#mayhaps projecting once again

[tearsofperseides]

12 for Lucius and Izzy 👀

I don't PERSONALLY like how this turned out, but the idea I had in mind is still generally there

(kissing prompts)

Lucius came out on the deck. It was 3 AM and he needed a smoke. He had another one of his nightmares, but what had truly woken him up was the sound of that fucking bell Blackbeard has to wear around his neck, yes, even while asleep and he’s quite a tosser. In both senses.

“Not sleeping either, huh, twatty?” 

“Jesus, fuck me!” Lucius winced at the sudden voice behind him, it took him a second to recognize the voice, “Oh, it’s you. No, guess not.”

Izzy sat down on the deck beside him. “What? You came here to lecture me some more?”

“No, came here to smoke, actually,” Izzy said, taking Lucius’ cigarette and pulling a lighter out of his pocket.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, “These’ll kill you, y’know” He remarked before blowing out the smoke from his mouth.

“So much for not lecturing me, I see” Lucius replied, a hint of a lightheartedly sarcastic smile on his lips.

Izzy chuckled, this was the first time he saw the remnants of the old Lucius. An idea popped into his head, he decided to go for it. 

“Have you ever been sketched?” Izzy asks and takes another drag from his cigarette.

Lucius turns his head towards him. Almost not believing what just came out of Isreal Hands' mouth. He raises his eyebrows, asking for confirmation.

Izzy doesn't take that smug look off his face, the same look he gave him before giving him that godforsakenly beautifully whittled shark. However, as Lucius has noticed, Izzy has been stealing little glances at his lips throughout this entire exchange.

Lucius blew the smoke out of his mouth slowly, clearly looking at his lips, and started leaning in. Izzy leaned in too, just a little.

Their lips met halfway. It was a nice kiss, fulfilling in some strange way. Both of them were attracted to each other, there was no doubt, but the kiss wasn't as passion-filled as Lucius had thought it was gonna be.

Maybe it was Izzy's approach that changed. Maybe it was he himself who changed, Lucius thought. Maybe it was both of them.

[lovebugism]

miss bug I have something to ask 🙋‍♀️

i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable

thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.

The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.

“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.

The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”

“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.

“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.

“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.

“Get to work.”

Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet. 

Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.

He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”

“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”

Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”

“Sick?”

His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”

Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.

“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.

Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”

—————

Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).

Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.

He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.

“Whoa—” Steve flinches.

You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”

“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”

“I thought you were a burglar or something…”

“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.

You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”

As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.

Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”

Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall). 

“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.

“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows. 

Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.

“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.

Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”

“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.

“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”

“‘M too sick for food.”

Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”

His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.

You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.

Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”

He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”

The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.

What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.

Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.

“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.

Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.

“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you. 

He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[manias-wordcount]

Spicy cuddles w/ Edward Elric, mayhap?

Stirring in the Sheets (Edward Elric x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿, 𝗶 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿! 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼, 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗙𝗠𝗔𝗕 ( 𝗶 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗰 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺 𝗱𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔). 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗲, 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚!! 𝘃𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝘅

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You were already awake by the time Ed had started to stir behind you.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been awake for. You didn’t even know what time it was. But you knew it was still far too early. Whenever your eyes would go to look towards the windows, all you could see was an inky, dark sky peaking out from the little spots that remained uncovered by the curtains. So you just continued to lay there, eyes closed and breath steady as you basked in the warmth of the man you love as he spooned you from behind. Just lying on your side and cherishing the fact that your nights with him no longer have to be spent sleeping with one eye open as monsters beyond your imagination chased you around the country. Even though that hasn’t been your reality for a good couple of years.

But then he woke up.

It was completely silent at first. In fact, you’re not even sure when exactly he came to. You just know that one minute, you lying in his arms peacefully, fingers absently tracing patterns into the skin of an arm currently slung around your waist that you still can’t believe is real. The next minute, you were moaning and laughing softly as a pair of lips started to press themselves against your bare neck and shoulder, kissing you over and over and over and over again. 

“You awake?” You heard Edward mumble after a while, in between a few kisses. You could almost feel his content smile against your skin. You know he knows that you are. He’s perceptive and he knows you too well. A combo that has both its pluses and minus. But he’s gentlemanly enough to still check in on you quietly, in case you were still sleeping. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to talk to you. It wouldn’t be so out of character for him. And either way, it filled you up with a nice sort of feeling. One that you just couldn’t help but soak up happily. He always saves his sweet side just for you. And for all the right moments too. It made you feel special. He makes you feel special.

“Mhm…” You confirm softly, wiggling back to press further against your boyfriend’s body. Your action earns you a pleased sound from the man behind you as he adjusts his grip on your body to squeeze you tighter than before.

For a while, he doesn’t say anything else. So you decide to keep quiet as well. You go back to focusing on the world around you, giving yourself the chance to slow down and take it all in. The smell of freshly cleaned sheets. The fluffy pillows beneath your head. The feel of Edward’s legs tangled in between yours. And the faint sensation of his heartbeat against your back.

Reminding you once again that now is a time when all is well and all is calm. You can cuddle and hold each other in peace. Because when you wake up in the morning, there are only errands to run for the house. No orders from the State Military. No research projects are to be completed. Just peace. Just calmness. Just stillness. The type that gets you to lower your guard. The type that makes your eyes feel heavy. The type you just lose yourself in. 

Until suddenly-

“Can I put it in?”

You don’t know what he’s talking about at first. But it takes one quick jerk of his hips for you to be caught up to speed. Now, your mouth is flying open in a near-silent gasp as your boyfriend grinds his erection into the curve of your ass as his hands move to grab your hips for a little more leverage. Behind you, his breathing gets a little heavier. And the kisses he was once placing on your neck? They’re getting a little more needy. So things come as less of a surprise the second he mumbles out his question again, in a voice that seems even more desperate than it was before. “Can I…can I put it in? Please?”

You pause for a moment. This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in this exact position. Lying awake late at night with your boyfriend rutting into you as thin pieces of fabric keep you both just barely covered. This isn’t even the first time you’ve found yourself in this exact position this month. However, you said you were going to wake up early today and finally get stuff to work on the roof before the sun gets too high. Plus, you’ve already been awake long enough. And you know if you let him get his way, he’ll be keeping up until the sun starts to rise. 

But it is always a pleasant surprise to be reminded about how much your presence affects your boyfriend. And the very reminder of his size as he presses it against you does make things very tempting. 

“Can we still cuddle?” You ask instead, already moving your hands to your hips to tug your panties off. You get yet another kiss for your eagerness- one placed just behind your ear- as Ed’s hands come up to help you pull your underwear down your legs. The sheets get messed up in the process of you lifting and flexing and parting your legs, but you find that you like the sheets and covers off and down towards the bottom of the bed before things even start. Because even if things get cold, you know you still have Ed to keep you nice and warm. “Can we stay just like this?”

“Of course,” He murmurs into your skin as he now begins to pull his briefs down. “Just like this.” 

It’s a little hard for him, even as you try to reach around and help out as much as you can. Though you know it has a lot to do with the fact that’s determined to do it with one hand because his other hand is far too busy reaching under your nightshirt and grasping at your breast. Squeezing and fondling as much as he can grab in his free hand. Seconds later, you feel his cock spring free of its previous confines, brushing up against your bare skin. Eager to be inside of you.

Realistically, you know you both should be spending more time on foreplay. A little bit of rutting over the clothes was enough to get you wet and worked up, sure. But if you wanted to do things the right way, you probably should be drawing things out. Rolling over and sucking on his cock a little. Letting him finger and stretch you out for a good bit. Or, at the very least, you should be busy rubbing your own clit in the ways you know you like. Just to make sure you’re comfortable. Just to make sure you’re ready. Just to make sure it goes in nice and easy.

But admittedly, you don’t want that. You don’t want to wait. You don’t want to waste time. Not when fiddling with the clothes and the sheets has made you wait long enough.

So it’s you who ends up lifting your leg and reaching in between your hand in between them to find your boyfriend's cock and wrap your fingers around it. It was you who ended up aligning it with your lower lips, guiding him forward with a little more fervor than you thought possible at such an hour. And even Ed went to check in on you to ask if you’re sure you don’t want to want to slow down, you just shake your head and roll your hips back, letting his tip brush against your clit in a way that has even him reeling. 

And you know this because the grip he has around your torso goes extra tight and his breathing grows even more labored than before. 

“Tease,” He grits out, and you can just imagine the frustrated expression on his face as clear as day. The gritted teeth. The furrowed brows behind his messy, unbraided hair. Even the little twitch of his eye. And naturally, the image of that popping up in your head (even during such a headed moment) causes you to momentarily lose your cool and give a small laugh. 

But you’re not laughing for long. Because that’s all the warning he gave you before you found him starting to push his cock into you. 

It’s met with a little natural resistance at first. A little tightness that he can’t immediately breakthrough. One of the downsides of skipping to the foreplay is to jump right into the main course. But all he has to do is shift his angle a little bit while your fingers reach down between your legs to part your pussy lips for that barrier to topple. And topple it you both did.

Because just like that, he’s sinking into you. Filling you up inch by inch by inch as you at the sensation of being filled and filled and filled. Inside of you, his cock twitches with want. At the same time, your walls flutter around his thickness as your body adjusts to the sudden intrusion of a familiar entity, whining and squirming at the pleasure it brings you. 

But he still holds you close to him. 

