#otherwise just make jointed knees

[pa-pa-plasma]

HATE it when people make a half animal character with like ears & a tail & stuff but it's very clearly entirely for the aesthetic & not because the creator actually likes the concept of a half animal person. those ears do not move. that tail does not tell you shit. the claws are not anatomically accurate & neither are the legs, if they choose to be a little bold & make them more obviously a hybrid & not just a person with two sets of ears. the wings are not big enough to support their weight. the doggirl is eating chocolate just fine & the catboy does not headbutt you in greeting & you do not explain why there are domesticated animal-human hybrids in a world where they arose naturally. *pointing a gun at you* make an effort.

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about being the second option’s second option.

Pairing: Male Character x Top Male reader

cw: 18+, power dynamics, age gaps, blowjobs, riding, dom!male reader, sub!male character, unrequited love, love triangles, jealousy, possessiveness

You wouldn’t otherwise be on his radar, maybe you were much younger than him, maybe he was your superior and you his subordinates and anything beyond a professional relationship would be highly inappropriate or maybe you just weren’t his type.

But God you had tried to approach him and many times at a - a subtle comment here and there that could mean more if he just followed up on it, a longing gaze or a light touch that he promptly ignored or played off, you’d even mustered up the courage to fess up your feelings one time only to get rejected immediately.

He was interested in someone else, or at least that’s what he had said when you confessed and that had been enough for you to completely back off.

A week later or so and you saw him with that very same someone in tow. However you’d quickly realized he’d been tasked with patching up wounds he himself didn’t cause because it was so blatantly obvious that the person in question was in love with someone that wasn’t him. He’d been blind to see or didn’t want to see and even though you had in mind to tell him you’d stuck to the promise you made yourself, and stayed away from him.

However it hadn’t been long before you’d been assigned the very same task- patching up wounds you didn’t cause for the man that had rejected you once.

He showed up with tears in his eyes and a couple of drinks in his system begging you to make him forget. You rejected him at the spot told him to come back when his lips didn’t taste like gin and tonic.

You didn’t think he would come back but he did and soon you had your all too good superior down on his knees, warm wet mouth eagerly sucking you in like he’s been waiting for this opportunity

But you weren’t easily fooled you knew the eagerness wasn’t for you.

Although his eyes were locked with yours you could see the distant look on his face, clearly imagining someone else in your place but none of that mattered not when his lips were stretched taut around your cock, not when he’s got his nose buried in your sweat damp fringe of curls and your cockhead is hitting the back of his throat, and not when you could taste yourself on his mouth when you finally slotted your lips together

But it didn’t end there because he’d continue to show up whenever the wounds reopened which was rather often. Not that you minded , not when you had the older man bent in ways that had all the joints in his body aching in protest, one hand fisting his salt and pepper hair the other clawing the sheets while fucking himself harder, deeper onto your dick

Harder faster more please he sobs into the sheets, a name that isn’t your own neatly tucked in between the begs and pleas, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s imagining someone else in front of him

But you couldn’t care less not when you’re the one who gets to feel his walls clenching down onto your dick, not when you’re the one who gets to lick the tears away from his cheek not when you’re the reason he’s cumming in such way he hasn’t done in years.

And while you lay there wrapped up in white sheets basking in the afterglow of your release, you watch the way he hastily puts the clothes back on his body, ever so determined not to spend the night.

You were no fool, you knew what type of relationship you had, you were just here to patch up his wounds and nothing more than that.

Besides you were nowhere near his type at least if you were to compare yourself to the men he approached at bars yet you were the one to have the bigger man pinned beneath your frame, strong body bent in half and practically skewed onto your cock, deep baritone voice reduced to wails and whines as he begs and pleads for you to let him cum.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Traded Posession

Dark!jacaerys x reader

A/N: I definitely did not do this request justice but I also feel like this would have to be a series if I did and I probs should finish a series before I start a new one😭

Pt 2 here

TW: DUBCON, smut, semi public sex, degration, talks of death, size kink

word count: 1,656 words

They call you a witch, all of them. How else would an unremarkable peasant girl get the attention of Aemond Targaryen? You spend your days at his side, bathed in blood as you lick his dagger clean. You’re his perfect accomplice. You like to think that he cares for you, loves you even but in this moment, you realize just how wrong you are.

The Kinslayer has fled King’s Landing and Prince Jacaerys has claimed it. He leaves you behind like a toy that he has tired of.

The next few days are a blur. Cregan Stark’s

men are the ones to find you after your

failed attempts to escape the city. In hindsight, it was silly to think you’d make it to Harrenhall anyhow, make it to your lover. After you are arrested, they promptly throw you into the dungeon, the dungeon where you have been left to rot for the past few days.

This is when you truly realize that he’s not coming for you. He’s. Not. Saving. You. And you were an idiot to think otherwise.

You’re getting close to having been left alone too long with your thoughts when the door to your cell clangs open. Two guards walk in and lift you under each arm, to your feet.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You ask, happy to be taken out of the dungeon but unsure if it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“His Grace has summoned your presence.” The guard on the left says as they drag you to the throne room.

When you arrive, the doors are thrown open and you stumble in, the guards’ pace much quicker than your own. You come to a halt and someone says, “You stand in the presence of the Dragon Prince, Jacaerys, Heir to the Iron Throne and future Protector of the Realm.”

Jacaerys Velaryon stares down at you from the Iron Throne, a cold gaze in his eyes. “Kneel.” He commands and when you don’t immediately obey, your legs are kicked out at the joint and you fall to your knees. He just looks at you for a moment. “You’re much plainer than I had suspected.” He comments offhandedly.

“Sorry to disappoint.” You say with a grimace.

A hand strikes you across the face. “You will use the proper honourifics when you address the prince, whore.” The guard on the right spits out at you.

“There’s no need for that at the moment, Ser.” Jacaerys says and then smirks. “Actually, i’ll have the room cleared.

“Your Grace.” The guards bow and then exit the room dutifully.

“I was truly pleased when we captured you, girl. I had this whole plan to trade you to my traitor of an uncle just to make him watch as I burned you alive instead…” He trails off. It’s almost like he’s telling you a story rather than describing your fate. “It was all going to be proper vengeance for my brother. Though, you’re not nearly as innocent as he was, are you?” The way he speaks is so casual that it could almost unnerve you, if it wasn’t for your experience with one bloodthirsty Targaryen already. “Imagine my surprise when I send a messenger to him and the boy returns, cockless, with a note that says I can keep you.”

You try not to let the hurt show on your face. After all you’ve done for him, Aemond couldn’t give a shit whether you live or die.

“Ahh disappointed, are you? So am I.” He says simply. “I was actually so terribly disappointed that I found that sweet little village you’re from and burnt it down instead.”

The blood drains from your face. “W-What?”

“You were not useful to me so I burnt your fucking village to the ground.”

You don’t feel like the powerful woman you were at Aemond’s side at this point. You don’t even know how you feel. Your silence reflects your shock.

“Is that all you can show your future king, a blank stare? The more I look at you, the more I can’t believe how the cyclops was so beguiled. You’re nothing.” He says with a cruel disappointment.

You stare him down, angrily now and you spit on the ground in front of you.

“Are you trying to prove something to me, wench? All I can see is that you are perhaps a bit more reckless than an average peasant. Do you care for your life at all?” He asks, like he thinks you’re stupid.

“Yes, your Grace.” You say, thinking it would be unwise to lie. Spitting at his feet was unwise as well but perhaps pride is your fatal flaw… perhaps.

“Come here.” He says, beckoning you with his fingers. You follow his command, stopping at his feet. He points down. “Kneel.” You feel inclined to disobey, Aemond liked that defiance but this man is harder to read, frightening in a different way.

“I plead your mercy, my prince.” Grovelling usually is the safest bet.

“You really cannot decide how to act, can you? I intend to find your purpose.” He grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up. “Let’s start with the most logical.” He unbuckles his belt and you know exactly what he desires.

The prince is well endowed, you know it before he releases himself, but you could not have expected him to be this sizable. He laughs at your reaction. “Judging by the look on your face, Aemond’s cock is small.”

Not small. You think to yourself. But compared to this…

“I don’t doubt that you know what to do. I trust you won’t try anything stupid” He says seriously.

Stupid like biting his cock off.

He’s right though, you do know what to do, taking him in your mouth as much as you can and beginning to suck, you quickly realize Jacaerys is bored. You speed up your movements, just the way Aemond used to like it. The quick pace usually is pleasing to most men… you thought, but the way the prince slumps back in his throne says otherwise. He examines one of the swords next to him in a distant sort of interest and after a few moments, he grips your hair and pulls you off.

“I see now why he didn’t come back for you. You’re like a broken toy.”

You just gaze up at him from under your lashes. “It’s how he liked it.”

Jace scoffs. “What a surprise. You have no technique. I suppose you can learn. I expected you’d be a fully trained pet but oh well.” He brings your head close again. “Go slower this time.” He tells you and you do, taking the head into your mouth and beginning to suckle like a little lamb. “Better.”

You lick up his shaft and then try to take him fully into your mouth again. He never completely fits but you bring your hand up to aide yourself. He guides your movements, pulling on your hair back and forth. You gag almost every time but it would be pretty much impossible not to with how big he is. Though he seems to get off on both, it’s more the motions than your suffering that brings him pleasure.

“Good. Now get up.” He says as he pulls you off again. He stands as well and though he’s not as tall as aemond, he’s still taller than you. “Bend over.”

“Over what, your Grace?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, like you’re more of a nuisance than anything. He then swiftly grabs you by the waist and manhandles you so you’re bent over the iron throne. Though, you make yourself pliable for him.

“You would think that as a prince, I wouldn’t have to do all this work.” He rucks up your skirts and tugs down your smallclothes. He sees your folds glistening with wetness. “Oh gods, you like all this? What a pretty little cunt you have.” He says as he rubs his hand through it. “Let’s see if it’s enough to truly make a man cunt-struck.” He then slips himself inside of you, so slowly that you think that it makes it hurt more rather than less.

“Ah-ah…” you whimper out once he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“I almost didn’t think I’d get it all the way in.” He laughs a little before beginning to thrust lazily. “Maybe this was the only reason he kept you around. It wasn’t enough though, was it? He still abandoned his little whore.” He chuckles and begins to thrust a little harder now. “Nothing to say? You were so confident at the cyclops’s side you seemed to have lots to say then.”

“My prince…” you moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, his thick cock filling you up deliciously.

“Say my name when I fuck you.”

“Mmm, Jacaerys.” You whine out as his hands come to your hips, his thrusts making you unsteady.

