#seriously I’m really fuckin proud of this story

[emeraldcitynerdfighter]

*pokes fic*

COMINTS??

COMINTS?????

[carmenized-onions]

Rightyho

I know others have sent you paragraphs of their thoughts and shit so I thought I'd join, I write down thoughts on pen and paper for shows, movies fics, you're on a piece of paper in my hands btw, labeled

"Shit to send Salt"

So, I started writing this when the shit exec came to the bear, and I noticed you kept calling him THE MAN and that took me back to reading Cujo and the stand by Stephen king, both dogs thought of their owners as THE MAN and so that Got Me.

I've read through your story like 7 times bc my memory is dogshit and each time is like getting a slapp with a dead fish on one side of my face and a kiss on the other.

You got a rosemary water recipe? I'm suffering from old man balding disease at 26 (thank uou testosterone 🫠)

ALSO TONY CONFRONTING LEE AT THE WEDDING!!!???! I WANNA SEE A GD BRAWL

"Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt"

Bitch that hurt ME

I wanna bare knuckle brawl the exec chef, I'd fight dirty bur I'd still pull fucking rank.

"You're not nothing Mikey"

Fucking Carm, how DARE he say the same fucking thing to Richie

"Six hours, same team" motherfucker I'm in tears.

Eva, tony/terry/Tommy with mikey and richie? I'm in love

Richie: "I don't wanna plan your funeral" AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

Fuckin' "I'm just out gor a walk sweetheart" I knew Chip asked carm to turn on his location for a fuckin reason, and as someone who's been 'out for a walk' when actively sui, fucking hurts and put it into perspective of the people I'd leave behind, so thank you for stompin all over my insides with the whiplash you give me each chapter!

Also

"Michael fucking saw you"

OOOOOFFFFF

Punch me right in the throat will ya?

But seriously honestly chicagos kindest is one of the best fics I've ever read in my life, I have a rotation of focus I keep coming back to and atm you're at the top of the fucking list!

Be proud of the space you've made with your writing!!!

FIRST OF ALL— I got your submission of that comic too!! But since it was screenshots it did seem like there was some private info in there— So i DELETED IT (I also feel bad basically freebooting a comic)— But I found it funny, so. There is that. Thank you!

I’m on a piece of paper!! Biggest honour!! And we’re even trying to make Salt happen. That’s so sweet of you. I don’t think we’re gonna pull it off man I’ll be honest but we can try.

YES YES YES YES— Very much so was going for ominous all powerful God man— Was that just cause we weren’t given a name yet and I didn’t want to make one up and be wrong? Yeah. But then we got David just in time, so I didn’t have to keep calling him The Man!! Wonderful. 

I’ve a decent memory I think, but even I have to re-read my shit all the time to make sure I didn’t miss shit— And I know how long this shit takes to re-read so that really means the world to me love, thank you!

FUCK testosterone (thank you testosterone), baby 1 sprig of rosemary to 1 cup of water, cut up a chunk of ginger, add like 10 cloves or so, whatever. Bring that shit to a boil then lower it to a simmer for 20 minutes, then let it rest until cool. THEN strain!! Usually I just leave the pot for like a couple hours and forget it was there, gets nice and red that way!! Stays good for like a week, so don’t make a lot at once. Also use daily. Also for best efficacy keep in the fridge. Also i love you. We’re bald together. 

I want to write a scene of him being full taken to the floor so bad. I — every time I think about it I want to make his head explode with my mind. And HOW DARE Carmen say the same shit to Rich!! Mr Electric kill him!!

Mikey Cycle Breaker for Everyone But Himself Berzatto— I need to lay down jesus christ just hurt my own feelings. 

I’ve been on both sides of that call!! And it hurts SO much on both ends on being out for a walk, and I’m glad for a handful of people that’ve been on one side of that call got to see what the other side looks like— Sucks for both parties, yknow why? Cause we’re on the same team you FUCK ! NEVER FORGET THAT!! STAY ALIVE !!!!!!!

I am so honoured to be someone’s hyperfixation, kisses u kisses u kisses u THANK you my love. Thank you for your thoughts and thank you for being a part of the space!!

[senseisy]

undefined

Yo. Welcome back guys ! Welcome the fuck back guys yeah !! I’m so fuckin happy to be back, droppin out stuff finally. Here it is ! It’s been a long time, I’m sorry for having made you wait all this time, this is quite annoying. But, before getting into explanations, first, I wanna thank you guys all. Really I can’t be more proud of you, every time you show it to me, there’s nothing to prove you’re always there, the fam, gangstas present showing your support and love. Honestly, I can leave you the house for months, you guys still run it with no problems ! This is great. Can always count on the family, and this is it in all the moments. You’re just the best really. Hands up, yeah !  So, back to the shit, these months have been kinda weird. Just reassuring everyone here, I’m perfectly fine there’s no problems at all. Life’s normal shit, nothing special, busy busy busy and busy. Since the last vid, another one was following but I stopped right in the middle because it didn’t feel right to me. I mean I felt like something was off and I told you before, if I don’t feel something I stop in the proccess, that’s what happened I thought I couldn’t give it to you. Nothing came, not the right songs it was empty so as long as I didn’t find something it was quite useless. I deleted 3 stuff in creation so... Then this fuckin heat happened in the meantime, and earlier than expected, so another trouble I couldn’t focus at all. But the desire was there, always, there was no single moment where I wasn’t thinking about it, MG is in the heart it never leaves. And so I thought it’d be better to wait due to this heat, I think I can seriously reorganize myself otherwise I’d become unemployed soon if it comes to 1 shit out every year hahaha ! Seriously it’s fuckin annoying dammit but also I was exhausted, I needed that kind of break somehow because I realized that I didn’t stop for all these years, it just couldn’t go on like that. No feelings about stopping everything though, of course not. Just breathing a bit and get back in at the right feeling. So sorry if some of you were worried guys, I’m not planning to retire at the moment. I keep going. Force ! Now about the vid well, honestly guys though I’ve been working like crazy with previous ones, this one is special ! I really have taken my time in there, it was hard. Thought I never seen the end. But I’m happy cause I heard some of you, I wanted to give something sweet, it’s quite a story in it, I hope you’ll like it. Back to da house, enjoy it there as well YouTube : :  https://www.youtube.com/c/GenerationGangstasSenseisy1991   Thank you for watching. And last but not least, thank you really for being by my side for all those years guys ! Thank you. Still rollin together gangstas.  Love you. 

[thatpunkmaximoff]

Story: 5 out of 5 Smut: 3.5 out of 5

This was my introduction to cowboy romance and I’m hooked. I need more.

Chasing the Wild is filled with a forbidden affair, a jealous ex, and a family history that will leave you hurting for Colton Wilder.

The forbidden affair with the ex’s grumpy dad is everything you didn’t know you needed until you pick up this book. Seriously, pick it up!

The spice is top notch, as is Colt’s… everything. And despite everything that goes on, Layla keeps her head held high and leaves you proud for our girl.

Even after the love affair, the drama, and the HEA… I want more. Thankfully we are introduced to another cowboy in here and I can’t wait to read his story!

* Wow. Kurt, the gas station employee, is a total dick.

* Oh.. my.. god. Who is this hot cowboy that paid for her gas..?

* Ouch. He just took off after the brief flirting.

* And now she’s tracked down the ex, the hot cowboy answers the door in nothing but a towel..? wtf. He’s grumpy af now 😬

* It’s his dad 😂 Holy hell. Ride him. Ride him right now.

* Colton Wilder. God, even his name is hot.

* Fuck you, Kayce! Did you really put Layla in debt, you asshole?!

* She’s snowed in.. alone with Colton.. yes! And he’s just offered her a job to make up for her car crapping out and having to miss out on the job opportunity she had.

* Aww. Colt’s jealous and doesn’t want to tell her about his friend Storm- a friend who sounds equally as hot as Colt. He has tattoos!

* God, I love Colt’s inner monologue. He desperately wants to fuck Layla, but won’t because of his son. Screw your son!

* Oohhh. Protective Colt. I love this side of him the most, I think.

* Who the fuck are Henrik and Alton Pierson and why did they hurt Colt’s cattle? It was definitely them.

* So close. So. Fucking. Close! And Kayce’s bitch ass had to ruin it by radioing in and then being a jealous asshole. Newsflash, YOU’RE BROKEN UP!

* Daddy Colt put his black cowboy hat on her to “lay claim”. Oh my god, if these two don’t fuck soon.. ima go crazy.