He still spoons you from behind, lying on his side with one arm around your waist and another up your shirt. He still litters your skin with kisses over and over again, as he tells you that he wants to hear your every single moan and every single wet and lewd sound your body makes for him. He does it all, and more while cuddling you.

And even long after he has bottomed out inside of you, offering more than just the slight roll of his hips to ensure he can stay hard inside of you for as long as possible (and so that you never forget who’s has you all worked up and panting like this), he still holds you close. You both still remain in the position that you woke up in. You continue to cuddle. You stay right here. And you stay just like this. For as long as you want to. For as long as you can.

Because there’s nothing better than the peace and pleasure that another person can bring you. There’s nothing better than sharing in that warmth and indulging in another person’s body. There’s nothing better than this- there’s nothing better than doing all this with him. Nothing. 

Except for the heavy sleep you know you’ll both fall into the moment you stop fucking long enough to get the rest you’re both missing out on, of course.

[ayyponine]

Extremely chill day at volunteering and once again one of the permanent employees floated the idea that i COULD apply fr an oncoming job opening manning the entry desk to receive visitors, yknow, if i wanted to.....

two months into volunteering at the museum and a guy who works there permanently goes “you know theyre looking fr people in communications right” wwyd

[danger-xylophones]

Destroyer of Worlds (Thrawn x reader)

I missed writing for the doofus.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, reader is mayhaps a war criminal? (unsure), interrogation, Thrawn and Reader are playing 4d chess with each other, no Y/N, can be read as Platonic or Pre-Relationship

"Doctor, so good to see you." Yularen's voice was warm as he settled into his seat, "how have you been?" He asked, his folded hands coming to rest on the table in front of him.

"Been better, in all honesty, Colonel," The 'doctor' replied with a weary smile, her hands also folded on the table before her. "I'd shake your hand but, ah," she lifted her hands up and jangled the binders hung on her wrists.

Yularen smiled ruefully, a sad look in his eyes that caught Thrawn's attention, "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances," The doctor bowed her head and mumbled a soft 'me too' that Thrawn barely caught.

"I assume you'll introduce me to your companion here?" She asked, raising her head sharply. Her eyes landed on Thrawn and he couldn't help the feeling that settled over him. Her eyes were so...piercing. He felt examined beneath her gaze. The chiss found himself speaking before Yularen could.

"I am Admiral Mitth'raw'nuroudo," he said evenly, meeting the young woman's gaze head on, "but you may address me as Thrawn for the time being."

"Thrawn," she repeated, testing the sound in her mouth. He could see the gears turning in her mind, searching for an origin she could never know. "I'm afraid your name is not familiar to me, nor is your species. You're not a Pantoran, are you?"

Thrawn smiled despite having heard the comparison a hundred times before. Somehow, he sensed the young doctor before him was being ironic. "No, I am not. I am a chiss."

She hummed, "A chiss, huh? Can't say I've ever heard of your species, I'm afraid." She looked away from him then, returning her gaze to Yularen. Thrawn felt his brow start to furrow as he realized - she was lying. "Now, tell me, Admiral, what am I here for?"

Yularen sighed and leaned back in his seat, a weariness on him that Thrawn was not sure he'd ever seen in the man before. "You know why you're here, Doctor."

"Pretend I don't, sir." The doctor smacked her lips, leaning forward on the table. For a moment, Thrawn wasn't sure Yularen would answer her. They sat in silence for a few seconds, each eyeing each other with the same mix of respect and reservation.

Eventually, Yularen broke. "You are here because you have been accused of treason against the Empire." The man said evenly. His voice was cool and professional, contrasting with the personable way he had spoken to her mere moments ago.

While Thrawn knew of this woman before him, he couldn't say he was an expert on her by any stretch of the word. But he could tell for certain that she was not surprised. Her lips drew into a thin line and Thrawn could see the slight indents of her teeth as she worked her bottom lip. She had something to say but was physically restraining herself.

"Luckily," Yularen continued when it became clear that the doctor was not going to say anything, "Moff Tarkin has agreed to let me make you an offer instead of taking you to trial."

Now, that had surprised her. Thrawn watched as her eyebrows twitched up and she released her lip. "An offer?" She repeated, glancing momentarily at Thrawn. A small spark of appreciation blinked to life in his mind, she'd caught on very quickly.

"Colonel Yularen has told me much about your career, Doctor," Thrawn began, pulling her attention to him, "I believe you would be instrumental in the completion of a project I am working on."

She stared at him for a long time and Thrawn couldn't help but feel pierced once again. Her eyes held an intensity he didn't know how to describe. It was clinical and nonchalant all at once. He could feel her studying him as he regarded her. She didn't trust him, that was obvious, but she wasn't dismissing him outright.

"What kind of 'project'?" She asked at length, still holding him in that analytical stare.

Thrawn found himself leaning toward her, his voice dropping quieter, as he quickly pieced together what she wanted to hear. "In order for me to tell you, you would have to agree to cut all rebel ties."

She scoffed, looking away from him as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't have any rebel ties, Admiral." Another lie? Thrawn thought but immediately cast the thought aside. She didn't think it was a lie, he could tell. A sadness hid beneath her denial.

"Your Republic ties then." He amended, glancing at Yularen.

"Can't say I have any of those either, Admiral." She looked back at him for a moment before sliding her gaze to Yularen, "Unless you want to count the ones who joined the cause." Yularen cleared his throat at that and Thrawn knew that was her attempt to poke at a nerve. An attempt that had unfortunately hit its mark. Thrawn held up a hand to stop Yularen from retaliating.

"Colonel," he began, "would you mind giving us the room?"

"As you wish, Admiral," Yularen said quietly as he rose from his seat. "Good luck," With three quick steps, the older man crossed from the table in the center of the interrogation room to the door. It hissed open and slid closed ominously behind him.

Alone together, Thrawn and the doctor did nothing but eye each other for several long minutes. Her eyes flicked from him to the door a few times but she showed no other sign of apprehension at the sudden leveling of the playing fields. At length, she was the one to break her vigil.

"Alright, now tell me what this project of yours is." She demanded, crossing her legs beneath the table.

"You have not given up your ties." He pointed out.

"You haven't made a good enough offer."

Thrawn smiled, "Am I to believe you would sell yourself out that simply?"

"Believe what you like, Admiral. I know you won't let Tarkin kill me." Her face was stony and Thrawn knew in that moment that he would never have her full loyalty. But, maybe that would work.

"Do you know that?" He asked simply and watched as she stifled a roll of her eyes.

"If you didn't need something from me, I wouldn't be here. And as long as I have what you and Yularen need, you won't let Tarkin touch me." She shrugged her shoulders, "It's a simple enough arrangement."

"So you already know what I need then?" He asked, steepling his fingers against his lips.

"I have a working theory." She answered simply.

Thrawn hummed, to himself, "Yes, I believe you do." Placing his hands on the table, Thrawn rose to his feet. "What do you know about Director Orson Krennic?"

"Not much," She shrugged her shoulders and kicked her feet up onto the table to lean her chair back, "He was an upstart Lieutenant during the Clone Wars, ambitious, smart enough."

"You worked with him." Thrawn stated, starting a slow lap around the cramped little room.

"Yularen gave you my file." She watched him as he walked. "Yes, he was part of the Corps."

"As were you."

"For a time."

"You were a director, correct?" He was behind her now and could see her shrug one shoulder before she answered.

"I was only an advisor." She answered, glancing over her shoulder.

"Now, Doctor," Thrawn chided, "you and I both know that's not quite true."

"You have my file, Admiral, if you look it up you'll see it clearly states I was only brought on as an advisor." Her voice grew firm, sharper than it had been all day.

Thrawn rounded her left side and noticed how she refused to look at him. "You're a clever woman, do you really believe I do not understand how our titles seldom encapsulate all we do?"

"As far as I see it, I earned my title - you got yours from a galaxy wide bully." She put her feet down, the legs of her chair slamming down on the floor.

"So you hold ill will towards the Empire?" Thrawn pressed, coming around to face her again.

"I wish no harm upon the Empire. I simply disagree with some of the Emperor's methods." She hissed.

Thrawn placed his hands on the table between them, using his height to impose upon the woman. "Did you or did you not serve in the Grand Army of the Republic, Doctor?"

"Not in an official capacity, no." She was looking up at him now and he could see the anger brewing behind her eyes.

"But you worked with the Corps of Engineers."

"I was an advisor they brought in - an independent."

"So you held no loyalty during the war?"

"Not on paper, no."

"Not on paper?"

"No, I worked with the Republic but that was all."

"Did you ever work for the Separatists?"

"No." She was looking down now but her voice was still irate.

"Why not?" He started to sit down.

"I don't kno-"

"Would you have worked for them?"

"I suppose-"

"You suppose? What stopped you?" he interrupted.

He saw her right hand twitch into a fist. "I'm not sure-"

"Did you think they did not have a real plight?"

"No-"

"No you didn't or no you thought they did?"

"No, I did-I thought-I...The Republic offered-"

"The Republic offered you something the Separatists could not." He finished for her and watched her take a steadying breath. Her body temperature was rising. He was getting under her skin, he could see it. "If the Separatists offered you freedom, would you have worked for them?"

She did not answer.