“Perhaps I’ll keep you around. Make you my little fuck toy.” His thrusts get quite rough now. He’s angry and taking it out on you. And you could swear that his thrusts are so deep that his cock is in your tummy. You feel his fingertips on your pearl.

“Please, Jacaerys.” You beg him for release.

“Begging now? Gods maybe my stupid fucking uncle just enjoyed how pathetic you are, but you don’t care about him now, do you? You’re my whore now.” His hips keep slamming against yours and his words make you hit your peak, the possession of them enticing you. The way you constrict around him has the young prince hitting his peak as well. He spills his seed deep inside you and then immediately pulls out.

“I’m going to my chambers. I’ll have you bathed and delivered there in an hour.” He says before descending the steps and leaving you there, slumped over the iron throne.

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[goldenempyrean]

Not Quite 'Just Fine'

« Advent Day 1: “I thought you were ‘just fine’?” »

« Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader »

« Notes: First advent fic of 2023! Let's go! :D »

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Advent 2023 Masterlist! 〙

“This sucks.” Came the quiet annoyed grumble of your girlfriend, who had been sitting with her knees tucked up to her chest, her head resting atop them.

Ross was currently on the warpath and had demanded the entire team be pulled into a meeting to lectured on why it was important they keep their operations within the strict protocols set by one of the many accords the government had put into place.

“He’ll be done soon.” You murmured in response as you reached underneath the table to rest your hand on her thigh, “You know how he is when he gets in a mood.”

You both knew all too well how Ross could get but you couldn’t help but feel especially bad for your girlfriend considering that she wasn’t exactly feeling 100% at the moment. The pair of you had only just gotten back from a joint 3 day long mission up in the chilly forests of Siberia. Everything had gone great and smoothly… well except for that fact Natasha had insisted on giving you her thick coat after finding out you’d forgotten yours.

Her thin suit had done little to stave off the harsh chill biting in the air and you’d noticed her shivering throughout the night - even after the pair of you had shared long warm shower together. But when you’d pulled another blanket over her asked if she was okay, Natasha had assured you she was fine.

But now you really weren’t so sure. As Ross continued his lecture, Natasha's shivers grew more pronounced, her tired eyes blinking heavily as she held up her head with her hands. You slipped your hand beneath her hoodie and discreetly rubbed her back - something you knew she aways liked when she was in need of a little extra loving - but you couldn’t help but bite back a sigh as you felt the warmth radiating from her.

She let out a soft, suppressed yawn, and you couldn't help but smile sympathetically.

"You look like you need some rest," you whispered, your hand still on her back. "Maybe we can convince Ross that we need to file a mission report or something. Slip away for a bit. I think we should get some medicine into you, bring that temperature of your’s down a little.”

“I don’t have a temperature.” Natasha sniffled faintly but nevertheless she still nodded. Just as you were about to propose your excuse, her body tensed, and she let out a series of quick, half-stifled sneezes into her hands, “Oh, gross…” She cringed in disgust.

"Great timing sweetheart," You mumbled with a chuckle, handing her a tissue from your pocket. "Let's get out of here. I'll take care of you, come on.”

Clearing your throat you stood up to address Ross, “Sir, if you’ll excuse us, there’s a lot of paperwork that needs catching up on which otherwise will end up on your desk, so, may we?”

The secretary seemed more than displeased at your interruption however when he rolled his eyes and nodded towards the door when Natasha curled into herself with a raspy sounding cough a few moments later.

You nodded back, before turning your attention back to your girlfriend who looked like she wanted to hide in her hoodie and never return. “Come on Natty.” You whispered, offering out a hand when she stood up and had to dizzily grab the table to stable her balance.

Walking down the corridor, you felt Natasha slip her arm around your waist she leaned on you for support .”I thought you were 'just fine'?" You teased, making her blush a little as she buried her head into your side.

She looked up and shot you a half-hearted glare, her voice hoarse, "Don't push it."

You chuckled, guiding her through the corridors, "Well, I did warn you to keep your coat, but no, you had to be the chivalrous girlfriend.”

Natasha snorted weakly, but the action caused her to splutter into a sharp cough making her whine in response, “Rub it in later, will you? I just want to get under some warm covers right now.”

Finally when you reached her room, she gave you a grateful smile, "Thanks for saving me from Ross though. I needed that.”

"Anytime, Agent Romanoff," you replied, helping her onto the bed, pulling the thick duvet over her and she snuggled down into the sheet, “Now, let's get you comfortable. I'll find some meds and we’ll cuddle up for the rest of the day.”

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips, "You're not too bad at this caring girlfriend sort of thing, y’know.”

You winked, "Years of practice. Now, rest up sweetheart and I'll be right back with that medicine."

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[eroticnoices]

euphoria.

parring: weed!dealer!colby brock x afab!reader

warnings: language, pet names: princess, babe. smoking, female oral receiving, dry humping, unprotected sex, dirty talk, choking, spit swallowing, dacryphilia, degrading kink if you squint, praise kink.

synopsis: having a hot dealer has its perks.

it’s always known you should never fall for your dealer. no matter how strong that feeling of desire, or connection is.

maybe it was stupid of me.

but i don’t regret it.

“Y/N, this is colby.” one of my friends; Jake. introduced me to this guy dressed in all black. i give him a small smile and he nods his head to me, as he sips his drink. “he’s got what you want.” Jake tapped my shoulder before waving off to probably where ever Johnnie was.

i took a sip of my punch before speaking to colby. “you sell right?” i try to raise my voice enough so he could hear me. he tilted his head leaning in to hear me. “yeah.” he nodded. “whatcha want?” he shifted his body slightly towards me, as people walked by us.

he motioned for me to follow him.

it felt a little odd to follow a random hot guy you meet at a party. but i was desperate okay?

i nod, following close behind him as we make our way outside to his car. “just get in the front, i got my shit in the back.”

i slide into the passenger seat. his car was way nicer than i expected. really clean too. it even smelled good; a mix of cedar wood and weed.

i watch colby as he subtly grabs something from his trunk and opens the driver side door. he slid into the seat and held a quarter of weed. “this good?” he shifted in his seat, making his legs spread wider.

my eyes shifted to his manspreading but blinked the thought out of my head, before nodding. “mhm.” i tried not to seem to excited but with the way he smiled at me made me think otherwise.

“just give me 35.” my head tilted at his words. “i have 45 on me, i can pay full.” colby laughed. “nah, princess. 35. i don’t need your money. just take it.” he places the weed baggie in my lap.

i took out 40 and tucked it in his cup holders. “wanna smoke?” i grinned at him holding up the baggie. colby rolled his eyes and smiled.

“you’re lucky i got papers.” he reached over my legs and opened the glove box taking out his raw wraps. i didn’t miss how his hand slightly grazed over my knee when he did so. “no filter though.” i shrugged and handed him the weed.

soon after he rolled up the joint, we were already a few puffs in and i started to get giggly. i smiled at him hazily. “you’re pretty, y’know.” colby blurted out after blowing the smoke in my face.

i felt my face bloom with redness.

i was never good with compliments.

i put my hand up over my smile and a giggle. “psh, thank you.” colby smiled and shifts forward to move my hand away from my mouth to see my smile.

my real smile.

“don’t hide.” colby still remained close to me. i didn’t realize how close he was to me till he turned to put the joint down, on the ashtray he had put on the dashboard.

i licked my lips, in a daze about everything that had to do with how handsome colby was looking right now.

maybe it was the weed, or the lack of intimacy. but i needed him.

as soon as he turned his face back to mine, i grabbed his face and pulled him in to meet my lips.

i kissed him with fire and neediness. his tongue making rounds around mine. “get over here.” he mumbled between kisses, tugging me over the center console and onto his lap.

his dick loud and proud as i slid into his lap. “fuck..” i whimpered feeling him grind up into me. nothing but my underwear between us, due to my dress.

“yeah? you like that?” he smirked doing it again, this time bumping my clit when he did it. “fuck i need to be inside you.” colby grunted pushing me back into the back seats, my boobs slipping out slightly. He bit his lip watching my chest bounce.

“fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” he smiled down at me, placing his jean clad thighs underneath my spread legs, giving him a clear view of my red laced thong; that was soaked in my sweet juice.

i blushed at his moving hands, that worked their way down my hips and under my dress. “can i touch you, babe?” he looked up at me with red eyes and dilated pupils. i eagerly nodded at him my hips shifting up to help him tug off my panties, that were now causing me uncomfortability.

“hm?” he slid his finger between my folds slightly pulling down my thong, before snapping it back against my clit; making me cry out. “please fuck me.” i tugged off my thong on my own throwing it behind me; it landing towards the back window.

anyone that walked by could easily see us. but at this point..

colby smirked practically ripping off his belt, and shoving down his pants; barely making it past the second button on his jeans. “oh trust me, princess. i’m gonna do more than that.” he pulled my hips up, sliding his girth into me without a warning, in one push. “h-holy fuck!” i arched my back, my hands flying to the window and his shoulder.

he chuckled, sliding out of me before sliding right back in. “fuck.. you’re still so tight for me.” he bent down to kiss my jaw, sloppy kisses trailing down my chest to my boobs.

i whimpered feeling his dick kiss my spongey sweet spot. he looked up at my through his lashes, still sucking and kissing on my slightly exposed breast. “making me feel so good, babe.”

i looked down at him, my hand snaking around his neck and into his hair. he smirked, noticing how i clinched around him. his pace speeding up; his beautiful tip hitting my g spot every time. colby lifted his head, wrapping his hand around my throat, slightly pulling me up to meet his hips.

“oh fu-fuck!” a broken moan slips from my horse throat. the pleasure being almost too much for me. he took that as a sign to go harder, he pulled my face closer to his, gripping my jaw tightly, making my mouth open slightly.

colby spit on my tongue, making my eyes roll and back arch. i shut my mouth swallowing immediately. “fuck.” he grunted. “you’re such a fucking slut for me. i fuckin’ love it.” his hips slamming into me making my head hit the door.

the pleasure being too much for me, i didn’t even feel it. “sh-shiitttt… m’ gonna cum!” i gasped, clawing at his back, tears streaming down my face, colby kissed my cheek, the tip of his tongue sliding over my salty tears. “sh, t’s okay…” he whispered gently. his finger circling my clit, “fuckin’ cum for me, princess. need it.” he smiled up at me, studying my face as i came.

my wetness, spraying on his backseats, and his knees when colby pulled out, cumming on my lower stomach. “shit..” he panted. “you gotta keep buying from me.”

[ravencincaide]

This was supposed to be a good day

Summary:  You haven't seen Chuuya in almost a decade. The humiliation of his break up with you still burned fresh, still hateful. No you never wanted to see his stuck up “I am better than everyone” attitude ever again. Unfortunately for you fate had other plans. And this time it was unlikely that he would leave you alone, even with your threats. 