* “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy, and all that.” 😂

* Possessive Colt 🥵

* Fuck your son, man. Just bone down with Layla already!!!!

* “She deserves so much goddamn better. Better than I can offer her. And that's the entire dilemma I'm in... I want her to have noon and the stars and the sun itself, but I don't want anyone to be the one giving it to her because I am a selfish, old bastard.”

* Goddamn. She really sat in his lap and touched herself. Colt has some restraint.

* BAM. FINALLY!

* Don’t bullshit me with two weeks. Once Kayce returns, IF he returns, Layla better admit what his fuck up really was. Colt shouldn’t have to baby his fucking son just because he feels guilty for leaving him with his shitty mother.

* Dammnnnn. Colt can fuck 😏

* And they barebacked it..? Holy shit. That tub scene.

* wtf. Those Pierson brothers set a trap for Colt that Layla accidentally triggered? Why won’t he report them..?

* He gave her his cowboy hat!!!!

* Holy fuck. Kayce returned with a pregnant girl. wtf dude.

* Fuck those Pierson brothers. It’s about time those cocky assholes got arrested.

* Lmao. He’s eating her out in the bathroom while his son is on the other side of the door, asking if she’s okay 😂

* Can Kayce’s baby momma stop flirting with Colt? Thanks.

* “For what it’s worth, whatever this is, I want it so bad it fucking aches.”

* FUCK THIS PREGNANT BITCH. COLT NEEDS TO KICK HER AND HIS SON OFF THE RANCH!!!

* Five fucking months. Are you kidding me?!

* The kid wasn’t Kayce’s! Halle-fuckin’-lulah! And now Kayce is joking about Layla and his dad..? He knew?! Oh my god, she better go get her man.

* He showed to her graduation 😭

* Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. She went home with him 🥹

[nat-seal-well]

Redacted ASMR but each boi is assigned one (1) Cool Rock (or Crystal)

brought to you by someone who really likes rocks

also there’s some pictures :) because who doesn’t like looking at cool rocks (and crystals). but because of the picture limit on posts, I’m gonna have to break this up between storylines lol

Part One: The D.A.M.N Group!

I’m a rockhound but I’m also pagan and that means we gotta dive into the metaphysical stuff a little bit, even though I don’t really believe in the whole healing crystal thing. I’m gonna use the term symbolism instead because I think that’s just easier—

Since I’m steering this ship we’re gonna start it off with my most favorite boy ever

Huxley:

Petrified wood! This probably doesn’t surprise any of you. Listen, from a logical standpoint, it just makes sense. It’s a rock. That used to be a tree. Like, c’mon.

Also, petrified wood is cool as hell?? Like it’s fuckin’ awesome I love geology I love science I love that something that was alive once can become something entirely new and eternal and beautiful.

Petrified wood also symbolizes security. It’s grounding. And calm. Huxley is all of those. No, I’m not playing favorites with my comfort character, what do you mean?

(here’s a really cool picture from the Petrified Wood Forest in Arizona, a place I really want to see someday)

Damien:

Fire agate! Is this another obvious one? Maybe. I looked at a few other options before finding this one and then I saw fire agate and I said “YES this is it.”

This stone symbolizes integrity, having high moral standards, and making clear life decisions. Hence my reason for choosing this stone.

People used to believe it held actual fire element, and when you look at it, you can see why.

Lasko:

One of my personal favorites—Lasko gets labradorite! I actually kinda had a difficult time finding one for him. He deserves labradorite though, it’s gorgeous and I love it so much. I like to look at my pieces a lot lol.

Labradorite symbolizes transformation. Which makes sense, when you hold it in your hand and look at it, and turn it a little to see the colors flash. (Seriously, if you don’t have any in your collection, or if you don’t even collect, this is one that’s just really cool to have.)

I think that out of all of the D.A.M.N squad, Lasko’s probably one of the ones who has transformed and grown the most. As someone who’s struggled with anxiety all their life, especially social anxiety, I love seeing him become more confident in himself and how he interacts with his little found family. I’m very proud of him, I love him a lot.

Labradorite is also said to “assuage doubt and fear.”

Gavin:

Lapis lazuli is Gavin’s stone. Gavin is one of my favorites, even though I don’t talk about him much. His character is just so interesting. I love listening to all of his videos and getting to see how he learns to become his own person. It’s amazing.

Hence, lapis lazuli. This stone has a lot of symbolism for self-awareness. And self-expression. And self-love. It’s all about discovering your “true self” and that’s really the thing I love most about Gavin and his story so far.

Lapis lazuli is also a “communication stone.” It supposedly helps with relationships, and finding harmony between you and yourself, or you and others. And I love the relationships Gavin’s built with the D.A.M.N group.

Caelum:

Last but most definitely not least, everyone’s favorite little empathy daemon gets rhodochrosite! Caelum is always associated with the color pink in my head (probably because of the color of his icon, and also he’s sweet, like cotton candy). Rhodochrosite is a very, very pink stone.

This stone symbolizes emotional healing. And also love! Especially platonic love, which is an extremely important one that’s often forgotten about.

Rhodochrosite is bright, and happy, and supposedly encourages “childlike joy and happiness.”

[writtenjewels]

Lessons part 3

Part One, Part Two

The bookstore had a coffee shop but since Salim had already been there for eight hours, he didn't particularly want to stay any longer. Jason had made a purchase and admitting that one of the items was, indeed, a pen. The other was one of the journals he'd been looking through when Salim spotted him.

“You're a damn good salesman,” Jason told him with a wink. They walked together to a coffee shop a few blocks away, chatting about their jobs. Salim entertained Jason with a few funny stories from the bookstore and Jason talked about some of his more memorable students.

“The class will probably go down in size next weekend,” Jason predicted. “There are always a few who drop out-- usually the younger kids who're disappointed I'm not gonna teach 'em to be the next Eddie Van Halen in a month.”

“Who?” Salim frowned.

“One of the best guitar players ever? Fuck, Salim, you seriously don't know Eddie Van Halen?” He shrugged his shoulders, and Jason groaned. “Okay, I'm bringin' a Van Halen CD to class. How about Jimi Hendrix and Chuck Berry?” Salim shook his head hopelessly. “I'll bring those, too, and you're gonna fuckin' listen to all of them.”

“You're giving me homework?”

“Salim, these are some of the best guitar players of all time. You gotta hear their music.”

“Okay, okay.” Salim chuckled, charmed by Jason's passion. They chatted a bit more about music as they drank their coffee. Eventually the subject moved on from there and onto sports, where they had a friendly argument over soccer versus football. By the end, Salim half-expected Jason threaten to make Salim sit down and watch an American football game.

Salim found himself eagerly awaiting the next class. He got there early enough that Jason was the only one on the room. The younger man was setting up the chairs-- still twelve, despite his prediction that some of the students would drop out-- while coffee was brewing. Salim invited himself inside and grabbed a chair to help.

“Hey,” Jason greeted him. “I got your homework assignment; I'll give it to you after class.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Salim replied with a smile. “I have something for you, too: an address to an arcade my son found. It has this game where you throw American footballs at targets and a foosball table.” He held out the paper for Jason. “I thought we could go and settle this football versus soccer debate once and for all.”

“Deal.” Jason tucked the paper into his back pocket. He smiled but the look didn't quite reach his eyes. “Son, huh? So, uh, how long you been married?”

“Oh, I'm not married.” Salim ducked his head, embarrassed. “My wife, she... she left us a few years ago.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. So you're a single parent? That's a tough fuckin' gig.”

“It is,” Salim agreed, “but Zain has made me very proud. He's going to university. It's the reason we moved here.” Jason let out an impressed whistle. “It's because of him I'm taking this class, to be honest. He said I needed go out and make friends.”

“I'm glad you listened to him,” Jason responded. The light was back in his eyes when he smiled this time. Salim really liked seeing Jason smile.

The rest of the students were starting to filter in so they saved their conversation for later. Salim helped himself to some snacks and coffee while waiting for the class to file in. As Jason predicted, some of the younger students didn't show up. Which was a shame since this time Jason was teaching them how to read music and walked them through a simple song. When they all got the hang of it, he led them through a “round” where they all started the song when Jason cued them. Of course they all had different playing speeds so it didn't sound the way Jason probably intended, but it was still an interesting exercise.