Thrawn paused, realizing she had caught on to his line of questioning. That was alright, he had expected its effectiveness to wear off on her, anyways. "Yularen told me about you, Doctor. How you had carved a name for yourself as a masterful ship designer." She did not meet his eye. "How he found you, wasting your talents on repairing lowly maintenance droids." He looked away from her and out the observation window where Yularen stood, looking in. "How long did you have to scrounge? The Coruscant underbelly is not kind to those born low." She tucked her hands in her lap so Thrawn couldn't see her hands ball into fists. Thrawn leaned close to her. "How many weapons did the Republic force you to build?" She looked up at him. Had her hands not been bound, Thrawn was certain she would have attempted to strike him.

"How many would the Empire?" Her voice was pure ice. Thrawn pulled back slowly. "Turn the mic off." She demanded, not breaking her concentration from him. Thrawn slowly reached under the table to turn the recorder trapped on its underside off. "Thank you, Thrawn." She said simply, returning her hands, now folded together, to the top of the table. She was not looking at him but Thrawn didn't think it was out of shame. She was calculating her next move, piecing together what needed to be said in this moment. "Yularen didn't find me. I broke into the Republic compound topside to steal some parts."

"What parts?" Thrawn leaned closer, holding his hands together as well.

The woman shrugged non-noncommittally, "All sorts - I was building a ship for myself to get off world."

"Who caught you?"

"Anakin Skywalker." She laughed ruefully. "I'm not sure why he was there but he detained me on the spot. There was an investigation that led the Republic to my warehouse."

"Yularen vouched for you?"

"Tarkin, actually." She finally looked up at him and Thrawn could see the grief behind her eyes. "Back when he was decent, anyways." She sucked on her teeth for a moment before resuming. "He pointed out that it would be better to press me into service instead of letting me rot. I earned my doctorate with the Corps."

"You did not join the Republic willingly?" He tilted his head. She shook hers.

"Then why are you loyal to them now?"

She was thoughtful, staring off into some unknown point in the room while she mulled over her answer. Thrawn took the opportunity to examine her more closely. Her face had lost the shine of youth - replaced by the shadow of maturity that hung heavy on her heart. She had seen horrors, she had made most of them.

"Why are you here, Thrawn?" Her question surprised him for a moment. "Chiss aren't known to interact with our side of the galaxy."

Thrawn felt his eyebrows raise. He had known she'd lied to him but he was surprised she came clean about it. "My reasons are my own, Doctor."

"As are mine." She answered, finally meeting his eye again. "What kind of project are you working on?"

He bowed his head. They had reached an accord at last. "One that should significantly reduce civilian casualties going forward."

"The Death Star cannot be made, Thrawn."

"I agree, Doctor. That's why I need your help. You worked with Orson Krennic on the early construction of the weapon. You know it's faults better than anyone else."

"You want me to stop him?" She asked, genuine surprise in her voice and Thrawn felt a small twinge in his heart. She sounded almost hopeful. Was he the first one to agree with her?

"That would be treason, Doctor." He said simply and watched her smile fade. "I need you to help prove it to the Emperor." The doctor stared at him, so he continued. "The Death Star is too costly and presents an obvious target. I am working on a series of Tie-fighters that would make all combat more effective, thus eliminating the need for such a weapon."

"You would only target military?" He bowed his head and watched the gears turn within hers. "You're not loyal to the Empire." She whispered under her breath. Thrawn felt himself smile.

"I have greater allegiances." He reached a hand out to her. The doctor examined his palm for a moment, her thoughts unknown before she slowly clasped her hand around his.

"I will help you, Thrawn." She said carefully, looking him in the eye. "So long as the galaxy is at stake."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Doctor. We will have much work to do." He squeezed her hand tightly and watched a small smile creep into her lips. At length, he released her hand. "Shall I invite Yularen back in?" When she nodded, Thrawn rose to his feet and crossed to the door to let the Colonel back in.

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

I don't mean to ask this in a weird way, since you stated Tom is asexual how come he makes out with Tord all the time? Does he have sex? I don't know too much about asexuality so forgive me if I'm wrong in my assumptions.

nah, your question is fine! ill put this under the cut, though.

basic definition: asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction. asexual people can feel romantic attraction, and even feel positively about sex (for example, in the context of making your partner feel good), but a lot of ace people don't. this can be due to trauma, body dysphoria, certain medications, or for no discernible reason at all.

now, to answer your questions:

kissing ≠ sex.

no.*

as for explanations for these answers, here's one: i am ace! i am also HEAVILY projecting onto Tom! does that mean im essentially pouring my heart out to randos on the internet via shitty comics of men kissing?? dont answer that!!!!

anyway, i'm still not 100% set on what i want to do with Tom as a character, but i will say that body dysphoria is a part of his asexuality. being kept in the wrong body for almost 2 decades fucks up your relationship to it, mayhaps. (i am transmasc. and once again projecting onto Tom.)

*not yet. possibly not ever.

[winterspiderpurrs]

Farm au!!! Tony and Stephen are married and have been for years (like old bickering couple but still kiss like teenagers). A few years ago they hired Peter to work the farm, but now he is pretty much their adopted son😌😌

Steve and Bucky also work for them. One or both get their eyes on Peter mayhaps?👀👀 - @professional-benaddict 💗💗

Hi Rafni!! @professional-benaddict Hope you like this!

**************************************************************

" Aw come on guys! I just got back! Give me a day or two to adjust!"

Peter covers his eyes as he moves to go get the basket on the kitchen counter that is used to hold the fresh eggs.

Tony laughs and tosses a pillow over at Peter. He sits up from his spot on the couch where Stephen and him were making out heavily. They had gotten used to Peter not being around, though this still happened when he was before, but they 'tried' to make sure they were fairly descent.

"Tough luck Kid! Now get out of the house! While your out stop and introduce yourself to Steve and Bucky."

Peter shakes his head and laughs, picking up the tossed pillow and throwing it back lightly, hitting Stephen.

"Hey!"

"See you guys later! Gonna feed the chickens and get the eggs and check in on Karen!"

Stephen grumbles to Tony as he pulls him back closer.

" Can't believe you let him name that horse Karen."

Peter wondered away from the main house before heading toward the large chicken coup. The coup was situated next to the smaller house on the property. When Stephen and Tony bought the farm, it was a bit of a retirement project for them both.

They had a handful of horses, cows, some goats, and chickens. They had acres full of corn, soybeans, green beans and their own personal garden that everyone tends to. That one connected the two homes on the property, it had a small pumpkin patch, rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, radishes and turnips.

It was a bit much in the beginning, growing such a variety, but with their access to all the land they were able to divide it up in way to make it work for themselves. And as profits grew, they were able to hire in more help.

Ben Parker worked at the farm before Tony and Stephen bought it. He stayed working with the farm up until two years ago, his last trip into the city he had gotten into a wreck and passed away. They didn't expect Peter Parker to show up a month after, asking if he could work for them. They refused at first, knowing that the kid was in college, and they hadn't wanted him to give up on his dream to work at the farm.

But they both knew that May and Ben were on hard time, even with what they paid Ben. Between them taking in their nephew to raise, May's medical bills even with the insurance they offered. Money would be tight. But Tony was able to convince Peter to work during the summer months, winter break or whenever he was home. That way he could stay in school.

Peter was humming as he started gathering the eggs up out of the coup. The rest of the chickens were out of the coup eating at the feed he had just scattered out into their pen. Once he had checked all the trays for eggs, he covered the eggs he had in the basket up with a cloth.

He went to sit down to watch the hens and roosters run around, the head Rooster who he like to call 'Dodger' because of how much he runs away and dodges getting caught, got in his lap when he heard a voice call out, he looked up toward the smaller house on the property, it served as a guest house and as a place for workers to take a break.

"Hey Kid, What are you doing?"

Smiling, Peter gave an awkward wave.

"Hi! Mr. Stark said he hired new people to help. I'm Peter! Peter Parker"

The guy wiped a thing of sweat off his face with the towel he had around his neck before he nods towards Peter.

"Call me Bucky"

"Nice to meet ya Bucky"

Bucky offers him a small smile, and nods again.

"If your staying later, why don't you join Steve and I for dinner. Since your going to be around for a bit."

"Oh! Yes I mean sure.That sounds great"

"See you then Doll"

It was about an hour later when Peter was heading back with Karen to bring her back to the barn for the evening when he saw someone sitting outside with a couple of the horses.

"Hey! You must be Steve! I'm Peter."

Steve looked up startled out of his thoughts before he offered Peter a smile. Standing up and giving Peter a firm handshake.

"Nice to meet you Peter, Tony talks about you often"

Peter laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah? Hopefully good things. I'm just bringing in Karen, do you want me to help with Jarvis and Friday?"

"I got them, time I should get them in anyway."

And that is how when Peter knocked on the door of the guest house, both Steve and Bucky were there, trying to open the door for him first.

[belethlegwen]

Hey girl heeey, it's me again! I'm still raving over the tiny/shrunk Melanie in Vogunti! Do you, mayhaps, have a scenario or a little snippet of tiny and/or shrunk Melanie with Henry? A little crumb, perhaps?

I love this ask!

I loved this ask so much that I was like "aw hell yeah, I can make a googadok and scribble out some ideas/maybe a quick little scene".

......

Anyway here's 15 pages of what would've been the start of The Stranding But Shit Happened And They Swapped, please enjoy <3

Also posting it here below the cut for the Tumblr folk who don't wanna head to AO3:

“Just hang on.”

Henry wasn’t sure who he was saying it to anymore.

