#nobody hates may more than i do

[catboyfurina]

I think a really underrated trans headcanon is like. Really closeted. Not stealth. Really closeted and either doesn't know yet (egg) or does know but is afraid to transition for xyz reasons. Because 90% of all trans headcanons I seem to see are slapping some scars or a binder on a guy which is fine and good!!! Love scars in art think we should absolutely romanticize the marks left by becoming happier in your own skin right but also like. Idk some headcanons I'm like I don't think he's ready to reach for that happiness. I think he's scared of choosing things to improve his own life.

[eldritchqueerture]

birthdays were fun when you were a kid but now in the age of cellphone and facebook (yes poland still uses it) its just a day where everyone constantly wants something from me and bothers me and im supposed to be grateful

[holydivers]

y'all know margaritas are made from agave right

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

for the 'why wouldn't date them'

charles, hawkeye, trapper

and i think you might be into twin peaks? if so, dale cooper and donna hayward

whichever ones you want to do :)

Ahhhhhh omg thank you for all of these I want to do them ALL but let's go backwards.

Donna Hayward

Ok so the thing is I AM into Twin Peaks but it's been a while since I've seen it and I tried to watch The Return but I was too stupit to understand much less enjoy it :( sowwy. So I would be dating my own flawed incomplete interpretation of a person, really. Typical Twin Peaks. 

Anyways I love Donna! I think we have similar personalities and stuff. In all brutal honesty I think if I were in her situation with a friend like Laura I’d have done similar things. Also yeah maybe her actions did lead a man to suicide but that was NOT her fault. I think the only three things that would prevent an attempt at a relationship here are 

1) The obvious. Her taste in men = atrocious. In all the rest of these hypotheticals where the character is already canonically in a relationship or has feelings for another character I’m just like yeah the more the merrier but if Donna insists on inviting her insufferable ass boyfriend into the mix I could NOT fucking do it I’m sorry. 

2) This girl is not ready for a relationship yet after All That god damn. But then again neither am I so maybe that balances out. We would need to spend some time as support group buddies just hugging and crying a lot before even considering a date. 

3) It is unlikely we would ever interact as I am never setting foot in that town ever in my life are you kidding me. Donna is super pretty in both her incarnations but I’m sorry I don’t think any pussy pops severely enough for me to risk going to fucking doorknob hell or some shit.

Dale Cooper

Ignore everything I said in that last paragraph. I change my mind. I forgot my beautiful autism creature husband is here. I would risk it all for a date with Dale Cooper and so would all who know and perceive the truth. AND he’s got two hot girlfriends with him at least one of whom is ALSO an autism creature??? Sign me the FUCK up for this polycule IMMEDIATELY. “Oh but OP what about the horrors” I don’t even fucking care it’s fine. Dale can have little an evil doppelganger. As a treat.

Still there are some problems:

1) Dale is an FBI agent and Harry is a cop. Booooooo!!!! But maybe if Annie and Caroline and I unionize we can force them to quit their jobs. 

2) Unclear if I would be forced to join the Black Lodge Horror Vision Rotation along with Annie and Caroline. Boring and time consuming task and unlike Laura you don’t even get to do a Big Scream.

3) I personally actually don’t like pie or coffee at all :( I’m sorry babygirl I understand if this is a deal breaker. 

Trapper McIntyre 

You know that “golden retriever boyfriend” joke? Trapper is like THE golden retriever boyfriend to me. Which I mean as an absolute compliment! Golden retrievers are friendly, helpful, adorable, lovable dogs. I am always up to pet a golden retriever.

But the thing is, I would never get one myself. They’re just a bit too big, bit too much energy, bit too messy, and anyways I prefer cats. No hate, no judgment, just a series of tiny preferences. Not into jocks, not into casual no-strings-attached type relationships, not super into kids, you know how it is. Boring and petty answer but I just feel like this adorable happy-go-lucky goldie deserves the PERFECT forever home and obviously he’s one of the most popular of all the dogs at the Mashblr shelter so I know he’ll get adopted super fast. So I can turn my attention to the miserable ass overbred old cat in the corner <3

Hawkeye Pierce

Oh, Hawkeye. I just don’t think so. Idk what’s wrong with me but I have to work to see Hawkeye as like. A dateable entity in my mind. He’s our little scrunkly! It’d be weird to date a scrunkly. BUT maybe I’ve just been overexposed to him purely by dint of being in the fandom he’s the main character of, because objectively I DO find Mr. Alda’s portrayal of him in certain scenes to be Attractive (TM), and seeing clips of his charisma and charm and humor and all that good handsome stuff is literally what got me to check out the show in the first place! Man. What happened. Hmm. 

I think one issue is that scenes where he’s explicitly trying to be Romantic and/or Seductive have just never done it for me. Like comparing Hawkeye’s lovey scenes with Kyung Soon to Charles’ with Martine, there’s no contest in how they make me feel. To me, Hawkeye is honestly at his most appealing when he’s radiating Friend Energy, which is why his casual relationships actually work really well IMO; you feel like he’s truly a great pal to the nurses he hooks up with. This is also, I think, one of Piercintyre’s great strengths as a ship, because Hawkeye and Trapper both have amazing Friend Energy and then their natural compatibility makes that bleed seamlessly into sweet romantic vibes. And to be clear I would LOVE to be in a Friends To Lovers relationship too but unfortunately I am cringely obsessed with loveydovey romance in a way I’m not sure Hawkeye is even capable of. Plus there’s also just the fact that I’m a shy waiting til marriage person and I suck at banter and yeah it’s just not working. In conclusion neither Hawkeye nor Trapper should date me they should date each other!! But we knew that :P

THAT CUNT

There are 10000000 reasons not to date Charles. But I will be doing it anyways ^_^ Peace and love on planet earth <3

Anyways I’m not bringing up his Problematicness as a reason here because I didn’t bring it up for anyone else and nobody noticed, so why should it be any different with him. Like no obviously I would not date this dumbfuck racist but I also would not date a guy who thinks it’s a funny prank to make a woman think she’s being sexually assaulted. I also for that matter would not date a guy who works with the dumbfuck racist and is like aw, ya know what, he’s not that bad really :) the second they have a chance to have a bonding moment. I guess I have decided to be a buzzkill about that forever now btw sorry :( oh well 

But ok no real talk I would Not date Charles unless one very specific condition is met, which is that I have whatever magic stardust they sprinkled on his single-episode love interests before they put them in the story that made him be utterly besotted with them, because more than any other character on the show, it seems, the difference between Regular Charles and Charles In Love is so hysterically huge??? Like fuck. My dudes. We’ve done it. We found the one villain who actually does do a complete 180 and starts trying to act right as soon as a girl takes pity on him enough to look at him twice. (Disclaimer: I haven’t seen Ain’t Love Grand yet I’m sorryyyyyyyy) He’s so ~romantic~ and it’s like catnip to me unfortunately. :\ The total opposite of what I said about Hawkeye up there. Offers a girl his stupid little teacup and recites poetry at her. Unbelievable. Did anyone ever think about the fact that maybe I would like to be offered a teacup and recited poetry at. No. You all only think about yourselves.  