“Great work,” Jason praised. “See y'all next week.” As before, Salim stayed behind to help him put everything away. “Take these back for your boy,” Jason said, offering Salim the remaining snacks. “Teenagers are endless voids, if I remember right.”

“That they are,” Salim laughed. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Don't forget these.” Jason handed him a small stack of CD's. “You can listen to them all by Wednesday, right? I'll drop by your bookstore and we'll talk about 'em right before I beat you at every fuckin' arcade game.”

“You have a lot of confidence,” Salim remarked. “It's too bad I'm going to have to bruise that ego by showing you up.”

“Bring it on, old man.” That made Salim laugh.

He was still smiling when he got home with the snacks and CD's. Why was Wednesday so far away?

[bitches-who-write]

Lurking In The Shadows: Henry Bowers Halloween One-shot:

You roll your eyes at Henry and scoff.  “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”  You were siting on the ground mindlessly playing with random pieces of grass while Henry drinks his beer.  You both were exchanging stories of creepy town folklore while hanging out at Henry’s place.  Henry looks down at you while he leans against his old truck.  His eyebrow cocked in slight disbelief, a faint smirk on his lips.  “It’s adorable how fuckin’ clueless you are, ya know that kid?” He says in a conceding tone before taking another swig of beer.

“Hey! I’m not clueless you asshole!”  you retort playfully.  “But do you seriously think I believe in this shit? It’s all made up anyway.” You laugh shaking your head.  Henry scoffs at you but continues to smirk almost as if he’s proud of his town’s fucked up legends.  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, newbie. The one I’m about to tell you isn’t made up.  It’s real.”  Now it was your turn to smirk.  You stand up and lean against the truck next to Henry,  taking the beer bottle out of his hand to take a sip.  “Yea, yea whatever you say.  Just get on with it.” You chuckle finding amusement in this.  You knew Henry was trying to scare you but it sure as hell wasn’t working. Henry turns and takes a step closer to you,  leaning in to place one hand on the truck behind you.  His face inches from yours you could practically feel the body heat coming off of him.  It a low, gruff voice Henry begins his story.

“They’re called the shadow people.  They live in the wooded area just past the Barrens. Lots of people go down there to walk the trail,  drink some beer …make out.”  Henry smirks again causing you to act disgusted but you really want to smile at that.  “Anyways, these things put a strip of barbwire down across the road so when you get out of the car, they attack right the in there.  Other times they like to toy with their victims first.  After you park your car they wait and hide.  They let you walk over the wooded bridge above the marsh until you’re out of sight.  The bridge is your only way in and out of there.  Once you’re far enough away,  that’s when they come out.    They rig your car-  slash the tires,  cut the fan belt in the engine so the vehicle won’t turn on.  Basically fucking over any bit of escape you possibly have.”

As Henry tells his story you notice your arms have goosebumps as you get the chills.  Henry notices, too,  but continues to smirk at you  enjoying your reaction. You stumble over your words as you ask, “w-what are these things?”  “No one knows what they are.  There’s only one blurry photo of them in existence to this day.  One victim was apparently some nature photographer.  He was attacked and killed but managed to take a picture during the attack.  They’re deformed looking.. Sharp jagged teeth, usually wear all black with pointed black hoods up. No one makes it out there alive.”

You were creeped out by the story but insisted on not giving in because you were positive Henry just wanted a reaction.  You sarcastically do a slow clap while smirking back.  “Wow, bravo.. and scene!”  You laugh and take a playful bow.  “Really got me going there Henry, nice try though.” Henry seems unfazed by your lack of fear.  If anything, he seems up for the challenge.  “Okay fine Y/N.  How about I make a believer out of you then, hmm?  Let’s take a drive down there now and see if it’s just a legend.”  

Now your eyes widen nervous but you can’t back down after taking such a big talk. You gulp but try to smile through the apprehension.  “Fine, you’re driving though.”

Henry parks the truck, both of you slamming the door shut behind you.  You nervously look around, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What?  Is someone scared?”  Henry asks mockingly.  “No!  I’m not scared, just a bit cold is all.”  You say, hearing the uncertainty in your voice knowing Henry picked up on it too.  He laughs and grabs you by the arm pulling you towards the wooded bridge just like in his story.  I were reluctant to go but couldn’t give Henry the satisfaction of knowing you were scared shitess now.  As you both cross over the bridge you hear rushing of the marsh which makes you jump and quickly look back at the end of the bridge. “What was that?!”  You shout.  Henry chuckles.  “Uhh the fuckin’ wind?  For someone who doesn’t believe in legends you look like you’re about to shit yourself.”  You both continue to walk when you stop dead in your tracks. “What now?” Henry asks sounded a bit annoyed this time.  “I defiantly heard something.  I think we should go now.  You got what you wanted, I’m scared but something is seriously not right, we need to leave Henry!”  With that something from under the bridge reached up and grabs you ankle.  You scram and run closer to Henry, grabbing onto him.  You look up at his face and notice he looks terrified as he is speechless.  You glance behind you to see someone.. or something is crawling down the bridge towards you dressed in all black with a black pointed hood up, just like legend has it.  You grab Henry’s hand and run down the Bridge back to the car.  

“Get the fuck inside the truck, now!”  Henry screams, fumbling as the tries to turn the key in the ignition.  The engine floods as Henry keeps trying.  “Fuck!  Fuck! Fuck!”  He screams as he pounds his fists on the wheel.  You’re eyes widen big as you are fixated on something outside.  Henry looks over at you, running his hand through his hair anxiously. “Y/N, what is it?1”  He asks with apprehension clouding his voice.  At a loss for words, all you can do is cover your mouth and slowly point straight  ahead as tears form in your eyes.  Henry turns  the headlights of the truck onto high beams.  The light illuminates a figure  crawling up toward you on the hood of the vehicle.  This person.. or thing is dressed in all black, razor sharp teeth turning into a devilish smile.  Suddenly, not even a second later, something grabs you from behind in the backseat, covering your mouth as its face nuzzles into the crook of your neck.  You let out a muffled scream and begin to sob, desperately tryin to struggle when you hear familiar laughter.  Patrick leans forward giving you his signature Hocksetter smirk then turns to give Henry giving him an accomplished high-five.  Belch and Vic take off their hoods and masks revealing their smug, smirking faces, as well as they surround the truck.  

“What was that about not being scared, Y/N?”  Henry asks tauntingly,  trying to condescendingly pinch your cheek but you shoulder-nudge him away.  “Three words, Henry-  Fuck. You. All.”  you say as you slump back into the passenger seat sulking.  The guys all laugh at your expense, especially your anger once more.  “Later, maybe… if you’re good.”  Patrick adds while licking his lips.  

[wisemins]

✧༻❀!Starshine’s Self-ship Promo!❀༺✧

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║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║

𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙙𝙚...

𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙!

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❝𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐!❞

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❥ Hello all, I’m Starshine, your local self-shipping goblin here to finally make a promo/pinned post! 

❥ Paragirl | She/her, they/them, zhe/her | Bisexual, Ficto, ace spectrum | INFP-T

❥ If you’re in need of a new self-ship pal, need a gush pass or simply want to read this, travel onward!

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Carrd (something to get my sillies out with. Other info too. Graphic design is my passion *blaring Star Wars intro*) (Sidenote, right as of 4/5/24, haven't paid my yearly carrd yet, so info is missing. Bottom line for dni: don't be weird. treat people right. and no fuckin pedophiles.)

Full F/O List (I recommend you take a gander at this since I sometimes I’m too lazy to update my carrd. I’ll always update this list though.)

FYI (tidbits about me, stuff you might not need to know but I wanna share. Includes list of fandoms.)

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Before we move forward, I must mention these few things!

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❥ I do not tolerate ship discourse or any discourse for that matter on my blog, don’t bring it round’ these parts please. I do not care to discuss it or perpetuate it, thank you!

❥ I am not comfortable with sharing romantic F/Os as romantics, platonics and familials are completely fine though (queer platonics are the exception here!). I have a butt-ton of f/os by the way, if that bothers you I recommend you dip out. But if we only share like one or two, I can just block your tags too! Just lmk!

❥ I am 21 years old, please be aware of this! I might post some NSFW things, keep this in mind! I also swear a lot in text. Plenty of my men and women are also whores, sorry about that.

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Now that’s out of the way, here’s a little bit about me!

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❥ I’m an artist in almost every regard, mostly digital and traditional art! I also write a lot (peep my Etsy I write love letters for people like us ❤️❤️❤️ ) do art commissions there too, and make jewelry for myself and my close ones!