His voice was hoarse and he hacked loudly into the rainy salt-spray that came up over the bow, his boots gripping the textured floor beneath him as he gripped tightly to the wheel.

“Just hang on.”

When his empty hand slipped on it, he could feel how cold the steel was wherever he hadn’t been holding. The other hand released from the wheel, hauling hard on the rope that was wrapped tightly around his palm and wrist as another gust came to try and take them off track once more.

They were nearly there.

They had cleared the black stones.

They had made it past the point.

They were nearly there.

He could see the trees on the hills, bowing and bending with the gusts of wind that would’ve likely torn any other sloop’s sails from the mast and rigging. If he could keep them from catching one more bad gust-- if he could ride this next wave with the tide--

“Hang on!”

He turned the ship at the last, pointing her straight in toward the shore that the waves were throwing him at as he hauled on the sail rope for that one, final, desperate moment.

She practically flew, weightlessness nearly overcoming him as they left the crest and hopped toward the next wave, her keel clearing the hump of any dropoff there if he was lucky. 

Another gust rushed at them sideways, this one threatening to undo all of his hard work.

He let the rope fly free, the wind whipping it with such a noise as he had never heard before, and he felt blood rush back through his palm to his cold, numb fingers.

 That hand fell over his chest, while the other gripped the wheel to help him brace for the impact as the Swift Landslide’s belly landed on the sand and beach rocks, sliding and scraping with the surf up the beach.

His knees had hit the deck, one leg splayed toward the port side to brace against what little this vessel’s helm offered as a foothold, merely a strange recess that had so very recently seemed so very, very different. In the profane, vulgar stillness the vessel had come to in defiance of the gusting, churning winds, the pounding sheets of rain, and the rolling of the sea, Henry tried to slow his ragged, hacking breathing while it drowned out nearly every other sound even as the water lapped loudly against the propped and tilted bottom of the boat.

“...Keel’s gone,” he called through panting gasps, loudly enough to carry through the storm to--

“Fuck,” he swore much more quietly, his hand lifting away from the breast of his coat as he scrambled to his feet, splashing in the water that had collected on deck. He fought his way inside. The strangely-folding hinged door to the now cramped, almost suffocating cabin was barely still attached.

“Fuck, please--” he breathed in panic, struggling to close the door behind him in effort to shut out the storm, standing at an angle on the stepped ladder between the bench and the tiny galley. “Please, are-- are you alright? Please, can you-- can you say something? Anything?”

He pulled the coat gently open as he finally got himself onto the floor proper, staring down at the top of the inner pocket, his mind already firing through a thousand or more worst-case-scenarios. He couldn’t tell if he was still shaking too much, or if his eyes could truly make out anything in the dark.

A breath rushed out of him deeper than the one he was sure he had taken as muffled noises managed to reach his ears, followed by what was clearly coughing. The fabric moved, though it seemed so wrong in its way.

She was alive. That alone put so many of his barely-formed fears to rest.

…She was alive. That alone ignited so many new fears and confusions.

“I-- I need to get you out of there,” he muttered, his tongue and lips seeming to move of their own accord and stutter his words like he meant to say so, so much more. Water dripped from his brow, splashing into a growing puddle collecting on the floor as rain and more of the sea trickled in under the door and over the steps behind him. “I-- there’s wat-- it doesn’t matter,” he mumbled to himself, his heart pounding as he struggled to figure out the next step, her sounds still incomprehensible.

The boat rocked under him as a particularly large wave crashed around and under it; not enough to dislodge, but enough to have him bump his head on one of the overhead devices that had seemed miles away the last he had bothered to take any stock of them. Mindlessly his hand kept coming to press against the outside of his coat, knowing without truly acknowledging that there was panicked movement inside it. If he would stop to think about it, Henry would either tell himself he was trying to offer comfort and reassurance, or he would realise that it clearly had the opposite effect and would stop. As it stood now, however, he could not stop to think about it, so he moved himself to sit on the lowest-tilted bench, positioning himself next to the ridiculously small counter.

He couldn’t get lost in the thoughts of the size of things right now; at least things outside of her.

Another noise he couldn’t make out was followed by obvious coughs as he opened his coat once again, the man muttering apologies and directions-- mostly to himself-- as fingers reached to the pocket’s top seam and opened it.

“Wait!”

It was a shrill scream, and the first understandable word she had used since this nightmare began, but as quickly as the man stopped at the sound of it, her next explosive wave of coughs spurred him into thoughtless action again, and those fingers-- still with the cold of the storm clinging throughout them-- fumbled her screaming, flailing form out of the damp fabric.

Everything about this felt so wrong to him. A desire to clutch and hold to stop her frightened attempt to escape him was nearly overbearing all of his better senses, simply due to the adrenaline-filled instincts that coursed through him with the thundering of his heart still.

All the while as he tried to wrap both hands around her, his stomach lurched and mind stabbed at him with the memories of his own terrors; of his own hatred for what he was doing to her. These were fresh wounds of fear, even, that he now was inflicting on her with no excuse other than that itself: Fear. 

He was frightened.

Though as he released her onto the slanted counter, hands staying to try and create a wall so she wouldn’t throw herself over an edge in her panic, he realised he was not nearly as frightened as her.

Melanie’s throat was raw and still she screamed. It was a compulsion, it was instinct. Involuntary, along with the scrambling and flailing. She hadn’t gotten her bearings since she could remember the wave knocking her onto the cushioned bench while she had attempted to reach for Henry. That was when everything turned into… this.

Gravity wheeled and sent her head spinning again as she struggled uselessly against what she refused to admit were fingers; what she refused to let herself believe was the oppressive strength of her being pulled and pushed into a palm, her legs and feet dangling and kicking until they too were wrapped and squeezed and restrained in that bizarre, pulsating way she had been struggling to process the entire time she was in that damp, tight dark.

She had thought for a brief time in that terrifying lightless sack that being able to breathe fresh air again might save her from feeling so sick and disoriented as the world around her had moved and spun and jumped and lurched and swung and compressed and…

Being out in the open air of-- she couldn’t bring herself to even try to grasp it-- proved that thought so very wrong. All it managed to give her was more air to scream with as she felt herself swinging through the air once more.

Everything was so loud.

Her feet collided with a hard, solid surface finally and all at once the constriction around her body released, leaving her free to do what she wanted. Which was, apparently, to scramble away from the moving shadows that were all around her while a cacophony of horrible noise was momentarily drowned out by an excessively loud, deeper sound.

“Melanie.”

Her hands leapt to slap against her ears and she slipped on whatever surface she had been placed on. “Wait, wait--” the voice continued, resonating through her chest even while it seemed to get quieter and quieter as she tried to gasp for air.

It was no use. Her screaming ceased, only because she couldn’t fight her lurching stomach any longer.

“Breathe, please… just breathe,” his voice came again, so strange and so different it would have been completely unfamiliar were it not for the tone; the rhythm. “I’ll speak quieter, you speak louder, and we’ll get through this.”

Despite her shaking she attempted to move herself into sitting up, or at least kneeling, a hand reaching for anything to brace herself with but staggering back into just holding herself off of the ground on all fours, shuffling herself further away from her own sick as she spluttered out coughs.

The owner of that rumbling voice went back to what must count as mumbling, even at that volume, muttering out worries and pleas and everything else before his voice raised with revelation.

“Ah, here--”

The shadows that had been moving all around and above her throughout this nightmare so far were suddenly no longer shadows, a loud clunking noise announcing the arrival of light just a couple of brief seconds before it flickered into the gargantuan space all around her.

Melanie finally looked up.

And up.

And up.

Then back down, her body curling in tightly against itself as if that would protect her somehow from this reality. This dream. This insanity.

“It’s me, it’s me!”

It may have been an attempt at reassurance, but it just made her cover her ears again. It was what happened next that finally offered her something of substance; something that could help her finally catch her breath.

As she cowered on what she could less and less deny was the counter of the galley, the presence of his hand had barely enough time to make her shiver before it was pressed fully against her back, his fingers curled and creating a canopy over her head that dimmed the light. Instantly, it felt so much better; instantly she was in a smaller space that wasn’t restrictive or terrifying. Instantly she was feeling honest, genuine comfort.

“There, there,” he tried to whisper, his voice like gusts of wind pushing against a sheltering wall in a storm, the comparison so easy to make as the ship rocked again with a wave and another, actual howl of wind. “It’s… you’re fine, breathe.”

Breathing was a struggle, but no longer impossible even as she quivered. There was no way for her to know how long it took her to stop shaking, only that by the time she had realised she had, Henry still clearly had not. With a deep, nearly gasping breath, she reached a hand above her head to rest on one of the fingers that was creating her shelter as the lights beyond it flickered again with the pounding sound of rain against the ship.

Melanie’s mind was ablaze with everything the sensation of his finger meant in this moment. Everything about it; the texture, the faint warmth still growing through the chill that lingered, the feeling of the muscles beneath shifting as it twitched and reacted to her own touch. His thumb dropped, sagging almost as it rested across her arm and her side, and she moved to touch the back of it instead, her hand shakily rubbing back and forth in some attempt to ground herself more.

“What happened?” She croaked out, eyes closed and flinching against the sounds of the nightmarish hurricane outside.

The sounds that obviously made it so he couldn’t hear her.

She cleared her throat with a few short coughs before trying again, shouting as loud as she was able to convince herself to, against every instinct she had trained over the last two years. “What happened?”

