the title of a thread he'd commented on: ‘how to approach the girl I like.' 

Below the title, Simon's response lay there, simple and direct. "Just walk up to her and say hi."

The bluntness of his answer made her scoff softly. Typical Simon—never one for beating around the bush. She rolls her eyes. His comments on Reddit were always so direct, sometimes even poking fun at the users asking. Like that time he replied, “maybe because you’re ugly lad, just being honest.” 

God, he really had no filter…

She lets out a laugh as she scrolls through more of his comments. He’s brutal. Not mean or malicious, just painfully honest with a dry, dark sense of humor. Not surprising given his oh-so-charming personality.

Clicking on another thread, she begins to read through it. This one titled “How do you know if a girl likes you?” 

The OP described catching glances from a girl. Simon’s response is simple but cutting: "She's probably just being polite mate.” She snorts. She can practically hear his Mancunian accent in the words, can almost picture his expression as he typed out the response.

But then, a question emerged in a Reddit thread:

"Men of r/dating_advice, what’s one thing you love about your partner that they don’t know about?"

He responded, and surprisingly, his words carried pure love and warmth.

Her eyes widened as she read his heartfelt reply. It was sincere, devoid of his usual sarcasm or crudeness.

"I love the way she looks in the morning when she first wakes up. Her hair all tousled, her eyes sleepy and gentle. It’s the only time she lets herself be completely vulnerable, you know? I cherish being the one she feels safe enough to show that side to."

She stared at the screen, utterly taken aback. She had never expected him to reveal such a sweet, tender side. Then came another question. This time, his response was different—no sarcasm, no dry humor—just pure admiration.

OP asked, "Is she the one, lads?"

Simon’s reply was succinct and devoid of his usual wit or brashness. It was raw, unfiltered honesty.

"Yes, she’s the one. Knew it from the moment we met. There’s no one else for me."

Her heart skipped a beat as she absorbed his words, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her chest.

OP: Men of Reddit, what’s your favorite thing about your partner?

His answer: "Her laugh. The way it’s kinda wheezy and she snorts when something really cracks her up. She’s got an amazing sense of humor. Watching movies with her feels like attending a comedy special."

She couldn't help but smile. The image was vivid in her mind: the two of them sprawled on the couch, watching an absurd action flick, her infectious laughter causing even Simon’s stoic demeanor to crack as he chuckled alongside her.

In a thread on r/dating_advice, OP poses the question: "Men, what advice would you give to others about long-term relationships?"

Simon's response resonates: "Be honest. Be genuine with your partner. Don’t play games, don’t hide your feelings. And for God’s sake, don’t try to fix a problem when she just needs you to listen. I learned that the hard way."

She can almost hear the wry chuckle in his voice. It reminds her of their first argument, when she felt frustrated that he wouldn't just listen... but he's learned since then.

Lost in the moment, she scrolls through countless threads, captivated by Simon's heartfelt responses. The man she once saw as all muscle and bravado reveals himself to be a softie at heart.

Engrossed in his comments, she misses the sound of the front door opening... the approaching footsteps slipping by unheard.

She's engrossed in his response to "So, are you gonna marry the woman you have now?"

"Already planning it. Just gotta work up the nerve to propose."

Suddenly, a deep voice startles her from behind. It's deep, gruff, and all too familiar. 

"See somethin’ you like, lass?"

"AH—FUCK!" she screams in surprise.

Simon can't contain his amusement. His towering figure leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"Find my little secrets?" he teases, nodding toward the laptop.

She rolls her eyes. He saunters over to where she's seated, casually leaning over her shoulder, his gaze scanning the screen. His closeness, his sheer size, makes her heart beat faster in her chest.

"So, find anything interesting, lass?" he drawls, his breath warm against her ear.

"You're so sappy, it's cute," she says with a smile that he adores.

He chuckles, a deep rumble that sends a shiver down her spine. "That's a new one. You think I'm cute? Cute. Not hot. Not handsome. Just cute."

Leaning in closer, his chest presses against her back, warmth radiating through their clothes.

She stands, embracing him. "So... I heard User100889 is pretty nervous about proposing..." Her pout and tapping finger betray her playful intent.

His grin widens as he wraps his strong arms around her waist, knowing exactly where she's leading.

"Oh yeah?" he feigns innocence. "And why's that?"

"Well..." she looks up at him coyly, her slender form against his solid frame. "He's afraid she might say no..."

"Sounds like he's shittin' himself a bit," he chuckles, eyes gleaming with amusement. He loves the mischief in her eyes, the softness in her teasing.

"He shouldn't be..." she purrs, fingers trailing lightly up his chest. "She loves him too much to say no."

His breath catches at her touch, heart racing. "Is that so?" His voice roughens.

"Mmhm..." she agrees, fingers tracing his shirt's edge, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.

Close now, his body almost pins her to the wall. His eyes darken with desire and tenderness.

"What makes you so sure she'll say yes?" he whispers, his breath warm on her face, heart pounding.

"Because she loves him," she murmurs, fingers curling into his shirt. "She'd be a fool to say no."

[shiyorux]

Jujutsu Kaisen Characters when you faint —

—

Picks you up and walks around with you like that on their shoulder all day. (Glares at anybody who questions or even looks at it.)

If you somehow fainted throughout the day, and happened to be around them, they’d definitely take the oppurtunity to just throw you over their shoulder and call it a day. Then would proceed to walk through the whole day with you on their shoulder.

Of course, eventually they’d drop the monotone facade and get a little concerned when you don’t wake up, as they had been under the impression that you’d just exhausted yourself and needed a long good nights rest.

“Brat? Why aren’t you waking up?” He has to check that you’re actually breathing and not dead for a minute, then gets annoyed when you just don’t want to wake up.

“Wake up, don’t leave me here brat.”

GETO SUGURU, Toji Fushiguro, RYOMEN SUKUNA, Naoya Zenin,

—

Takes a picture of you on snapchat with all sorts of funny filters and sends it to your friends. (They save it too.)

You were probably lounging on the couch with them for whatever reason out of boredom. Maybe you were watching some random movie or tv-series that they had found and wanted to show you, or you were just hanging out.

Or you could've just have been at Jujutsu Tech doing absolutely nothing.

But you were so exhausted from your last mission that you ended up fainting and falling asleep where you sat. And all they did was find it funny, then quietly grab their phone and snap tons of pictures of you, occasionally leaning your head back so they could get a good shot of your face.

So the moment you woke up, your phone was getting spammed with people sending you text messages. Some were trying to jokingly warn you that you were being taken photos of, and some of them were just replies to your story.

Well it's safe to say you're never taking a nap beside them again. (They totally saved all of the photos.)

GOJO SATORU, Yuji Itadori, KINJI HAKARI, Mahito if he had a phone,

—

Grabs a blanket and tucks you in, doesn’t matter where you are.

The title pretty much states it.

This one also heavily applies to Higuruma, like, the man took a bath in a tub with CLOTHES on... (and in a courtroom aswell???)

This probably takes place when you're fighting curses with them (or sorcerers for that sake)

You faint and their immediate instinct is to make you comfortable whatever place you have decided to leave your consciousness at. They're not entirely sure if they're really allowed to move you around without your consent so they just refrain from doing so, and instead just give you a blanket.

Because, the rubble isn't exactly a comfortable place to be sleeping, right?

But they might have to explain to you when you wake up why you're tucked in a blanket in the middle of rubble and blood. (they were making sure the curses weren't gonna eat you)

CHOSO KAMO, Todo Aoi, Hiromi Higuruma,

—

Gives you an icepack, because they don’t know what else to do.

Okay lets be honest here, they would panic. Like panic. Like, at first they don’t know what to do. One moment you’re standing with them the next you’re on the floor sleeping.

But the only thing they can wrap their heads around is that something might be wrong with you, so they give you an icepack. Nothing like, maybe carrying you to the infirmary because fainting suddenly definitely isn’t weird, but no. They do that. It doesn’t even have to be them giving you anything, they just stand there, speechless, not knowing what to do.

Poor Inumaki might panic more than the rest and accidently knock himself out too.

TOGE INUMAKI, Hajime Kashimo, Kokichi Muta,

—

Actually carries you to an infirmary because they are genuinely concerned for your health.

This might've happened while you were on a mission, or when you were just around them outside of Jujutsu work.

You were just casually sitting next to them, doing your thing when you suddenly fainted on their shoulder. In the start they panicked a little bit but they quickly calmed down and realized it might be the best idea to get you some help.

Because, what if you have some disease??

But their worries were turned down when they were told you just weren't watching on how much you were drinking.

Now they won't stop telling you to go drink something. (they have ptsd)

YUTA OKKOTSU, Megumi Fushiguro, KENTO NANAMI,

—

Honorable mentions:

Kenjaku would either ignore you or just straight up let you do your thing and faint. He wouldn’t bother to disturb you either when you’re sleeping. But he’d probably watch you. (maybe throw you into a river and see what happens but ykyk)

:3

Omg i posted???

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2

summary: miles is not exactly a productive work partner

wc: ~800

A/N: not much plot movement here, but a tiny bit of exposition sort of. Miles will calm down in the following chapters...maybe 🥴

prev. next

"Oh Miles? He's in some of my AP classes. Honor student," Your friend's voice filtered through your phone speakers while on the FaceTime call. She popped a potato chip in her mouth as she sat in bed and sniffled, at home with a nasty cold.

"I've heard his name before. I think his dad died, that true?"

"Yeah, a couple years ago. Say he used to be really sweet, and now he don't talk no more."

"That's sad," you remark. "Maybe that's why I'm only seeing him now."

"You actually saw him in class?!?"

Your friend's face was the picture of disbelief, eyes wide as saucers as if this was a rare event.

"Yeah, he's my partner for the week cuz you decided to go and get yo ass sick!" you explained, dramatically jabbing a finger at your phone screen.

"It's not my fault that kid from AP Chem sneezed on me, damn!"

"He's really smart, but his attitude fucking sucks. He draws good, though," you think out loud.

“It’s just a week, sis, give it four more days, you’ll be fine.”

“You’d better hope so, for your sake.”

-

The following afternoon saw you asking around, trying to piece together a picture of this kid that everyone simultaneously knew and didn’t know. By the time lunchtime ended and Ms. Jones’ calculus class rolled around, you had heard the following:

‘Almost flunked out of school…on purpose’.

‘Did graffiti on the school walls once.’

‘Freakishly quiet’.

‘Secretly joined a gang’.

That last bit made your stomach turn a little as you approached your new temporary seat. Sure enough, Miles was already slouched at his desk, twirling that same pen between his fingers like a drumstick. You didn’t bother to say ‘hi’ this time. He didn’t bother to look up, either.

Miles didn’t say a word during the lecture portion of class, not even to answer questions. Would explain why you’d hardly noticed him until this week.

As the heavy-set math teacher scanned the classroom, she frequently craned her neck and made brief eye contact with Miles, but never cold-called him.