Pairing: Fem!reader x (ex) Chuuya Nakahara

Inspired by Not today fic by @chuuyaswifeandhoe. So all cred for this thing goes to her. Please check her amazing works out if you're into really painful angst!

Warnings: Cursing, angst, parents

“ Get back here you little rascals!” 

Children's laughter filled the empty playground as you chased the twins around the slide. Past the climbing net, and all the back to the steps which lead up into the wooden playpen. You were just shy of catching your daughter, your fingers brushed against her ginger ponytail. A little more and– she ducked inside the round playtube with a giggle- just out of your gasp. You could hear her small hands slam against it as she shuffled through to the other side and out of your reach. Before you could follow after; you gasped, stopped and spun around as yet another snowball hit your back. 

You scanned the play area until you caught sight of a head of messy ginger locks belonging to your son. Your little boy full of mischief who was in the process of throwing yet another snowball at you. 

“ Hey don’t even think about it Daiki-” your playful voice was cut off as the snowball made contact with the front of your jacket. You narrowed your eyes at him, watched the way he froze mid motion with a slightly guilty look on his face. Then as you took a step in his direction, the boy audibly yelped before he started running. 

You were not going to let him escape you.

You ducked, narrowly avoided hitting your head on the monkey bars and ran just a little bit faster. “ Gotcha!” you laughed as you circled your arms around the little boy. You lifted him up and spun him once, twice your joint laughter filled the silence until you heard your daughter’s cute yell; “ Me next, mama, me next!” as she ran straight into you with full force. 

If she was older and heavier she might have successfully tackled you to the ground. But being the tender age of seven she was barely strong enough to make you shift weight. Still you acted along and pretended to be brought down to one knee, still holding her twin to your chest. “ Ahh Fumiko you got me” you groaned out as your daughter jumped up and down in glee. Then the two ganged up on you; with giggles small hands tried to drag you down further into the snow while the same small hands tried to tickle you through the thick coat. Your joint laughter filled the empty playground in the otherwise calm park. 

The day was beautiful; chilly but perfect in the sense that you had the entire play area to yourself. Just you and your two precious twins with whom you made heartwarming memories together. Another perfect day, another perfectly sweet–

“ Y/N?” That voice sent shivers up and down your spine. The pleasant shivers of longing which made your heart shred itself in your chest mixed together with painful memories of humiliation. The condescending degrading way he had tossed you aside. The icy blue of his eyes- the twisted smirk- imagines that you had desperately hid in the very back of your mind behind lock and key were slowly coming back. Flashed one by one right before your eyes. 

His words from years ago and the way you cried and begged for him, the way he brought you to your knees and then kept tearing you to shreds. 

Completely humiliated. 

That humiliation was twisted and turned into a tight knit ball of anger in the pit of your stomach. Filled your lungs with air; a suffocating rage. At that moment you did not know what you were going to do if you turned around and actually saw Chuuya. Were you going to yell? Hit him? Demand an explanation for his cruelty? Rub in his face that he had lost years with his children and that this one chance encounter would be the only time he would ever get to be in their presence?

“ Mama are we done playing already?” you were brought out of your trail of thoughts by Fumiko. Her expression was sad; huge blue eyes stared into yours not understanding what happened but being old enough to realize it was not something good. Daiki clung to you tightly, clearly afraid. The anger inside you subsided enough that you could plaster a pleasant albeit forced smile onto your lips. “ Yes but if we go now you can play some video games when we get home.” before the words could leave your lips, the twins were out of your embrace and running throughout the playground to collect their things. 

Their childish innocence warmed your heart. 

The smile on your lips faded the second you saw a gloved hand stretch towards you out of the corner of your eyes, a silent offer to help you off the ground. You ignored it, used your anger as sufficient fuel to stand up in one swift motion. You shook off the snow before you turned to face Chuuya, arms crossed over your chest. 

He looked more stunning than when you last saw him. More of a man; sophisticated suit, a brand new coat and his usual hat now adored with additional accessories. He wore cologne; a musky scent which just barely hid the smell of cigarettes off of him. “ Oj Doll,Why the fuck did you not fuckin’ let m’know?” his tone was accusing, hurt and angry. His blue eyes bore holes into you so clearly demanding an explanation. 

You gave him none. You did not have to; you did not need to. A part of you wanted to deny that the twins were his- but you bit your tongue to prevent that. You knew that even a blind bastard would see the similarities. Still you relished in the idea that this hurt him. You hoped this hurt was even a fraction of the hurt he caused you. 

“ It’s none of your business” you stated icily, out of the corner of your eyes you kept track of Fumiko and Daiki; made sure none of his goons for hire would even attempt to approach the two. 

“ None of my– the fuck?! You sold the goddamn fuckin apartment, kept this from me and just–” 

“-the apartment and all its content which you left to me for wasting my time, effort and looks on you” you cut him off, old hurt surfaced like a steel knife. But no, as much as you wanted to yell and accuse him, to tell him exactly what you thought of him you decided against it. You were not going to stoop down to his level. You were better than that- better than him. And especially not in front of your twins who waited nervously for you at the edge of the playground “ We’re done here.” 

“ Oj Y/N don’t you even–”

Chuuya reached out for you and you sidestepped his touch. His action made you lose a sliver of your self control in the process;“ Touch me and I will call the police; it won’t lead to anything but we both know the mafia doesn’t want to flash in front of the government.” your voice was icy as you watched him drop his hand back to his side. 

His face took on a surprised expression, clearly not expecting the threat. 

You took this moment to continue “ I have never been happier than in these seven years without you. Seeing you today just ruined my day and time with my babies. We don’t need or want you, so make yourself scarce.” You fixed him with a pointed look and made sure he understood each syllable that left your lips. Then you turned on your heel and left the playground. You held your head high, proudly, as you left the playground with your twins safely in your arms. 

You meant every word you uttered to him, every syllable past your lips. You hated him, detested him for everything he had done to you. And yet why did your heart ache so pitifully?  

Author note: This fic was written today and thus hasn't had a lot of editing. Once again it's all thanks to @chuuyaswifeandhoe. Think of it as an early next-week update ;)

All fics are unique works by ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[petermorwood]

I was wondering if you could answer a question about armor, especially the solid/articulated types - how much did it need to be personalized or fitted? I ask because I often see people criticizing fantasy/gaming armor for being too heavy or cumbersome, but rarely for perfectly fitting everyone between five and seven feet tall regardless of whether they're built like Legolas or Gimli.

So I'm curious about whether and what kinds of armor might have been mass produced vs what needed to be customized. Was it easier to produce broadly applicable armor or to recruit your army by height and weight?

Non-custom-fitted mass-produced armour ("munition grade" as some modern repro makers call it) started becoming more common when workshops where everything ran on muscle-power became ones whose hammers, grinders and polishers were powered by a water-wheel.

Making armour to fit a range of average sizes now took less time, effort and wages, so could be sold for less and be afforded by more people.

It would have been made in the period equivalent of S, M, L and maybe XL, with buyers either paying extra for custom adjustments, or DIY-ing for better fit with padded liners to make it snug or extra holes punched into straps for more space.

*****

Top grade plate armour on the other hand was almost like a second skin - a common term is "exoskeleton".

This post from a few years back has a lot more information, including what was done to ensure a good fit when the wearer couldn't be measured in person: for instance sending close-fitting garments or even wax model limbs to the armourer.

It definitely wouldn't have fitted anyone but the original owner anything like as well. In particular, if a non-original wearer was longer or shorter in arm or leg, the armour's knee and elbow joints might pinch at distracting moments or simply not flex through their full range.

"Is increased protection better than reduced mobility?" was a question where the wrong answer could prove fatal.

*****

Perhaps that's why medieval art shows a lot of partial armour being worn:

arm-harness - sometimes just vambraces on the forearms, often all the parts from gauntlets to pauldrons (hands to shoulders);

brigandine - a cloth or leather jacket with small metal plates riveted inside; this wasn't concealed armour, the rivets arranged in rows or patterns were an obvious decorative feature;

haubergeon (or byrnie, though that's more a Saxon / Viking term IMO) - a short-sleeved, short-bodied mail shirt, usually worn under something else;

plackart - front or sometimes front-and-rear lower-abdomen torso plates;

poleyns - knee-guards, worn on otherwise unarmoured legs.

The one thing everyone wore is the first thing Hollywood armour leaves off - a helmet - while the archer below has not just a helmet, haubergeon, brigandine and poleyns, but also something equally important, a brayette or breech...

...which is a pair - or at least the front half where It Matters Most - of well-padded mail and indeed male underpants.

Full plate armours had full plate ones which were even more emphatic. Boob-plates may be (mostly) fantasy, but obvious gendered armour was A Real Thing.

*****

Flexible armour like mail, scale and lamellar wasn't tailored for fit; being flexible it didn't need to be. That said, if the size was really wrong one way or the other, it could be reduced or enlarged by removing or adding sections, similar to a modern tailor taking in or letting out a garment.

I have a vague recollection of a photo showing a late medieval haubergeon with tailoring darts inserted under the arms, but I can't remember where or when, so "vague" has more weight than "recollection". ;-P

Genuine mail is rarer in museums than plate armour, because at the end of its working life mail armour was often chopped into pot-scrubbers for the kitchen. You can buy the same sort of thing today.

Finally, while some looted high-grade armour, or at least parts of it, might fit the looter straight away, it's more likely that after any battle there was probably a brisk trade in swapping what didn't fit for what did.

Hope This Helps! :->

[parrythisucasual]

Jax x Doll! Reader (Part 2)(Final)(I think)

Ah yes. Back by unpopular demand. ME.

You stared at the door, eyes wide. Jax had just disappeared inside, not so shocking, but there was more to it than that. He had kissed you. Of course, not a full kiss, only one on the forehead. But for Jax? He may as well have torn his heart out on the spot.

Your fingers brushed the skin between your eyes, still tingling from his lips. Your face split into a huge smile, a fit of giggles making you dash back to your room, forgetting the events prior except for the kiss. Your mind replayed his words over and over as you dive back into bed, tossing the blankets to the floor.

I really care about you. That’s what he said. You sigh dreamily, spreading your limbs wide on your bed. They didn’t catch once as you finally, finally drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in years.

Hours later, you awoke to a soft knocking at your door. You rubbed your eyes, yawning. “Yeah?” your voice was rough, “who is it?” “It’s just me,” Gangle’s voice piped through the door, “Just checking on you.” 

You sat up, stretching, “Mnn, I’m okay. I’m up.” You slipped out of bed, rubbing your elbow joint, before heading to the door and popping it open. “Hey,” you smiled, feeling much more chipper than usual.