Like even though objectively the way he nukes his relationship with Martine was hurtful to both of them, he’s so Tender the whole time it’s insane. She turned him into her pauvre petit miaou miaou overnight. I want that power so fucking bad I NEED that power so fucking bad. Say it with me everyone. I Could Fix Him. (”But OP Martine and Donna DIDN’T fix him he still left them both and never mentioned them again?” Yes but don’t worry they were just loosening the lid on his jar a little bit. I’ll get him open you’ll see. He’s gonna be soooo well trained when I’m done I’ll make him apologize to Maxwell and everything. He won’t even need the shock collar after a few weeks.)

But yeah if I have to like, try to appeal to him on my own it’s not fucking happening. I have no desire to hear the equivalent of a DOS deepfake hologram that has become evil due to being trained on text scraped from youtube comments tell me I’m ugly and stupid, which is exactly what would happen. Up til now I’ve sidestepped the issue that I do not think any of these people would give me the time of day (except Maxwell who would take pity on me probably because he is sososo Good) but I cannot ignore how much Charles just would Not like me. I don’t know how the selfshipper community does it they’re braver than any fucking US marine over there fr. Charles would look at me like I was a gross little bug on the ground and I can’t escape it. Oh well. Who needs him. Where’s your sister you dipshit I’m about to GET IT

[humanecalamity]

im. slowly losing my will to tolerate everyone 🤡

[ashes-of-ailell]

man me posting that tier list suddenly makes Lucien's dislike of Lorenz make sense huh

(little rant in my tags just cause I'm a bit nervous, would mean a lot of you read (it's nothing too serious dw, just wanted to clarify some things))

[186-3]

courting antisemitism

so i recently decided to take a look at the latest stonetoss comics (probably because i love suffering). and while i was expecting some content on the israel palestine conflict, what i did not expect was how... standard it seemed. well, most of it at least, but i'll get to that in a second.

for context, if you don't know what stonetoss is, it's a (poorly drawn) webcomic known for having radical alt-right views - meaning it's incredibly racist, homophobic, transphobic, islamophobic, antisemitic. all that fun stuff.

so while i was expecting to see bad stuff, one of the first things i saw on the topic of israel was this:

terrible art aside, this comic is making a point that i usually see in left wing circles: that israel is pinkwashing genocide.

curious if there was more like this, i kept looking, and the comic right before that one was this:

again, this makes points that i usually see in left wing circles. that american healthcare is crazy expensive, that canada tells poor people to commit suicide, and that israel is bombing hospitals.

why does stonetoss, this well known alt-right nutjob, now seem to be bringing up left-wing talking points?

curious, i kept going deeper:

well this is... odd. clearly, stonetoss is trying to say that israel is on another level of bad, even worse than russia, iran, and north korea. i can possibly see someone on the left making the argument that the russian invasion of ukraine isn't as bad as what israel is doing in gaza, or that at least north korea isn't invading any other countries, but... iran??? the country that has a police force designed to enforce religious law, and gets away with murdering women who do not properly cover their hair? the country that props up paramilitary groups in countries all over the middle east, including lebanon, yemen, and yes, palestine?? that's completely ridiculous

but, given how much more israel is in the news nowadays than any of these other countries, i could see why someone would buy this

and now, we're starting to get to the crux of what stonetoss is trying to do. when someone sees this, they might be inclined to agree with it. they might begin to think that israel is the worst country on the planet

and that might not seem so bad at first. but the more you hate israel, especially irrationally, the more you feel allowed to dehumanize those who support it. the more you might be willing to agree with this comic, which came out two days prior to the one above

this comic says that jews, as a whole have no desire to exist with other people. it is blatantly antisemitic

i'm sure you could imagine some young leftist who sees the comics above this one and thinks, "this guy makes some good points". and then, when they get to this one, they might realize that this is antisemitism

or, they may not.

and that would start them down the road to becoming an antisemite.

this is what stonetoss and other alt-right nutjobs are hoping to achieve. to take left wing fury at israel, and direct it at jews.

we saw it with those neo-nazis at the palestine rally, and we're seeing it again here.

and if you've found yourself agreeing with what stonetoss has said so far, i would like you to see the last comic stonetoss put out before october 7th:

this horrifically racist comic is in reference to an environmental activist who was murdered by a black man in early october. this blatantly racist garbage is the kind of stuff stonetoss usually puts out.

but as soon as october 7th happened? these were his next two comics:

stonetoss completely changed the comic's tone as soon as the current crisis started. why?

to get as many people as possible to get on board with hating jews.

and i know many of you might be thinking that "well, everyone knows that stonetoss is racist garbage. nobody is going to fall for this"

except, as we saw with the neo-nazis at the rally for palestine, it's not always that obvious who the antisemites are and who is just rallying for peace. they are often a lot better at disguising it than stonetoss is.

AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO BE AWARE OF THAT

EVERYONE, no matter HOW much experience you have, can fall victim to propoganda. EVERYONE needs to be aware of what people around them are saying, and able to pick out hateful rhetoric, because even the stuff that is just kind of toeing the line of what's hateful is still putting your foot in the door

be cautious, everyone. and stomp out hate where you see it.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

When Nobody's Around

luke castellan x reader

capture the flag pt 2!

A/N: not me keeping my promises and posting three days in a row

TW: so much smut omg, throat-fucking, pussy slapping, cockwarming, overstim

word count: 1,225 words

After what happened with Luke the other day, you need to do something to cool off, to get your mind off of it. Training is the perfect thing. You make your way down to the grounds with Clarisse. Your half-sister is the perfect person to train with because she fights so hard that it gives you no chance to think.

“Fuck.” You murmur. You’re already there when you realize you forgot something. “I have to go back for my sneakers.” 

“Don’t take too long, dumbass.” She smirks and you roll your eyes before jogging back to your cabin. It’s so weird because you could’ve sworn on your life that you had brought them.

You shake off the feeling and open the cabin door. There shouldn’t be anyone inside, all your siblings are training and whatnot. There shouldn’t be anyone in there, especially not  Luke Castellan who is sitting on your bed, holding your sneakers.

What. The. Fuck.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He states, giving you an easygoing grin.

“Get out of my cabin.”

“No.”

“Not only are you not meant to be in here, I also don’t want you here.” Your voice is angry as you walk towards him.

“I think you do.”

You scoff. “Stop acting like you know me.” 

He gives you a sly smile. “But I do know you… very intimately.”

“If you’re here for another hookup, it’s not going to happen.” You say adamantly.

He stands up, walking towards you. You hate the way he towers over your smaller body. “I’m actually here to apologize.” 

“Apologize?” You ask doubtingly, not really thinking he was the type.

“Yeah.” His hands fall to your waist. You don’t shove him off right away, waiting to see where this all goes. “I was very rough with you before.” His hand slides up to hold your chin, thumbing your lip. “Maybe I wanted to be more gentle this time? Get down on my knees and eat you nice and slow.”

“I can’t stand you.” You breathe out as his hand ghosts down, rubbing over your breast.

“You’re such a damn brat.” He gives you a squeeze. “I thought I fucked that out of you last time but apparently not.”

You want to come up with some clever retort but all you can do is whimper in response.

“Now, how about you get on your knees and if you suck me well enough maybe, just maybe, i’ll get you off.”

You drop to your knees. You hate to admit it but you like the way he talks to you. No other guy has enough confidence to try and put you in your place.