Her skin was a chestnut shade, and she kept her dark hair pinned back in a tight, slick bun. The way she pressed her lips together as she moved on suggested that they’d been through this before, and she'd be sorely disappointed.

When her lecture ended, Miles suddenly stood to his full height.

You weren’t able to tell by the way he sat, but the boy was quite lanky. Even with his awkwardly-broad shoulders slumped, he likely was a half a head taller than you. Ms. Jones stopped her slow pacing around the classroom and sighed.

“Miles, sweetie, what did I say yesterday?”

Miles looked up at the ceiling and sighed in exasperation before plopping back down into his chair. He raised his hand as if it pained him to do so.

“Yes, Mr. Morales?”

“May I please use the restroom?”

A few snickers could be heard erupting around the classroom, and the woman rolled her eyes. An innocent smile was plastered over Miles’ face, revealing two deep dimples in his cheeks. If the smile had actually reached his eyes, you would’ve thought he was cute.

“Go ahead,” Jones relented.

The boy dropped the smile and noisily pushed his chair aside; As he shot back up from his seat and strolled past your desk towards the door, Jones narrowed her eyes at him.

“Hold it. Sir, where are your glasses?”

Miles stopped in his tracks, groaning loudly.

“Oh my god, I don’t need glasses to go potty, Ms. Jones. I can aim, I promise.”

“Make sure you put them on as soon as you get back, your mother told me to remind you. Go,” Jones said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Uh-huh, thank you, ma’am!” The boy was already in the hallway, letting the door slam behind him.

Today's partner work was just a packet of long equations to simplify, so you were only mildly irritated that Miles never seemed to return from his impromptu bathroom trip until the last fifteen minutes of class.

You looked up as he sauntered over to his desk, hands in his pockets.

“Where were you? Class is almost over,” you demanded.

Miles ignored you and sat down, picking up his pen to work at a long string of equations at lightning speed.

Suddenly, you reached over and snapped your fingers in front of him. The boy looked up with his lips curled into a grimace.

"What's good witchu? You got through the work, didn't you?" Miles hissed in a low whisper to avoid catching Ms. Jones' attention.

You frowned deeply. "And what if I didn't? I'd be struggling while you were off running around the damn school-"

"I needed time to myself," he interrupted. "To think."

" 'Think' about what?"

"Personal shit," Miles resumed his problem-solving. "Any more questions, officer?"

The school bell rang, pulling from you a sigh of relief that you wouldn't have to see him again for another 24 hours.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Summer Spice: Day 28 Sleepy Sex

Pairing: Halsin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit NSFW

Warnings: Kissing, mild biting, nipple teasing, dry humping, vaginal fingering, mutual orgasm, sleepy sex, semi public sex if you squint really hard.

Summary: Prompt for Summer Spice 2024. A quiet night in the Elfsong Tavern rooms leads to a few stolen kisses and a quick moment of passion while avoiding rousing your sleeping companions in the room.

Word Count: 3.1K

a/n: I stumbled across the Summer Spice 2024 prompt list from @alpaca-clouds (thank you for creating this list, by the way, the prompts are fantastic) and it immediately brought me out of my writers block. I’m a little late to this party, but that absolutely won’t stop me from writing for some of these prompts. They won’t be in order and I’ll post as I get them written, but I’m hoping to write for at least two others before the beginning of fall. They’ll all be BG3 related, maybe not all Halsin related, but considering he’s the primary one I write for I can say he’ll be a majority. 

I know I typically write for a gender neutral reader and prefer to do it that way so more people can either self insert or insert their own characters into the story more easily, for the sake of ease I decided to go with a female reader. You could read it as AFAB as well, but I did try to make it work for gender neutral. 

Read on AO3 here!

Slow, languid kisses to your shoulder gently roused you from your slumber. You stirred gently, lazily smiling at the feeling of your lovers soft lips peppering tired pecks against your skin. With a soft hum, you turned from your side, partially rolling onto your back to greet Halsin with half lidded, tired eyes. He greeted you with a kiss to your cheek, his own eyes were still heavy with sleep as he pulled you closer against his chest, your back nestling perfectly against his bare skin. You enjoyed the quiet moment, a rare event in recent times, and simply lay in Halsin’s warm embrace. You felt an arm slide beneath your head as a makeshift pillow as his free hand lazily ran along your side. 

“Good morning, my heart.” He whispered softly against your ear, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing your companions. 

The rooms above the Elfsong Tavern were much more comfortable than the open road and a dusty bedroll, but admittedly offered much less privacy without everyone having their own tent. Thankfully, you had managed to secure a room mostly to yourself, minus one cleric and an assimar for a few nights, and could unwind each day with the relative quietness of your own room. The room was open, however, not offering much seclusion, but at least you didn’t have to worry about a bunk mate disturbing your alone time with Halsin. Although the druid had his own bunk across the room from you, you greatly preferred it when he joined you in bed for the evenings, always feeling a fluttering in your chest when you felt him slip into your bed late at night and wrap an arm around you.

“Good morning,” you replied sleepily, “are the others awake yet?” You peered over Halsin’s broad shoulder and looked around the room, finding it dark filled with various snores and other sounds of slumber. The sun had not yet crested the horizon and the room was dimly illuminated by a sliver of moonlight filtering through the stained glass of the window beside you. Your head came back down to rest along his bicep, somehow finding it much more comfortable than the feather pillow that was being quickly forgotten above your head. You intertwined your fingers with his, both hands resting against the soft sheets of your shared bed. You were both quiet, precariously balancing on the thin line that separated sleep from consciousness.

“I don’t believe so.” Halsin said after a pause, his voice thick with exhaustion, “It appears we’ve a moment all to ourselves.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the thought, your eyes feeling heavy at the gentle caress of his hands continuing their exploration of your body.

“I wish we had more.” You said quietly, your eyes closing as the final words fell from your mouth in nothing much more than a mumble. You felt his fingers slide up towards your shoulder, his finger hooking in the neckline of your tunic before tugging it down slowly. Halsin pressed another kiss to the freshly exposed skin of your shoulder while the hand that was interlocked with yours came up to rest against your chest.

“As do I,” he said as his fingers lightly tugged at the laces of your shirt, “but we can savor the ones we do find.” Despite his exhaustion and partially closed eyes, Halsin managed to unlace the front of your shirt, the neckline falling slack before he gently slipped his hand inside. You moaned ever so softly at the feeling of his hand cupping your breast, not wanting to rouse your sleeping companions and ruin the moment you’d suddenly found yourself in. Halsin stroked the delicate skin on the underside of your breast with his thumb, giving his own hum of approval as he felt your nipple begin to tighten and harden at his feather light touch.

Halsin’s opposing hand continued to travel along the expanse of your side, pulling from your shoulder to slowly trace your curves with the tips of his fingers. You felt a pleasant tingle run across your skin underneath your tunic, his gentle ministrations causing a soft warmth to begin forming in the depths of your core. You felt the whole of Halsin’s hand softly grip your hip, giving a few light squeezes to the fleshy parts of your posterior, wrinkling the cloth of your trousers with each grasp. His lips lingered against your tingling skin, pressing unhurried kisses against you as he explored your neck and jaw with his tongue. He kissed from your shoulder up to the back of your ear, lightly gazing your prickled skin with his teeth every so often.

Your tired mind was clouded at his touches and kisses, each bit of attention given to different parts of your body sent your mind into deeper into the fog. Yours hands caressed his board arm, one of the few places you could actually reach, given your position. His skin was warm beneath your touch, heating up quickly from his own excitement as well as his natural body warmth. Your lips grazed his forearm as he continued to touch and feel his way almost blindly against your body. You felt the hand that had been resting at your hip for the past moments begin to move again, this time moving to feel the plushness of your thighs. 

Halsin adored the feel of your body against his. You always slotted into his embrace perfectly when he would join you in the evenings, allowing him to pull you tightly against his body before drifting off to sleep. Although he joined you most nights, having moments of pleasure during the night had come almost to a halt since entering the city. Tensions were high, given what was at stake, and between the heat of the city and the fights that always managed to find the party, you were both often too tired to do much more than share a few lingering kisses and curl into each other during the night. So, when you both found a brief moment of silence in the night for even a handful of dirtier touches, Halsin was more than eager to pleasure you back to sleep, despite his own exhaustion. 

Halsin’s second and third fingers slid effortlessly between your thighs, pressing against your gently throbbing mound as he touched you through your clothes. You let out a quiet, shaky breath at the feeling of his wonderfully thick fingers rubbing against your sensitive bud. You squirmed as best you could in his embrace, your limbs still heavy from your rest and unable to have full range of motion while you were still on the cusp of returning to your slumber. You felt Halsin smile against your kiss-covered neck, clearly pleased with your reactions. He tweaked your hardened nipple between his forefinger and thumb, causing your body to jolt from the mattress briefly. The aged wooden frame attached to the bed beneath you creaked as you moved, filling the quiet room with the first sounds of the day. 

“You’ll wake the others if you can’t sit still, my heart.” Halsin whispered against your ear. He released your nipple briefly to press the flat of his hand against your chest, pressing your back against him in an attempt to keep you from moving and causing more noise. He return his grasp to your breasts before you could respond, silencing your voice into another hastily exhaled breath. As Halsin’s two fingers ran down the length of your slit at a steady pace, you rolled your head to the side until your forehead bumped against Halsin’s chin. He pressed a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, inhaling the scent of your hair as he continued stroking your sex through the thick fabric. 

Soft moans meant only for Halsin’s ears left your lips, barely audible as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. Your eyes remained closed as you felt Halsin’s fingers swirl against your pulsing clit, feeling yourself becoming slicker with each passing of his touch. Your hips rolled slightly, desperate to feel more friction against your lower half. His touch was firm yet teasingly slow, wanting to savor each second he had with you like this. He could feel a slight dampness starting to form along the trail he’d been following, your own excitement beginning to seep through your camp clothes. You clamped your hand over his, urging him to focusing his touch on certain spots.

“You’re impatient.” Halsin said with a light chuckle, finding excitement in your eagerness. Your thighs squeezed against his hand in an attempt to make him still his movements along your throbbing clit after you’d decided that your sleep-heavy arms were too weak against his own strength.

“We’re short on time.” You muttered softly, your voice getting lost against his skin as you pressed a kiss to the center of his throat. 

“It’s not as early as you think, love.” Your eyes opened slightly, meeting his sleep-heavy, yet playful, gaze as you realized it was the middle of the night and not the approach of dawn. He kissed your lips for the first time since waking you, smiling against yours as he enjoyed your false annoyance. But, being the giving lover that he was, Halsin obliged with your desires. 

Halsin pulled his hand from between your thighs, making you whimper softly as the loss of his touch, but remedied it quickly by slipping his hand under the waistband of your trousers. You sighed heavily against his lips, your breath entering his mouth as he mirrored his ministrations along the outer side of your small clothes. His fingers were so close to touching your bare sex, the thin fabric of your small clothes not offering much interns of protection against his fingers. Your legs parted slightly, allowing him better access to your waiting core as his fingers toyed with the slickness of your camp clothes.