❥ I’ve been self-shipping for as long as I can remember, I still have my very first f/o on my list that I actively inserted myself with over 8 years ago!

❥ I’m a massive fan of music, a self-titled music geek if you will, I also have over 200+ confirmed playlists. I take it a little too seriously, blame the autism.

❥ I’m native american and very proud of it!

❥ I’m incredibly gay! Like man. Really gay. Anyways--

❥ I’m a punk, feel free to ask me about it!

❥ I’m gaming. A lot. Pew pew pew

❥ Maladaptive daydreamer!

❥ CEO of AoT f/os, Marvel f/os, Star Wars f/os, CoD f/os, and biker f/os! Probably more to come knowing me

❥ Talk to me about my favorite fandoms and I’ll lichrally explode  

❥ I run an imagines blog! @selfshipseaside​

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Tagging system

I usually have two tags for each romantic f/o, sometimes just one! Platonics and familials only have one tag. Keep in mind I haven’t been using this system for very long, my old posts are tagged with no emojis, just the tags themselves. So be aware of that! 

Romantic ships will be tagged with: ❤️: [tag] 

Platonic ships will be tagged with: ✨: [tag]

Familial ships will be tagged with: 🏡: [tag]

Crushes will be tagged with: 💌: [tag]

Retired/Exes will be tagged with: 💔: [tag]

Queer-platonic ships will be tagged with: 🫶: [tag]

Note: I might sometimes post something suggestive or NSFW. Block this tag: “Starshine’s feelin’ spicy 😳” if you are either a minor or just don’t wanna see it. Thank you!!

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❥ If you got this far and you seem to enjoy my vibes, please feel free to follow or dm me! I am in love with my babes, and I’d love to hear your love stories! I absolutely adore making new self-shipping friends, do not be afraid of me fellas!

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[bitcher-of-blaviken]

The Death of a Bard

Rating: T Warnings: None WC: 1,783 Tags: Modern AU, family shenanigans, Geralt is a good dad, fluff, nobody is dead i swear

Geralt sniffed and subtly wiped a tear from his eye as Yennefer stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Eskel stood on Geralt’s other side, a box of tissues clasped in his large hands. In front of them, Jaskier laid in the long makeshift coffin, his hands clasped over his stomach with flowers tucked under them. They were just wildflowers that Ciri found out in the backyard where they were all standing, but it’s how Jaskier would have wanted his funeral to be like. Off the cuff, nothing grand, a cheap cardboard box instead of a grand and beautiful coffin of mahogany and a plush velvet interior. Geralt knew that this was what the humble musician would have always truly wanted.

Lambert stood on the other side of the box. “Dearly beloved and hated, we are here to celebrate the death of Jaskier—“

“It’s to celebrate the life, Lambert,” Geralt interrupted. He cleared his throat and sniffled again. “He had a good life. He deserves to be celebrated.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Lambert retorted with a scoff. He fumbled with the wrinkled paper in his hands. He was dressed in his nicest outfit, which was his work uniform for the post office. It was sufficient. “We are here to celebrate the life of Jaskier, who died from a fatal gunshot wound in the stomach. He bled out slowly and painfully, murdered in cold blood.”

“Who would do such a horrible thing?” Eskel lamented, his voice watery. “He was so young. He had so many more years ahead of him, so much more music to make, so much— I’m running out of words.” He choked out a sob and took a tissue out from his box to blow his nose into it, comically loud.

“Nobody move,” Ciri called out, walking out with an oversized fedora on. It was nearly falling over her eyes as she stomped out, her chest puffed out despite the large trenchcoat she wore trailing half behind her on the ground. “We have reason to believe the murderer is among this group. Nobody gets in or out.”

Gasps came from all of them.

“Oh come on lady, all of us loved the guy. Some more than others,” Lambert said with a pointed look at Geralt, who flushed. “None of us would kill him. We don’t even have guns.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asked, showing them all a plastic ziploc bag. Inside was a tiny, bright pink water gun. “I’m Detective Cirilla. We found this on the crime scene.”

More gasps from all of them, though there was barely suppressed snickers from Lambert.

“You think this is funny, do you?” Ciri asked as she strode over to Lambert. “There is a man dead in front of us and you think to laugh? Sounds like something the murderer would do.”

“No I’m laughing because it’s a fuckin’ pink water gun,” Lambert interjected with a grin.

“Language,” Yennefer chided.

“No, it is the murder weapon and you better start giving an alibi or you’re going to jail for some interrogation,” Ciri insisted with a shake of the ziploc bag. The harmless water gun rattled around inside of it.

Lambert cleared his throat and put his hands up at the equally hard stares from everyone else at the funeral. “Fine,” he relented. “I was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready.”

“What were you cooking?” Ciri asked, her tone and glare so serious that Geralt even saw Yennefer have to bring a hand up to suppress a smile.

“Pancakes,” Lambert replied equally as seriously. He even crossed his arms and leaned down to meet Ciri’s glare, their noses nearly touching.

“Hm. A likely story,” Ciri relented with a huff. She marched over to Eskel and pointed a tiny finger up at him. Geralt had to hand it to him, he still managed to look convincingly frightened even with an eight year-old in a too big hat and far too big trenchcoat pouting up at him. “And what about you? What were you doing at the time of the murder?”

“I was just— reading with Kitty curled up on my lap. I wasn’t able to move, much less murder someone. I’ve never seen that gun in my life,” Eskel defended, his hands up. “I swear detective, I would have never!”

“I see, and you?” Ciri asked as she whirled around to point at Geralt.

“You think I would have murdered him?” Geralt asked, his tone coming out more flat than it probably should have. He wasn’t good at the theatrics like Eskel and Lambert were. “We just married last week, we were supposed to go on our honeymoon. You were there detective.” It was true, Ciri had married him and Jaskier last week.

“I see,” Ciri said, rubbing her chin as she thought. “But what about his will?”

“What about it?” Geralt asked.

“I have it here,” Lambert said as he cleared his throat. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

“Well? Don’t tarry on man, read it!” Ciri demanded. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. At least she was learning a wide range of vocabulary.

“Yeah yeah, it says ‘If I die, I leave all of my earthly possessions to my newly wedded husband Geralt, including…” Lambert gave a loud gasp.

“What does it say? Including what?!” Ciri asked.

“It says ‘Including my super duper big family inheritance that I have stored away in the coast of Belize’. He was loaded!” Lambert exclaimed.

“Let me see that,” Ciri said as she snatched the paper out of Lambert’s hands. She hummed as she looked over the paper, which really just had the will written out in crayon with multiple words misspelled, including Geralt’s name, but nobody commented on that. She gasped and waved the paper. “This will is forged! I knew it!”

Everyone else gasped as well.

“Forged?” Yennefer asked.

“Yes! His signature was faked,” Ciri decided as she showed the paper to Yennefer.

A loud snore from the “coffin” interrupted them, and Geralt kicked the cardboard box. Jaskier gave a yelp from the jostling.

“Corpses don’t snore,” Geralt chided.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just comfy, and you all were droning on, it faded into background noise,” Jaskier mumbled. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he settled back in the cardboard box. He reached up with one hand, gesturing in a small circle. “Continue.”

“Thank you sir,” Ciri said with a nod. “Sorry about your death.”

“Thank you for your condolences detective,” Jaskier said. “I shall now go back to being dead now. Blargh.”

Geralt huffed a laugh as Jaskier put his hands back on his stomach and clasped them over the flowers again.

“Now! Who would gain from such a forgering, if not Geralt!” Ciri declared as she rounded back on Geralt. “You murdered your new husband in cold blood, to take his secret fortune for yourself!”

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt protested with another sniffle. “I— loved him. A lot. I was really looking forward to the honeymoon. We even had our entire trip planned.” He produced the two strips of green construction paper from his jacket pocket, with the words “Honeymoon tickets” written on them in crayon with a lot of little red hearts around the words.

“I see,” Ciri said, taking the tickets from him to inspect them carefully. “But then why forge the will?”

“I was framed,” Geralt sighed. “Someone must have wanted me to be out of the way. Someone who would have gotten the fortune instead.”

“Someone like..his long lost sister?!” Ciri asked as she pointed an accusatory finger at Yennefer.

“How did you know detective?” Yennefer gasped, a hand on her chest.