“What a submissive little slut.” He coos as he grips your hair with one hand.

“I’ll bite your cock off.” You say as you unzip his jeans, tugging them down.

“We both know that would be more of a loss for you than me.” He chuckles at how your eyes widen when he pulls his dick out. He may have been inside of you but you never actually saw how big he is. “Suck it.”

You glare but take him in your mouth as far back as you can. You gag when the tip of him touches the back of your throat.

“That’s right, baby. Choke on my cock.” He murmurs as he begins to thrust into your mouth languidly. Your eyes water as you try to suck him off but it’s more like being throat-fucked instead with the way he grips your hair to pull your head back and forth. He gives a little slap to your cheek. “No teeth.” He warns as he continues to use your mouth like he pleases.

You’re surprised when he pulls out before finishing. “You can swallow my cum another time. I plan on keeping my promises.”

When you’re on your feet, Luke pulls you into a kiss. He taps your ass once so you jump, letting him hold you as he walks you back to your bed. He parts his lips from yours, placing you down so you sit on the edge of your bed.

“It’s your turn to get on your knees.” You say cheekily.

“Don’t go acting like you’re in charge.” He says but kneels anyhow. “I’m not opposed to giving that ass a few more smacks.” You shift a bit at the comment as he pulls off your pants. “Oh, maybe you’d like that.”

“I wouldn’t.” You lie as he yanks down your panties, revealing how wet you are.

“No?” He asks, amused before laying a harsh smack to your cunt. You drip out more arousal. “Liar.” He murmurs before digging in.

His hands hold tight to your thighs as he buries his face in your cunt. It’s stimulating too much and just the right amount all at once. You begin to whine and try to squirm away but he keeps you firmly in place with his strong hands as he laps up your arousal.

“Better than fucking ambrosia.” He looks up, grinning like a devil before nipping at your clit. Your hand is in his hair now, pulling tightly as you’re so close… so close and then… he stops.

“Luuuke…” You whine in frustration.

“Sorry, baby but you’re gonna cum around my cock.”

He picks you up like you weigh nothing and throws you back further on the bed before shifting his body between your legs. He uses his dick to tease your clit and you whimper.

“Please, Luke.” You beg, looking at him with doe eyes.

“Look at you, so pretty as you beg to be fucked. I’ll give you what you want.” His words are so lewd but his voice is so gentle.

He slips himself inside of you in one go, once again not caring about you adjusting. Though, he exercises a bit more restraint this time, not moving quite yet. He at least wants you to be able to walk somewhat well after this. He leans down to kiss your neck, leaving love bites that you'll have to explain later before he actually starts to give you what you need. He begins to thrust, trying to avoid acting like a rabid dog even if he knows you like it.

“You’re so fucking tight. Never had such a tiny little pussy before.” The way you squeeze around him has him throwing all decorum out the window. He begins to fuck into you like this is the last chance he’ll get.

“Mmm Luke, harder.” You beg.

“Fucking slut.” He says with a grin before slinging your leg over his shoulder so he can piston into you deeper.

“Want you… to cum… inside.” The words have him going feral. He uses his thumb to rub your clit, making you spasm under him.

“Is that all it takes? Barely even had to touch your sweet pearl.” You cream around his cock and he fucks you through it. The overstimulation has you seeing stars but after a few moments, his thrusts finally begin to slow. He stills and you feel his hot cum spurt into you, filling you to the brim until it spills out.

He slumps down on you, pressing tired kisses to your collarbone as he lets you cockwarm him.

“Want me to go?” He asks. 

It should be an easy answer. You should say yes.

“No… stay.” 

And he smiles.

taglists (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

Luke Castellan: @amortencjja @urmomsbananabread

[pomodoko]

The Shuro hate because of the latest episode is pouring in and I cannot even begin to tell you how upsetting it is to see someone who is so much like me be berated by people for being so called "ableist" and "misogynistic" and simply "the worst". He is a product of his environment (a different country, which means a different culture), and sure his love for Falin may be one-sided, but it is still love, and it's love enough he's risking hunger and sleeplessness and self care to find her. Even Chilchuck pointed out that him proposing spontaneously is just something people in his country do. He is not shallow with his love. The same can be seen with his frustration with Laios. It's borned out of miscommunication and cultural differences, and it is clear, very clear, at the end of the episode that he cares deeply for both Laios and Falin. He's envious of Laios's personable and straightforward nature, and he admitted to it. He gave Laios a way out (via the magic bell) and promised to give him his aid when Laios is in trouble. He is a complex and well-written character, and he deserves more than just people shallowly trashing on him.

Also Shuro is also autistic to me but in a different way Laios is ✌️ Come on: hyperfocusing at the cost of your health? Relying on social cues to predict how people think? Too awkward to correct Laios from the fact that he's been saying his name wrong the entire time (his real name is Toshiro)?

Edit: Honestly? Genuinely? I also think a lot of the hate that Shuro receives also borderlines antagonistic because he's "getting in the way of Farcille" (he has not shown any creepy attitude towards Falin) and racist. Genuinely I think a lot of American/Western fans are super racist towards Shuro. He's angry at Laios's mistakes the same way Chilchuck and Namari do (overstepping boundaries, being ignorant of cues, etc) but nobody thinks twice about giving Chilchuck and Namari the pass. How come this repressed man from the equivalent of fucking Feudal Japan gets the boot? Is it because he fought Laios out of fear and the trauma of seeing his team die and his love interest be made into a monster thanks to dark magic? Does his apology and offer to help not count? You people are hypocrites.

[distantdarlings]

HIS OWN MEDICINE // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Your best friend, Pansy Parkinson, suggests fixing your boyfriend’s flirting problem by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in v) Unprotected, spanking, top!theo, bottom!reader, fem!reader, mean dom, innocent reader?, degradation, name-calling, weird authoritative thing going on with Theo (idk), one (1) use of ‘daddy,’ mild breeding kink, flirting while in relationship, jealousy, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

nobody - Toby Mai

- - -

“I don’t want to hear another fucking excuse, Theo!” you screamed, rage flushing your cheeks. It took everything in you not to strangle him right now.

After the third time catching him flirting with another girl, you were ready to walk again. You weren’t even sure how many times you’d broken up with him, and how many times he’d broken up with you.

But you were about to add another time.

“Please, baby, you know it’s not what you think,” he begged, trying to grab your hands. “She’s just a friend—we were just chatting.”

“Usually, you can chat with people without your hands wrapped around them! You seemed pretty fucking cozy with her!”

“Baby, come on…,” he cooed, trying to press some kisses to your fingers. Angry, you yanked your hand out of his grasp and tore out of the room. You heard the door slam behind you and ignored the gasps of shock as you shoved through a group of students moving in a unit down the hallway.

You could hardly stand that stupid man right now. If you saw his face again within the next 48 hours, you would punch him.

As you flew down the steps of the Slytherin dormitories and toward the mostly empty common room, you nearly knocked a petite woman over.

The two of you crashed into each other and grunted on impact.

“Watch where you’re going—Merlin! What are you doing down here, honey? Are you crying?”

It was Pansy, one of your best friends in the entire world. Though the tears had been pooling in your eyes since you stormed out of Theo’s dorm, her question had pushed you over the edge. An angry sob left your lips.