Halsin groaned softly as he felt the warmth of your slick against his digits, finding just how wet you had gotten  from just a few simple touches to be more than exciting than he had anticipated. The lining of your small clothes was positively soaked, the remaining wetness had dribbled from the sides and had started to coat your inner thighs, making yourself slick with excitement. Halsin firmly pressed against the apex of your mound, listening to the small whimpers you made as he continue stroking along your slit. He felt his own arousal beginning to grow at the ease with which his fingers slid across your clothing.

You could feel Halsin’s hardened length pressed firmly against your backside, undeniably weeping against the fabric of his trousers as a result of toying with your perky nipple and swollen clit. Occasionally, Halsin’s hips would grind against yours, pressing the whole of his impressive length against the small of your back or the curve of your ass. You could hear a low growl rumble in his chest with each brief contact of his hips with yours, a signal to you that Halsin was holding back his own desires for the sake of privacy.

With every feeling and touch you were experiencing, you were grateful for your current position in the room. With Halsin’s large frame behind you and your front facing the wall, you were well shielded from any potentially prying eyes, making you feel much more comfortable in being so vulnerable around your companions. Although it was no secret that you and Halsin would have late night trysts and were undoubtedly a pair, the last thing you wanted was to be caught in the act of lovemaking. Although you had no doubts that if someone were to look in your bed space in the current moment they would be able to deduce what was happening, you were just thankful you were mostly obscured from view. You were also thankful that Halsin was mindful of your feelings. Halsin of course wasn’t shy of his feelings towards you in public, but admittedly preferred when he could spare quiet moments alone with you.

Feeling his own resolve beginning to crumble, Halsin’s fingers finally slipped underneath the fabric of your small clothes, two of which finally parted your soaked folds. Sensing the moan that was about to erupt from your lips, Halsin quickly released your now sore nipple from his grasp and pulled it from the front of your shirt. The same hand quickly clamped over your mouth, pulling your head to face him as he tried his best to stifle the sound spilling from your mouth while sliding his fingers knuckle deep into you. You felt your cheeks burn with a radiant warmth that matched the heat coming from between your thighs, your heart fluttering in your chest at the feeling of Halsin’s fingers slipping in and out of you with ease.

“Shhh, my heart,” he whispered in your ear with a certain level of husk to his voice, “quietly now.” 

With two of his digits buried in your wet folds, Halsin circled his thumb around your clit in small strokes, teasing the throbbing bud along nicely. He set a gentle pace, not wanting to make the moment end too quickly, but fast enough to stoke the fires settling within both of you. His lips continued to pepper your face with soft kisses, feeling the warmth of your cheeks beneath his lips as he kissed up towards your temple, moaning against your skin with each clench of your walls around his fingers. Once he was certain you would remain as quiet as possible for the time being, Halsin pulled his hand from your mouth and returned it inside your shirt, focusing his attention on the previously forgotten nipple. 

You bit your lip as you basked in the glow of your building orgasm, an all too familiar tingle beginning to tighten in your belly. Despite their girth, Halsin’s fingers were surprisingly nimble and agile. He knew your body well and knew just how to stroke the right spots in your heat to have you writhing and trembling beneath him. Halsin curled his fingers just each time his knuckles came into contact with your slicked lips, brushing against the well hidden spot within you that would have had your vision blur if your eyes weren’t already closed. He managed to time each thrust of his hips with each curl of his fingers, almost mimicking the feeling of his cock brushing against you.

Halsin emitted a gentle grunt with each movement of his hips, the tightness of his trousers and the contact of his throbbing length against you sent waves of pleasure through him, pushing himself closer to his peak as he worked to bring you to yours as well. You clenched tightly around Halsin’s fingers with each thrust into you, your breath becoming ragged and coming in quick pants as your orgasm approached quickly. From your position, you did your best to pleasure Halsin as well. You rolled your hips against his lap each time he trust them against you, earning you several strained and stifled moans into your neck. You could feel him throbbing against you, his cock aching for release with each connection of your bodies.

It wasn’t long before Halsin focused his attention on your throbbing, aching clit, increasing the speed in which he toyed with the bud, circling and flicking across in an attempt to bring you to release. You can’t say it didn’t work, for soon you were a writhing mess, your legs beginning to tremble as your orgasm neared, your limp limbs getting one quick burst of energy in the moments before your climax. Your hand fumbled to find Halsin’s, fingers scratching at his knuckles as you held it in place while you turned away, the pleasure coming over your body in waves as your orgasm finally hit your body forcefully. While still holding onto his hand, you rolled and buried your face into the softness of the sheets beneath you, hiding the moan that suddenly tore from your lips as you rode out your orgasm.

Missing the feeling of your backside pressed firmly against his cock, Halsin rolled with you, settling comfortably on top of you with his fingers still buried deep inside of your clenched core. With a few sporadic thrusts against your haunches, Halsin’s own orgasm hit just as yours was subsiding, the feeling of your clenching walls around his fingers and the friction against his throbbing cock had finally become too much for him to contain any longer. He pressed his body firmly against yours, his mouth finding purchase against your shoulder as he bit lightly into you, silencing his own moan from the rest of your companions. You could feel a harsh warmth followed by a slight wetness against your lower back, Halsin’s own release soaking through his trousers as the last thrashes of his orgasm finally ended. 

You both lay there quietly, pressed against each other while still trying to regain some sense of composure. Halsin left tired kisses along your shoulder where he had bitten, kissing away any harm he may have done in the process. You could feel the hot pants of his breath against your exposed shoulder along with a light layer of sweat that had formed on his forehead and he pressed it against the back of your neck. Halsin rolled himself from atop you, gently pulling his fingers from your depths and out from the inside of your trousers, fixing the waistband as he did so. 

He returned to his side as you returned to your previous position as well, straightening your clothes as best as possible before turning to face him entirely. Your nose settled in the crook of his neck, placing a few gentle kisses along his neck and collarbones as a way of thanking him for your pleasure. The hand that had serviced your nipples came to rest in your hair, slowly stroking the back of your head and sleep weighed heavily on your eyelids. Halsin kissed your lips tenderly, wrapping his arm around your hips and tugging you against him snugly. His eyes drooped as you lay there together, thoroughly pleased and seemingly undetected. 

“Thank you, my love.” You whispered groggily, suddenly overtaken by the need to rest again. Your arms and limbs became heavy once more, unable to move even if you wanted to. Halsin felt the same, the stroking from his hand coming much slower with each passing moment, his exhaustion from earlier only being intensified as he came down from the thrill of your shared orgasm. 

“Sleep well, my heart.” He said softly as your eyelids closed for the final time that night, sleep finding you quickly. Halsin nuzzled his nose against the crown of your head, your natural scent mixing with the scent of waning arousal being enough to send him into a peaceful slumber.

Tag List: @thoughts-of-bear @mothermoth92 @obuoliukai

[mecachrome]

landoscar ao3 stats — 2023 overview

notes

retrieved ~sometime in march 2024

methodology: scraped metadata for every fic in the landoscar tag and...... that's it. however one important constraint is that all temporal data is date updated (not posted), so the above timeline isn't exactly a true representation of fic growth but rather how many fics were last-updated at that time. of course this is still its own reflection of fandom health in a way since dead fandoms don't update old fic but well... it's just not quite the same!

this is just info about general trends, fic content, tags etc... so nothing about kudos/comments or any authors specifically

i decided to focus solely on fics last-updated in 2023 (unless otherwise mentioned) because i wanted a tidy set that i can maybe compare & contrast in a year's time, because i expect a lot of details to look different then (tho as stated above this set isn't exactly static... 🤷‍♀️)

ngl i had to re-scrape a bunch of times because i forgot about it for like 3 weeks and then there were 100 new fics 😭 so if there are some minor discrepancies across the post it's because of that halfskh.

also i wanted to include more global comparisons (aka how 814 stack up against the f1 rpf tag in general), but this is also considerably difficult in some contexts since i can't exactly scrape 31,000+ fics can i... or i didn't even want to entertain the thought of trying to do so!!!

why did i do this? who knows.

anyway here's some viz T__T

ship growth

as evidenced in the opening graph, landoscar have been a very fast-growing ship over the past year — although interestingly enough they didn't really start growing substantially until july / the ~better half~ of the 2023 season. here are two views showing their "growth" (by date updated) alongside two other ships on the fringes of the f1 rpf top 10 (sebchal & galex):

landoscar are very much on-track to surpass them and officially enter the top 10 soon, likely before mid-april ❗️ :o

ship characteristics

onto the ship content — another thing i was mildly curious about was how landoscar differs in certain areas from other f1 ships, or the f1 rpf "global" average you could say. for example, here's a breakdown of rating popularity in their ao3 tag:

seeing as explicit is their most common rating, and that i don't necessarily expect this to be true for all ships/fandoms, i compared these percentages with the general f1 rpf tag to see whether some ratings are more commonly represented in 814 fic than average, which produced interesting results:

do lando ships simply skew more HornyTM in general? is it oscar? a secret third thing??? who knows... actually i think it would be fun to do more analysis in this direction but that can wait for another time!!!

similarly i also wanted to see which ships are the most "public" on ao3, as in have the highest share of fic that isn't user-locked... i will refrain from peppering in my feelings about the 4th wall too heavy-handedly but i was curious to see whether some sort of perhaps... er, generational gap (?) of sorts between ships that are more public vs. not could be identified. however i don't pretend to have any takeaways from this LOL i conclude absolutely nothing. (for ref landoscar is currently 72% public, vs. a global avg of 63%)

note that this graph is current stats, not filtered for 2023

looking at relationship tags, i also wanted to know whether landoscar suffer noticeably from Second-Ship Syndrome, so i tallied the first-tagged ship of every fic to find out. i know this doesn't necessarily mean that it's always the "main" ship but it's a good enough approximation. the results were quite positive!

filtered to top ships with count of >1 only

i then also calculated the number of ships tagged for each fic to discern the profile of multi-shipping in 814 ficdom; i did have to do a little bit of string standardization (all instances of implied / background / hinted collapsed to hinted for simplicity's sake + removal of other redundancies), but otherwise i left everything mostly untouched.

as you can see, landoscar also have a fairly promising amount of OTP: TRUE fic:

by the time you get to the fics with 10+ ships tagged, landoscar are less likely to be the primary ship, which makes sense just on a basic statistical level... this is also a very small sample size though

i also lazily tallied the 10 most common ships that weren't NOR/PIA or NOR & PIA to diff their shares of the 814 tag vs. of the general f1 rpf tag, to see which other pairings are more represented in the 814 tag than on average (because lestappen are the most popular by pure count but this is also true of fandom in general, so it would be a misrepresentation to say that their popularity is out of the ordinary):

maxiel's gap isn't really that surprising since i think that, generationally, in terms of when both pairings were teammates there is quite a gap; with carlando—actually let me tally this again but including all instances of "implied" and "past" as being part of the same ship, since that's how ao3 tag-wrangles as well:

Aha ! obviously as a direct ship there is competition between 814 and other lando or oscar ships, but this difference is somewhat less pronounced once we include all formats. tbh none of this really means anything but i thought i'd add it anyway... (it's also very possible that there are several errors in this, in which case my b 😔)

before we move on to additional tags, there are a few more basic characteristics of 814 fic we can calculate. i realize i never offered an overview of Super Basic Stats, so here are a few:

plus, looking at word counts, here is a distribution of those in 2023-updated fic, which shows that a majority of 814 fics were under the 5k mark:

85% of landoscar fics were under 10k & nearly 97% under 25k

i don't really have any reason to believe that landoscar's wc stats differ significantly from average ? so this is kind of just Data To Have Data, and it most likely reflects normal ao3 trends in general... but i thought i'd include it anyway because i already made it lol. similarly, here are word count distributions but stratified by rating:

& same info but heat map view:

i feel like this is also probably something you'd find across fandom in general — that gen fic is likely to have a higher share of under 1k works, since Building Up to sexual content often takes... Literal & Metaphorical Foreplay ! and the longer a fic is the more opportunities an author has to include a sex scene or other explicit content (ofc, not necessarily just porn but also graphic violence & so on). but i thought this was fun to visualize haha

additional tags & aus?

back in my old f1 rpf stats post, i made a table comparing fluff/angst "ratios" (not exactly a direct ratio because of how tag wrangling works, but an approximation) of the most popular f1 ships, and now that landoscar are somewhat popular i thought i'd first do an update:

also current data, not 2023 to make things easier

just like before, simi are one of the most fluffy ships and brocedes are by far the most angsty, but it's interesting to see 814 also extremely high up on the charts, with far and away the lowest % of angst. will be exciting 2 see how that holds or changes as the seasons progress !

finally, i also wanted to do a bit of au/additional tag analysis because you can kind of see this when you use additional filters on ao3 but the previews are limited and get bogged down by the prevalence of *checks notes* Fluff, Angst, PWP, Anal Sex and what have you. which are nice stats to have and all but what of the rest !

disclaimer that the set for these tables is a biiiit outdated because by the time i'd wrangled everything i was like I Am Not Changing It Again. unfortunately i clean my data with shoddy queries and regex functions in googsheetz...

there were 48 tags with at least 10 instances from 2023 fics, shown below, with ones that are (some ~vaguely) nsfw in red just to kind of get a rough sense of which tags get commonly used in M/E fic:

getting a bit too much into small sample size / specific fic territory so if you're an author i sincerely apologize for that... do not mean 2 put u on blast... TT__TT but i also tried to tally the most popular aus people write for 814, which is a bit dubious because people tag in really different ways and i had to accommodate for a lot of string formats but ... it's close enough ! (?)

i feel like this is very little interesting info but idk what else to add so i will stop here for now... well!!! if you made it to the end i hope u learned something or even vaguely enjoyed reading T__T and most of all thank you :')

[akutasoda]

Hi! For the 1k event could I request hcs of Wanderer or Alhaitham (either works!) with a shy but extroverted s/o? Like they love talking and socializing, but their shyness prevents them from doing so. Hurt/comfort, fluff, or angst would be fine :>

Love your writing btw!!

extroverted introverts

synopsis - when their s/o who loves socialising has a shyer personality

includes - alhaitham, wanderer

warnings - gn!reader, reader is shy but loves talking, fluff, slight angst, wc - 713

a/n: <3 thank you! why not both?

alhaitham ★↷

↪alhaitham isn't exactly a people person, he has those headphones on him for a reason now. he can happily go about his day not socialising with anyone outsiders of who he needs to speak to and even then he likes to keep it brief and gotten over with.

↪so when he first saw how shy you could be he kind of just assumed you weren't that fond of talking to people and that was all. it wouldn't take him long until he could see how you always looked like you had something to say when you were with people but never did.

↪he wanted to chalk it up to your shyness but when he saw you with familiar faces, himself included, you seemed to talk forever and it was like you would never be shy. it took him a short while to figure out you did like talking to people but you had a shyer side which made it very difficult for you.

↪now, if you were anyone else he'd see it as a tough luck situation but fortunately he cared for you. he wouldn't really waste any time in asking you about it and would quickly add that he'd be willing to try and help you. a small part of you wanted to tease him for becoming so willing to talk to people for your sake.

↪whenever you'd accompany alhaitham anywhere and he happened to be ambushed by someone he'd starrt helping you get incorporated into the conversation by always prompting you subtly - he actually liked doing this because he didn't have to talk to the other person but at the same time you could happily talk to them.

↪he would never pry into why you would become so shy sometimes as he knew it wasn't really his business but he'd still help you. sometimes he'd catch you becoming a bit more extroverted and see you talking to new people and a part of him would feel happy for you.

↪he did actively enjoy bringing you into conversations subtly as you always enjoyed talking with others and he didn't, so it'd normally take the attention off of him which meant he didn't have to talk to anyone unnecessarily.

wanderer ★↷

↪wanderer is quite a mixed bag when it comes to socialising with others. a part of him can be very outgoing and he likes to talk without a filter, uncaring to those around him especially when he's annoyed - much to nahida's dismay. another part of him can be quite quiet when it comes to socialising, preferring to silently judge while others talked.

↪didn't mind that you seemed to be shy and rather hesitant about talking with others. you'd probably have to tell him directly about how you loved to talk with others but you simply couldn't get over your shyness because he wouldn't really pick up on it precisely.

↪like maybe he'd notice how you always looked like you wanted to say something but didn't but he wouldn't really put two and two together. he'd also be slightly unsure of how to help because it's not like you can force somebody to just get better at talking to people.

↪he'd probably start noticing how much you actually did like socialising when he saw how quickly you could change from being shy to outgoing - specifically when talking to people you're quite familiar with. then he'd start noticing how much more outgoing and sociable you are, even with him.

↪he might be a little useless to begin with but maybe he'd start developing a more subtle approach where when he's talking to somebody he'd ask for your input and ease you into the conversation - it makes him very proud when he sees how comfortable you get when you get used to talking to someone and start enjoying the conversation.

↪or maybe if you didn't mind he'd start pushing you into taking the lead when you're both out and about. small things that would help you overcome your shyness and be able to have that confidence to be able to happily talk to anyone.

↪maybe he'd even let you talk his ear off late at night because he enjoys listening to how passionate you can be when talking-

akutasoda's 1k event

[sunderwight]

y'know what, I think it's kind of interesting to bring up Data from Star Trek in the context of the current debates about AI. like especially if you actually are familiar with the subplot about Data investigating art and creativity.

see, Data can definitely do what the AI programs going around these days can. better than, but that's beside the point, obviously. he's a sci-fi/fantasy android. but anyway, in the story, Data can perfectly replicate any painting or stitch a beautiful quilt or write a poem. he can write programs for himself that introduce variables that make things more "flawed", that imitate the particular style of an artist, he can choose to either perfectly replicate a particular sort of music or to try and create a more "human" sounding imitation that has irregular errors and mimics effort or strain. the latter is harder for him that just copying, the same way it's more complicated to have an algorithm that creates believable "original" art vs something that just duplicates whatever you give it.

but this is not the issue with Data. when Data imitates art, he himself knows that he's not really creating, he's just using his computer brain to copy things that humans have done. it's actually a source of deep personal introspection for the character, that he believes being able to create art would bring him closer to humanity, but he's not sure if he actually can.

of course, Data is a person. he's a person who is not biological, but he's still a person, and this is really obvious from go. there's no one thing that can be pointed to as the smoking gun for Data's personhood, but that's normal and also true of everyone else. Data's the culmination of a multitude of elements required to make a guy. Asking if this or that one thing is what makes Data a person is like asking if it's the flour or the eggs that make a cake.

the question of whether or not Data can create art is intrinsically tied to the question of whether or not Data can qualify as an artist. can he, like a human, take on inspiration and cultivate desirable influences in order to produce something that reflects his view on the world?

yes, he can. because he has a view on the world.

but that's the thing about the generative AI we are dealing with in the real world. that's not like Data. despite being referred to as "AI", these are algorithms that have been trained to recognize and imitate patterns. they have no perspective. the people who DO have a perspective, the humans inputting prompts, are trying to circumvent the whole part of the artistic process where they actually develop skills and create things themselves. they're not doing what Data did, in fact they're doing the opposite -- instead of exploring their own ability to create art despite their personal limitations, they are abandoning it. the data sets aren't like someone looking at a painting and taking inspiration from it, because the machine can't be inspired and the prompter isn't filtering inspiration through the necessary medium of their perspective.

Data would be very confused as to the motives and desires involved, especially since most people are not inhibited from developing at least SOME sort of artistic skill for the sake self-expression. he'd probably start researching the history of plagiarism and different cultural, historical, and legal standards for differentiating it from acceptable levels of artistic imitation, and how the use of various tools factored into it. he would cite examples of cultures where computer programming itself was considered a form of art, and court cases where rulings were made for or against examples of generative plagiarism, and cases of forgeries and imitations which required skill as good if not better than the artists who created the originals. then Geordi would suggest that maybe Data was a little bit annoyed that people who could make art in a way he can't would discount that ability. Data would be like "as a machine I do not experience annoyance" but he would allow that he was perplexed or struggling to gain internal consensus on the matter. so Geordi would sum it up with "sometimes people want to make things easy, and they aren't always good at recognizing when doing that defeats the whole idea" and Data would quirk his head thoughtfully and agree.

then they'd get back to modifying the warp core so they could escape some sentient space anomaly that had sucked the ship into intermediate space and was slowly destabilizing the hull, or whatever.

anyways, point is -- I don't think Data from Star Trek would be a big fan of AI art.

[incandescentflower]

I'm seeing the whole "If you don't like something stay out of the fandom tags" commentary again. Honestly, it bugs me quite a bit. I would say that I try to not piss in people's cheerios often. I try to not just complain for the sake of yelling about something. I do believe everyone should get to enjoy what they enjoy whether I like it or not.

but I also think people who like a certain kind of story and watch things with the hope they will get what they like, and then are disappointed, also deserve community.

I think the opinion that all people are doing this to troll or because they enjoy complaining is a bad take, at least in the fandoms I'm in. When I get that stubborn about a show it's because I genuinely loved something about it and I now have passionate opinions about it. If I didn't care, I would not be posting about it. I would just forget it.

And yes, there are different levels of critique that are productive and others that are not. But having people be like - have your feelings but keep it to yourself or only your dash where others may or may not have the same feelings - maybe are harmless when you are annoyed that an adult show has all the plot points of a high school story, but are concerning when the post is talking about the pair the spare where there is no recognition that they had painted the antagonist as an assaulter and are now rehabilitating him with no effort at all. When you start dictating what is acceptable and unacceptable fandom opinions, you start walking the line of censoring voices that should be boosted.