Gangle returned the grin, following after you as you headed for the main room. The rest of the group were already there, chattering among themselves. Jax was obviously arguing with Zooble. Or rather, he was bullying them and they were fighting back. But when you walked into the room, as soon as his eyes met yours, he fell silent.

Zooble’s attention was caught, glancing to where he was looking. “Oh, hey, (Y/N), finally got up?” they waved a bit. You hurried over, “Morning guys!” you chirped. You were about to say something more, but Jax turned away, “Oh, hey,” he spoke numbly, walking to Ragatha and ignoring you otherwise.

What…? Your heart dropped just as quickly as the smile on your face. Just last night, he'd been so sweet. Just last night, he’d admitted to caring for you. Just last night he’d kissed you. What happened…

Zooble clearly caught on to your change in demeanor, “What the heck was that?” they asked quickly, eyes darting between you and Jax’s back. You’re still dumbfounded, still caught up on Jax’s blatant disinterest in you. Zooble tries again, this time grabbing you, shaking you a bit, “(Y/N), what the heck was that?!” they seemed worried.

“Jax, he…” you weren’t sure how to say it. “Did he do something?” their eyes widen, “did he hurt you or something?” Your head shakes on its own, “He said… he said he…” your brain finally makes the connection, “he said he cared about me.”

“Jax did?” Zooble’s eyebrows raised so fast they may as well have flown off. You nod stiffly, knowing it sounds stupid. Their antennas twitch, “Idiot…” they mumble. Your attention is caught quite suddenly, head snapping to look at them, “You don’t sound surprised. Why aren’t you surprised?”

“I kinda knew he liked you. Don’t give me that face, he didn’t tell me,” they roll their eyes at your glare, “but you had to have seen how he treated you differently. He never hurt you personally.” Zooble crossed their arms, “and now, I’d be willing to bet my right arm he’d mad his confession didn’t go as planned.”

You snort a bit, glancing to Jax. He turned quickly- he’d been looking. “He’s mad that he confessed wrong?” Zooble gives a shrug, “How’d it happen?” “My knee locked up and he got Caine,” you recall, “but he was mad I didn’t tell anyone my joints hurt sometimes. He kind of dropped it after that.”

Zooble snapped, then pointed at you, “Bingo. The moron didn’t mean to confess. You should talk to him- not yet!” They had to grab you to prevent you from trotting right over, “Wait until he’s alone, dip(squeak). He’s just gonna run away unless you corner him.”

So, that’s exactly what you did. You watched him for hours, waiting for the perfect moment. All day, he avoided you. He did his best to always have at least one other circus member in his range. But soon enough, he slipped up. He noticed you and headed for the nearest circus member.

Unlucky for him, it was Zooble. They knew exactly what to do- play along. They argued with him for a minute, but made an excuse to leave as you stepped over. 

“Jax!” you smile, “I’ve been trying to catch you all day!” He turned away, a panicked look, “Well I gotta-” You grab his arm, “Stop. Stop running away.” He slowly glances at you, uncharacteristically nervous.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day. I know why, you peabrain,” you chuckle, “but it doesn’t matter.” Jax faces you, an odd, pleading look on his face, “It does, though! You’re the kind of person that deserves something big, a-and something… something-” Your face stops his rambling, “Jax, it was perfect.” Your voice, so genuine and kind. It made him melt, his ears drooping peacefully, “Are you sure?” he whispered. 

“I’m 100% sure, dummy,” you pull him closer, “if… you give me a better one than last night’s.” Jax’s face flushed. Despite your words being so vague, he understood entirely. His face dipped towards yours…

And he kissed you. Truly, this time. Arms around each other, hearts beating faster than you could imagine, he kissed you. When you finally parted, he laid his forehead against yours, a breathy laugh escaping his throat, “You really are special, (Y/N)... I really do…” he hesitated, then found his voice once more, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper to him, “I really do.”

[yandere-kokeshi]

— Jealousy

Pairing: Yandere bee’s x gender-neutral reader x jealous female worker

Warnings: Yandere behavior, violence; knife usage, reader thinks it's their fault that something traumatic happened.

A/N: These bee characters belong to @yanderemommabean — please check out my first one if you wanna read it! Otherwise have fun reading <33

Jealousy and anger mixed is an ugly emotion. Unbridled rage even more so; the feeling of your chest running throughout your body, hands tightening into a fist where it turned into muscle spasms and the envious thoughts that came with it; she despised you.

She was a fellow worker, a fathomed woman filled with jealousy and rage towards you. All day, she was forced to serve you and have a smile placed on her face, yet when her rightful place was in that king-sized bed, worshiped with all hands filled with lotion to massage her stressed muscles and be given any type of food she ordered.

Oh, how she wished that would be her: be cradled in the lap of the drones, kissed gently as they praised her for doing a good job for the bed work.

Though, she can say that her patience was running thin. If only there was a way to get rid of the obstacle that prevented her living her dream, maybe make you believe she’d rub lotion onto your continuous used joints, suffocate you right there and then. Or, she could just drug you every day, watch you slowly drift away as she gets to the spot she very deserves.

Tonight would be the night she would get her rightful place, and be called a queen.

You had just gone for a walk; a small, innocent, and harmless walk in the hive. You had been bed-stuck for hours, being worshiped with many hands and mouths; you were tired and needed to stretch your legs from the hours of pure pleasure.

Not that you minded it, it was just sometimes too much and you got overstimulation from the continuous surroundings that were always the same.

Walking around the huge hive, admiring the beautiful windows that showed the planet’s beauty and scenery, you had stopped in the middle of the hall, looking at the beautiful stars in the midnight sky that glimmered now and again.

Then, you heard fast and steady footsteps behind you, before you could even react, you were pushed against the wall harshly; hands wrapped around your throat whilst being crushed against the wall.

“Do you think you’re better than me?” the woman cursed at you, shooting you a venomous look with gritted teeth, sharp canine teeth snarling like a beast; ready to devour you piece by piece.

Trying to scream from the immediate position, she quickly covered your mouth, kicking your knees to dwell in pain and trying to get you to submit – listen to her ‘wise’ words.

You struggled against her tight grip, terrified and shocked by this sudden behavior. After months of being captured and treated like a deity, you were no longer used to abuse and wrong-doing; quite the opposite.

“Now, you listen to me or I’ll hurt you badly.” she stared into your soul, “Understand?”

Quickly nodding at her words, tears gently rolled down your face as your teeth chattered against one another.

“I’ve hated you ever since I’ve met you, you don’t deserve these goodies! No-one like you deserves it.” she threatened, looking at you like a kid in front of a criminal. Pulling her hand from your throat, she pulled out a knife: a thick, silvered one decorated with flowers.

With the leftover energy you had, you kicked your knee into her groin and pushed her away, causing the blade to clatter away from both of your grasps.

“You ass!” She screamed at you.

From fear, you tripped on your own feet yet still had the energy to be crawling away.

You tried grabbing it but were quickly pulled away by your foot, back where you originally were. The high chance of reassurance was now ripped away the moment she crawled atop of you, forcing you down with her whole weight pressured against your chest.

A fist collided with your face, making your vision blurry and disorienting your hearing from the left ear. You tried stopping her continuous assaults, yet nothing worked amongst her hungry wrath and jealousy over you.

Pools of warm metallic fluid made its way to your mouth, the blunt and foul taste of thick blood made you gag. From the corner of your eye, you saw the blade glistening in the moonlight, highlighted like a rare piece of ore had just been found.

Trying to scream once more, thin fingers made their way to your throat, closed around your airway. You tried grabbing her hands that were tightly surrounded on your neck, cutting oxygen but it was no use.

No matter how much you scratched, she never stopped the pressure.

Finally, what felt like an entirety, she let go but with the shift of doing something else; admiring the thin blade that was right beside the two of you.

You couldn’t move, all your energy from being choked was floating away.

“P-lease…” You begged, trying to change her mind from what she was thinking. From your clouded vision, you could only see a bit of guilt was shown in her face.

Only a little bit but it was there: humanely emotions that were still present.

You saw her hesitate, peering down to connect eyes with you; focusing on the blood, thick marks on your throat, and pools of blood from the cuts on your face. Hard, whistling could be heard from your lips, coating in thick blood and spit.

Anger coated her eyes, face scrunching in pure revenge before leaning over to grip the sharp object. Raising the knife above her head, the tip of the blade made its way towards you; highlighting your small yelp.

Shunk

Why aren’t they here yet? They should be protecting you.

Shunk

You didn’t want to die, you have so much to live for!

Shunk

Maybe you deserved this.

Shunk

Why did it have to be you?

You were gone. Nowhere to be seen. Nobody was informed that you left your bed-quarters.

All of them were freaking out, all of them were looking for you; flying high and low, yelling ‘majesty!’ throughout the halls while some of them were sobbing thinking something worse happened.

But, when they smelled your blood coming from a certain hallway, they knew something was wrong.

And that it was. They found the woman in front of you, covered in head to toe with your blood and holding the very knife they had given to her a day prior for being a good maiden to you.

“Majesty!” One of the drones screamed, running towards you as the medic team showed; grabbing you gently before attending to your injuries.

Everyone was frozen. The military leader and capital leader were in complete shock.

Then, they all looked at her, teeth snarling and growling throughout the room; buzzing with pure anger.

The military leader’s hand clenched in anger, “Why would you do this!” He growled at the woman, who wasn’t merciful nor looking at your body; rather looking at the ground. He marched up to her, pushing her against the wall while his face showed bloodcurdling anger in that moment.

“Answer the question!” He snapped, making her look at him with a laugh before speaking.

“I hated them, that’s why. They weren’t anyone special! I simply did you guys a job to stop worshiping someone so—”

A punch came to her face. Then another. Then a dozen followed to make sure she felt the same as what she did to you.

“Captain!” A drone yelled, arms pulling him off of her to strop his merciful punches so they can update on your needs.

“They’re moving the majesty to the bed-quarters. They said they’re in critical condition, what do you want us to do?”

He looked at him, giving one look at her before looking back at his men. “Bring the traitor to the champers. After I— we make sure that the majesty is well, we’ll drop her to the feeders.”

Nodding towards the two soldiers that were behind her, who forcefully dragged her down the hall as she screamed ‘no!’ and ‘please!’ before he and a few others followed your way.

You were awakened by your head throbbing. The room was dimly lit from the lamps in the corner and underside of the doors.

Looking around, you realized you were in your bed-quarters, swallowed by a whole bunch of blankets, pillows, and medical equipment that were glued to you: a type of breathing nasal cannula onto your face, as well as new clothes and bandages decorating your skin.

Trying to move forward to get up, your body quickly rejects you, causing immense pain throughout your body and reel back into the soft bed, head rolling back in frustration.