“Oh no! What happened?” she cried, wrapping you up in her small frame. Shamelessly, you wept into the folds of her robes. She smelled comforting, like home and daisies. You could hardly hold back the tears that poured down your cheeks.

“It’s Theo!” you gasped. “I broke up with him again!”

“Oh…again?” You could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What did he do this time?”

“He was rubbing up on that stupid Gryffindor girl from last time—laughing and going on! I hate him! I never want to see him again!”

“Why do you let this keep happening?” she asked nonchalantly, patting your head soothingly.

“Me?” you scoffed. “He’s flirting with other girls!”

“Okay, but…you also keep getting back together with him,” she shrugged.

You pulled away from her and glared a bit. You knew your decision-making on the love aspect of things had never been terrific, but you couldn’t help it. Theo was so good to you (besides the flirting thing).

You had tried to rationalize it repeatedly, telling yourself he was just a friendly guy, but he never acted that way to other guys—only girls. And you’d realized your rationalization was stupid. And that he was just flirting.

“Listen,” she started again. “I get it more than anyone else. Theo’s very hard to resist—I’m just saying he’s attractive!” She quickly rushed to defend her words because, after all, though you and Theo were “broken up” right now, you’d likely be back together before the end of the week. That’s how pathetic you were.

“If you don’t want to break up with him, how about you talk about it with him,” she suggested. “You need to sit him down, get stern with him, and tell him that he’s not going to talk to these girls the way he is anymore.”

“I’ve tried that already, Pans! I practically scream in his face every time he does this shit!”

There was a moment of silence while the both of you seemed to mull the issue over.

“Well, then, how about we try something else?” Pansy said, her eyes glinting mysteriously. Your shuddering breaths paused for a moment as you looked up at her. Whatever she was planning couldn’t be good just by the look on her face.

“Er, what do you mean?” you asked, a bit of anxiety creeping up the back of your neck.

“If you can’t get him to stop in your own way…maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine.” She smirked wildly, her eyebrows rising above her bangs.

“You don’t mean—? Oh, no! No, Pansy! I’m not doing that. I can’t do that when I’ve shouted at him for doing it for so long!”

“Exactly,” she said. “You’ve asked him to stop repeatedly, but he’s not interested in discussion. He needs a threat.”

Despite the growing burning in the pit of your stomach urging you to accept her suggestion, you still felt horrible even considering it. Theo had never cheated on you; you just felt as though he was too friendly with other girls. But maybe Pansy was right. Maybe he wouldn’t understand how frustrating it was until he experienced it himself. It wasn’t like you were going to actually cheat on him. Maybe you could just talk to one of his friends and pretend to flirt. Just a little bit.

With the end of your free period growing closer, you decided you would make Theo jealous at dinner. You just had to decide who you would select to help with your antics.

***

Your eyes surveyed the Great Hall, flashing back and forth across the immense tables. Familiar faces glanced back at you in passing, their eyes aimlessly wandering as well. You couldn’t help but smirk just a bit, knowing your plans. Poor Theo had no idea what he was in for.

After weighing your options for a few minutes, you finally decided that if you really wanted to get to Theo, you needed to hit close to home—too close to home.

Your eyes locked on a familiar face you had often stared at, even before you got together with Theo. Mattheo Riddle.

A dark, brooding masterpiece of a boy. Truly, someone you’d be fawning over if you weren’t currently with Theo. But, saying that sounded like a broken record, considering how many girls and boys begged Mattheo for a second glance. You watched him closely, observing for a few moments.

His dark was clenched just a bit as he ran long fingers through his raven curls. It was entirely too much for you to watch…just looking at him had a bit of heat pooling in your stomach.

You couldn’t lie. In the few moments you’d forgotten about Theo and planned to make him jealous, the rose-colored glasses had come off, and the dark green ones had slipped over your eyes. Your chest was pounding, and it wasn’t for Theo at this very moment.

A prick of courage coursed through your veins and with a deep breath, you were moving quickly toward your target.

Enzo, Theo, and Mattheo sat at the edge of the Slytherin table closest to the Great Hall’s entrance. They gathered around each other, snacking and laughing. Mattheo sat on the table with his feet settled on the bench, Enzo sat just next to his legs on the bench, and Theo sat opposite Enzo. Maybe it was cheesy, but even Mattheo’s small rebellion of sitting on the table rather than the bench was calling your name. To not sound like every Gryffindor currently drooling over Mattheo, he really did have the perfect bad-boy vibe. He was like a sexy Muggle film.

Mattheo’s legs were spread with his elbows settled on his thighs—a dominating posture. His robe was settled over the edge of the table, and his tie was loosened, exposing a sliver of bronze chest and a singular chain dangling beneath the collar of his shirt. Merlin, this was sinful.

Theo caught your eyes and smiled brightly. He waved you over. That particular movement snagged the attention of Mattheo and Enzo—both of whom found your eyes and smiled in return. Maybe you were over-confident, but you could have sworn Mattheo had looked you slowly up and down as you approached.

Granted, you had changed up your outfit before coming to dinner. It was simple, but you were sure it’d get the job done with how it framed your figure and dipped down your chest. Your hair was styled, and Pansy had granted you her talent for makeup. You felt gorgeous, so you assumed you looked it.

Your wand was slid into the small decorative belt that came with the dress, and your hands were tightened behind your back in a sort of mock innocence. You smiled brightly, eyes only on Mattheo.

Completely ignoring Theo, you walked straight up to the two boys sitting before him. The both of them were looking you up and down now.

“Hey, Matty,” you giggled, stopping just before him. Smirking, he slid his arms around your waist and pulled you between his legs, your hips bumping against his core.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “You’re awfully bubbly this afternoon.” His voice vibrated against your ear, sending a violent chill down your back. You tried not to let your facade fall, but damn, he was good. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing along, seriously into it, or reading your mind. Who knew? Legilimency ran in his family.

“Baby?” Theo asked gently. You could just barely hear his voice past Mattheo’s warm body. “Matty?”

His poor, confused voice made your heart sink a little bit. You immediately felt bad. But this was for his own good. He was feeling what you felt every time he pulled this shit with other girls.

“I can’t help it,” you smiled. “I was excited to see you.”

“What the fuck? What did he do to get all the attention?” Enzo joked, smiling crookedly.

“Aw, but I was excited to see you too, sweetheart,” you cooed, leaning over Mattheo’s thigh to gently touch a finger to his chin.

“I think someone’s had a bit to drink,” Theo said sternly. You finally made eye contact with him. He was fuming. You swallowed nervously but ignored his threatening gaze. You were doing this for a reason.

“I’m completely sober, Theo,” you said blankly.

“You wanna go somewhere, mama,” Mattheo whispered against your cheek, his lips brushing your jawline. His arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist, his grip domineering and his scent overwhelming. Why did you want to say yes? Were you a bad person? You weren’t sure. This was a bad idea.

You giggled to avoid answering his question. Enzo’s eyebrow quirked at you before giving a glance to Theo.

“Well, I didn’t want to have to be the one to say this. But, personally, I feel that we are all close enough now to discuss these things.” Enzo nodded his head. “Have we truly ever considered the possibility of a foursome?”

Theo choked on his drink, Mattheo pretended to gag, and you gasped sharply.