In my opinion, fandom is at its best when you are hearing other points of view and gaining more understanding of media by listening to other voices. It's another part of the transformative nature of fandom.

And It's so easy here to block people or filter people and tags if it's really something you don't want to see. The expectation yet again that someone else should be responsible for your experience is beyond my brain capacity.

I do know how hard it is to see a huge fandom reaction that doesn't align with yours -I have experienced it both in loving something and hating something. But that is why we all need to find our community and well, on tumblr, it's in the tags.

[bel1ewrites]

Light Weight (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: giggling

Description: Sam seems to have formed a bad habit.

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: drugs, consumption of drugs, high sex, top!Sam, bottom!reader, Tara can never catch a damn break

IT'S not like Sam had meant to make it a habit. In fact, she'd attempted the opposite, trying her very best to keep it to a minimum. A once in a blue moon type of thing. A rare, yet not unwelcome occasion. Something to look forward to after a stressful day of trying to appear put together. 

She hadn't expected those stressful days to be a common occurrence. 

"Sam," Tara calls from outside the bedroom door, voice laced with annoyance, "it fucking reeks and I have a guest over! Do that shit outside."

The clock in the corner ticks quietly, the bed creaks beneath Sam as she shifts, blunt held carefully in her fingers. She lays on her back, limbs sprawled and loose, smoke slowly escaping her lungs. 

"Fuck off Tara," She shoots back lazily, bringing the object of her relaxed state back up to her mouth. Each inhale makes her feel lighter, a little less coherent and a little less... herself.

"Dude, I'm sick of-"

"Just leave it alone, Tara," a different voice interjects, one that's very familiar and makes Sam smile around the blunt. It's muffled by the shut door. She moves to stand up, the fabric of her tank top crinkling a little, loose plaid boxers falling comfortably to her mid-thigh. 

It takes her a second to walk to the door, opening it to find Tara turning to leave, spotting you in the living room with your arms crossed over your chest and clad in a sweatshirt that seemed to be a number of sizes too big on you.

Her lips turn downward as she thinks about the possibility of you wearing someone else's clothes. She doesn't like that at all.

"Just go back in your room Sam," Tara sighs, grabbing her coat from the back of the couch, "we're gonna head out."

Her eyes still haven't left you, drooping lids lowering as her stare drops to your bare legs. 

"You leaving too?" She asks, head tilted and eyes still glued to your skin. She thinks she sees you shiver a little. Her fingers grip the blunt a little tighter.

"Not sure I wanna stay," you shrug, catching her gaze. 

A low laugh filters through her throat, "Why?" She lilts, "Mad I'm not sharing?"

Tara can't help but roll her eyes, watching as Sam stalks forward slowly, like she's trying not to scare you off.

She's aware that there's not much left in the tightly wrapped bundle, maybe enough for one or two more hits, but she's feeling generous when she stops about a foot away from you.

She smiles wider when your eyebrow quirks up in defiance, looking down at you and watching the light flush that falls over your face. Your eyes track the movement of her arm as she moves to hold it out to you, caught on the shift of her muscles.

She doesn't really think you'll take it. It's fun, messing with you, making you blush and squirm. 

Unexpectedly, you grab it, bringing it up and placing it between your lips where Sam's eyes linger, seemingly fascinated by the way they wrap around it. Your cheeks hollow a little when you inhale, and she has to suck in a deep breath when your eyes meet hers from under your lashes. She hums.

"Oh for fucks sake," Tara groans, breaking Sam's attention. "I'm leaving. You two have fun." 

You're too focused on the burn in your lungs to register the door opening and closing, but Sam is all too aware of the lack of company.

When you exhale, you can't stop the coughing that follows. It's a little amusing to Sam who simply steps closer to you and rubs slow circles on your back.

"Poor baby," She pouts, pulling the blunt from your hand and taking the last drag before walking to toss it in the sink.

You're still struggling a little when she gets back, face screwed up in disgust. 

"That was awful," you complain with a groan. 

Sam just rolls her eyes, wrapping her arms around your neck limply and scanning your face. "Was that your first time?"

The room is quiet, save for the sounds that filter in from the city outside. You nod, then blink a few times. The hit you took was big, and you'd even held it in your lungs for a few seconds.

She watches your pretty eyes grow heavy, lids falling half mass and straining to look up at her. 

Light weight.

She giggles a little at the thought. Then you giggle because she's giggling and everything's funny at the moment, but then she looks at your mouth and stops giggling, so you look at hers and do the same because her lips are so pretty and her solid body is suddenly really close, but not close enough at the same time and there's a clock ticking somewhere.  

"Whose hoodie is this?" Sam asks, tone low and husky. She's pressed against you, her arms around your neck and her eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips to your neck that's tilted to look up at her.

"Mmm..." you think, heavy arms wrapping around her waist like they belong there. "Chad gave it to me. I was cold."

Sam sighs. 

"I don't like it," She admits. Tugs at the hood.

"Okay." 

"Yeah."

"Yeah, okay."

"Mhm."

"Take it off then." 

"Yea- wait what?" 

Your focus is drifting, eyes skating around her face, her neck, her shoulders that tense. All she can do is try not to lose her mind. 

"Take it off," you smile dopily. Fingers moving over the fabric of her tank top, over her shoulders and settling on the warm skin of her triceps before dropping to your sides. 

She moves slowly, like the air is holding her down and it takes all of her effort to remove herself from you and grip the hem of the hoodie. 

The gray fabric bunches as she pulls it up one slow centimeter at a time, revealing the hem of your shorts, then the waistband. The skin right above it. The skin right above that. Your tensed stomach and more smooth skin and more skin and ribs and lace and Sam's heart should probably slow down. 

She watches your chest rise and fall, pushing against the fabric of your bra when she gets past it. "Lift your arms," she trembles, and you do it before the words even leave her mouth. It's agonizingly slow, but inexplicably fast. 

When it's finally, finally off, she drops it to the floor like it's a dirty rag, grabs you by the waist, and kisses you so hard you see stars.

It's hot and needy, the way your lips move over hers. She nips and tugs, squeezes the skin of your hips and pulls you closer. Every sound you make washes over her like cold rain and clogs up her mind until all she can think about is you. 

You pull back, light headed and desperate for air, and Sam seems to take that as an invitation to shift her attention to your neck. 

"Shit," you pant, "Sam-" She hums, teeth scraping your jugular. "What... jesus- what about Tara?"

"Shh."

Images of you flushed and lying beneath her flash behind her eyes. You're so pretty. You're so fucking pretty. You're still half clothed -which is more clothed than Sam would like- and the idea of you in a bra and too short shorts is even better in real life than in her fantasies. Lace and bare skin and messy hair and-

"Do you want this?" She asks desperately, forehead buried in the crook of your neck. "Because I really want this."

You don't answer. Well, not verbally. Instead, you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and to the floor.

Sam forgets to breathe.

Then she spurs into action, backing the both of you up until the back of your legs hit the arm of the couch. She pushes you back onto it, smirking at the shocked little squeal that you let out before you catch yourself and lean back on your elbows.

Sam attempts to speak, but nothing comes out so she just gives up and trails her eyes down your body, pausing at your bare chest.

She's still barely breathing, mind fuzzy as she tracks your hands that move down your body, hooking on the fabric of your shorts. Then she's moving again, climbing on top of you and shifting you up the couch. Her red eyes find yours, looking for any trace of doubt. When she finds none she practically tears off the rest of your clothes, settling between your legs.

"I've thought about this before," She admits, folding her arms over your pelvis and resting her chin on top of them.

"Thought about what?" Your hands tangle in her hair. 

She shrugs. "Fucking you."

She feels your hips twitch up from beneath her, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Yeah?" You shiver.

"Every time I see you." She moves her hands up your waist, runs her thumbs over your nipples. You're trembling a little. "I've thought about how you'd feel," you gasp when she squeezes your breasts in the palms of her hands, "what sounds you'd make, how good you would be for me."

Her mouth hovers right above where you need her the most, heavy breaths hitting you and shocking your system. 

“Ask me for it,” she orders, voice low and gravelly. 

The room is buzzing, it’s alive and full of need. Every sound is tuned out by your own mind running wild, filling with static as she tells you to beg her. You’ve only ever heard her say things like this in your mind, late at night with your hand between your legs and a pillow trapping your sounds. 

“Please,” you mumble, throat dry and voice crackly. You know what she’ll say next.

“Please what?” This time, when she speaks, her lower lip brushes against the top of your cunt.

You have to bite your lip for a second, refocus on the task at hand. “Please make me feel good,” you finally push out, words shy and unsure.

It happens in slow motion. The way she finally gives you what you want, mouth immediately pressing against you like she needs you more than oxygen. You struggle to process that, holy shit, Samantha Carpenter is actually totally fucking you right now. Her tongue is pressing just above your entrance, flat and strong and sure and Samantha Carpenter is fucking you like she’s imagined it before. 

You reach down with shaking hands, tangling your fingers in the roots of her dark hair and anchoring yourself to her. There’s no use in trying to stop the needy little moans and gasps that have her grasping at your thighs and humming into you. 

When she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks, running her tongue underneath it, you arch into her and make a noise you never knew you could make. “Just like that,” you pant out in between curses and moans. “So good.”

She takes your encouragement and doubles her efforts, shifting around while remaining attached to her new favorite spot. Suddenly, you feel her mouth leave you, and when you look down to see what’s wrong she shoves two steady fingers inside of you.

Your head falls back against the couch, neck straining and mouth open with your brows pinched together. Everything is heightened with the weed coursing through your system, your senses are blending together and blurring and muting and you're not sure what to call what you’re feeling but you hope it never stops. 

She fucks you slow for a few minutes, soaking in the light of you. When she can't be patient anymore she gives up.

Sam watches you with hungry eyes. Her bicep flexes with each movement of her arm, her fingers hooking up and pressing to find the perfect spot. She never could’ve imagined this; the real thing. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she mutters, eyes soaking in the sight of you like it's the last time she’ll ever see it.

The praise only makes you hotter. It makes your muscles tense and your lower stomach fills with heat as she moves inside of you. It’s never felt like this before. It’s all consuming. 

You can’t tell where you end and she begins when she moves her free hand to rub tight circles on your clit. You feel as though you’re transcending, but your body is anchored by her touch. 

“Fuck,” you whine out. 

She hums in response. “So good for me.”

Pressure builds within you, a forest fire spreading throughout your entire being. At some point your lips form the word please and you begin chanting it like it’s the only thing you know. 

Please, please, please, please Sam, please, pl-

She pushes down on your clit and pulls up roughly inside of you, whispers a sweet, “Come on, let me see you,” and suddenly you’re thrown off of the edge. 

It’s a violent pleasure. The kind where you forget who you are momentarily, and all you know is that you feel good. The kind that is over too soon, no matter how long it lasts. The kind that has waves that push you, and pull you, and push, and pull, and stop. 