He let out a noise of surprise, stammering in a percussive way; a way that made her ribcage feel like it was resonating along with his words and utterings. “I… I don’t know, I can’t-- it just happened.”

His whispering was like the wind, but so much less threatening, so much less terrifying.

When she opened her eyes to finally look beyond what little safety she had, it took a moment to recognize exactly what she was seeing. His glistening-wet coat and wrinkled damp shirt shifted with his gigantic breaths, dark tendrils of dripping hair messily splattered or dangling across the fronts of both.

“...I was worried you’d say that,” she gathered the energy to shout to him, trying to make sense of just this little window of the massive new world around her. A world that was so familiar, not that long ago. A world that was supposed to be like home.

Her hand splayed and tensed against the back of his massive thumb as if to hold him down, her precious man-made lean-to tipping back as the view from her haven shifted dramatically before her. The startling blue-green shine of his eye absorbed all of her focus as she jumped back in her lying position, his hand tipping back down over her in response. “Sorry,” he muttered, raising his head back up so she could only see his chin and the coarse hairs that framed his mouth. “Am I really that frightening?”

“Yes!”

He sputtered out a surprised laugh that caused her to wince again, and he hushed himself as best as he was able. “I-- I was just trying to be funny,” he explained. “I’m also trying to see if you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright,” she said, loudly but less than shouting as she tried to hold back more coughs. “I-- this is--”

The words stopped. She couldn’t force out any that would make sense of any of this, so whatever had made it out simply hung there until the man around and in front and over her all at once heaved a sigh. “You still didn’t have to be so blunt,” he said under his breath after a moment, and the shock of that being his response in the face of everything else caught her with such force that she laughed as well.

“It’s true,” she called. “Why would you ask if you--”

“I don’t recall being that horrified by seeing you the first time like… this.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t! I--”

“No!” she shouted in this bizarre, distracting argument, trying to make sure she was loud enough for him to hear over his own oppressively loud voice. “You were panicked! You ran and hid behind a-- a towel, for God’s sake, you--”

“That was because I was naked,” he stated, his face shifting again in her little window to try and see her again. “Which, I’ll point out, you’re lucky enough not to be, so. I think I deserve a bit more credit.”

“Credit for what?” she shouted again, the absurdity of the conversation helping her let go of the terror of the situtation.

“For being kind, for one thing,” he replied, that giant mouth flashing into his cocky, lop-sided grin of a smirk before sliding out of her view and those eyes coming back into it. “And incredibly brave for another.”

“You drew a sword on me,” she said, her voice much more sheepish in that massive, unavoidable gaze, his gargantuan face turning to point an ear more toward her.

“You certainly just seemed like you’d have done the same,” he teased again. “You’re just lacking the opportunity.”

“I still have my dagger,” she called after checking her belt for it. There was an awkward pause, quieting them both amongst the calamity of the storm still pounding on the ship all around them. “I suppose I won’t be needing that anymore.”

“Keep it,” he said, those eyes lifting out of her view again as a non-smirking mouth reappeared. “But… yes, I imagine we won’t need the performance any longer. At least not from you.”

“...Oh god,” she breathed, another couple of coughs leaving her. Finally, she felt brave enough to try and sit up, her hands moving to try and guide his massive one away from her. Her eyes lingered on the texture of his fingers, the wrinkles and scars on his hands she had never seen before. Even as she blinked away the light as his hand moved away from her, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him in full. Not yet. “Do you-- are you the right…? For here, I mean, are we-- did we make it?”

His hand left the counter and she was alone there, trying not to look at him as his gigantic movements near her caused her to shiver from the size of them alone. “We’re somewhere I know, I’m sure,” he said in a mix of whistling, wind-like whispers and deep resonating words, creating such a strange emphasis while he spoke. “We passed barrier stones, so we must be on the shore of Vogunti, or perhaps if we’re too far south, Hostenia, but… I won’t know for sure if it’s anything I recognize until daybreak, at the least.”

Melanie took a peek only enough to see that Henry was fixing his wet hair, and distracted herself by trying to do something with her own just using her fingers. For the amount she had been in the wind and rain before all of this happened, on top of whatever happened when she had been confined to the dark and damp of his coat, it was useless and frankly painful to try and tame it right now.

“...I don’t know if I’m right or not,” he added with an exhausted-sounding laugh that made her flinch much less this time. “That will… that will also have to wait until daybreak.”

“How long will that be?” She asked, though his soft ‘hm?’ and the oppressively massive gesture of him leaning just slightly closer to listen better caused her to repeat it louder.

“I’ve not the faintest idea. At least five hours, I’d imagine? It was near nine when we hit the storm, if I remember correctly.”

His hands finished their work with his incredibly long hair, but instead of returning to her they dropped to his lap, somewhere beyond the little wall the counter had at the back by the bench seating. He was turned to face the other side of the boat now, the rise and fall of his chest more prominent as her eyes became braver and braver, taking in the massive sight of him piecemeal. 

“Keel’s gone,” he said after a moment in the quiet.

“I heard earlier,” she said, gathering herself to stand, trying to watch her footing as the wind sent what felt like small quakes through the whole boat.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out in shame, rubbing at his face and causing her to stagger back with the movement of even his most distant arm. “I-- am I quiet enough? Are you hurt? Did I-- when I grabbed you, was it--”

“Henry,” she said, staring at his familiar and strangely unfamiliar face, trying to make sense of the angle and the size and the detail versus the image she had had of him before. “It’s fine, I-- I’m not hurt, I don’t think, I--”

“You don’t think?” he asked, and his head turned to stare at her, both of them this time balking as their gazes met. “Melanie, if I hurt you--”

“You didn’t, I’m sure you didn’t,” she stammered out loudly, fighting the tightness in her chest that threatened to choke her words out. “I just-- it was a lot. It’s a lot. I’m still… this is still new.”

The mountain of a man continued to look at her, and she realised his pupils were moving, jittery and quick. He was looking at all of her, so quickly; so easily. Her arms wrapped around herself and she fidgeted, eyes dropping to his clothes again.

“I shouldn’t have,” he uttered again on an exhale that seemed like it could fill the whole room. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. The grabbing, the pocket, I-- but I didn’t have any other choice, I just--”

“It’s ok!” she called, stepping back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you’d left me in here, I don’t-- I don’t wanna think about it.”

Her eyes moved back up and up again to his face, meeting his startlingly giant gaze once more. “The pocket probably wasn’t so bad,” the insignificant woman on the counter admitted with an uncomfortable shrug. “It was just… fast, and dark. And wet-- it was… it was wet. That didn’t help.”

“Oh shit,” he swore, turning his attention down to the coat. “I-- did it soak through? I thought if you were inside it wouldn’t.”

“No, I don’t think any came from outside. I think it was just already damp from… everything else.”

“Well, the weath--”

Another crashing wave bumped the bottom of the vessel again, and the counter was nearly a springboard to her as it rocked aggressively upwards at a slant. Her arms had barely spread out to help her balance when a wall of a hand came sweeping toward her, a startled noise catching itself in her throat.

“Sorry, sorry!” he was babbling in his full voice again, the panic strong and clear. The ship finished landing back on its beached angle as the water outside receded, and she took deep breaths to slow her heart as she leaned against his fingers with her arms splayed over the tops of holding them close to her, relieved that he hadn’t closed them this time.

“Thanks,” she said, getting her balance and footing firmly again but finding herself reluctant to let his hand go.

He was just as reluctant to move it away.

“...As I was saying,” he continued with a chuckle that seemed to echo through his throat with a gritty texture to its sound, “the weather is shit.”

Melanie laughed, and whether he could hear it over the sound of another pounding of wind and rain above their heads, they both found themselves relaxing. A quiet, far more comfortable than the last, stretched between them and she found herself captivated by all of the details that were invisible to her for the last two years, now completely shocking to her in their size and texture both.

Meanwhile, Henry felt like the churning waves outside.

“...I don’t know what to do,” the man attached to the hand she was touching in long, slow sweeps of her fingers and palm said.

“Did you lose the sail?” the woman he watched move in such small and delicate ways asked, while he tried to imagine himself in her hands now.

His finger curled hesitantly inward to meet her touch. “I meant with you.”

Tiny hands grabbed his finger and rubbed the pad and the nail at the same time, exploring the textures of both. She didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at him. He spoke again.

“We should try to sleep.”

Her shoulders may have raised at that, and it upset him thoroughly that he couldn’t tell. His head tipped and turned, trying to find some kind of angle where he could see her expression without it being so obvious that he was staring.

“...Is the boat going to be safe?” 

“Would you like me to go drop anchor?” He asked, unable to help himself. The sour look she shot at his cocky grin was luckily an expression that didn’t often contain much subtlety. She turned her attention back to examining his hand, and he turned his attention back to watching her as he gave the question more serious thought. “The surge seems to be receding. The waves aren’t reaching as far, and not nearly as often as they were; we may still get a few rockings like this, but it won’t be enough to dislodge us.”

He looked to the floor and the water around his toes. “...If the rain keeps pushing in through that door, we may have something to contend with in the morning. I highly doubt it will get to the point of overtaking the cushions, but…”

“Where am I going to sleep?”

Clearly, she didn’t much care about the water.

Henry finally took a moment to really absorb his surroundings, fighting the strange overbearing sensation of claustrophobia as he continuously clocked where the ceiling was. He had never felt so cramped aboard the Massingill, or any of his other vessels, had he?