“In the victim’s bedroom, I found the actual will stuffed under the mattress!” Ciri said as she whipped out another piece of paper. Everyone gasped again. “But this one says the exact same thing as the forged one! Everything is to be left to Geralt, including his super duper huge family fortune! So why would Geralt have forged a will if he was going to get Jaskier’s family fortune anyways?” She waved the paper at Yennefer. “So I looked around, and found a chain of letters between you two! He wanted to reconnect with his lost sister, and told you about the fortune he inherited from your parents that he was going to share with Geralt!”

“It should have stayed in the family!” Yennefer cried.

“Exactly! And if the forged will was deemed trash and I hadn’t found the true will, then it would have gone to you!” Ciri said with a proud grin. She mirrored Yennefer’s pose, her hands on her hips as she puffed her chest out. “Case closed!”

“Argh, I was so close to getting away with it,” Yennefer said as she offered her hands for Ciri to clasp the toy handcuffs on her.

“Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and— um.” Ciri paused, trying to remember.

“Certain nuclear weapons,” Lambert reminded her with a snicker.

“Yeah!” Ciri said with a grin. “Just like my Uncle Lambert always says!” She bounced and grabbed one of Yennefer’s hands. “The judge has already decided your sentence. It’s a thousand years in jail! We’re locking you away for a long time.”

“That seems fair for a murder,” Yennefer relented as she let Ciri tug her back into the house.

Geralt smiled as he watched them disappear inside, and he turned to help Jaskier stand up out of the box. Jaskier winced and rubbed his backside.

“Ah, that was cold,” he said.

“I told you,” Lambert snickered. “Not so funny when it’s your turn to be dead, now is it?”

“I think I liked it better when Ciri was marrying us to each other,” Eskel muttered. “Are you sure she should be watching those crime shows?”

“Can’t really stop her,” Geralt said with a shrug. “It teaches her big words, and at least that way we don’t have to try to explain to her what incest is and why it’s bad.”

“I was having the time of my life,” Lambert teased with a snicker. “I rocked that wedding dress.”

“Geralt wore it better,” Jaskier fired back with a grin.

“Dead people don’t get opinions,” Lambert said as he led the way to the house again. “Come on, let’s get inside before the detective eats all of the carrots.”

Jaskier slipped his hand into Geralt’s and kissed his cheek. “I absolutely would leave you my super duper big family fortune that I stashed on the coast of Belize if I had it,” he cooed.

“I know,” Geralt chuckled.

“Do you think she even knows where Belize is?”

“Probably not.”

[tricktster]

So I once again have a lot of new followers, meaning that it’s time for my periodic disclosure that I started this blog back in 2015 to promote *deep breath* my Explicit Sans/Reader Undertale fanfic, Chill or Be Chilled.

If you’re rolling your eyes at that title, that’s totally justified because it was super halfassed, much like I initially expected the whole fic would be. If you’re rolling your eyes at the words “explicit,” “Sans,” and “Reader,” buddy, you aren’t alone, because I never would have chosen that particular combo of content and characters if I hadn’t been up to a scheme to bilk you fuckin’ rubes for all you’re worth.

I’m kidding. Kind of. Like, I didn’t really think that it would ever go anywhere at the outset: I began writing a few months after I graduated grad school and immediately thereafter got incredibly, INCREDIBLY sick, leading to a month long hospitalization that absolutely destroyed my path to get a paid job in my chosen field for about a year (I had to wait months to take a qualifying exam that’s only offered twice a year due to the hospitalization.)

So there I was, recovering from medical trauma, bored and aimless, unemployed, wildly depressed, and suddenly trying to scrape by in my manhattan apartment without a revenue source or student loans to facilitate my doing so. At the time, I was just like “eh, I’ll try my hand at writing fanfic, how hard could it be? and like, maybe i can get some people to donate money if I get enough clicks… and then I can use that money to buy food that isn’t just toast/ketchup sandwiches!!!!!”

What can I say? It honestly wasn’t my wildest scheme; it was 2015, I was seeing tons of thirsty Sans content on tumblr, I’d actually played Undertale so for once I had some context for THE popular tumblr fandom of the time… aaand honestly, I just thought it would be hilarious to write an entirely earnest sex scene where one of the participants was a literal skeleton. I studied screenwriting pretty seriously in college, I knew how to write dialogue and set up a vague narrative arc, I figured I’d write like 15 chapters and maybe get 50$ from generous readers if i was lucky.

Weirdly, even at the very beginning, this plan seemed to actually play out as I hoped? I was only giving it like 40% effort and I was writing absolute fluff for the most part, but I still picked up a few hundred readers and even got a few donations that permitted me to enjoy both pasta AND sauce at the same time!

The thing is, like I said, that I spent my undergrad years writing and critiquing screenplays. I knew that what I was writing could only be engaging for so long without some force driving the narrative, and it turned out that I couldn’t turn the part of my brain that was constantly analyzing plot structure off. And like… I liked writing fiction again. I’d stopped doing that once the 2008 recession turned all the entry level positions that could eventually lead to a writer’s room gig into unpaid internships, forcing me to abandon my dreams and instead pursue the goal of Being A Rich Corporate Asshole. I was actually pretty good at that last part (still am), but I missed writing fiction; more specifically, I missed writing GOOD fiction. I discovered that in spite of my initial lazy intentions, I couldn’t just keep halfassing it.

So, I decided to full-ass it. I began outlining and seriously working on my character development, and since I was the one writing it, I decided that it would be the kind of story I’d actually want to read - sure, there would still be some fluff, I’d still write a few skeleton sex scenes (and I wasn’t wrong, those WERE hilarious to write), but there would also be action and eldritch horrors and quippy dialogue and a billion plot twists down the road that I’d have to earn by laying the groundwork down up front.

Once I decided to fully commit to telling a story, I started having a ton of fun with it, and the quality improved exponentially…. and now, years down the road, I am the author of a 484k word, 176 chapter undertale fanfic that is currently the 884th most kudos-ed work on Ao3, which doesn’t sound that impressive until you consider that’s 884 out of 8,713,596, which puts it in the top .0001 percent. And that, unless I got the math wrong, is a batshit bonkers insane percentile to be in. It took some fuckin’ WORK, my dudes, but as a result I can now say with full sincerity that I am incredibly proud of the explicit Sans/Reader Undertale fanfic that, as one anon once pointed out, I kind of wrote as a joke for an audience of myself?

Anyway, I’m sharing all this because like after years and years of having this information in my head I just managed to FINALLY explain to @wrexie the exact layout of the location that like 70% of the story takes place in - I never managed to shake the screenwriting instinct to keep the location budget manageable - and now I feel like my soul can finally rest. Unfortunately, I was able to do that by sharing google maps photos of a mansion that I drove by a lot in high school, and it seems super invasive to the owners to plop that in a public post, but if you’ve read it and you FINALLY want to understand where all the rooms are in relation to each other, DM me and I’ll send you a screenshot lol.

Also, if any if this intrigued you, you should probably give the fic a shot, the link’s at the top of this post. As I mentioned, the first few chapters are pure fluff, but the plot starts to pick up steam pretty early on… and then you hit chapter 44, the pandering is officially put to rest, and from that point forward it’s a goddamn blast.

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[myevilmouse]

Love Yourselves:  2021

I was tagged by @arizonapoppy​​!  Thank you for the tag. 

Rules: filter your Ao3 stats page to 2021 and answer some questions/link some fics for everyone to enjoy! Tag 3 friends to do the same.

How many fics did you finish this year?

Well, I did the multifandom drabble exchange this year, so that doesn’t really count...My AO3 page says I wrote 35 fics this year but if we eliminate the drabbles then it’s only 6...by far my least prolific since I started posting on AO3...

Most popular (by kudos):

Copy That, the Mara Jade x Luke Skywalker clone gangbang you’ve been waiting for...

I’m not surprised, you pervs 😁😘

Least popular (by kudos):

The least popular is my fuckin magnificent multifandom drabble lol told in haiku The Perfect Blend.  Doesn’t anyone like those Japanese Tommy Lee Jones commercials?  I’m so proud of this thing. 😭

Most enjoyable to write:

I’m going to go with Failure to Communicate here.  This was my Merry Chissmas blackout bingo fic, and Tarkin IS SO FUN TO WRITE.  I really love that bastard.  It was just a low pressure, wham bam done in a couple hours fic that reminded me why I love writing fic and how sad I am I didn’t do more of it this year.