When you come down, your mind is still a little fuzzy. It feels like you’re imagining everything that just happened, but you’re not and Sam is right there and she’s somehow gotten the both of you into a position where you have your head in her lap and her fingers thread through your hair. 

You stay like that for a while. Neither of you talk, she just looks at you while you look at her. 

Then the door opens.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 8

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter! It made my week. 🥰 I truly thrive on hearing back from all of you — it gives me the fuel I need to finish this story!

(And it's rapidly becoming a beast lol.)

Word Count: 6,000 Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mentions of past domestic abuse/trauma, PTSD, hurt/comfort, fluff, and a (small) cliffhanger.  

Part 8: Something In the Way…

It was three more rounds before he finally let you sleep. 

Or rather, you couldn’t help but drift off. Ben had said he would help you sleep, and in his words, a promise is a fucking promise.

After you’d scarcely recovered from the first round, he’d taken you from behind in your bed. You’d repaid the favor by dropping to your knees for him in the shower, after which he’d propped you up against the bathroom counter and ate you out with his talented tongue until you really did see fucking stars. 

But he’d gotten what he wanted; your voice reverberated his name off the bathroom walls with superior acoustics…  

And when you next woke up, to your surprise, Ben was still there. He was sitting up against the headboard and watching a nearly silent TV while he smoked a blunt.

“What time is it?” you muttered. 

“Around 6 a.m.,” he replied.

For God’s sake. He had to be tired by now. 

You rubbed at your bleary eyes and turned onto your side. For a moment, you just stared at his profile, wondering what the hell you were going to do if Butcher and the rest of your team actually found you. 

“Go back to sleep,” Ben said. He glanced over at you after blowing some smoke. A smirk started to curve his lips. “Thought you’d be knocked out until noon.” 

You too, if you were honest. Your insides felt like warm jelly. 

“What keeps you up if even last night can’t tire you out?” you asked. Ben didn’t answer you. He faced the TV again and took a long drag of his blunt.

Slowly you sat up, wincing at the soreness in your muscles, in your legs, arms, and between your thighs. Your entire body felt like a bag of stones, but it was a good ache. A thoroughly sated one.

You managed to sit up next to him and reach over to lay a tentative hand on his chest. It was warm, even with the ceiling fan and AC on full blast above you. He briefly looked down at your hand, then at your face. 

“What’s it really like?” you asked, before your inner filter could catch up with your brain. “The new power the Russians gave you.”

His expression changed from relaxed to tightening around the edges. 

“They didn’t give me anything,” he said, puffing away. 

You read between the lines of that statement, surprised that he was even that honest about what he went through in Siberia.

They carved it into him, you realized. Like a wound he couldn’t heal from. Without wanting to, you remembered the CIA files you’d studied about his imprisonment. 

“Did it hurt?” you asked, moving your hand down to the center of his chest. The corner of Ben’s mouth twitched humorlessly. 

“Nothing fucking hurts me,” he said. His voice was flat, and matter-of-fact. But he didn’t even look at you. 

Maybe he didn’t want you to catch the lie in his eyes. But as curious as you were, you didn’t want to push too hard. Not for the first time since you got here, you realized that you weren’t really sure what you were doing. 

During the day, the two of you had your own lives. You swam in the pool, trained yourself in the gym, and read in the garden. You played cards with Loco and Saul when they had time for a break (from whatever it was Soldier Boy had them doing). 

And over dinner one evening, Frank even told you that his daughter was fifteen going on sixteen, and sweet as pie, but she could get an attitude real quick.

“You remind me of her sometimes,” Frank remarked.

You scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Frank’s answer was merely a wry raise of his brow. 

You just rolled your eyes and carved into your steak. Simone’s cooking was in rare form tonight.

And at night, Ben invaded your room like it was his own.

You couldn’t help but let him in, and into your bed. You were frankly surprised that he hadn’t gotten bored of you now that he’d gotten what he wanted. 

But apparently, he felt the same way as you…that one taste was just not enough. 

Like now, while the radio played on the nightstand. And he had you naked and writhing beneath him on the bed. 

One of his hands rested below your ribs, holding you down while his head was caged between your thighs. Your knees were squeezing his head like a grape, but of course, all he felt was encouraged.

Your moans were getting higher, more keening as his tongue worked inside your hot core. Meanwhile, his thumb circled and pressed at your clit relentlessly.  

Your grip threatened to pull out a chunk of his hair, your leg wrapping tighter around his neck. “Ben…goddamn it…”

“A little busy right now, sweetheart,” he teased, taking a beat to nip hard at the inside of your thigh. It had you bucking against his chin with a gasp. His gaze raised up to yours, dark and filled with desire between your legs. Sweaty locks of his brown hair were falling over his brow. 

Though you were panting for breath, you managed to sweep his hair away from his dewy forehead. His eyes traced the path of your hand, but he stared back up at you again. 

“Tell me what you want while I’m still feeling generous,” he demanded. Two of his fingers found their way into your entrance, a placeholder for his mouth. “I’ll fucking finish you just like this, have you coming apart on my tongue—”

You were surprised he was giving you a choice at first. But you saw his intentions in his eyes—he wanted to fill you up regardless. His dick was straining hard against your thigh, and your core was pulsing with need anyway.

“Want you inside me,” you panted, though not without a cheeky smile of your own. “Almost as much as you wanna be in me.”

Ben smirked and wiped at his mouth and chin. “Yeah, fucking right. You know how hard you’re squeezing my goddamn fingers right now?”

He twisted said fingers inside you, making you utter a strangled sound. His smirk deepened, but he withdrew them just long enough to line himself into your entrance and slide right in, with little resistance as he bottomed out.

You clung to his shoulders as you shuddered at being entirely filled to the brim. You still weren’t used to that feeling—of being consumed from the inside out. 

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, “so fucking tight.” 

You squeezed around his hips with your legs, digging your heels into his ass. Your hold was desperate, but Ben just braced himself above you.

“For god’s sake,” you blurted. “What’re you waiting for?”

Even he was breathing harder now, maybe more from restraint than exertion. His smirk was devilish though. “What’s the magic word, baby doll?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

Ben rocked against you a little, but not enough to give you what you wanted. Just enough to drive you insane. On some level, you had to admire his restraint.

“Fucking say it,” he said, his gaze firming. “Unless you want me to leave that pretty pussy on fire.”

You had a hard time believing that one, considering he was the one who couldn’t seem to go twenty-four hours without getting some. But you were just desperate enough in this moment to oblige his demands. 

You hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down to crash your lips into his. You licked into his mouth and bit sensuously on his bottom lip. He rumbled a deep, pleased sound that you felt in your chest.

And you felt his hand spanning the small of your back. Your fingers once again dove into his hair. 

Eventually you spoke against his lips, “Please. I fucking need you…”

His lips twitched in satisfaction. But he read the sheer wanting in your eyes, and the bit of vulnerability in your voice. Like you hadn’t been taken apart quite like this before. Or maybe it had really been that long for you. 

Whatever it was, this seemed to matter to you. The way you responded to his every touch, the way you demanded from him, was incredibly fucking hot.

So he was more than willing to help you make up for lost time. 

Ben licked his already wet lips and guided you back down. He actually put his all into fucking you. Not only were you the hottest piece of ass he’d had in a long time, but it was a point of pride for him. 

He wanted to be the only one you remembered—the one who’d turned you inside out and made you forget that you were supposed to hate him. 

Because yeah, he was that fucking good. And you were worth the effort. 

He held you tight enough to bruise as your release hit you in waves, sending hot tingles all over your body and making you freaking light-headed. Your tightening inner walls around his cock brought him along with you, and he spilled into you with a straining grunt. 

Once he’d pulled out and slid onto the bed next to you, an exhausted sigh fell from between your lips. But Ben turned to you with an almost boyish grin. 

“You mentioned something about the new Bond movie,” he said. 

You blinked at him, for a moment uncomprehending. Then you had to laugh. “Yeah, I said that an hour ago. Then you all but tackled me onto the bed.” 

He shrugged and turned on your TV. 

“Put it on while I wash up,” he said, tossing you the remote. You had a feeling it was because he still hadn’t gotten the hang of the apps on smart TVs. You sent him a narrowed look, but you found Skyfall on Netflix. 

“It’s not new, exactly. New to you, maybe,” you quipped. 

“I already know it’s not gonna be as good as Connery, but I’ll give this British asshole a try,” he said from inside the bathroom.  

“You will, huh?” you asked with a grin. “Didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.”

“What?” 

He finally came back out, still buck naked, and returned to your side on the bed. He gave you a quirking brow. 

“Never mind,” you said with a chuckle. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself up too, then dragged on a large shirt over a pair of underwear. By the time you returned to the bed, Ben had gotten a bowl of popcorn and, of course, a large blunt.

You knew he was self-medicating. According to Butcher and Hughie, the guy had been suffering from PTSD big time…well, you hadn’t needed them to tell you that.

Even though your interactions with him before now had been somewhat limited, you knew that he couldn’t sleep. He boozed and drugged hard, from what you’d seen of his hangovers in the morning. 

The rest of it, he tried to keep a tight lid on. A byproduct of the bygone “never share your honest man feelings” era. Butcher was another one. But you were perceptive enough to see that Ben was hiding.

You were still curious though; still wanted to know what it was he hid behind stoicism and lust.  And what then?

“I’ll give Hollywood one thing. The stunts and effects are fucking incredible now,” Ben said. He was glued to the car chase on the TV screen. He was almost like a little kid, his eyes lighting up with every explosion and seemingly impossible move James Bond made to evade his enemies.

It had been a while since you’d seen this movie, but then it dawned on you that there was a certain erotic-ish scene between Bond and the villain, Raoul Silva, that you weren't sure of how Ben would react.

You shook your head. Another consequence of him being from a much different time, along with his outdated views on gender roles, among other things. 

No matter how frustrating he could be, you reminded yourself of the night he helped you cook. And the night he saved you. 

He could change, you reasoned. Maybe. With the proper motivation—

A shootout with a machine gun on the screen jolted you a bit, interrupting your thoughts. You reached over to the bowl of popcorn in Ben’s lap and grabbed a handful. But when you heard his breathing shallow, you glanced at him and frowned in concern. 

His gaze was on the TV, but his eyes were glazed over, slightly dilated. He was sitting very still, and he looked pale. 

“Ben,” you tried, with a tentative hand on his bare chest. His skin was hot to the touch, and clammy with sweat. 

“Hmm, what?” He turned his head towards you, but you he wasn’t really hearing you. His gaze ran through you, and above your head.

“Ben,” you said, more firmly. You kneeled next to him, grabbing his shoulder for leverage, and grabbed his face to turn it towards you. He blinked down at you. 

Your name fell from his lips, almost like a question. He wasn’t able to focus on you though. You called his name again and took his face with both hands. 

“Wherever you are in your mind right now, you’re here with me. Stay with me!” You raised your voice. His skin was getting really hot. 