“I’m just saying…it’s a valid question.”

“Enzo, shut up. Now.” Theo gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles bleeding white across his skin.

“Mattheo, take your fucking hands off of my girlfriend,” he said, turning to the man above you. “We need to fucking talk.”

His eyes never left yours as he pulled himself away from the table and walked toward the door. He didn’t even need to look back to know that you were trailing behind him with a half-defeated look on your face.

You were a bit frightened of the consequences of your actions, but you were certain that once you explained yourself, he’d be more understanding. You hoped.

Once the two of you were just past the doors of the Great Hall, Theo grasped your hand roughly, and, after being forced through a sickeningly tight tube with a loud suctioning sound, you were standing in Theo’s dormitory. You were a bit dizzy from Disapparating after not doing it for so long, but no amount of churning in your stomach could distract from the raging boy storming straight for you.

“What the fuck was that?” Theo shouted, forcing himself up against you. The pressure of his chest pushed you back up against the footboard’s bedpost. As the wood dug into your back, a gasp left your lips.

The way he looked down at you, fuming and jaw clenching, had you flushed ever so slightly. You didn’t know what it was, but his anger wasn’t pleasuring you as you thought.

An hour ago, you’d have assumed that you would feel amazing because of revenge. Not … something else.

“I was just…,” you trailed off, his eyes drilling holes through yours. Your hands wrapped around the bedpost behind you as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. “I wanted to make you jealous.”

His jaw ticked.

“You what?”

“I’m sorry,” you flinched at the volume of his words. “You’re always so friendly and touchy with all of your girl friends—I just wanted to make you feel the same way.”

“Feel what way?” he demanded.

“Jealous,” you whispered, embarrassed. Your eyes tore away from him and cast to the floor. Despite the confidence you’d had a few hours ago, you felt like the smallest woman in the world now.

“Jealous? You’re so pathetic,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft and chiding. The word made a heat pool between your legs. Your lips parted in a silent gasp. You refused to look at him.

“Instead of just working through our argument earlier like adults, you thought it’d be a good idea to throw yourself on my friends to get a reaction out of me?”

“Well, when you say it like that—”

“Was it Pansy?”

“What?”

He sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration. “Did Pansy Parkinson put this stupid idea into your head?”

You looked down. You were too embarrassed to answer, but he knew. He scoffed and placed a surprisingly gentle finger beneath your chin. He tilted you up to look at him. His eyes were softer now.

“I know that Pansy is a bad influence on you, but you still have to be taught a lesson,” he murmured, his eyes ranging from soft and caring to lustful and mean.

“But, I–”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, voice stern as steel. “Don’t talk anymore, okay?”

Your lips snapped shut and, falling into an embarrassingly well-rehearsed routine, you nodded and forced yourself to keep eye contact with him. However, he had no issue doing so. His crystalline eyes never left your face except for one agonizing second when he dragged them down the length of your body.

You then forgot all of your previous endeavors and realized that Theo was going to have his way with you. He wasn’t more understanding, nor had you gotten your revenge. But none of that mattered right now. The heat pooling between your thighs had blurred all possible thoughts that might pass across your mind. The only thing you could see, smell, taste, hear, feel was Theo, Theo, Theo. You sucked in a shaky breath.

His fingers slid around your upper arms, pulling you closer to him. The way he touched you was gentle and slow—a precursor for the aggression that was to come.

“Turn around and bend over,” he whispered. His voice was nothing less than demanding. You couldn’t help but comply as if everything depended on your ability to follow his directions. Which, at this moment, it felt that way.

You turned and laid your torso across the length of his bed, tucking your arms beneath your chest. Your cheek lay against the satin comforter as your breath exited your body in short, shuddering pants.

“You deserve this,” he murmured. “You know you do.” His hands—so gentle—pushed themselves beneath the hem of your skirt. Your eyes clenched shut as your core pulsated in time with your rapid heartbeat.

The tips of his fingers caressed the curvature of your bare hips. With your intent to seduce, you’d figured you better dress the part as well as act it. For exactly that reason, you’d worn no bottoms beneath the tight dress. You could hear Theo inhale deeply as a single thumb slid over wettened, hot folds. You gasped sharply at the sensation.

“You wanted this,” he growled. Honestly, you hadn’t considered this as one of the outcomes of your little venture, but you wouldn’t deny what you currently wanted. With a whimper, you nodded your head and pushed your hips back against him.

A small grunt left his lips as your ass came into contact with his core, already engorged and pulsing, just as you were. You concealed a smirk. Perhaps it was the false persona you had put on this evening, but your confidence shone through the room like a lightbulb.

“Very well,” he sighed. “You’ll get exactly what you wanted, you pathetic slut. The only way you can get what you want is to show your ass in front of all my friends, huh? You couldn’t just fucking ask?” With each rhetorical question, he tore another piece of clothing from himself. His anger radiated off of him.

“My advice, love?” He rolled the fabric of your dress over your ass, allowing the cool air to bite at your core. “Next time…just fucking ask me to ruin this perfect cunt.” He pushed into you with a relieved groan.

The lack of any preparation had you biting into his comforter. Perhaps no foreplay was your punishment, but he felt too good for you to complain about it.

His hands gripped your hips like a vice as he pulled you back onto him at a sickening pace. He hit every spot inside of you with a bruising force, so hard that your face slid back and forth across his slick comforter. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep a hold on the surface. Theo’s rage-filled thrusts knocked you loose from any grip you gained on his sheets like it was nothing.

“If you ever pull something like that again, I swear to Merlin, I’ll beat the fuck out of any man who touches you,” he breathed through ragged thrusts. “I don’t care if it’s Mattheo or Enzo or some random guy—I’ll fucking kill him.”

His words pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Shamelessly, you moaned his name as if it were the last thing you’d ever say. He looked like a god behind you with his hair stuck to his forehead and his lips parted, his sweat circled the air, his name tasted perfect in your mouth, his moans were glorious, and he felt delicious inside you. Again, Theo was all you could see, smell, taste, hear, and feel.

“Yeah, baby? Does that feel good?” he whispered to you, taunting you endlessly. “Who fucks you like this, huh?”

“You,” you whined, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t hear you, baby. It sounded like you said Enzo. Was that right?” he cruelly teased you. His hand came down hard across the brunt of your ass cheek. “That’s what you fucking get. Now, who fucks you like this?”

“You!” you tried again, desperate to feel your release.

“Mattheo? Oh, you’re really trying me today!” he shouted, bringing his hand down against you again. You yelped beneath the bite of his hand. You could practically already see the handprint forming across your skin.

Theo suddenly grabbed your hair roughly and pulled you against his body. Your back was pressed to his front, and his cock was hitting a devastating angle inside of you.

“Who fucks you like this, bitch?”

“You, Theo! Fuck, nobody makes me feel like this! Theo, Theo, Theo…,” your voice trailed off pathetically as he pounded into you with a force like no other. You wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.

One of his hands was wrapped around your stomach while the other remained tightly curled in your hair as he fucked up into you relentlessly. The coil in your stomach that only seemed to build when Theo handled you the way he did began to wind up in your stomach. Each thrust from the man behind you had it curling tighter and tighter, threatening to combust at any moment.