Copy That gets an honorable mention but the coherent choreography of a sixsome is WORK people.  WORK I tell you. 

Me trying to figure out which appendage can go in which available orifice^^

Most out of your comfort zone to write:

Easily No Small Thing (Jaime/Brienne).  I decided to pinch hit for a fic exchange I wasn’t even participating in, for a fandom I don’t actively participate in, and that was a bit stressful, since it was a pretty monster fandom.  And the books are different than the show and it was hard to decide things like what freaking color Jaime’s eyes should be when they are different in the different media... A LOT of research for a ship I’d never written (is Jaime a tenor?  What’s his singing voice like?  Go google Nikolaj Coster Waldau singing and find out!).  It didn’t take too long and huge props to my husband who supported and served as advisor.

Also I take gift fics very seriously, and really work hard to try to hit the likes of the giftee, an added level of complexity to writing this.  But it has been well received ❤ Thanks GoT fandom!

Fic you’re most proud of:  

Since it’s “fic” I shall remove the drabbles from consideration.  *throws them out*

Copy That, since I have wanted to write Mara with a clone gangbang FOREVER and I finally did it!

Best fic you wrote (or finished) this year, in your opinion:

I actually finished a sort of sequel to Conflicting Aesthetics that I have not posted, which is really my fave thing I did, but since it’s not posted I am going to go with Copy That again.

Anything you wrote that you feel is underrated?  

Besides that Tommy Lee Jones-inspired haiku?!!?  :) 

I wrote a bilingual Thryce story told in drabbles (each chapter is 100 words for 10 separate chapters) which was 1) a lot of work 2) a pretty sweet little ficlet.  I think some people didn’t understand it was in English as well as Polish so it hasn’t gotten as much love as most of my Thryce stuff usually does, so either it’s not as sweet as I think, or the long scary consonant clusters that hover near the English are intimidating...

It’s called Party Games and it was a gift for the incomparable @handsofthrawn​​

I’ll tag @celinamarniss​​ @jedimordsith​​ and @jedidryad​​!

[fotiathymos]

Idk if I'll ever draw the Gueira and Meis prequel story comic I have in my head but here have snippets I wrote of it and tell me if it's any good lol

uh warning its kinda long, three separate moments and not written like a book as I am more so plotting out how I’d draw it or envision things. Also has a lot of Gueira crying. Like he’s always crying. I’m sorry Gueira.

Meis grumbles and ups the volume on their music. Staring into their mirror, make up dark and black and bad. Angry singing along with a brush comb and then using the same comb to tease at their hair violently. Hair visibly comes out. Their bedroom window bursts open due to the wind. Meis jumps, startled.

The dust storm is rolling by hard and Meis notices the stable door open in the backyard. Their eyes go wide and quickly climb out their bedroom window running towards it.

(Continue in color)

Meis runs inside the stable closing the doors behind them and the storm gets worse. They glance around and count three horses, Ophelia is outside of her stall yet everything else seems fine. They sigh with relief. Meis walk over to Ophelia. "Did you open the doors again cause you were nervous?" Meis pats the horse's nose. Their hand leaves a dust print on the horse. Meis crouches down to look at themselves in a mirror nearby thats leaning on the floor.

Meis is covered in dust and their hair and make up all messed up. They grumble a bit and smudge their eyeliner down their cheek.

Through the mirror Meis sees a foot from behind them poking out of a hay stack.

Meis bolts up. Their first instinct is to kick the hay, hard.

Gueira screams. Followed by Meis screaming. Every single horse starts acting up.

They both are screaming at eachother at the same time.

Meis, "Who are you?! How'd you get here? Get ya fuck out of here!!"

Gueira, "Wait! Wait! Please don't kill me! I can't stand up! They kidnapped me! I had no where to go!"

Ophelia is pushing herself to get in front of Meis. Meis steps aside and the horse goes right for Gueira. Gueira lights his hands on fire and reaches out, "Please no!" Ophelia panics backwards. Meis gets in front of her this time. Gueira's still lying on the floor with his hands aflame, he doesn't attack.

"You’re fuckin’ Burnish! You stupid Burnish! Everything here is flammable don't even fuckin’ dare!" Meis screams and suddenly Gueira has a bucket of liquid tossed on him. His flames don't go out but are duller. He hugs his legs to himself and the light glow of flames surround his body. "I'm.. I'm not in control of this. But I.. won't.. I won't burn the place down.." he stumbles over his words as his body shakes.

Meis stops and takes a better look at Gueira and sees how distressed he is. They calm down Ophelia then look back towards Gueira.

"You're just a kid."

Gueira sniffles, “I’m not a kid!” The flames brighten.

“How old are you?”

“Just turned 16.″

“Thats a toddler. How’d a toddler get into my backyard?”

“I don’t need this from someone looking like that!” Gueira motions to Meis, still covered in dust, half teased hair, shirt torn and barely on and smeared make up. “How old are you?!”

“Gonna be 17 in two weeks.”

“Also toddler!” Gueira points and grins at Meis, his flames disappear for a moment.

“I’m pretty much an adult!” Meis waves their hands in the air. Then stomps a foot towards Gueira. “And you still haven’t answered me!” Ophelia acts up again as Meis is yelling again. Gueira recedes back, nervous.

“Please don’t call Freeze Force on me..” Gueira hugs his legs and hides his face.

“You’re in the wrong place then kid. My pa is training in Freeze Force.”

Gueira’s head shoots up, eyes wide.

Meis plops a seat down next to him. “I’ll hide you for the night though.” Meis leans their arm on their knee and rests their head on their arm. Eyeing Gueira carefully.

Gueira stares at Meis, tears forming but trying not to cry again. “Seriously?”

“I’m not gonna call the feds on a kid.” Meis pulls the nearby mirror close and starts fixing themselves up. “You're lucky my pa didn't catch ya, you'dve been swiss cheese.”

Gueira hides his face into his legs and arms again. “Can you just help me get home.. I don’t recognize any of this place.”

“Sure. Probably for the best you head out after the storm. It gets extra hot after a sandstorm passes ‘round here, even at night. Where you live?”

“Uh, near the Liberty apartments.. maybe you could just point me to a bus or I could hitch hike.. somehow.” Gueira is talking into his arms.

“...I don’t know of that apartment building. Most places near here are just horse people’s homes.”

“...horses?” Gueira’s head peeks out.

Meis points at Ophelia. “That?”

“I know what a horse is!” He glares at Meis. His expression softens as he looks down towards the foor. “Am I not in Miami?”

“Miami?” Meis stops what theyre doing and whip their head towards Gueira.

“Yeah!” Gueira looks happy.

“You mean like Florida?” Meis’ expression is really confused.

“Yeah?” Gueira looks concerned.

“You’re in Texas, kid.” Meis finishes fixes themselves up and pushed the mirror away. Gueira is silent for a moment.

“...how?” Gueira looks back at the ground again.

“I should be asking you that.” Meis pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “You ran from the Foundation real far you got lost, huh?” Meis takes a drag and doesn’t look too concerned till suddenly Gueira’s shaking again. Meis lowers his cigarette. “What.. happened to you, kid?”

Gueira squeezes hard on his own legs. “They...they just bagged my head and threw me in a van. I didn’t know where they were taking me. They talked about the other city states but.. but how'd I get into the middle of the Burnish desert lands..”

Meis frowns. “We’re not in the middle of the Burnish desert lands. we’re in  human civilization.”

Gueira starts crying again and leans back towards the hay. His flames grow. Meis panics and grabs Gueira away from the haystack. 

“Can you stop that!” Meis grips onto Gueira’s shoulders. “You are surrounded by tinder!”

“I won’t burn things! I swear!” Gueira yells back at Meis through his tears.

“You’re currently on fire!”

“And you’re not burnt are you!?” Gueira screams it this time. Flames spark off him. Yet Meis is still unharmed. Meis finally notices how they’re grabbing Gueira and the flames are on their arms as well. 

“See!” Gueira grabs Meis’ hands. “I’m not some monster, please. I’m just... just a kid.. like you said.” Gueira stutters through tears more. Lets go of Meis’ hand and falls backwards into the hay. The hay is unaffected as the flames around Gueira’s body persist. Gueira goes back to hugging his knees and crying. “Please don’t turn me in.. I just.. I didn’t want this.. I..”