You gasped and had to let go of him when it threatened to burn you.  

His chest started to glow and hum. Your eyes widened, and finally, so did his. 

Ben pushed you away from him and knocked you clean off the bed. He managed to angle himself with his chest upwards, just in time for the nuclear power in his chest to carve a huge hole into the ceiling, through the entire roof of the mansion, and up into the sky. 

Afterwards, Ben slumped, taking in ragged breaths and wiping sweat from his face. But then his eyes widened with realization. He looked over and saw you prone on the floor. 

He slid off the bed and went to you, dropping a knee at your side and reaching a hand to your cheek. He called your name once, then twice. When you didn’t wake up, his hand hesitated, then moved to feel your pulse. 

He felt it thrum beneath the pads of his fingers. You were alive, just knocked the fuck out for a bit…

So he eased you into his arms and slid your hair away from your face, unwilling to admit, even to himself, that he was worried. 

Not until you roused in his arms did he let out a subtle, relieved breath.

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You groaned. “What the hell…”

Your beautiful eyes opened and met his. 

“You with me?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” though you winced at a nod. Your gaze shifted behind him and a soft gasp fell from your lips. Ben glanced over his shoulder, and the two of you looked up at the giant hole in the ceiling that was letting the bright glow of the moon into your bedroom. 

There was a mess of debris and wood and plaster all over the room. Even you and Ben were covered in a fine layer of it. He was avoiding your gaze now.

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at him. 

You just sighed and offered him a smile.

“At least now I have a window in here,” you joked. “Was getting stuffy as hell."

That night, you slept in his room. You practically drowned in his large, plush bed that smelled like his cologne and aftershave. 

Though you hoped he didn’t expect you to stay here from now on. As much as you were starting to like him (and you still didn’t want to admit that fact), there were times when you needed your privacy. 

By the time you woke and started your day, however, Ben led you to a new room. It was bigger, with nicer furnishings, including a king-sized bed instead of a queen. It was bigger than your entire apartment back home in New York.

“Wow,” you said, turning to him with a smile. “Thank you.”

Though at that point, you knew Stockholm syndrome was real. 

Ben shrugged, returning your smile a bit. “Got twenty more of these. No big deal.”

“Right.” You raised a brow, then turned to survey your surroundings with your hands on your hips.

He’d insisted on carrying all your things himself (likely due to an old-fashioned sense of machismo-backed chivalry), even though the room was on the same floor as your old one. It was much closer to his, you noticed.  

Then you felt his hands snaking down your sides from behind, molding to the curve of your waist. You felt the warmth of his chest through his clothing as he pressed against your back. 

“Time to break it in,” he said, with the deepening turn of his voice that too often made your insides quiver and melt into goo. 

“Do you ever get tired of fucking?” you quipped. Though it lost its effect somewhat when you leaned against him, all too willing. 

Ben chuckled into your ear. “Take it as a fucking compliment, sweetheart. Your pussy is the sweetest I’ve had since before I went under.”

That made you pause. You turned in his arms and looked up at his face with a challenging brow. You wondered if he was just sweet-talking you (his version of it, anyway), or if he really meant that shit. 

“Don’t believe me?” he asked. 

“You’ve been plowing through hookers and escorts for months. Professionals,” you pointed out. “You don’t have to lie to me just to butter me up.”

“Why the fuck would I lie about some stupid shit like that?” he retorted. You frowned at him.

“Because it’s not stupid,” you said.

You pushed his hands from you and turned away, but he held you fast by your wrist, pulling you back toward him. You frowned in annoyance at his manhandling.

“What’s the real reason you hadn’t fucked anyone in three years?” he asked. Though it was more a demand than a question. 

“Why’re you so hung up on that?” you asked. “It’s no big deal.”

“Why are you so shocked by what I said?” he countered. He was giving you a choice: answer one question, or the other. 

You let out a frustrated breath and waved your arms in exasperation.  

“I was busy, okay?” you said. “Vought had me on tough hours and shitty details. I didn’t have time for a life.”

And after the things you’d seen, you didn’t much feel like interacting with people, be they supes or normal humans. 

“That’s not the real reason,” Ben said. His fingers held your chin so you couldn’t look away. In the deep green of his eyes, you saw the same curiosity that plagued you.

Maybe…maybe if you gave him an inch, he’d give you one. 

Metaphorically speaking.

“I didn’t like who I was,” you confessed at last. “I just…I don’t know. Nothing felt right back then. It just took me a while to finally do something about it.” 

He seemed to consider that, and you.

You took the opportunity of his distraction to extricate yourself from his grip, and you ventured further into your new room. Your eyes lit up when you found an old record player sitting on a dresser, and a basket full of vinyl on the floor next to it. 

“Wow, seriously retro,” you said with a chuckle. But you knelt down and started flipping through the collection. Ben followed you. With his arms crossed, he looked over your shoulder at the record you fished out. Abbey Road by the Beatles, 1969. You placed the record and set the needle at a specific song.

The drums kicked off into a familiar electric guitar melody. Then John Lennon’s voice echoed through the room. 

“Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover…”

Nostalgia flooded through both of you, albeit for different reasons. For you, it reminded you of your grandpa (on your mother’s side). He’d dedicated this song, “Something,” to your grandma on their 50th anniversary. He’d made sure you played it again a year later, at her funeral. 

Meanwhile, this song always reminded Ben of fingerfucking Farrah Fawcett at a Beatles concert. Ah, the ‘70s. A wild fucking time.

“Good choice,” he remarked. 

You flashed him a smile. 

And with a sigh, you turned to sit against the dresser while the record played. You pat the ground next to you, and while Ben looked reluctant, he eventually sat down beside you. It seemed he had nothing better to do.

“I dabbled in music myself, you know?” he told you, with a smug raise of his brow. “Had a few hits on the charts.”

You grinned in amusement. “Yeah, I had to muck through every one of your cheesy-ass music videos.”

“Hey, every one of those fucking singles were gold.” He shot you an indignant look. “What, had to?”

“When I was researching you,” you said with a chuckle. He raised a brow at that. 

“Oh, yeah?” He rubbed a hand over his beard and met you with a critical eye. “What else did you dig into?” 

You met his eyes, and you knew he had some idea of what you were thinking. 

Ben let out a breath through his nose, craving some reefer. 

“Ah. That, huh?” he said. After a moment to gather your courage, you took a breath.

“Ben—”

“It’s not worth fucking talking about,” he said, a bit of grit edging in his voice. 

“It is if you’re still blowing craters into ceilings, Ben,” you replied sharply. “Do you even remember what happened yesterday?”

His steely silence was all you needed to know. 

“Look, I’ve gone through some shit too,” you said. “But forty years? …I know I’ll never completely understand what you went through, but—”

“You don’t have a fucking clue,” he said. His eyes were sharp, but also guarded. 

You couldn’t help it. The footage you watched was playing inside your mind in perfect scenes. You remembered the sound of his desperation, his struggle. And it had been all-too familiar to you.

“Maybe,” you agreed. “But I do get having shit that flashes behind your eyes, like a bad movie. Things you can’t forget. Things that won’t even do you the mercy of letting you sleep.”

Ben was reluctant to meet your eyes, as if even that small thing would be an admission of weakness. But when he did, you knew he would see a kindred spirit.

“Things that clog up the works,” you continued. You wet your dry lips, swallowing past a tendril of nerves. “And things that should be easy get…complicated. Like watching a movie, or…”

You had to take in a somewhat shaking breath, turning your face away. 

It allowed Ben to look at you a fraction softer. His mind was able to flash away from some of the past, to a more recent memory: the first time you’d pulled him into your room and let him into your bed. 

You’d pleasantly surprised him a few times that night, but there was one moment where he hadn’t known what to do next. 

When he saw panic instead of pleasure take over, and however briefly, he’d wondered if he truly was the monster everyone seemed to think he was.

So now, Ben couldn’t help but reach out to you. The back of his hand touched your neck. Your eyes widened a fraction when his thumb brushed down the column of your throat. 

“What happened to you?” he finally asked. He seemed more than just curious. There was more behind his eyes, and enough earnestness for you to consider trusting him with this part of you…

But still, you were reluctant to give him that big of an inch. 

“It’s only fair,” he pointed out. “The CIA gave you the full low down on me.”

Once again, you sighed. Can’t argue with fair. 

You rested you head back against the wooden dresser as “Oh! Darling” started to play from the record. Now didn’t feel like a particularly good time for a doo-wop, but such was your reality.

“I told you about my dad, right?” you said. Ben inclined his head.

“Something about the family business.”

You nodded. “He trained me. How to read people, how to fight…but he was the first one we had to defend ourselves from.”

Ben considered that with a deepening frown. He’d had an idea this story was going that way, but hearing you come out and say it (even without really being able to say it) just made him angry. His hands clenched into fists where they rested at his sides, on the ground. Until something you said called his attention.

“We?” he repeated. You nodded again. 

“My mom, and my younger sister,” you said, with a tremulous breath. “He was a drunken bastard for most of my childhood. I was about thirteen when he put my mom in the hospital, and it was…bad.” 

You swallowed past a lump of emotion in your throat—mostly at the guilt. If it hadn’t been for you, and your weakness, your mom wouldn’t have needed to intervene. She wouldn’t have had to try to protect you…

“From there, my grandparents got us out of that house,” you said, with a suspect sniff. “Mom finally divorced him.”

Unfortunately, the story didn’t end there.

By the time you were in high school, your father had gotten through his court-ordered rehab and managed to get his life back together. He built his P.I. firm back up, and by all appearances, he seemed to turn his life around. 

He convinced your mother of it enough that she let you work for him after school.

You hadn’t wanted to, but your father had a way of manipulating you too. He reminded you that your grades were shit (I fucking wonder why?). You had little chance of making it to college, so at least he could teach you a trade. 

“I’ll even pay you,” he’d said. And you’d taken the bait. 

He’d been unrelenting in your training, as he was in most respects. As a former Marine, he was rigid in his discipline, demanding perfection from you. 

However, when he felt his lessons weren’t being drilled into your head, he reinforced them with his calloused hands. 

And when Vought came to him, offering him a contract, he negotiated one for you too, without even asking if that was what you wanted. But you went along with it…until you couldn’t anymore.

“I finally broke contact with him when I left to join Supe Affairs,” you finished, quickly wiping a tear from your cheek. You glanced over at your captive audience with slight hesitation.

Ben looked stoic on the surface, calm even. But you didn’t know that it had taken every cell of self-restraint in him to stay quiet. Your red, shining eyes, the way you’d had to stop a few times to collect yourself—it all grated on him in the worst way. 

“Christ on a cross,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin. “Why the fuck did you work with him?” 

“I told you. I was a kid—”

“No, I mean when he got the fucking deal from Vought,” he said tersely. “You could’ve split. Found yourself a husband, got your own life. Why the fuck would you sell yourself out like that?”

Your lips pursed. “First of all, I don’t need a husband to have my own life. Second, I’m not the only one here who worked for Vought.”