Within seconds, the doors to your bedroom swung open, revealing a few drones, maidens, and the military leader.

“Thank god! You’re awake!” One of the maidens yelled out, running towards your side to hold your hand; grasping your hand, squeezing it three times to signal a small ‘I love you’.

You smiled at the maiden, before looking at the captain who was walking towards you with a cup of water. “Open your mouth, please.”

Opening your mouth, the glass brushed between your lips; wet and cool water touching the inside, throat slightly burning from the usage after a long time.

His hand gently caressed over the side of your head, above your ear to stable the swallowing. “You’re doing so good, take a couple more sips.”

His touch was comforting to say the least, so was the maiden.

Taking away the cup from your mouth, you were still desperate for water. Looking at him, you spoke: “H-how long have I… been out?” you asked, voice coming out hoarse.

The maiden looked at you worriedly, “You’ve been out for a week. We were all worried. Glad the medics were there in time, you lost a lot of blood!” she weeped, slight buzzing coming from her before tears formed as she sobbed; reviewing the horrific image of you on that floor.

“We’re all just glad you’re well. I’m sorry that I and the others weren’t there to protect you.” He looked at you, getting on his knee beside your bedside to hold your other hand, slightly kissing it with a saddened look.

You smiled gently, “Me too. I’m sorry as well. I was stupid enough—”

You were quickly interrupted by the captain, “No! You are not stupid, you’re majesty. It was our fault that you were bed-stricken, we should’ve taken care of you but we failed; It is our fault, not yours.” He sternly stated.

You smiled again, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“I was so scared.” you confessed.

The maiden squeezed your hand, pushing her head against yours, making her antenna’s tickle your face, “We’re so sorry. Please forgive us.”

The captain nodded before looking at the maidens that were now walking in, he gave you one look, before kissing the side of your head, “We’ll always be here for you, Majesty. I’m gonna deal with some issues, but I’ll be right back. Okay? Rest as much as needed.”

As he left, the current maiden holding your hand kissed the other side of your head, looking at you before she spoke, “You’ve done so well, your majesty. Can you please do something for us?”

You nodded, feeling a hand tug at your underarms ever so gently. “We need you to stand up. Do you think you can do that?

“I-I can try,” You replied. She smiled, antennae slightly dancing. “That’s all we ask, you’re Majesty.”

They helped you get into a sitting position, making you hold onto them mostly for support. Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, holding a maiden’s arm to keep up straight. Standing with shaky legs, looking at the ground as they helped guide you to the bathroom; letting you know that they were in no rush and to take baby steps.

“You’re doing so well, few more steps you’re majesty,” A maiden praised you, hand clasped in your hand while you made it to the bathroom, cold tiles touching your feet. In front of you, the tub is already filled with water, soap, and your favorite scents mixed in with honey.

One maiden touched your waist, you could feel her body warm and buzzing, slightly calming your nerves. One of them gently lifted you, letting you sit on the edge of the tub with a whine of soreness as they both undid the bandages, checking your injuries whilst trying to distract you from the pain.

Soon, a loofah gently caressed your body, careful to wash the surrounding areas of the stitching. They praised you, continuously complimented you to make sure you felt safe, comfortable, and okay to continue.

“Majesty?” A voice called you out of your thoughts, looking at the women and dulled water. “You okay?”

You nodded, whispering a couple of words with a sour look: “I’m perfect. Jus’ a bit sore, that’s all.”

One of the maidens frowned, making sure to look at the others before finishing up the bath. After getting out of the warmth tub, a few helped you get dressed, being very careful and praising you on the way.

Leaving the bathroom, one of them lovingly caresses your back, side of your head, and cheek for comfort as they help you make it to your bed. Feeling the soft sheets against your undergarments, you immediately let out a long, heavy, and deserved sigh.

A few of the maidens let out a giggle and spoke: “Take all the time you need. We’ll be here when you wake up.” She said as she came into the bed, nuzzling behind you before buzzing louder.

“We’ll take care of you, your Majesty. We promise you.”

—

Reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated!! Thank you all for reading <33

Here's my masterlist if you wanna read some more of my content (non-yandere bees)

[tempestuous-tempest]

Romancing Hobart Brown: (Headcanons)

Hobart "Hobie" Brown. Some Punk-Rock anarchist who plays guitar and likes to play as the vigilante of sorts "Spider-Punk". He's soooo cool. How did you even manage to snag him? Well, that's a good question. One I'm not answering.

Responds to "Hobie", "Hobes", "Hobe", "Bee", and "Bee-bee".

Gets home from doing a job or playing with the band and most of the time just wants to chill out, maybe smoke a joint, and cuddle you.

It's a 50:50 chance that he'll fall asleep. Which he can do just about anywhere and you will be trapped until either he wakes up and decides to let go or you wake him up.

On the subject of sleeping, he likes to spread out and will take up the entire bed, including your side. And while you're trying to push him over to his side he'll either A; whine and complain if he's semi-awake, or B; Pretend to be asleep still and refuse to "wake up and move".

Continuing once more with this sleeping theme, he is a light sleeper and will wake up to even the slightest noise or touch so it's kind of difficult to escape his grasp when you shift and wake him up and he tightens his grip on you. How do you deal with this?

Turns out Bee-bee over here is very ticklish and will always move away and/or let go when you tickle him.

Physical affection is his thing. Especially the small things like a hand on the shoulder or instead of holding hands, you two have your index fingers locked together. He likes having you close and knowing you're there with him.

Lets you borrow his clothes, especially to wear out and it drives him nuts to be able to see how adorable you look in his clothes. And if you're small and his shirts or jackets are just the right amount of too big, this man will have the biggest grin on his face.

Let's you play with his hair and even sometimes style it differently, however it's mostly a rare treat for if you were absolutely sad and he wanted to cheer you up. Other times you will have to beg on your hands and knees while saying "pretty please with sugar on top" and giving him puppy dog eyes. And just maybe, he will give in. Maybe.

Expect teasing until you feel like your heart wll explode. He's very playful and likes to see you get all flustered by his words alone. Well, technically, he'll probably have that trademark smirk on his face or even a sly grin which also contributes in it's own way.

Sometimes, he'll hand-make you something out of random parts he "found" as a gift. They aren't always perfect but they mean a lot to you and him.

This is it for this list, might make a part two. I'm also open for asks about how else I perceive him romantically or otherwise.

[eoieopda]

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too. 

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to notice the way he wipes his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll notice how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating, but the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you — like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning. 

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off after you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a yes, please, and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — like he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a little bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that is actually a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

[pizzaqueen]

the sweetest words

(Wherein Eddie likes Steve's face and tells him all about his favorite parts)

Rated T / 1.2k / more fluff! / warnings for smoking (not cigarettes :P)

Also on AO3

“Hey, Steve.” Eddie whacks Steve’s shoulder with the back of his hand, lets it rest there a moment until it falls back to the space between them on the couch. His knuckles brush Steve’s thigh.

Steve’s head lolls toward him. “Mm?”

“Did you know your eyes have some green in them?” Eddie leans in, peering into Steve’s bloodshot eyes, searching for the green; his pulse does a little skip when Steve’s eyes catch his. They sparkle in the low light and Eddie feels suddenly warm.

Steve’s brows raise. “I was aware of that, yeah.”

“Cool.” Eddie blinks. He’s gone cross-eyed. He shakes himself and leans back. “Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thanks.” Steve snorts, takes a hit of the joint they’ve been passing between them, hands it over to Eddie.

The cloudy cotton candy feeling that’s been circling for a while settles over Eddie; he slumps further into the couch, legs falling open. His knee hits Steve’s; Steve doesn’t move and neither does Eddie. “I like your eyes.”

“Okay.”

“Like, they’re really big—”

“Look who’s talking.”

“But it’s the way your eyelids do that thing.”

Steve’s face screws up. “What thing?”

“You know…” The way Steve’s brows raise says he doesn’t know, so Eddie reaches over and traces the crease of Steve’s eyelid with the tip of his finger. Steve squeezes his eyes shut; Eddie lets his hand fall to his lap. “I like it. Kinda like a sad puppy, you know? Like…” He trails off, trying to think of who, or what, Steve’s eyes remind him of. “Droopy!”

“My eyes are droopy?”

“No. Like Droopy, that cartoon hound dog.”

“That’s flattering.”

“They’re kinda…sad, sometimes.” Eddie thinks about that a lot, the sadness in Steve’s eyes. It’s not there often, and maybe sadness isn’t the right word. Hidden depths, or some shit. Eddie wants to dive into them. He doesn’t say that, but he does say, “They’re my favorite part of your face.”

Steve takes the joint back. “Why do you have a favorite part of my face?” He exhales.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why would you?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Oh, my friend, but it is.”

“Whatever”—Steve rolls his eyes—“you’re high.”

“I am, Steve. I am high.” Eddie shakes his head, then he nods. He points a finger at Steve. “But not that high.” He swipes the joint from Steve to illustrate his point.

“What does that mean?”

“Your nose is cool, too, though.” Eddie reaches over again, ignoring Steve’s question, gently tracing the slope of Steve’s nose. It twitches under his touch and warmth bursts beneath Eddie’s skin. He lets his pointer finger rest on the bridge, and his thumb at the tip, then brings them together in a pinching gesture. “It’s very…sharp. And a little crooked.”

Steve finally bats his hand away. “I have droopy eyes and a crooked nose. Thanks.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Eddie passes the joint back.

Steve takes a final hit, tamps it out. “Uh-huh.”

“There’s the little bump in it.” Eddie angles himself toward Steve more, inspecting Steve’s nose when he looks at Eddie. “Did you break it?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Basketball.” Steve tilts his head. “And, you know, I got punched in the face a few times. Probably didn’t help.”

“Huh.” Eddie follows the slight bend in the otherwise straight line of Steve’s nose with his eyes. There’s something about it… It does something to Eddie that he can’t explain. But he could say that about a lot of things about Steve. He props his arm on the back of the couch, leans his head on his hand. “I think it adds character.”

“You think a lot about my face.”

Through the fuzziness in his brain, Eddie’s dimly aware he might be giving too much away. But he’s been more obvious than this in the past, he’s sure he has, and Steve hasn’t caught on yet. At least, Eddie doesn’t think he has. If he has, he hasn’t said anything about it. Eddie doesn’t know if that bodes well or not.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think about my face so much?”

“Well,” Eddie says, waving a hand, “it’s right there.”

“Hm.” Steve crosses his arms, lips twitching. “Any other opinions about it?”

“Maybe.”

“Gonna share with the class?”