“Okay, Okay hey!”, Meis moves towards Gueira. They hesitate reaching out towards him. Then Meis touches Gueira’s shoulder again. They take a moment to register how the flames aren’t hurting. Gueira’s still crying and hiding his face. Meis then grabs Gueira’s other shoulder and pulls him into a hug. Gueira’s surprised. 

“I’m not turning you in. I promise, okay. You can stay here as long as you need.” the focus is on Gueira’s face as his scared eyes soften and he hugs Meis back, tightening his grip and starts sobbing into Meis’ arms.

---------

Both of them are laying on the stable floor, smoking lazily. Meis is letting Ophelia nibble at their hair.

Gueira takes a drag on his cigarette and coughs it up violently. Meis laughs a little. Gueira huffs, "You know,” cough “I always thought it funny how my parents can.." .....he sighs....  "..could look at me and not see I'm gay."

Meis ignores the hidden implications in Gueira's words. "Heh. My family sees me all the time looking like this and still thinks I'm a cis male."

Gueira shifts to face Meis and takes another drag of his cigarette, blows out smoke properly. Meis looks a little proud. "Yeah but you don't know what you are anyway." Gueira picks Meis' hair out of Ophelia's mouth.

Meis ponders a moment.

"I'm.. I'm an unlit match in a haystack. Full of potential to destroy it all but stifled and buried alive."

Gueira raises an eyebrow "Poetic. Is that a song lyrics of yours?"

Meis laughs, "Hoho-noooo. You think I'm that kind of song writer?"

"It's just... if you keep talking like that you'll catch the Burnish from me." Gueira snickers and puts out his cigarette on the barn floor.

Meis smiles falters, "I always thought those things weren't human. I mean.. not that you're a thing. Or not human.." Meis turns to Gueira now. "You can't catch the Burnish.. right??"

Gueira smirks "Come closer and find out for yourself."

Meis flicks Gueira's nose.

"Oooowwwwwwyyeeeee"

Meis puts out their cigarette and stands up, dusting off themselves. "I better get back before Pa comes pounding on the barn door looking for me." Meis kisses Ophelia on the nose and pats Guiera's head, ruffling his hair. Gueira doesn't bother to fix his hair and mutters under his breathe "fuck that guy"

Meis pulls a match out of their pocket and flicks it into a nearby haystack. Gueira rolls his eyes at the gesture, unamused.

---------

Gueira's talking fast and stifling sobs. "It's so lonely and so crowded. It's feels like my head is inside a fire. Numbing and loud. These voices just talk constantly, scream at me to burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. They’re real. They’re my thoughts. But I don’t like them. And I don’t want them to be real.. I.. I understand why the Foundation wants me. But what do they want with me.. why did they choose me. They make me want to burn you alive, Meis." He sniffs and Meis seems unfazed at the concept.

" ..just consume you.. in all of this fire.. all the flames in me."

Meis reaches out to grab Gueira's hand. They're both still not looking at each other. Just staring at the barn on the floor.

"I'm an unlit match in a haystack, Guiera. Maybe I just need to be set aflame."

Gueira starts crying harder. "You don't want this.. you really fucking don't."

Meis drops Gueira's hand and grabs his face to look at him sternly. They’re both facing each other now. "You don't speak for me. I could be a Burnish!"

Between sobs "You don't need this."

"Burn."

"Stop it"

"Burn for me Guiera."

"Shut up"

"Burn me alive"

Gueira pushes away and stands up. "Stop it! Stop it! You don't want this! You don't need this burden! It's useless! It's just trouble! It's just crying and running away and ..and.. I could get you snatched up and killed! Why do you even care about me!!"

Meis slowly stands up. "So we're not talking about the fire anymore, huh?"

Gueira's tears are little fires. He's shaking and trying to hold himself by wrapping his arms around his body in a grip. Legs wobbly and feet shifting to try and stay standing up. Meis doesn't approach him. A gentle smile appears on their face and they reach out a hand.

"Burn."

Gueira closes his eyes tight and suddenly bursts into flames. The flames stay around Gueira’s body and don’t spread.

“Breathe in the fire for me, Gueira!” Meis holds out their arms. “Burn properly!”

“It burns my throat!”

“Scream!”

“I can’t! I’ll really explode!” Gueira opens his eyes to look at Meis. Meis looks excited.

"Burn this whole barn down!" Meis’ eyes are wide and is grinning big. 

"You're losing it too now. You're not even Burnish and you're a pyromaniac." Gueira looks concerned for Meis.

"You think I care about this place?" Meis’ laugh is almost evil.

"You care about Ophelia! I'm not gonna burn her house down just cause I'm being whiney and having a break down! You sound like them. Don’t make the voices in my head external! You shouldn’t encourage this!” Gueira’s yelling and the flames aren’t stopping. His hands are in fists and close to his chest, holding back.

Meis walks up to Gueira and puts a hand on his cheek. Their voice is calmer now. “You need to actually let it all out. You need to burn or it’s all going to eat you up inside. Just scream and burn all your fears away.”

Gueira’s eyes shut tight. His hands open up and to his sides as flames burst around him. Two flame like horns are above his head. He screams. His eyes are enflamed and he glares at Meis, smacking Meis’ hand off his face. 

“You want fire?!” Gueira practically growls and smoke comes out his mouth. Meis is smiling big. “I hate you Meis. I can’t stand this fucking barn. I smell of horse shit.” He’s throwing flames with every sentence. Meis doesn’t move away still. Gueira’s anger starts leaning into his sadness. “I can't just be lazy around here forever on you. Just because I'm scared. Just because I’m so fucking scared!” Gueira roars flames. “I always felt so fucking useless and lazy. I was always a burden on somebody. And I ruined everything for my family, their hopes, their dreams, all their money went to their goddamn useless hospital child. I ruined everything for them! I ruined my own dreams! I can’t even kick a fucking football!” Gueira’s sobbing. “I already lost everything. I can't.. I can't even have you, Meis. When I know this will all be lost too."

------

ono/

[theaviskullguy]

Ink and Petals

@dapple-dualies-propaganda here's the au

Tattoo artist! Rider x Florist! Goggles

hope you enjoy!

---------

When was it not busy at Squid ink?

It was one of the top Tattoo Parlors in Inkopolis. and it was also on a pretty busy street. So, it got a lot of customers. Also the fact that one of the artists was a famous turfer.

Rider hadn't formerly retired, but he had eased out of playing Turf Wars. He had found other interests outside of the sport: Theater, art, reviewing old movies online... He still did Turf from time to time, albeit the adult league. He was too old for the more popular teen division.

So, he found a job as a tattoo artist. And he rather loved it. Not only did most of his friends consult him for tattoo advice (from where the best places are to good designs), but he also knew some gossip. One of his regulars had beef with her neighbor because he has a pet raccoon who keeps stealing her trash and Rider could NOT wait to hear more about this story.

Another thing was, well, Rider had seen some shit. From people covered head to toe in tats, to people eagerly wanting their first tattoo, even to shyer folk who wanted one to defy controlling parents or to mark something important.

None of that prepared Rider for the news he got when tattooing one of the customers. More specifically, Gloves.

You see, Gloves had been coming in for the past few days. They had wanted a pretty complicated butterfly tat, so for the last 3 days Rider has been exchanging stories with the resident enby about... pretty much anything.

This is how this exchange happened;

"So you remember Goggles, right?" Gloves asked.

Rider rolled his eyes. "What, you think I'd forget the guy who kept pulling down my pants?"

"Oh ha ha. Anyways, apparently he works at that flower shop now."

"...He what?"

"You heard me!" They said. "I went there yesterday to get something for a project and there was Goggles! He misses you, 'ya know!"

Rider was just. quiet. He hadn't talked to his crush in a while, contact dwindled when Rider stopped doing Turf as much. Never once did he think Goggles would miss him, but that was probably the self hatred talking.

"...I'll think about it." Was all Rider said.

The conversation continued like nothing happen; Gloves saying multiple cursed things and Rider sharing interesting stories he heard on his job. Time flew by and soon, the tattoo was done; a butterfly with the bi colors on one wing and the nb colors on the other. Rider was quite proud of it, and Gloves seemed to like it. They waved, and left the store, humming to themselves.

Rider looked at the clock. His shift ended in just a few minutes. He knew he had no other appointments that day, so he took to watching old recorded matches in his phone.

Those were over a decade ago. Yet he still remembered everything. His favorite part was still learning he won a match by such a small margin. It was just... amazing.

He sighed. Rider missed those battles. But he has to say, he missed his crush a bit more.