Ben huffed. He wanted to call you a fucking idiot. He wanted to say, See? This is why you need a real fucking man in your life. 

But with daddy issues this bad, you’d probably fuck that up too. 

“Answer the goddamn question,” he said instead, though none too gently. 

You gave him a soft glare. Didn’t he realize how hard it was for you to say all of this aloud, let alone confide in him?

But now that he did know, maybe he’d be more likely to open up to you. You would be able to understand him better, and maybe…maybe one day, you could convince him to let you go. 

So you felt you had no choice but to answer his real question. 

Why the fuck did you follow your father to Vought?

The truth was, that man had a way of getting into your head, living in your skin, and making it crawl.

“He’s a manipulative bastard,” you said. 

He knew how to work you, just like your mom. And your mother was…well, damaged. You knew you couldn’t rule yourself out of that one either. 

However, the thought did spark your own curiosity. 

“What were your parents like?” you asked. 

The question seemed to surprise him. His frustration with you melted into a more uncertain frown. You bumped his shoulder with yours.

“Come on. It’s only fair,” you teased. A smile lifted his lips, but his eyes became rueful.

“She was a good woman,” he replied, speaking of his mother. “Quiet maybe, unlike you.”

You smiled in amusement at that. 

“But elegant,” Ben said. The softening edges of his smile told you volumes.

“She didn’t grow up with much, so when she married my father, she learned how to live in his world," he said. "But she still cooked and cleaned and pretty much ran the house, even though we had people to do that shit.”

“How did she meet your dad?” you asked. You knew his father’s family was from old money. He’d inherited his empire from his father before him.

Ben glanced at you. “She sang at this club…a nice one though, not some fucking dive. She wasn’t the star or anything, but my father noticed her. Said she was the only one who could pull off red lipstick without looking like a whore.”

That made you roll your eyes, which provoked an amused grin out of Ben.

“Charming,” you remarked. It must’ve really upset the old apple cart when his father married his mother. You wondered how she’d felt about Ben becoming Soldier Boy…

“Doesn’t sound familiar?” he asked. "Pretty girl in red, croonin' for a bunch of assholes in a musty fucking club?"

At first, you were confused.

And then, you realized the reason for his not-so-subtle grin. With an incredulous blush, you supposed that you and Ben had met in much the same way as his parents. 

Well, that’s not creepy at all, said the more rational part of your brain.

…Or maybe, weirdly romantic, whispered the other part. The part that had probably caved after you watched Ben try and fail to chop onions for the first time.  

“What was your favorite thing about her?” you asked. 

“You know, all my pictures of her are in black in white…I don’t even remember what color her eyes were,” he admitted. “But I remember her voice. Smooth as warm butter. She’d hum with the radio whenever she cooked. If Dad wasn’t there, she’d belt out a tune or two. I’d sit in the kitchen and watch.”

Imagining that scene made you smile softly. 

“Her captive audience,” you teased. Ben took it with a quirk of his mouth. 

“What about your dad?” you asked. He turned to you with a knowing look. You both knew what the man had thought of Ben. But you wanted to hear it in his own words.

“My father was a stern man,” he said. The softness was gone, and your smile fell. “This kind of larger-than-life force when I was a kid… Of course, when I became a man, he didn’t consider me worth the fucking effort. Not even when I became a hero, and everybody in the fucking world knew my name, he couldn’t admit that I’d fucking surpassed him.”

You sighed. More than anyone, you understood the underlying resentment in Ben’s tone. The kind of young recklessness that pushed him into becoming Soldier Boy, trying to prove his father wrong. 

“He thought you cut corners to do it. And while he wasn’t wrong,” you said, as gentle as possible. You held your ground when Ben looked sharply at you. “You didn’t deserve to be ignored either.”

Ben scoffed at that, as if he didn’t give two shits one way or the other. You knew better. 

So the two of you kept talking, sitting there on the floor long after the record finished. You traded stories and bickered as you often did.

But when you managed make him laugh, genuine, hand-on-chest, and almost boyish, you had to try and stem off a blush as you felt a pleasant flutter in your belly.

“It’s been two fucking months since you lost him in Colombia, and what do you have to show for it?” Grace Mallory said into the screen of her cell phone. FaceTime was only glitching slightly, at least. 

On the other side of the looking glass, Butcher was annoyed.

“He’s like a coil of smoke,” he said. “Pulled a motherfucking Houdini act. I have half a mind to think he’s gettin’ some help. Other than the ex-military cunts he recruited on the road.” 

Grace thought for a moment. “Give me five minutes.”

Butcher hung up before she did. With a purse of her lips, she searched for another number in her contacts. Some personal assistant answered the line.

“Get me Stan Edgar,” she said. 

“Well, he’s actually in a meeting right now—”

“Now,” Grace snapped. “Unless you want a CIA squad storming the tower for withholding evidence.”

In less than thirty seconds, Stan’s familiar monotone greeted her.

“Good afternoon, Grace,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“You fucked up, Stan,” she replied, resting back in her office chair. “This doesn’t bode well for you.”

“To what matter are you referring?”

“You know exactly what. I’m going to ask you this once,” she said. “If I don’t get a straight fucking answer, I’ll have no other recourse but to rake through your records all over again. And we both remember how pleasant that was.”

“We’ve done nothing but comply with the government’s demands.”

“Right,” Grace scoffed. “Listen to me. If I find out that you’ve withheld information about Soldier Boy’s location—or even so far as helping him evade my grasp—I will dig so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fucking breathe.”

There was a pause on the other line. 

Eventually, however, the little toad spoke. 

“You’ll have the coordinates shortly.”

Grace’s mouth curved with a grim smile, and she hung up. 

Meanwhile, in his office at Vought Tower, Stan sighed and turned to his Chief of Security, Jon.

“Should we send them the comprehensive list of Soldier Boy’s safe houses?” he asked.

“No. Just the one in Colombia,” Stan said. “But Jonathan, it is time for our contingency plan.”

Jon met Stan’s gaze with a nod. 

“I’ll give the order.”

AN: 😬 Welp, things are going to start getting bumpy from here lol.

Next Time:

His frown deepened the moment he saw you, which you didn’t quite understand.

“Ben,” you said, even though it was an effort to do so. Every breath was like a hot knife cutting deeper into your side.

Your eyes closed at the pain, and at tears that burned down your cheeks. It also cut through the brain fog enough for you to realize this was bad.

It was very bad.

Keep Reading: PART 9

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[rosemaze-reveries]

clinging to the only manor guest who makes you feel safe various idv charas + you (platonic)

for @ninacottoncandy

🦈✈️🧲🔗❤️‍🩹

Here are the reader's traits described in the original ask: You have grown really attached to them and won't let them go, following them like a lost duckling. They're the only one you act energetic around, while you're shy and scared around others. It's later revealed that you were neglected back home resulting in abandonment issues.

🦈 Leo

Leo sees something in you that he can't exactly pinpoint. Maybe you fill a loss that he's tucked into the crevasses of his memory. Maybe you represent a second chance at one of his lingering regrets. Whatever it is, he swears that no harm will come to you as long as he's around.

He sneaks you the universal passcode to the arms factory's exit gates, with instructions written in his messy scrawl: "Play the game. Do what they ask. Use for emergensy only." It's not the first time he's been punished for breaking the rules, but that's a trivial thing if it means protecting you.

Before your first game, he brings you a gift, a crude little thing that's obviously handmade. It's a miniature red-and-purple striped rocket chair made for dolls. You find it a little childish, but Leo attaches a story to it: "If bad guy catches you. 1, 2, 3, blast off. Trapped again."

That's a bit grim, but cute, you suppose. You're not sure why he gave it to you, though.

✈️ Charles

As a man of few words and a perpetual poker face, his fondness for you might not be that obvious. But he finds you terribly endearing. He doesn't mind having you in his shadow at all. It won't be long before he starts feeling very protective of you.

In an attempt to get closer to him, one day you ask to try out his jetpack. He's always tinkering with the thing, so he must have a lot to say about it, right? The moment you reach for it, something in Charles snaps, and with a panicked shout he knocks you off it before cradling his device tightly in his arms. With that look of abject terror in his eyes, one would think you were trying to murder his baby. You never thought it was even possible for him to raise his voice like that.

The truth is, he couldn't have cared less about the jetpack. He was worried about losing someone else to his faulty machine. The guilt for frightening you plagues him for weeks after. He dedicates the next few months to working on a device that stabilizes his hand tremors. Not for his own sake, but because he can't bear to disappoint you—he wants to build something safer for you to try, and needs a reliable hand to do it.

🧲 Norton

Finds it bothersome. He has an unspoken agreement with the rest of the manor to steer clear of each other, what’s not clicking for you? He doesn’t exactly radiate sunshine and rainbows. Why you got attached to him of all people is something he can’t wrap his head around.

He won’t go out of his way to talk to you, which you can consider a small mercy from him. If forced he’ll bluntly shut down the idea of being your “protector” or whatever role you’ve arbitrarily assigned to him. He’s not here to babysit anyone, especially not for free. Doesn’t matter what your story is.

It seems like the best way to win his favor is by giving him space. And start hoping he’ll warm up with time. With the manor's stretches of eternity in store for you, you can certainly spare the wait.

🔗 Ada & ❤️‍🩹 Emil

The first time you begin yearning for them remains clear in your memory. They're huddled together over the kitchen stove, morning sun filtering through the open window. Ada explains how to flip an omelette while Emil is paying more attention to her gentle hands than her technique. Once in a while their soft giggles rise above the sound of sizzling oil.

Watching them, suddenly you aren't at the manor anymore. You're in one of those big, bright two-story houses from the stories you read as a child, the ones with the perfect families and happy endings to every trouble that comes their way. Ada and Emil probably don't even realize how picture-perfect they look in this moment, how similar they are to the families you thought only existed once upon a time. Their love makes you jealous, but you crave it just as much.

Sharp as always, Ada is quick to notice you observing them. You fear a round of questioning but instead she says, "Good morning. Do you want something? How do you like your eggs?" and Emil pipes in a second later with "Onions okay?"

It's such a casual sentiment, but it takes you aback. Most manor guests aren't glowing examples of neighborly people, you've learned that the hard way. But your wishful thinking gets the better of you, so you play along. They bring out a plate of your breakfast and sit with you at the table. You remember thinking, even if they are tricking you and these eggs are poisoned and you never wake up again, it would be nice to go with this fairy tale family as your last memory. But you get to enjoy a delicious breakfast and the remaining hours of the day without issue.

The same thing happens the next morning, and the one after that.

Emil's prowess with the frying pan drastically improves as the days go by, and soon he starts waking up ahead of Ada to surprise her. Some days include you, with him gently nudging you out of bed, eager smile on his face as he teaches you all the cooking tricks Ada taught him. He also shows you a notepad he keeps, with lists titled: Ada favorites. Good food for a bad day. Restront menus (make at home). And a new addition: What (Y/N) likes.