“Fuck, Theo, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna cum for me? Cum for me, baby…cum on my cock, sweetheart. Let me fill you up, darling. Please, baby, let me cum inside you. Make me a daddy, baby.”

And with those words, you were cumming against him harder than you ever had before. Honey spilled from you and coated his lower stomach and your thighs. The tension from your entire body locking up had Theo’s legs beginning to shake. Whispers of strained “fuck, fuck, fuck”s resonated throughout the room as Theo fucked himself through his orgasm. Just before you could protest at the overstimulation, he came into you, filling you up just as he had promised.

The feeling of every inch of his arousal overflowing from your core nearly made you needy all over again. You might've asked him for a round two if not for the overwhelming exhaustion that had just flooded your body.

Between the rapid pace he’d set and the abuse you’d taken from behind, the two of you were laid out. Both of you collapsed against his bed, chests rising and falling rapidly, beads of sweat dripping, eyes fluttering closed. You were sure you’d pass away if you attempted to move, so you laid completely still.

“How was that?” Theo asked, chuckling breathlessly. You refrained from rolling your eyes at his awkwardly-timed question.

“It was really good, you dummy,” you laughed, wiping a bit of sweat from your hairline.

“Good,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “Because if you ever pull anything like that again, I’ll kill the man who touched you then I’ll fuck you in front of him.”

Merlin.

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33 , @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @abaker74 (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please shoot me a DM! Thanks!)

[nereidprinc3ss]

better late than never

in which uni student fem!reader finally shares exactly what she's been worried about with spencer

18+ for pregnancy scare warnings/tags: pregnancy scare, reader doesn't want to be pregnant, age gap (unspecified) a/n: listennn lots of you guys asked for more spence x uni reader... but u didn't specify WHAT u wanted... so now we're fantasizing about pregnancy scares because we're all what?? say it with me!! MENTALLY ILL!!!!

For the fifth time, you have to restart the paragraph you were reading. For the fifth time, it doesn’t make any sense—words strung together like clashing beads on a dancing string, blurred together by the tears you’ve been fighting all day. Anthropology is by far the easiest of the six classes you’re taking this quarter, but suddenly completing this routine assignment feels like scaling a mountain. It is, of course, nothing in comparison to the catalytic source of your immense stress. The thing you’ve been trying to ignore for nearly a week, and as a result, have become more and more obsessive about. 

A flare of rage overwhelms you and you slam your laptop shut. Then as quickly as it appeared, it dissipates, cooling to desolation as you bury your face in your hands with a sob. You hear paper shuffling from the desk where Spencer has been silently working and you try to reign in your emotions, but it’s too late. 

“Hey,” he says gently as he approaches, slowing to a stop in front of your spot on the couch. “What’s going on with you?”

You sniff, quickly brushing the tears away with trembling hands. But your voice is thick and strained when you fruitlessly attempt to lie. 

“Nothing.”

When you refuse to look up at him, he kneels down in front of you. 

“Really? This doesn’t have anything to do with why you’ve been so quiet these past few days?”

Of course, he noticed. You were a fool for thinking he wouldn’t. Finally you break, looking to him for subconscious comfort. And he’s looking up at you so earnestly, with so much genuine concern in those puppy dog eyes, that the waterworks threaten to start up all over again. Your lip quivers. 

“I can’t tell you,” you squeak. 

“That’s a really scary thing for me to hear. Do you understand why?” His voice is calm, carefully grabbing your hand and bringing to his heart. “Because I need to know if something happened to you.”

You shake your head tearfully, looking down at where you’re weakly grasping the front of his shirt. 

“‘s not like that,” comes your reedy whisper. “Nobody hurt me or anything, I just—I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“I won’t get mad, I won’t,” he promises desperately, “right now I just want to know what I can do to make this better. I hate seeing you like this.”

A shuddering sigh forces its way out of your lungs. You suppose this is the kind of thing you probably should tell your boyfriend about, as petrifying as it may be.  

“I don’t know, I… I’ve just been freaking the fuck out because I’m worried I’m pregnant, and this would be the worst possible timing—like I know I want kids one day but I’m still in college and you’re like a real adult with an adult career and I don’t want to fuck that up for you and I know that even if I am pregnant I have choices but that’s still so scary and… and I don’t know.”

You’re expecting a long pause, punctuated by some berating and bemoaning, but it never comes. Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Honey, this is exactly the kind of thing you tell me about,” he says, voicing your earlier thoughts. And he doesn’t even sound furious. You glance up, watching his visage swim beyond your teary eyes. “I am not mad. That wouldn’t make any sense. Do you know who’s fault it would be if you accidentally got pregnant?”

“Well—"

“Mine. So if this ever happens again, please don’t keep it to yourself for so long. I won’t be mad at you for something like this, ever.”

“But… you’re not worried?”

He shakes his head slowly, looking utterly unperturbed. 

“I wouldn’t be worried either way. But no, I’m not concerned that you’re pregnant. We’re really safe. The chances of you being pregnant are essentially negligible.”

“But I’m two weeks late.”

“That can happen when you’re taking six upper level classes,” he agrees, swiping your cheek with a thumb. “You’re under a lot of stress. I’m completely unsurprised that your body is reacting to it.”

A weight like a ton of bricks is lifted from your shoulders, but doubt still lingers. 

Spencer sees the hesitation in your eyes. 

“Would it make you feel better to take a test? Just in case?”

You nod gingerly, wrapping your hand around his wrist. He takes it in both of his, kissing the back before dropping them to your lap. 

“Okay. I’ll go get a couple. But I’m confident that you have nothing to worry about, and I’m usually right about these things.”

You take another deep breath, the last of the anxiety floating away with it. He’s usually right about everything. 

“Spence?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your palm with his thumb and looking at you with so much love in his eyes. 

“Do you maybe feel like doing my homework for me?”

He smiles. 

“Nice try. Get it done and we can go out for dinner, okay?”

“Always worth a shot,” you shrug. 

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands. 

“And the answer will always be no.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ford wakes up in Dimension 52, hopped up on painkillers after his metal plate installation surgery, and he’s just rambling about how he misses you.

While the surgery may have been a success but Ford was feeling a sense of melancholy within his chest the second he opened his eyes.

‘Y/n?’ His voice slurred as your name was the first thing to leave his lips before realising that you weren’t by his side, the seven eyed oracle Jheselbraum was.

‘They are safe at home, safe from harm.’ She replied with all knowing certainty that still left Ford a little miffed.

‘I miss them,’ Ford began as memories of you being you flashed in the forefront of his mind, ‘they would use to wear my turtlenecks and trenchcoats, I hope they still do even if I’m too far away to see them do so.’ He chuckles halfheartedly as the ache in his chest only grew the more he reminisced. ‘The red turtleneck was their favourite and they looked really cute in it too that I just wanted to squish their cheeks and kiss them…but I’m too cowardly.’ Ford then pouts.

the pain medication was making him spill some truths of his heart that was entirely missing you and your sweet smile, your cute laughter and your well…everything! All the things he wanted to say to you, every thought he ever had about you and even his favourite things about you were coming to light in his post surgery stupor.

but regardless of what was causing Ford’s lips to have become loosened because all he wanted to talk about was you, you, and oh you!