”I—” It almost feels like a trap, but Eddie’s not sure if he cares, so he says, “I like your freckles. Or moles. Whichever.” He pokes each one in turn. When he gets to one on Steve’s cheek, Steve moves quickly, snapping his teeth at Eddie’s finger. Reflexes dulled, Eddie doesn’t move away fast enough, and his finger is caught in Steve’s bite.

“I think I might be a bad influence,” Eddie says, a little breathless.

Steve grins. He bites down harder when Eddie tries to pull his finger away, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep it there. So, Eddie wiggles his finger, tickling Steve’s tongue, and Steve’s jaw unclenches.

Eddie doesn’t draw his finger too far away, though. He lets it rest on Steve’s bottom lip, pressing down, and Steve only watches him. Eyes hazy and curious and as pretty as ever.

“Your lips,” Eddie starts, then catches himself, curling his fingers into a fist and turning away.

“What about them?”

Eddie turns back; Steve is looking at him, eyes dark, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Eddie’s heart beats hard and he feels like he’s on the edge of something. Something good, he thinks. Hopes. But, might as well take a chance right? He can blame it on the weed if it goes to hell.

“They look like they’d be good for kissing.” He swallows thickly, tries to paste a confident grin on his face.

“Do they?”

“Yeah, I mean… Lots of girls think that right?”

Steve looks at him a long moment before he says, “Wanna test your theory?”

“That girls think you’re lips are, um, kissable?”

“No”—Steve shifts forward—“just to see if they are.”

“Right.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I mean, I guess you know, we should.” His breath catches as Steve crowds him into the corner of the couch. “Scientific theory or some shit, I don’t know, I flunked like, nearly… Everything at least once…”

Wait. What is he doing? Why is he pulling away? This is what he’s wanted, and Steve is offering it to him. Must want it, too, otherwise why would he suggest it? Fuck it. No more thinking. Eddie leans forward, meeting Steve halfway.

It’s not everything he thought it would be, because their lips don’t quite meet, but he’s still kissing Steve, so it’s fucking awesome. And then he shifts a little, and Steve shifts a little, and, yeah, that’s it.

“Oh,” he says against Steve’s lips, “they’re definitely good for kissing.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I have a new favorite part of your face.”

“I’ll let my eyes know,” Steve says and kisses Eddie again. Slow and soft and exactly like Eddie’s dreamed of.

In between the press of their lips, Eddie says, “Actually, I just like your whole face.”

Steve sighs through his nose, but then he breaks away with a smile and says, “You know what,” hands cradling Eddie’s jaw on both sides, “I like your whole face too.”

[moonshynecybin]

short fic (~1000 words ish) i wrote inspired by @kingofthering's wonderful fake dating au which you can find here ! go read it... anyways thinking about valentino and anger and his love languages and his insane little brain and PERFORMANCEEE and fame being a nightmare. anyways:

“And so my question, I suppose, is about your previous comments about Marc— would you say that you’ve put your feud behind you?”

Vale feels Marc shift from one foot to the other, his shoulders tensing under the lazy stretch of Vale’s arm. He’d tucked him there as soon as they’d entered the room, hoping the physical contact would sell it a bit more— give the two of them something to fall back on in front of the press— make their answers more convincing. Pictures sell faster than words, in his experience. But he shouldn’t have worried, Marc’s media training is a well exercised muscle, and his usual wide smile is pasted across his face. He’s good at this, but Vale may be the only person in the room who can tell how nervous he actually is, his slight change in posture and the rigid line of his jaw giving him away. Valentino is not exactly at ease, himself. It's the first time in quite a while that a press conference has made him feel like he was about to vomit.

Camera flashes light up in a dazzling flurry, pulling Vale back into the present. The entire room is holding its breath, paying careful attention to their answer, dying to know how two of the biggest stars in motorsport went from hating each other to being photographed together with one of them on their knees in the span of a calendar year. Sharks smelling chum in the water.

So Vale makes himself laugh, open and gregarious. Does what he does best— make it into something funny. Something that can’t touch him. Bring everyone else in on how hilarious it is, how absurd. Because if he thinks about it too long he feels like smashing things. He cannot fucking believe the nerve of this reporter. Cannot believe he has to do this. Cannot believe that Yamaha had asked him to let Marc do this alone. Cannot believe he thought about letting him. Cannot believe they’re pretending that they’re— that they—

“I would hope so! It would make being together very difficult otherwise.” He says, light enough to be a joke, gesturing between Marc and him. Marc’s hand tightens on his waist, catching against the smooth fabric of his Yamaha shirt. It’s the first verbal confirmation of what they said in their joint press release— that they’ve been dating. That they are together. That sometime in the off-season they’d reconciled and fell in love.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened. It’s just harder to explain to the world that the sex you’ve been having with your rival 14 years your junior has been— well. Decidedly closer to something like hate sex than the kind of sex you have with a person that you’re in a committed relationship with. And that a lucky paparazzo had simply been in the right alleyway at the right time. And that Marc and him had barely been on speaking terms before the photo had hit the front page of every major publication in the world.

So here they are.

“And what about last year’s championship? Do you still hold the same opinion about Marc and Jorge Lorenzo's actions at the end of the year?” Another journo asks.

Vale pushes down the wave of emotion, hot and tense—embarrassed—that crests in his chest when he thinks about last year. That’s not what he’s here to do. He grits his teeth, instead. Keeps on smiling. He turns a little, uses the height difference between him and Marc to smile down at him, face close to his, and really sell it. The perfect couple. He winks back at the press.

“It sounds like you all want me to sleep on the couch!” He tries, and the tension in the room breaks, laughter tittering up from the press corp. A bomb defused. “No no no no, Marc and I, we are fine. We are better than fine, even! We are—“ He looks back at Marc, still too close, and pauses when he sees something complicated and delicate playing over his face. Something a little too real to be acting. But Marc quashes it when he sees Vale looking, and turns back towards the room, grin huge and polite. Vale’s words catch in his chest and tangle there for a moment, coming out a little stilted. He covers it with a theatrical shrug and a big smile. “We are good.”

As the press laugh, Marc’s shoulders unspool where they’re pressed against Vale—and he can tell Marc is relaxing, a little. Letting out some of whatever breath he’s been holding. It’s clear that what they’re doing, what Vale is saying, it’s working– the press swaying back to their side as they absorb the news, the shock of the two of them together. The picture they make.

Vale rubs a thumb over the bone of Marc’s shoulder. He's warm. 

Marc starts to speak. “You know, that is in the past. Valentino and I…” He searches for the words in English, brings a hand up to fiddle with his ear– one of his nervous tics. “We had a not so good relationship at the end of last year. But in the off-season, we talk. And learn to separate on-track and off-track. It is good between us.”

And Vale just about can’t stand that, even though he knows this is the plan. He can’t very well smooth this photo thing over and air his grievances at the same time. Doing this is the path of least resistance, he remembers. He tells himself. The one most palatable to the masses– him and Marc, united. Love overcomes all, he thinks bitterly. 

A journalist picks their head up.

“So it’s serious between you two, then? This is for real?”

Vale looks at Marc again, watches the slight flutter of his eyelashes, blinking as the question hits him. Vale wonders what he’s thinking about. If he’s wondering why they’re doing this, now in front of the whole world. If he’s asking himself how they let it get this far. Wondering why he got to his knees in that alleyway when Vale had told him to. Why he’d raced Vale the way he had the entire second half of last season. 

Marc’s smile dims, just for a second, and Vale pulls him closer.

He crushes the instinct to crack a joke just for Marc, to make him smile for real. To ask him why he’d had that look on his face a moment ago. To ask him to come to his trailer later just to– talk. Not to strategize with their PR teams, with their families. To just– be. Like it was before.

But that’s just not the kind of lives they lead. That’s not possible.

Valentino turns back to the press. Smiles. Lies.

“It’s real.”

[saintchaser]

“hi.”

“hey.”

“aren’t you tired after the game?”

“can’t sleep,” sirius said, kicking his feet up on remus’ bed. “it seems like you’re in the same situation, though. what’s up with you?”

“nothing,” remus muttered, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging his legs, his chin resting on his knee.

“come on, i know you better than that,” sirius tsked, putting his head on remus’ shoulders and lacing their fingers together, an old habit, his touch igniting sparks in remus’ body.

“do you have a cigarette?” remus asked, changing the topic of the conversation.

sirius gave him one of those devilish grins, that only he had, and that made remus’ heart thrum in his chest. then, held out a hand for him. “let’s go sit on the windowsill. otherwise, potter will wake up and complain about the smoke.”

“alright,” remus sighed, watching sirius get up and look through the pockets of the jeans discarded on the floor.

he watched him, a moonlit shadow, open the window, and he took that as a sign to get up and join sirius, his joints still aching. sirius pulled remus next to him, their knees knocking together and sirius’ leg between remus’.

sirius lit his cigarette up leaned forward, awkwardly but with his usual elegance, bringing their mouths close together, helped remus with his. he leaned back against the wall, and remus watched his plump lips wrapped around the cigarette, and how hie eyes were lit up by the dim spark.

“so?”

“it’s stupid.”

“is it, though?”

“mhm.”

“i’m willing to listen to it either way,” sirius shrugged, taking a long drag out of his cigarette, and remus watched it flicker between sirius’ long fingers. “we’re mates, aren’t we?”

“that’s the problem,” remus said, looking away from sirius. “that if i tell you, it will all go down to hell.”

“oh, come on, you’re being dramatic.” sirius grinned, pushing himself up on his knees so that he was sitting next to remus, and so that remus had to turn his head to face him. their lips were so close, and there was a lump in remus’ throat, and his heart was beating so fast, and, and—

“let me do it?”

remus didn’t even know what he meant by that, but he nodded, and sirius’ mouth was pressed against his, their cigarettes discarded somewhere that didn’t matter anymore. and sirius’ mouth was pressed against his, and his fingers were wrapped around remus’ arm, and sirius’ shirt was crumpled in remus’ fist and it wad all too much and too little at the same time and it was addicting and fucking beautiful.

it might have been a few minutes. it might have been hours, or days, or forever, until they broke apart, and sirius laughed. remus didn’t know what they were laughing about, but he joined in, their laughter bouncing through the smoke-filled air.

“why did you do that?” remus asked, and tried to stop himself from bringing his hand up to his lips, to make sure that it was all real.

“just wanted to. been wanting to for a while, actually,” sirius added, and there was something in his eyes that made remus go weak in the knees.

remus hummed, his eyes gliding over to sirius’ lips, which parted into a grin.

“right. well, i—”

“you think i should do it again, don’t you?” he asked, looking at him with a raised brow, and an amused expression.

remus nodded, and sirius cupped the back of his neck, where soft curls were nestled. he pressed their mouths together, again, and remus let himself be guided by him. he let himself be loved, he let himself be held, through cigarette smoke and cold night’s air.