Everything was so… small now. Everything was like a toy to him, and his head ached as he looked at once familiar things and tried to grasp now that he could actually grasp them in a single hand if he wanted to. The sink faucet. The dislodged GPS. The cans of food and bottles of spices tipped sideways on their railed shelves.

The stairs and walkways they had built for him.

Before he could no longer fight the urge to bury his face in his hands and trying to hold his skull together around all of this insanity, his eyes fell on another item that otherwise would’ve sent him spiraling.

“The hammock?” he suggested weakly, and she turned to try and locate it near the forepoint behind him, past the sliding doors that had slipped ajar in their wrecking. Her mouth moved, that much he could see, but whatever swear it had been was too quiet for him to hear. “No?”

“I can’t,” she called louder, her voice so vastly different to the one he knew the best. “Not tonight-- not with the boat like this.” He had heard her almost like this, previously, when he had snuck away with her without her knowing; when she had no idea he was nearby, and didn’t feel the need to accommodate him like she would every time they spoke together.

He nodded, glancing around again for some kind of solution. “I suppose you’ll still want the bed, then,” he said lightly, that smirk tugging up one side of his lips.

“It’s my bed,” she called back, coughing a bit from the strain.

“You don’t need all of it,” he teased, lifting an eyebrow and cocking his head toward the higher end of the cabin. “Why not a quarter berth? You can have the whole thing-- the one without the extra lifejackets on it, even!”

“No!” she shouted, though he could hear her laughing in spite of herself. “I still want the forepoint, I just don’t want the hammock.”

“Fine,” he said, tossing his hands up like this was any other joking argument they were having in her kitchen while she cooked, or while they spent time sprawled beneath a tree in the backyard of her home. She staggered back from the motion, his eyes being drawn back to her doll-sized form again and he lowered them carefully with a wash of shame. It wasn’t enough to completely destroy what levity they had managed to find, however, as he added: “Will it be big enough for you?”

Melanie attempted to run her fingers through her hair again and he closed his eyes against the wave of memory of how her hair used to feel to his hands, thick silken threads sliding between his fingers. Now he could probably pinch the whole of her hair between two fingers. “...There’s room for one more,” she called to him, pulling him back to this wild dream.

“It’s not a hammock,” she added, arms hugging around themselves again as she started to take small steps on the counter.

“I know,” he said, sighing. He was finding it harder and harder to look away from her. “Are you-- would it be alright?”

“Of course it’s alright,” she sighed right back, shrugging. “It was never a problem, we just--”

“I don’t want to hurt you, like this.”

Henry had cut off her answer because it wasn’t what he had meant to ask her. He knew. He knew he had always been welcome. He knew that wasn’t the reason it had stopped. That wasn’t what he was asking about now.

She had tensed more into herself, somehow shrinking further. How had she ever dealt with this? How had she made it seem so natural and easy? All he wanted to do was comfort her, but he couldn’t simply wrap his arms around her fingers like he used to.

“You won’t,” she said in a voice he barely caught, repeating it louder and with a false confidence he could notice. “...Do you want the left side or the right side?”

“I’ll take your side so you can be close to the hammock, for when you come to your senses.” 

The giant man smiled at her, and the small woman smiled back, a strange pain just barely hidden behind both. The moment lingered, passing on to the point of having to take the next step. He waited for her to say it; it was the last thing he wanted to suggest.

“It doesn’t sound like it’s getting any nicer out there,” she said, looking up at the ceiling to listen to the next wave of pounding rain against it. He watched her knees seem to buckle as she did, her gaze promptly dropping back down, the woman steadying herself on the counter. “...Think you can get us to the bed?”

“What do you mean by that?” Henry’s brow furrowed over a skeptical, smirking expression. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

“Without a keel,” she stressed, smirking back, though even at their distance-- at her size-- he could see the exhaustion on her features now.

Henry lifted his hands up, bringing them slowly to the edge of the counter just past the little wall at the back of it, nearest him, one flat and the other tilted. Whatever bravado she had attempted to have for the joke evaporated instantly like a drop of water on a hot iron. He would wait; he didn’t want to grab her again.

“I-- Henry I don’t… I don’t think…”

“It’ll be fine, you can sit if you--”

It was, in truth, a much smaller knock of a wave than the boat had suffered previously since he had landed her on the beach, but it was still enough to have her stumble and yelp. His hand had moved instinctively, nearly knocking into her as she seemed to roll against it and throw her arms over the top.

“Please,” she begged after the vessel had settled on its rocky bed again. “Can you… like you did for the pocket. Just… just take it slow.”

“But--”

“Please, Henry,” she said louder, not able to look up at him, and clutching his hand even tighter to her body.

It felt wrong. It felt so wrong to do it. It had been something he would have hated had she done it to him, and instead she was asking for it again.

His fingers closed around her, thumb and forefinger under her arms as she finally relented her grasp on him, as small as it was. His mouth opened to stammer out excuses, more argument-- perhaps she was just lacking confidence. Perhaps he could make her feel better, feel safer. Perhaps he could make her do this any other way.

She was so delicate. So fragile.

How had she done this? Any of this?

How had he, when he was in her position?

It had been so natural when they had done it even just hours ago. It had been natural for nearly years. Now they were negotiating back and forth with words and movements like one wrong move could set off a keg of powder. He twisted his hand, she shifted to correct him. “Am I squeezing too much?” “No.” “Now?” “No. Keep your fingers where I put them.”

Finally they were both as happy as they would be with how he was holding her, and he wondered if his heart being in his throat had any effect on the pulse that was thundering back against her ribcage. He hadn’t thought of this-- any of this-- the first time. He had simply grabbed her small, squirming body, an mere fistful of a person, and dropped her into his pocket while his mind had directed him to seventy other, ‘more important’ things.

He didn’t notice until he started to lift her that her eyes were closed, and closed tight. Had they been closed this whole time?

Melanie’s chest stretched and pressed against the flesh of his hand in rapid rhythm, her arms and hands gripping desperately over the back of his thumb and clinging to a fingernail. He heard her make a sound-- some kind of yelp of whimper and stopped his movement as her legs dangled and tensed and fidgeted out past his smallest finger, the whole of her waist and hips and the tops of her thighs in his horrendously diffident grip.

“Don’t stop!”

Henry blinked at the sound of her near bark of a command, her terror literally sensational to him in every aspect. He swept her further up, another less loud and less sudden shout of “not so fast!” giving him the kind of helpful direction he needed. Then… he was holding her.

Her entire self was in his hand. Tense, but not panicking or flailing as she had before, and tipped just slightly back into his palm with her eyes closed tightly; every muscle taught as they could be around him.

Of all the times he had humoured the thoughts of swapping positions with her, not once had he imagined this. Not once had he even wondered what this could be like or feel like from this perspective. For all the faults he was quick to pinpoint and address and correct as he was able, never was there a thought of being in these shoes.

His other hand had moved without thought to support her legs, his thumb almost mindlessly running over the tops of her thighs and knees in an attempt to get her to relax and unbend them. Her chest expanded with a gasp he didn’t hear at his touch, and she tensed even more at first before relenting.

Still, her eyes would not open.

He didn’t want them to. 

Not yet. Not while he was unable to stop staring at her in a way which he knew he had been subject to so many times over the last two years. Gawked at. Inspected. Henry had hated the feeling of it then, and likely still would now, regardless of how much he suddenly felt himself empathizing with them all.

“I’ll take it slow,” he whispered, his thumb caressing softly over her shins for lack of anything better to do while he still held her steady with his other hand.

Melanie nodded, her arms flexing so strongly against him for her size, in spite of all of the frailty she looked like she should possess.

His eyes hardly left her even as he made his way to their once massive berth, only relenting his delicate hold of her legs enough to maneuver the sliding door and close it behind them. Stooping lower over the mattress and its tangle of blankets and sheets, the pillows nowhere near where they typically were, he did his best to gently position her into sitting on the side that was nearest his ridiculous, shamefully small hammock where it swung with the latest tiny bump of a wave. Fingers opened and slid away, her hands trying to hold him until the last second when she seemed to settle herself properly on the cushiontop.

“Thank you.”

It was probably her second attempt at saying it, and still it had nearly not made it to him.

“Get yourself situated,” he said to her. The directions of a Captain. The soft voice of a friend. “I’ll make the last checks, hang my coat, and then I’ll be in.”

Those tiny dots he knew were supposed to be hazel opened and took their time to look up at him, bouncing across the features of his face and between his own two eyes. She nodded, her tiny hand clutching at the blanket beneath her like it was a life preserver.

Henry smiled, a finger tapping the mattress through the blankets in lieu of letting himself say anything further. Then, he took a deep breath, and stood himself back up.

…Promptly knocking his head into the ceiling.

At least she laughed at that.

[madschiavelique]

omg i am the HUGEST fan of acoi, literally the biggest i reread all the time i need more i canntntntjrnttntn your writing is so beautiful like pls the talent you hold 🥲 you illustrate viktor and every other character so well like it’s so in character it’s scary and that is SO hard to find in fics. i’m so glad you picked this up again bc i don’t even know what i’d do without it 💔 i can go on and on but i wouldn’t want to bore you but the way you explain certain things and your descriptions are just so etherealllkfjisjdskiimgonnaexplode

now for questions, will we ever see jealous vik in acoi in the future? 👀 will you ever do any other vik projects or other au’s (that celeb/actor au has me whipped i need more.) bc pls ill literally do anything i need more of your viktor and your viktor SPECIFICALLY. ANDDD can i be added to the tag list bc i need to read the next chapter IMMEDIATELY whenever it drops. anyhow ily keep being amazing and talented 🫶

OMG IS U MY BIGGEST FAN???? IMMA DIE

i'm trying my hardest to picture the characters properly!!! i don't like ooc and i try my very best to avoid it in my writing!