‘Too cowardly to tell them how much I care about them, too cowardly to tell them that the moment I realised what I felt for them was beyond platonic, so much so to the point where I stayed awake at night thinking they’d hate me if I ever told them how I truly felt.’ Ford admits as he looks up to the high ceiling of the room he was slowly recovering in, only to feel the most alone he had ever felt in his entire life.

Ford swallowed thickly as his mouth seemed to keep telling Jheselbraum just how much the lack of your presence had affected him. ‘They kept me sane during times where I believed myself to have gone mad. They kept me company during my late nights of research, not once complaining about their own lack of sleep because they were too busy worrying about mine to notice the dark bags beginning to form under their eyes…but I did and I blamed myself for that.’

Ford trailed off as he distinctly remembered your look of exhaustion and the worry he felt, even now when he was god knows how many dimensions away from you he was, and the reassuring smile you’d give him when you knew he was questioning your ability to keep going.

You were far more stronger than he was but he couldn’t help but wonder how you were doing now, now that he was gone and whether or not you’ve been taking care of yourself.

‘They were the first person to hold my hand and not get scared.’ Ford said with a wide smile. ‘They didn’t care whether I had an extra finger or whatever. To them I was Ford, the loveable but sometimes Insufferable smart ass.’ Ford couldn’t help but hysterically chuckle at your nicknames for him because it was true! He was an insufferable smart ass but then remembered how you’d call him your insufferable smart ass. Your as in he was yours to call an insufferable smart ass, nobody else’s.

‘I miss them so much that I feel an ache here.’ He then sloppily points to what he thinks was his heart, however the pain meds had him pointing at his left arm unknowingly but Jheselbraum knew what he meant, you were indeed an important figure in Ford’s life that he’d find some difficulty trying to navigate a life without you in it. ‘It hurts a lot whenever I think about how much of a distance there is between us now. It hurts even more knowing that they might’ve moved on, while I still hold to hope to one day hold them in my arms once again, breathing them in and that really nice shampoo they use.’ Ford lets his arm drop to his side, eyes never once looking away from the ceiling.

‘I want to go home.’ He then said.

‘And you shall in due time.’ Jheselbraum reassures him.

‘Not to the shack,’ Ford said with a frown, ‘I meant back to them, back to y/n.’ He clarifies. ‘For they are the only home I’ll ever want to go back to.’

‘And like I said Stanford Pines, you shall in due time, but that time is not now.’ Jheselbraum says as she stands up from the chair, brushing herself down as she moves to walk out of the room to leave Ford to rest. ‘But you will see your beloved again, that is for certain.’ She adds.

‘Do you think they’ve missed me?’ Ford wonders aloud.

‘More than anything.’ Was all the oracle said before leaving the room.

A smile crept on Ford’s face as he felt himself succumbing to sleep. ‘I missed them too, more than anything…I’m coming home my dear…don’t stay up too late okay?’

[kirkwallsquad]

favorite da2 battle lines in no particular order

i'm listening to a compilation by danaduchy on youtube rn so

literally every fenris line bcs everyone else is YELLING and he's just speaking in his regular quiet-ish voice. king what are you saying i can't HEAR YOU

except for when hawke goes down. THEN he's loudly upset.

"hawke's down! time to panic!" (isabela)

"the tame elf is down" (varric - what the fuck omg don't call fenris that)

"your pet elf has fallen" (carver - WHAT THE FUCK OMG DON'T CALL FENRIS THAT)

"that moody mage is down" (aveline)

"ugh, can someone pick up fenris please?" (merrill)

"isabela's on the ground... appropriately" (aveline - HELLO?!?!?!?)

"merrill! oh, blood mages are so dramatic" (isabela)

"aveline has fallen?" (fenris - why is this a question babe)

"they got whatshisname, the mage" (varric - i continue to believe he doesn't know anders' name until act 3)

"the dwarf has dropped a few more feet" (sebastian)

"dear varric, please learn to parry. love, your innards" (varric)

"do you have something for this, because it hurts" (carver)

"even my teeth hurt" (anders)

"i've got so many bruises now they've got names and families" (merrill)

"ugh, i have dirt in my mouth" (sebastian)

"you're going to let me walk around injured?" (carver)

"being close to death is very bad for my morale" (isabela)

sebastian describes his wounds as "oozing" or "seeping" more than once

"i know dalish are meant to be close to the earth, but we don't mean literally" (merrill)

"i'm alright, who needs kidneys anyway" (isabela)

"hawke. varric. i think this is bad." (merrill)

"stop being you and fix me up" (carver - BABY. BABY BROTHER.)

"that really gets the blood flowing" but also "i will fight and pray for forgiveness later" but also "this is much more exciting than the chantry!" (sebastian - what is wrong with you <3)

"my face is not a shield!" (hawke)

"and they say drinking doesn't solve anything" (isabela)

"haawke i can't mooove" (sebastian)

"i'm too far away, what do you want me to do? shout at them?" (isabela)

"i'd have to fly to reach! of course, i've always wanted to learn to fly" (merrill - she's literally the funniest person ever)

"alas, no" (fenris)

"my faith is my armor! my cause is my shield!" (sebastian)

"if we kill them, we get their stuff!" (isabela)

"andraste's knees, it's like herding cats!" (isabela)

"AFRAID YET?!" (anders)

"RUN! WHILE YOU CAN!" (anders - he's so loud i love him)

"another one for me! how many have you gotten, hawke?" (varric)

"ah. a shame that you're going to die, no?" (fenris)

"you. me. and an audience. that's what this is all about!" (carver)

"may the creators have mercy on you! i certainly won't." (merrill)

"destructive forces of nature, coming up!" (anders)

"suck on a fireball!" (anders)

"NEVER TAUNT A MAGE!!!" (anders)

"a thrust, now a parry" (fenris)

"i'm gonna taunt you in elvish now! durgen'len! aravel! vallaslin!" (merrill)

"hello, i'm merrill, and i'll be your distraction." (merrill)

"I'LL SHOW YOU WHY MAGES ARE FEARED!!!" (anders)

"maker please forgive your children" followed immediately by "DID YOU SEE THAT SHOT" (sebastian)

"WANT TO SEE WHAT'S UNDER THESE ROBES?!?!?!" (anders)

"I'M RIGHT HERE! HIT ME!" (isabela)

"maker, the idiocy" (bethany)

"MAKER BLESS YOUR CHILDREN IN THEIR HOUR OF NEEEED" (sebastian)

"my weapon does nothing??" (fenris - he sounds so puzzled help)

"this is SO not working" (anders)

"if the pointy sticks don't work, try the other pointy sticks" (isabela)

"ah, dear. why doesn't anyone ever want to be nice to us?" (merrill)

"is there an end to the people who hate you?" (aveline)

"looks like we've got a few more puppies to kick" (isabela - HELLO?!?)

"take a step, kill, repeat repeat repeat" (carver)

"the hate you inspire is unfortunate" (fenris)

"another twenty steps, another batch of deaths" (anders)

"nobody seems to like you. do you get used to that?" (merrill - ouch. brutal hskfjhgksdjfhg)

"i can't take credit for all of this. hawke helped a little bit" (isabela)

[larcenywrites]

any headcanons about what dating logan/wolverine might be like? 👀

I can try 😮‍💨 just like with sabretooth, I worry I can’t properly capture him… but we can always dabble around with ideas!