[spoonguy]

Blue House On The Left

Pairing: Backrooms Entity x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 4061

Synopsis: You get lost in level 10 of the backrooms, and something doesn't want you to leave.

AO3 Link

The first time you glimpsed the faint outline of the run-down shack on the horizon of otherwise endless grass, you thought you had finally lost it. You blinked, almost certain you were losing it. Even as the shack grew larger and drew into focus, you couldn’t be sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you until you were physically touching the splintering wood.

It had probably once been a vibrant blue but faded in the sun to a weak, flaky slate, perforated sporadically by bare wood and mold. The shack leaned slightly, but it seemed structurally sound enough, so you ducked through the doorway, letting your eyes adjust to the low light level.

The inside was slightly larger than you had expected, and the back wall was much deeper than it should be given the width of the building. Inside, there wasn’t much: a bucket, a few cans of paint, a rake coated in rust, and an old boxspring mattress in the back. Strange, but it wasn't the weirdest thing you had seen that day.

You made your way over to the mattress, acutely aware of your aching joints and muscles. When was the last time you had even sat down, let alone slept, since you fell through the corner of your dentist’s office? You inspected it for damage while wracking your brain for the last time you had had a tetanus shot.

Gingerly, you sat down on the edge, bracing yourself for one of the springs to slice through the fabric and impale you in the leg, but it never came. To your surprise, the mattress was just as comfortable as the one on your bed back home, albeit slightly mustier.

As soon as you laid back fully, the wave of fatigue you were just barely holding back crashed over you, and you were out like a light.

A new level? No, the subtle hum of the cicadas in the grass was still ringing in your ears. The smell of pollen was just as omnipresent. You blinked repeatedly, but the unfinished drywall surrounding you refused to yield. You were still on the mattress, but the shack was gone, replaced by four bare plaster walls with a single white door.

Quickly, you scrambled up from the mattress and escaped through the door back out into the endless field. Nothing stopped you, or even tried, to your surprise.

From what you figured was a safe distance, you circled the house, if you could even call it that. It was a roughly square frame of drywall, two by fours, and fluffy blue fiberglass insulation. By the time you made it around once, you noticed a single window next to the door, which you were certain was not there before.

The window was covered in a semi-opaque plastic film, but you could sort of make out the mattress you had spent the last however many hours on. The room seemed devoid of entities, but with the way it seemed to shift and morph, you weren’t sure.

The one thing you couldn’t wrap your head around, however, was the fact that you were still alive. If something wanted you dead, wouldn’t it have gotten you earlier? While you were out cold? You cursed yourself for being so careless.

Or maybe that was part of its plan? Did it like the chase? No, that’s stupid. Houses don’t think. But, then again, houses don’t change while you aren’t looking.

Your head ached, and you brushed it off. Whatever, it's great that you got a good night’s sleep, but you had to keep moving. Who knows what lurked out in the knee-high grass, and you hadn’t seen any way to refill the nearly-empty almond water bottle in your pocket.

Something compelled you to turn back around and check the house one more time. If the house was under construction, maybe some tools were lying around. A weapon, maybe?

While nothing had come for you yet, the suffocating atmosphere and movement in your peripheral vision triggered something in the deepest part of your lizard brain, trapping you in a never-ending cycle of fight, flight, and freeze.

One more look couldn’t hurt, could it? You knew it most certainly could, but curiosity was gnawing at you.

Reluctantly, you pivoted and walked back up to the front door, which was now a deep navy with a brass doorknob and matching knocker. Beneath your feet, you noticed a mat with what looked like writing on it:

cOM e IN! W eɭ

Oh, hell no. You had seen enough horror movies to know a trap when you saw one. You turned and hightailed it back to the path you had been following. You had made it here from somewhere else, so if you kept walking, you could probably get out.

With what was probably the last of your energy mixed with a spike of adrenaline, you sprinted until the house was no longer visible in the distance, slowing to a walk only when your legs threatened to give out on you.

You took a swig from your bottle of almond water, cringing as you realized that would be your last drink for the foreseeable future. You thought about digging for water, but the ground beneath your feet was as dry as bone.

If there was grass here, there had to be some sort of water source. You pushed on, ignoring the ache in your dry throat and the rumbling in your stomach.

Finally, you saw something in the distance. A way out? Bleary-eyed, you pushed forward until you realized you were approaching a now-finished, light blue house.

The door was propped mostly open, and a single bottle of almond water rested just inside. Screw this. If you were going to die, you might as well die hydrated.

You glared at the house, convinced it was laughing at you somehow, reveling in your misery.

The welcome mat now read:

w El cO ɱ

ɘ i Nn : )

Breathing deeply, you steadied yourself and reached in for the bottle. As soon as you had wrapped your fingers around it, you bolted in the opposite direction, nearly tripping over your own feet as you ran for safety.

When you were at least a hundred yards away, you paused to inspect your prize. The bottle looked fairly normal, albeit slightly cleaner and newer than the one you were carrying.

You unscrewed the top, breaking the plastic seal, and sniffed it. It smelled just as sweet and slightly nutty as the last bottle. You took a tentative sip before caving and drinking most of the bottle in one gulp.

You sat awhile in the grass, scanning your body for any sign of distress or sickness. In fact, you felt better than you had in a long time.

Free of dehydration and delirium, you wandered back over to the house, only to see it had grown a little dirt path leading up to it off the main one. At the corner of the intersection, a little metal mailbox with a bright red flag had sprung up out of the grass.

You opened it to find another bottle of almond water, which you stashed in your other pocket. As you snatched the bottle, the unfinished metal caught your hand, ripping a small gash on the side of your palm. You yelped, clutching your hand to your chest.

Inspecting the cut, you realized it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought. A few drops of bright red blood beaded around the cut, but you’d had similar outcomes from paper cuts. Oh well, at least you have your water.

You shut the door to the mailbox and flipped down the flag before collapsing to the ground in a heap. God, you really had to get some food in you. You pushed off the hunger pangs a little longer with a hearty glug from the new bottle.

The grass felt softer here, free of barbs and stickers that coated your boots and socks anytime you ventured off the path. It was still knee-high, at least, and blocked off everything from view except a small piece of overcast sky. You felt boxed in, surrounded by an impending storm, but the clouds never broke and the rain never fell.

You spent that night, or what felt like a night's worth of time, drifting in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You almost missed the musty shed mattress. Almost.

You stood and turned back to the house, which had spawned another window while you were out.

The mailbox next to you had an address when you turned your head:

1 Z 7 42 b

And the flag was back up in the air. You checked the mailbox and found a single brightly colored bandage with some sort of cartoon character on it that you didn’t recognize.

You shrugged and stuck it to your (mostly healed) hand wound. You guessed the house wasn’t trying to kill you, at least for now, if it cared enough to leave you a band-aid.

Sighing, you made your way over to the front door. The door was the same, but the message on the doormat had changed once again:

W Elo cm

t o e

ɟ Ri e n dddddddd dddd

Yeah, it really wasn’t getting any better with the spelling.

It wasn’t that you did think it was going to kill you; it was that you just didn’t particularly care anymore. And death by house monster was probably faster than dying of thirst.

You gripped the brass handle, only to realize the door didn’t latch, and you could just push it open.

The house had one large room, darkened by heavy curtains. You stepped inside and pushed them aside, letting the dim sunlight flood the room. Illuminated specks of dust floated aimlessly through the air.

The room itself seemed mostly fine, with bare walls, except for the two windows in front. The light couldn’t reach the back wall, leaving it draped in shadow. No lights, and barely any furniture. The mattress, now slightly newer-looking and patterned with a vintage-looking floral print, was positioned in the back right corner. A single dining room chair was sitting facing the left wall, and one more almond water bottle was standing in the center of the room.

The floor was still unfinished, but the room seemed clean enough, so you reluctantly agreed to rest for a while. You weren’t sure, but you were beginning to think you could hear something else besides the cicadas in the grass.

The chair screeched awfully as you dragged it over to the window. The windowsill was big enough that you could use it as a little table, and you began emptying your pockets. Four bottles—two empty, one halfway there. A hotel pen with barely any ink left. Your wallet, with a few bucks left, and your ID. House keys. Hard candy you snagged from the receptionist’s desk.

Jackpot.

You slumped back in the chair, savoring the artificial blue raspberry flavor until long after the sugar had melted completely. It was the best thing you’d ever had. You finished off your third bottle of almond water and collapsed onto the mattress, blacking out before your head even hit the pillow.

When you woke up again, the house had morphed into some facsimile of a living room. The mattress was now a periwinkle couch covered in a gaudy floral pattern with matching pillows. A mahogany coffee table, too low to be used for anything, sat beside it. A tall bookshelf was turned over and shoved into a corner. A window, this time with no curtains, took up most of one wall.

You noticed a wall separating the “living room” from the rest of the house. You stepped through the empty doorway into what looked like it was supposed to be a kitchen.

The decor consisted of a single saucepan sitting on white tile, a table pushed up against the windowsill you sat at yesterday, and a white fridge with a dozen or so multi-colored alphabet magnets stuck to the door.

S T

W P

E P X L

Q F

A D Z O

You, embarrassingly, tried for several minutes to decipher some sort of message before acknowledging the shape of the letters. The house did seem to love smiley faces.

You pulled open the fridge, which was unnervingly warm, to find a pile of hard candies roughly the size of a basketball. You filled up the saucepan and carried it over to your table by the window.

One by one, you unwrapped each piece of candy and devoured it systematically. God, your dentist would hate you. Although rotting teeth seem to be the least of your worries right now.

Overnight, your empty almond water bottles were replaced with full ones. You paused halfway through your candy pile to weigh your options.

Stay, maybe be alright, maybe get murdered by a magic house. Leave and maybe die; maybe find your way out of this hellhole. Something deep in your gut was telling you to keep moving, to stay on the run. Running had kept you alive this long, and with food and water, you were more prepared than ever.

After much deliberation, you stuffed the rest of the candy into your pocket and stuck the almond waters in the saucepan, which you planned on using as a basket. And potentially for hitting.

You set off, not like it would make much of a difference when you left, considering there wasn’t a day-night cycle. But you were feeling better than you had in the last however long, so out the door you went.

You barely made it twenty yards away before the sky opened up and heavy droplets of sulfur-smelling rain came pouring down. Almost immediately, the dusty field flooded, trapping you up to your ankles in black muck. You pulled with all you might, extracting each boot from the mud, and booked it back to the house, running up the steps to the white wooden porch.

Soaked but safe for the time being, you kicked off your boots and slunk down into the newly formed porch swing, silently thanking the house. You peeled off your muddy socks and wandered back into the house. The latch worked this time, opening with an audible click.