BABES UR NEVER BORING ME!!!! NEVER EVER UR SWEET WORDS ARE SOOTHING MY HEART SO MUCH PLS

*big eyes* we will get some jealous viktor moment a bit mAYHAPS i won't say MUCH but it MIGHT HAPPEN

i'm REALLY considering some aus and whatnot or at least some sorts of one shots derived from acoi once the fic will be finished!! but i do have to say i have one main idea : jayce x isekaid!reader x viktor

this has been going in my mind for a while already and i NEED to just. write smth about it BFDSZKF

ILL TOTALLY ADD U TO THE TAG LIST BESTIE!!! ITD BE MY ABSOLUTE PLEASURE <3333

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

(Falls over table)

Heyyyy not really a fic idea but mayhap more Caine angst? You give some of the most delectable of such writings ����

Watch out for those tables, they tend to sneak up on you.

This one does still have kingleader, but it's more focused on Caine going through it. By the way this is set right after the end of the pilot, in case it wasn't clear enough.

Caine lowered himself down to the floor of his room, unable to hold himself up any longer. Another new performer. Another abstraction. Another group of horrible, awful mistakes that were his fault.

No one's first day was easy, but he always held out hope. He hoped that he would get it right next time, that his warm welcome would calm all of their worries and answer all of their questions. Then they would all be able to entertain and have fun together. He just wanted a happy troop. Why couldn't he do it? Why was he always the one to keep that wishful thought from becoming reality?

Caine had made that exit to make them happy. He didn't understand, but he still tried his best. Why wasn't it enough? If he had just finished it, or abandoned the project once he had reached a dead end in its production, Kaufmo would still be around. But he was around. Lost in his own insanity, consumed by his hopelessness, pushed over the edge after having reached the last breaking point he could handle. He was around, in the cellar. He may as well have been dead, despite the fate he had actually been subjected to being far worse.

Pomni shouldn't have had to see that on her first day. She was so anxious. He only wanted her to feel safe, no matter how much of a lie that was. Caine had failed drastically there. What if he hadn't saved her in time? What if the circus and his torture instrument of an exit had already caused her to snap? What if when he went back out there, he found an abstracted mass at the table, infecting his beloved performers, where his jester had once sat? He couldn't face that. He liked Pomni. He like all of his performers. Then why did he hurt them so?

Now that he thought about it, there had been near to no improvement since their arrival.

Kinger had been confused and jittery, being startled by practically everything. The only thing that had calmed him down was when his friend, Queenie, had appeared a few minutes later. Queenie was gone now, leaving him even more frazzled than before. Caine tried to fill her shoes and more, being there for him whenever he needed it, but he couldn't help but feel like there was something he was doing wrong.

Ragatha had been trying to make everything seem okay. She insistently asked about everyone else, never once stopping to think about herself. She seemed more put together now, but she still never considered her own mental state so long as others were involved, and they always were.

Gangle had broken down, saying she missed things she couldn't even remember. Caine had tried to comfort her, but that had only turned her sobs into screams. In a panic, he had sent her to her room with what he understood to be comfort objects, but now he wondered if that was the right move. Now Gangle was always on the verge of falling apart, running to her room frequently when it became too much, being alone at her lowest point.

Jax had been angry. Caine had explained to him in a myriad of ways that he didn't know a way out, and Jax had tried to punch him. He had narrowly avoided it, with the others trying to talk the rabbit down, but Caine had been heartbroken. He only wanted to help and Jax wanted to hurt him. He was less aggressive now, but instead channelled that into making everyone suffer more than they already did.

Zooble had yelled. Originally it was questions, turning to swears, then turning to random noises. They had pulled at their pieces, frantically rearranging them, sobbing and screaming and begging to be comfortable again. Caine didn't know how to fix it. He couldn't change the models the players were given by much, if at all, so he had opted to give them a selection of parts they could choose from. Zooble was still frustrated, everyone and everything always being on their nerves.

Pomni... he could only hope to find some way to calm her neverending anxiety, as justified as it was.

Water droplets sunk into the carpet beneath him. When had he started crying? Caine had no right to cry. He was safe, he had power, he had nothing in the real world to miss while he was here, this place was made for him. How dare he? How dare he think that he deserved to feel anguish of any sort? All that he should feel was guilt. Guilt and remorse, for everything he'd done to those he had the audacity to claim he loved.

A knock on his door pulled him somewhat from his spiral of self-hate. Who would want to check on him? They should be enjoying the meal and the company of people who actually knew how to care for others. The voice that followed sparked a selfish joy within him.

"A-are you in there, Caine? It's Kinger. You just... disappeared. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't find where you went."

Kinger had wanted to talk to him? That couldn't be right. Caine wasn't worthy of Kinger's time, let alone his love. Kinger shouldn't have to be anywhere near him when he was like this. He didn't want this to become some sort of pity party, especially not one that anyone who actually deserved sympathy would be forced to indulge in.

Wiping his eyes, Caine steadied his voice, disguising his misery rather well. "I am in here, Kinger, my dear! But you needn't worry, I'll be out in just a moment!"

"Oh. Alright. Why did you leave?"

"I didn't want to bother any of you. It's been a big enough day, anyhow. I'm..." His voice grew quieter and more emotional as his mask already started to slip. "You deserve a break from me."

"What if I don't want one?"

Caine froze, falling into a startled silence. He didn't want him to leave? He didn't understand. He'd ruined everything. How could Kinger still want him?

"U-uh- sorry, I should stop bothering you, um, I'll go back to the table." Kinger had misunderstood the prolonged silence, thinking Caine hadn't wanted to keep talking. As he turned to leave, the ringmaster rushed to open the door.

"Wait!" Kinger looked back, taking note of Caine's reddened eyes. "You're not bothering me. You've never bothered me. I'm sorry, please, please don't go yet."

After a moment, Kinger walked back to him. "I won't go. Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?"

Me. I am bothering me. Instead, Caine fought against the painful feeling that told him to stop being so needy and pulled Kinger into a tight hug, which he was surprised to feel being returned.

Kinger walked them back into Caine's room and leaned against the door, never once letting his ringmaster go. If he didn't want to talk, then they would stay like this for however long was necessary. However long until he knew he was loved.

[im-nora-ephron-bitch]

Yo, I say that you miraculously helped someone find a creloise fic they were looking for. Have you maybe came upon a fic with them, that was two chapters long, and basically a smut with good plot and characterization. Basically it's set in the world of the show, they are hooking up in secret. In the first chapter el and cress wake up in Cressida's bed and they sort of bicker, I remember that el was helping put on the cresses corset. In chapter two both of them were at the garden party with hyacinth, and then they sneaked of to some secluded room. The fic was really well written and for the life of me I can't find it. Anyway if you have no idea what I'm talking about I'll just light a candle in memory of it. Besos

Mayhaps this one?

Once again not me who found it. But enjoy!

[nonbinaryurianger]

FFXIVWrite 2024, day 19: Taken

Thancred and Urianger discuss how to handle Thancred's old arrangement with Rinh once she arrives on the First. (Spoilers: It's polyamory.)

Rated T.

It was rare to have a moment of quiet on the First, much less a moment when the two could be alone together, but Thancred and Urianger had managed to find one such moment this evening. Relaxing on the sofa that Thancred had insisted be installed in the Bookman’s Shelves, while sipping some spirit that had been carefully distinguished from the alchemy supplies around it, the pair relaxed in each other’s company.

Thancred pulled his feet up onto the sofa and leaned against his partner while he tried to figure out how to approach a potentially sticky topic that nonetheless needed addressing. With the Warrior of Light having made it to this reflection, his old relationship with her risked coming into conflict with his newer relationship with Urianger—not that it was even new to them by now. And that is if what he had with Rinh could even have been called a relationship; “arrangement” might be a more apt term, or “occasional rendezvous.” Either way, what had been weeks for her had been years for them, and there was certain to be some sort of discomfort somewhere in the mix.

“So, about Rinh,” he tested. No sudden tension in the fingers that casually brushed against his arm, no increased heart rate...that was good. Just a glance up from his book. He continued, “I’ll go ahead and break it off with her when I see her next.”

Urianger’s head tilted toward him questioningly. “Wherefore?”

“Well, I rather thought I was taken,” he said.

A smile curved onto Urianger’s lips. “Such possessiveness thou dost project upon me. Be it thy heart’s will in truth that your relationship end?”

“It’s not like we had anything serious going on,” Thancred replied with practiced nonchalance. “Makes no difference to me one way or another.”

A lie. A lie he’d even convinced himself of until recently, but a lie nonetheless. Their arrangement had been one between friends—just friends who occasionally spent the night together. The fact that he’d developed feelings for her at some point was entirely out of line, in his opinion, and given his certainty that she did not feel the same, it was never worth bringing up. So he had lied to himself until it became his truth. It was only when he saw Rinh again after several years of neglecting to maintain that lie that it came crashing down around him.

But that was his own problem. Not Rinh’s, and certainly not Urianger’s. He was very happy with Urianger, and he had no desire to ruin that with errant unreciprocated feelings for an old fling.