Wolverine x Reader

Warnings: definitely has nsfw | one line does refer to reader being AFAB |

🍺 Sigh… the real question is, how are you going to get in a relationship with this man 😒

🍺 Never mind whether he’s still pining after Jean or not, the guy just refuses to commit 🙄 doesn’t matter if you’ve fucked or not.

🍺 But let’s skip that whole dramatic montage and say you did manage to finally tie him down just a little 🤏

🍺 It’s not like Logan doesn’t have fun or smile or know how to love! But when it comes to an actual bona fide relationship… it’s just harder to comfortably do those things. He’s lived a long time, been through nearly every type of trauma, hates himself for what he is half the time, and, while it hides well behind all that attitude, he’s afraid of a lot of things— from himself to the world.

🍺 So it makes it hard for him to love like that. Feelings are kinda hard for him to talk about 😔 at least, at first. Later on it gets easier, and while his tone may still be soft and gruff and he might sound reserved, but he won’t shy away from any sweet pillow talk anymore 🥺 though… any specific topics pertaining to a future… he’s probably a little more eager to switch to something else 😣

🍺 He’ll definitely be all growly if you start playing with his hair 😤 believe it or not, he’s a little particular about his grooming, and still a little funny about being unexpectedly touched at times— even by his partner.

🍺 But perhaps the real show of love here is the fact that he still won’t stop you 🥲

🍺 Usually the free time he has is spent fucking shit up in the danger room or drinking at his favorite spot, but he will actually take you on dates that don’t involve either! (But let’s be honest, it’s kinda hot to watch him tear shit up sometimes 😏)

🍺 It’s canon that Logan enjoys some broadway musicals! And while it’s not its favorite thing to have to do, he can dress up quite nice 😘

🍺 Actually a horndog 😮‍💨 For a guy that’s always going on about controlling his raging animal or whatever, he sure doesn’t have much control when his sexual partner even looks at him the wrong way 🙄 Maybe it’s all the energy he can never quite get out, or maybe it’s because he goes without for a while at a time, but definitely don’t be surprised when, upon finally getting to share his bed, you don’t get very much sleep 😘

🍺 Unfortunately(?) the dude can smell horniness, which will get him going no matter what his current situation is 🤭

🍺 I know this man eats pussy like nobody’s business 🥴 literally pouncing on you 🥴 maybe a rather hard bite to your thigh before just literally diving in, but otherwise probably won’t do much foreplay, especially nothing all loving and sweet.

🍺 Surprisingly a cuddler? But not, like, when you do it :/ a selective cuddler, we’ll call him. He’ll roll over and trap you in a bear hug 🥰 but no matter if you are taller or shorter than him, he’s gonna be face planted in your shoulder blades

🍺 one of those people that will not be little spoon 😒😒😒😒😒 you might get away with it if you catch him already in bed and you just crawl on top of him and wrap around him 🤭

🍺 but he’s definitely a sucker for having you lie on his chest 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he’ll probably sigh as if you’re bothering him, but it’s kinda like that thing dogs do when they get comfy and sigh loudly 🥰

🍺 it’s counterintuitive, but tbh the more you shower him with love the more he low key hates himself… but he still definitely enjoys it! He actually does love to be loved! A little shy about it, though.

🍺 don’t be afraid to kiss his hand right where his claws come out 😘

🍺 not necessarily jealous as much as he is protective…

🍺 well, he does get a little possessive…

🍺 sometimes might be petty af if you try to come into bed smelling like someone who’s pissed him off that day (many people piss him off every day)

🍺 like it’s not your fault you were in the same general area as Cyclops for longer than ten minutes and Wolfie over here can smell that 😒

🍺 When he’s done throwing his pity party, though, you get way-too-tight cuddles though so it’s a win? How else are you supposed to smell like him again?

[novy2sirius]

₊˚⊹ astrology notes volume five

─ .✧ tuts if you need them

─ .✧ these are based on isolated placements, so take it with a grain of salt since your entire chart matters. these are mostly based on western astrology

─ .✧ this time around a lot of these are just random opinions and not based on literal facts

˖༉ your pisces and 12h placements can show what area of life you’re spiritually protected in. an example: having a pisces mars can mean you are spiritually protected well when others hurt you or hate on you and that someone can get really bad karma for doing so

˖༉ aquarius' are so obsessed with what they can’t have or just doing the opposite of what people tell them to do. if you tell them to leave you alone, they’ll want you more. if you tell they can’t do something, they’ll wanna do it more. if you tell them they shouldn’t sky dive without a parachute, they will

˖༉ the midheaven is so important when it comes to your life’s purpose. not just the north node. for example: a capricorn midheaven is meant to work hard and become wealthy or at the very least successful in some way

˖༉ leo’s are known for being the “popular ones” of the zodiac signs, but cancer's are often very popular too. the moon is always shining bright in the sky just like the sun. it’s also why cancer placements crave lots of attention

˖༉ because of numerology capricorn and aries are an amazing pairing, even though astrologically based on their elements they aren’t. i sometimes find the letterology of the signs to have more accuracy when discussing compatibility

˖༉ the descendant can tell about the qualities you like in others. for example: an aquarius descendant can indicate you like others that are super weird/unique and are free spirits that make everyone feel like they can be themselves

˖༉ when at a lower vibration taurus placements will apologize and then continue to do the thing that they already apologized for. they may also know they’re in the wrong yet still argue their point

˖༉ pisces and 12h placements usually find it very difficult to quit bad habits. especially if they’re a pisces moon or have their moon in the 12h

˖༉ everyone says scorpios are loyal, but i’ve noticed that they won’t be if you don’t play by their rules. sometimes if you cheat, they’ll cheat

˖༉ nobody really talks about it but sags are huge flirts. sometimes they’re players though. i would go as far as to say they sometimes have better game than libras

˖༉ when discussing elements then aries and libra would technically be compatible, but numerically they’re not at all. they’re fatally attracted to one another and libra energy really admires aries energy, but they shouldn’t be together

˖༉ people with 5h stelliums enjoy being busy a lot and constantly doing things. sitting around too much will make them feel depressed. they aren’t usually huge homebody’s unless they have a lot of water in their chart

˖༉ i like cancer placements don’t get me wrong but at times they can come off really cheesy or corny with some of the things they say

˖༉ taurus and 2h placements like to act tough on the outside but often they are actually hurting on the inside. they’re very sensitive and take things to heart

˖༉ aries and aquarius’ often end up in romantic relationships together. aries are most compatible with aquarius’ compared to other signs

˖༉ your capricorn placements can tell you what area of life you will need lots of patience in. example: a capricorn venus indicates you need to be very patient with your loved ones

[astralnymphh]

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

WC: 7.7k+ | DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | ART BY @trackinglessons | DISCORD SERVER

SPRING SUN

 

 “At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty. 

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.” 

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one. 

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out. 

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing. 

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it. 

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?” 

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.” 

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

 Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name. 

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary. 

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many. 

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin. 

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did. 

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?” 

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?” 

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

  Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes. 

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide. 

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time. 

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.” 

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck. 

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.” 

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down. 

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.  

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!” 

Happy birthday, asshole.

perm taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @maleelee @seraphicsentences

[lmk if you'd like to be added to my perm taglist!]