The house had divided itself into four rooms while you were out. A cozy living room, a small kitchen, correctly furnished with appliances this time, and what was probably a bedroom and a bathroom.

You stood in the kitchen for a while, afraid to track mud onto the carpet. Finally, you stripped off your soaked clothes and leaned over the sink, staring at your distorted reflection in the shiny chrome of the basin.

You weren’t dead. You were just wet.

And tired.

You sighed and headed for the bathroom, praying the house would give you somewhere to wash up.

Luckily, a white clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the bathroom, and you ran yourself a lukewarm bath. Even as you waited for the water to run, the temperature never got warmer, and you plugged the drain and let the tub fill.

As you ran your bath, you realized the water smelled just like the bottled water, and you scooped up some with your hand for a taste test. At least you knew it was safe. People paid money for fancy bath bombs and salts, right? You thought you had seen some sort of almond bath bomb at the mall, so it couldn’t be that bad.

To your surprise, the room-temperature water wasn’t as bad as you expected. You were more excited to scrub off the layer of perma-dirt. Time held no meaning since you had fallen out of reality. The grime that covered you gave you a pretty good idea of how long you had been here—far too long.

The water was stained an ugly, brackish brown by the time you stepped out of the tub. You cringed as you stuck your hand down into the muck to pull the plug.

You could almost forget you weren’t in some regular house as you toweled yourself off and stepped into the bedroom. The closet was even fully stocked, albeit with some weird items. They all seemed to be about your size, but the items all seemed several decades out of date.

You settled on a pair of silk pajamas that reminded you of something you saw your grandparents wear. You collapsed into bed and wrapped the quilted comforter around you before drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You took a better look around the room when you woke up. The room had filled with more stuff overnight and lost the window. The bed was centered in the room, surrounded by a dresser, a lamp with a dangling brass chain, and a little ottoman with a cream-colored blanket placed awkwardly on top of it. The layout almost felt natural, as if someone might have actually lived here but then had their house ransacked.

Your old clothes were neatly folded up in the top drawer of the dresser, free of mud, but your boots were nowhere to be found. Regardless, you got yourself dressed and headed into the living room to check the weather.

The rain still fell in heavy sheets, flooding the grass field and turning the path into a river of black mud. Despite the rain, the cicadas’ low hum was still present, leading you to believe that it was as intrinsic to the landscape as the endless grass.

The living room and kitchen had merged into one joint room, forming a strange gradient from tile to carpet. Other than the strange intersection between the two rooms, the living room looked okay enough. A couch, a little dining table, and a framed picture of the grass outside. The kitchen was furnished with an oven, as well as a sink, an old coffee pot, and an unplugged blender. The fridge was still the same, but the magnets had moved.

H I

F R I Ǝ N D

H A P

P Y ! !

Every nerve in your body screamed at you to go, to get out of there, that this was the most obvious trap you had ever seen, but you didn’t. Your feet stood firmly planted on the floor. You pulled open the (still room temperature) fridge door and found a single watermelon twice as big as your head. At least you weren’t going to get scurvy out here.

You dug around in the drawers until you found a knife—a little paring one with a plastic sheath. It went through the rind just fine, but barely penetrated a quarter of the flesh. You cut most of the way around the circumference before you gave up and smacked the melon on the counter a few times, cracking it open.

The force of the melon hitting the granite countertop dislodged the knife, sending it flying onto the floor. Just barely, you dodged the blade, letting it clatter onto the tile, before reaching to pick it back up, hands trembling.

You shook it off and started rooting around the drawers again until you found a spoon, then plopped down at the dining table by the window with one-half of the watermelon and one of your bottles of almond water.

Although you were starting to get sick of almond water by this point, the rainwater had smelled pretty rotten yesterday, and you figured it would be best not to get any of it in your mouth, even if just to taste.

The melon was good, but not nearly filling enough, so you returned to the fridge to see if anything else had appeared. There was an entire glazed ham, complete with pineapple and maraschino cherries, skewered with frilly toothpicks. Sure. Food is food.

Finally satiated, you wandered over to the single couch and collapsed in a heap. You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten anything besides wallpaper and that one weird mushroom. You cringed. Never again.

As welcoming as the house seemed, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling eating away at you. What did your parents say about these kinds of things? God, you couldn’t recall a single thing your parents said if you tried.

What did they look like again? Did you even have parents? The harder you thought, the more your head hurt. Each question that came to mind poked more and more holes in the fragile tapestry that was your mind. The harder you pulled, the more the whole thing unraveled.

The only thing you could do was scream. So you did. You screamed at the top of your lungs until your breath ran out and your throat was ragged. You weren’t sure, but you thought you felt the house shudder.

Was this what losing your mind was like? You weren’t sure, but you thought you had heard someone say that if you knew you were going crazy, you weren’t. Or was it the other way around? Your thoughts continued to spiral for what could have been hours or weeks until you passed out, surrounded by sagging couch cushions.

When you awoke, you were back in the bed, tucked in, and dressed in a different pair of matching silk pajamas. Your brain felt fuzzy, and your brain failed several times at retrieving memories from the previous day. Something about a ham? And then you just went to sleep? No, something else had to have happened; that couldn’t be it. You had the sneaking suspicious parts of your memory were gone, but you couldn’t be sure.

The thought spooked you so much that you threw off the cover and bolted for the door. The front door was jammed, but a few kicks to the area below the knob sent it swinging open. Shoeless and empty-handed, you sprinted back to the main path, your feet sinking deeper with every step.

The pace was impossible to maintain, so you slowed to as fast of a walk as you could manage, given that you had to pull your feet from the mud with every step.

You trudged on for what felt like hours, your muscles straining with every step. Howling winds whipped past you, sending rain and mud flying directly into your eyes. The more you struggled, the more you sank into the mud before eventually your knees buckled and you fell, flailing, face first into the mud.

By the time you came around, the rain had stopped completely. You were surprised to find that you hadn’t asphyxiated face down in the muck, but you must have landed sideways because you were still breathing.

You sat up, doing your best to wipe the dried mud off your face and failing badly. At least you were able to see, though, and you looked up. The grass waved lazily in the breeze.

You turned your head from side to side, stretching out the crick in your neck, only to catch the blurry outline in your peripheral vision. You turned to face it, only to see the blue house come into focus.

You had barely made it ten feet before collapsing in the mud. Defeated, you picked yourself up and stumbled up the stairs. Pausing with your hand on the knob, you glanced down to see the doormat had changed messages again:

W E LC O M E

B A C K

:)

You turned the handle and stepped into the house. The living room was finally decorated, albeit several decades out of date, with a fluffy couch piled high with throw pillows. A modest fire crackled in a brick fireplace, gently illuminating the room.

At the dining table. A full spread of your favorite foods was laid out, but the thought of eating made your stomach turn. The only thing you could think about was getting clean.

You headed back to the bedroom to get yourself ready to take a bath. As you pulled a set of pajamas out of the dresser, you spotted a framed photo of a person on the far wall. As you approached it, you realized the person in the photo was you, a radiant smile plastered across your face. You were standing in front of the house, leaning against the porch railing. Under the photo, engraved on a gold plaque, were the words:

Home Sweet Home

[skittishlikefromthewar]

my favorite headcanon to ponder is that as soon as they enter the Champions League - and it becomes official that this level of cardiovascular training is going to become Jamie's new longterm normal - Roy immediately bans him from running on pavement (so that he'll still have cartilage in his knees by age 60, and because no trainer ever cared enough to do that for Roy and he's gonna do better by Jamie if it kills him).

However...

--they can't limit all his running to a treadmill or track either, because that's a GREAT way to get hurt when he's on the pitch. 

Cue a hilarious montage of Jamie biking to some park, folding the bike to carry over a shoulder while running through said park, hopping back on the bike once he reaches the road, biking until he reaches a grass/dirt track along the river, running until the dirt track runs out, biking again, etc.

Cut to a shot of Roy frowning studiously because This Isn't Working Out, before he turns to Jamie and dead-serious, he asks, "Can you run the pavement on your hands?"

And Jamie is 😭😭😭 on the inside but verbally he's just "uh....yeah! Yeah sure I mean yeah no don't think so but yeah sure yeah why not I'll give it a go?"

Cut to Jamie managing seven whole haphazard steps in a handstand before, "aiyeeee..." and a close-up of Roy cringing with his fists over his mouth. 

Cut to Roy frowning studiously again. This time Jamie's got a big abrasion on his cheek. Again, deadly serious-

"Could you cartwheel the asphalt bits?"

Cut to Jamie cartwheeling over and over and over like. well, like a wheel, making good speed...

in a very much NOT straight line, until he cartwheels right into a bush.

"Well." Roy's got his studious frown, Jamie's got his scraped cheek and leaves in his hair. "I think we're out of options."

And Jamie's face falls. "Coach no. Please I can figure it out. Just need to keep trying things don't I?"

But Roy's shaking his head. 

And Jamie just looks sadder and sadder, and he starts to look a little scared. "Coach really I can just run the pavement like I used to it's f-"

"Nope. I'm calling it."

We linger on Jamie's devastated face. 

Quick cut to Jamie's torso. He's running on the road. He reaches the park. He runs through the park and reaches pavement again. He runs the pavement until he reaches the dirt track by the river. He runs the dirt track until it ends, transitioning straight onto the road once again. Scene cuts to him panting at Richmond Green once he's all done. He slowly straightens up, turning to Roy (who it's revealed bicycled the whole way with him) with the angriest, most murderous glare we've ever seen cross Jamie's face.

Roy breaks into his first grin of the entire montage. 

We finally pan down to Jamie's feet

--clad in every runner's favorite pseudo-orthopedic clown shoes. They let you run on a beautiful, cartilage-preserving cloud (edit: ASSUMING you don't immediately let your stride get sloppy, which people often do! that's important, can't believe i didn't say it initially!) and not even Jamie can make them look slick. 

*This post dedicated to my own hoka-related humiliations. They're lovely at what they're designed for but oyyyye. tbf hoka does make slightly less gigantic, less hideous models (ones that visually limit themselves to the type of loud garishness that Jamie would actually probably adore). But also tbf, you KNOW Roy would insist on Jamie cycling through the dumbest, ugliest, most embarrassing, "it's yer fuckin knees, Tartt come on!" models he could find. 

(Bonus: Practically overnight, Jamie suddenly becomes an expert in every dirt, grass, and otherwise natural running trail in all of London because as long as there's no concrete or asphalt anywhere on his run, he can go back to his normal low drop shoes.) (Edit: which, to reiterate, is a much better choice for both your joints and feet, than running pavement in hokas!)