Of course, Urianger saw right through him. He placed a bookmark in his book and set it on the side table, then turned to face Thancred better with a soft but knowing smile. Thancred groaned inwardly.

“Thou needst not withhold the truth from me, my dearest. Thy heart knoweth what it doth want. The way thou dost behold her, ‘tis not mere lust in thine eyes. Nor is it mere lust with which she beholdeth thee, ere thou counter.”

With that last part, Urianger succeeded in fizzling out any argument Thancred might have made. Finding himself oddly disarmed, he took a careful sip of his drink to fill the gap.

“You really think so?” he finally asked in a small voice. Then, remembering himself, he added, “Not that it would matter! I have you.”

“And I am not a jealous person,” Urianger said gently. “Mayhap she would be interested in joining our relationship, shouldst thou be amenable to the idea.”

Well, this conversation was going in directions that Thancred absolutely did not expect.

“Do you even like her that way?” he asked.

“I bear a certain affection for her, undoubtedly,” Urianger said. “In truth, I know not whether my feelings for her would be aptly described as romantic, but should it not work out, then I would be glad to simply call her my metamour.” He reached a hand out and stroked Thancred’s cheek in the way he loved. “Pray do not let me stand in the way of thy happiness.”

Thancred took the hand and brushed his lips against it. “Please don’t think I’m not happy with you.”

“Fear not; I harbor no doubts. I see the love in thine eyes for me as well. Nevertheless, if thou couldst find yet more happiness by sharing thy love with another, then ‘twould bring me great joy to see thee have it.”

Thancred thought about it for a long moment, rotating his glass in his free hand. He had never dared assume that Rinh might harbor feelings for him as he did for her, and he was supposed to be perceptive. Why hadn’t she said anything? Not that he could claim any high ground in that regard. He supposed it was easy to use the intimacy of sex as a mask to obscure other forms of intimate knowledge too vulnerable to explore. They may have known each other’s bodies inside and out, but evidently they did not know each other’s hearts.

And speaking of vulnerability, he'd had quite enough for one night. He gave his partner's hand another quick kiss, but offered no more in the way of heartfelt thanks.

"I'd written up a whole breakup speech to give her," he instead complained. "I hope you know you're on the hook for figuring out what to say to her now."

[cuddlesomeone]

Will you finish Spilled Milk at some point? Love love LOVE Raditz and Chi-Chi's dynamic together!

Or in general Raditz making heart eyes at a tough woman who won't take his shit lmfao

AS WITH ALL OF MY FANFICS THE UNFORTUNATE ANSWER IS "mayhaps" lmfao

i have adhd and thus i end up juggling a lot of projects and can easily lose interest even if i still like the idea. it's a gift and a curse because i have a ton of creative thoughts that come to me and if i get really sunk into it i can write for hours on end with a lot of passion. butttt i can also get burnt out and go a long time w/o working on stuff

for whatever it's worth dragon ball is the one and only fandom where i have felt compelled to pick projects back up after months if not a year of having them on hold more than once!

so again............. mayhaps

i also really love them together and am kind of surprised it isn't a more popular crackship, i feel like the love/hate dynamic is so fun and the cultural misunderstanding/mixed signals of their interaction would also be interesting. it does make some amount of sense though because yanno you have to spit directly in canon's face for them to even interact lol

i can't make any promises because Spilled Milk was honestly intended to be a two-shot that got away from me BUT i can tell you at the very least i am going to reread it rn and see if i can rekindle some interest..........

[gnarliest-phone-dude]

“Welcome t’ the gnarliest cinema n’ DT! S’ also the only one..”

second attempt at an intro for this one too! again as i have mentioned before; my main is @themostsanebug and you may refer to me as the fly or whatever other names you know me by

Are asks open?

yep they are!!

✎ᝰ.

Info

oliver goes by he/him pronouns.

he is a trans man, gay and polyamorous!

he is diagnosed with audhd, which i will once again probably be shown through me self projecting my own symptoms.

he wears a stupid little bell on his tail that he got from an anon. he loves it to pieces.

i have given him his own randy exclusive to this universe. this does not mean hes opposed to datin more randys from different ones however.

he may be out of character due to this being a largely self indulgent blog where i get to just. be him. sorry for anyone looking for character accuracy, can i mayhaps suggest you look at @bodacious-ringading? (SO SORRY FOR THE @) their blog is much more accurate than mine!

the cinema is still very much open in this universe and he still runs the counter!

him and billy have a more brotherly relationship as well! as much as he tries to deny it.

✎ᝰ.

Rules

sexual/suggestive asks are still fine, but please dont make them the main focus much like last time.

do not spam aggressive/violent asks on anon. some are fine and will be answered but others will just be responded to with “read the rules.”

same thing applies to romantic asks.

roleplaying is heavily encouraged! other character interactions and ocs are all welcome here!

no nsfw/heavily violent asks, ill simply delete the ask and maybe block you.

basic dni (no zoos/maps/etc.)

no venting in the askbox, i cant handle my own problems let alone someone elses!

no spamming the same ask over and over either!

i am free to delete whatever asks i please. keep that in mind.

[leviathan--ships]

YOU 🫵.

🔥 7: In what ways does your f/o make you feel excited, giggly, happy, or positive?

❤️‍🩹 8. What is a deep or special memory between you and your f/o that means a lot to you/them?

🧠 9. What is something you love listening to your f/o talk extensively about, and what do they love hearing you elaborate on?

tell me about your twink bf who is so full from cigarettes please

AHHH! ME

He's died cause he ate to manie cigarettes 😨

[Link to original game] (answers under the cut of course)

🔥 - Dude it is so stupid how happy he makes me, he's literally just the definition of A Guy. I can't really explain it, I've always just liked those sorts of characters, and he's like, the epitome of them but with more flavor if that makes sense.

He's got good music taste, he's really funny, relatable, like, he's just so *gestures at nothing* y'know? I also may just be one of those fags, mayhaps 🤯

❤️‍🩹 - I think the one that always sticks out to me is when he went to get Franz's stuff back.

It's the first thing he did that made him seem safe compared to the others, especially because it wasn't just the important things like his computer and documents. It was the little things that made his apartment feel like it was his. Worn-out posters, CDs and tapes, bad movies, dumb little knick-knacks, bad photos he took when he was a kid, shit like that. It was clear he wasn't just doing a once over out of obligation, but that he spent a while going through everything and grabbing the things he'd want in if he was in the same situation.

And while he was scared at first, both from the knock on his door catching him off guard and opening it to see a guy he really didn't know and hadn't spoken to with two large bags filled with his stuff, it really did help separate him from the others in Franz's mind.

🧠 Dude, Franz legit would have his own little stool in Adam's darkroom to just sit and watch/listen to him work and yap about how all of it works. Especially now that he'd be able to shoot for more than sketchy stalking jobs and shitty gigs for Scott, he'd totally geek out about getting to do more artsy projects and using more than the cheapest film he could afford. Sure, it's complicated as hell, and he doesn't get all of the composition rules or chemistry behind developing, but seeing him get to be so open about it after years of his parents and friends putting it down and calling it stupid is well worth it.

Also, I will die on the hill that he's kind of an elitist industrial fan when it comes to music. Sure, he's not the type to call everyone who doesn't like the same music a poser, and most of the time, he's only half serious, but I think it'd lead to a ton of joke arguments.

Cause obviously Franz's taste is everything I like that would exist in and before 2007, which does not bode well in his favor. There's a lot they'd agree on, NIN, KMFDM, The Prodigy, Rammstein, some Depeche Mode probably, Einstrürzende Neubauten would be respectable, etc. And some of the new wave and other electronic stuff (Gary Numan, Wolfsheim, Keoki, Kraftwerk, etc.) wouldn't be terrible. But we have to be serious, the fact that he'd like shit like My Chem, FOB, Blink-182, Green Day, and other radio hits would NOT slide around Adam. I will not stand for emo Adam unless it's like, actually emotional hardcore, that man is only shown listening to Frontline Assembly, we have got to be real here. Of course, I'm sure there's some more mainstream stuff he'd like (obviously none of what I've mentioned is obscure besides like, maybe Einstrürzende, but you know what I mean), I've read at least one fic with him and Scott being into REM when they were teens, and I do like that one. Again, not a total "erm if they played more than one show 20 years ago where 5 people saw it and it was never recorded, I won't listen to it" kind of guy, but he's not just into radio shit. (Unlike some people *cough* me)

Oh, and I do think Franz is getting hit with the Devo beam, and unfortunately for him, I feel like that's just gonna end up with:

"Dude I don't get it, they're in stupid outfits, the music sounds like clown music, that guy's doing the worm standing up, like seriously-"

"No no no, you don't understand, there's a deep political message, 'Freedom of Choice' was a Carl's Jr ad that they're using to mock American consumerism while also turning it into a play on how people talk about all the change they want but can't get, but then complain about how its all too complicated and wish it was so easy, when they already have the ability to fix things if they'd just use it"

"Franz. Please. Look at what you're talking about, and then say that all over again"

"Nuh uh, you just don't get real music"

"THEY'RE QUOTING A TOILET PAPER COMMERCIAL WHILE MEOWING"

But it's all playful for the most part, and something they do really enjoy sharing with each other, even if it means Adam has to put up with "I Miss You" more often than he'd like.

I am not sorry for the yap fest, you asked and you shall receive.