He clocked out, saying goodbye to the other employee-Cherry (business relationships were easy to maintain when your coworkers were your siblings), and headed towards the flower shop for more reasons than one.

Army had a performance the next day. And yeah, Rider knew it was romantic, but platonically giving your best friend flowers was always nice. Plus, he wanted an excuse to see Goggles again.

He looked into the shop-the blue inkling was nowhere to be seen, but then again neither was the front desk. So, Rider shrugged and stepped in.

The floral scent was strong, but not overwhelming. Plenty of blossoms lined the stands, along with tags of what the flowers were and what they meant.

Rider looked around, trying to remember which flowers Army liked again, when he heard a familiar, youthful voice.

"Hi! Need any help?"

The inkling turned around. Goggles had definitely changed since Rider last saw him; his tentacles were longer and in an actual bun, for once. His blue eyes still had that clarity, and he still had that goofy smile. Though he didn't seem to recognize Rider.

"Uhh... I'll be fine. I'm just trying to remember what flower my friend likes the most." He said, hoping his accent didn't give him away; there weren't many in Inkopolis with an Australian accent.

But, Goggles didn't seem to notice or care. "Oh, okay!"

Rider internally breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been awkward if Goggles recognized him.

He looked around the shop, before spotting a bouquet of lilies. He knew Army liked lilies. If they weren't his favorite flower, it'd be close enough.

Rider took a few of the bigger ones, and a few white roses for variety, and took them to the counter.

Goggles smiled. "This a special occasion?"

"Not exactly. Just, my friend's doing a performance for a musical and I wanted to get him something for it." Rider explained.

"What musical?" Gogs asked, arranging the flowers with a sheer, white ribbon tying them together.

"Hadestown. He got Eurydice."

"Oh! I went to go see it last night! Army's amazing at that role. He's your friend, right?"

Rider internally panicked, but calmed down after remembering he wasn't Army's only friend. "Yeah. We've been friends for a while now."

"Well, tell him I said hi!" He handed the bouquet to Rider. "On me, alright? It's for a friend anyways!"

Rider nodded. "Thanks, mate."

"You're welcome!"

------

A few weeks went by. Rider occasionally stopped at the flower shop and got flowers for...well, no real reason. He'd use them to add color to his house, or give them to friends. He just wanted an excuse to see Goggles.

He'd talked to the blue inkling a bit more, too. He'd gotten into the business since, well, he really liked flowers, and he wanted a job where he could just...relax! He still did Turf, of course, but the Adult league was more serious than the teen one, and he just wanted to have fun instead of be expected to take a game seriously.

He still didn't recognize Rider. The yellow-green inkling was a bit hurt by this, to be honest.

Though, it was a bit startling when Goggles actually walked into Rider's work. And Rider was assigned to give Goggles his first tattoo: A blue jay on his shoulder, taking off from a branch.

This time, it was Goggles' turn to ask questions as Rider worked.

"Sooo.... you've been coming into my shop for a while and I still don't know your name!" The blue inkling stated. "I mean, you can probably recognize me though!"

Rider shrugged. "Well, who can forget Goggles of the Idiot Blue team?"

Goggles giggled. "You do know me! I still don't know you!!"

"...I can assure you, we've met before that day I got Army flowers." Rider said.

"Ooh! Can I try and guess who you are?"

"Ehh, why not."

"Okay! Umm..." Goggles thought for a moment. "Clams facemask?"

Rider shook his head. "Nope."

"Inkfall?"

"Wrong."

"Eging Jr?"

"Not even close there."

"Stealth Goggles?"

"Getting closer, I'll give you that."

"....Rider?" Goggles asked.

Rider chuckled. "Took you long enough, idiot."

Goggles smiled wide. "I finally found you! Hi Riri!"

"Hey, Gogs. It's been a while."

"Yeah! I'm a bit surprised I didn't recognize you, since we were pretty close!" Goggles stated.

Rider shrugged. "Well, I'm not the most memorable person anyways."

"Riderrrrr don't say that!" Goggles said. "You're still really popular!"

"To some people, maybe. Not everyone."

There was a tense silence, other than the hum of the tattoo needle as it made the drawing.

"....So." Goggles started again. "How's life?"

"It's...well, better than it was." Rider said. "Got my own place, for one. Though it gets a bit lonely.. You?"

"I'm still living in an apartment. I really want a roommate!" Goggles proclaimed. "Maybe we could move in together?"

"..I'll think about it, Gogs. Though it might be fun being your roommate."

"Really? Thanks Rider!" Goggled smiled.

The conversation grew more casual. Rider enjoyed it; turns out Goggles had his fair share of gossip. It was kinda cool.

And as the next few days passed, Rider looked forward to each of those sessions. His crush seemed to go from "this person would be fun to date i think" to "hOLY MOTHER OF THE GODS IM IN L O V E", and it didn't help that during those meetings, Goggles had to be shirtless.

The days turned into weeks and months. Goggles moved in with Rider, and the two became incredibly close friends.

And, it came to a head near valentines day. Goggles' shop was very busy, as expected. Luckily, Squid Ink wasn't as much.

So, on his day off, just before Valentines, Rider headed to the flower shop and got a bouquet of roses. Cliché to confess on Valentines day, Rider knew, but he's a pining gay cut him some slack.

And Rider came home right as Goggles was leaving for his shift. So, that left Rider with a good 3 hours to practice his confession.

"Alright, Rider. This has to be CASUAL. 'Hey, I've liked you for over a decade but just now had the confidence to confess!' No, too creepy sounding. 'Yo, Gogs. I really like you and maybe we could go out to dinner sometimes?' ...Too casual."

....Yeah, this went on for a while.

Rider groaned, collapsing his his bed. "I wish feelings were fucking easier...I should just call Army."

So, he grabbed his phone and selected the contact, Veronica Sawyer Kinnie

"C'mon, Army... pick up."

And not one ring later, "Rider, what is it?"

"...I need romantic help. Please." Rider asked.

"Look, just because I'm married to Aloha, doesn't mean I know how I ended up here."

"Yeah, I kinda know that." He stated. "Still. I really need some help."

Army sighed. "Who is it? It's totally that one person with the raccoon story-"

"Actually, no. It's, um.... It's Goggles."

The octoling on the other end of the line could be heard sighing. "Still a morosexual I see."

"OI! You're the one who married a fuckin himbo!"

".....Touché. Still, there's a difference."

Rider huffed. "Just... give me some advice. I wanna confess to him tomorrow but I've got no idea how. I'm giving him roses, but like, there's gotta be something more I could do, y'know?"

"Have you tried asking Prince?" Army suggested. "He is the one with the obsession with rom coms and romance novels."

"This is his exam period, Army. I'm not about to potentially interrupt a cram session by asking for romantic advice!"

"Fair enough. I'd say...well, just rip off the band aid. Like... 'Hey, Goggles, I really like you and was wondering if you'd like to be my boyfriend.'"

"...Thanks, Arm. I'll, uh, give it a try."

-------

Rider couldn't sleep that well. Mainly out of anticipation.

He was gonna confess to his crush of...over a decade, at least. He didn't fuckin know what was gonna happen!

Like, would Goggles reciprocate? Would he hate Rider after it? WHAT THE FUCK WOULD HAPPEN-

He sighed. He needed to get his mind off this shit.

Rider looked over to his bedside clock: 5AM. 5 hours before his shift. 5 hours to get his shit together and plan for confessing to the world's cutest but also dumbest man later that night.

C'mon, Rider. Think. Army said to rip it off like a band aid, but Goggles might find that a little sudden and out of the blue. He could write a letter and leave it for Goggles when he went to his shift (The flower shop was closed on Valentines day). That would be a safe option.

Rider sat up, and got out a piece of paper and pencil, writing a note.

"Hey, Goggles.

There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while. I really, really like you. As in, a crush.

I totally get it if you don't like me back, or think I'm weird, but hey, I was wondering if you'd wanna go out to dinner or something. Probably not tonight cause of Valentine's day but maybe tomorrow night or something.

-Rider"

Quickly, he folded it and wrote Goggles' name, putting a little heart sticker on it. It was corny, but hey, Rider had to use up those stickers somehow.

Rider attached it to the roses, and kept it on his desk.

And so, the morning went as normal. He had breakfast, got out of his pjs, put his hair up... the usual.

But as Rider left to go to work, he left the note and rose on the table, and left the house quickly.

During the day, he nearly forgotten all about it; He caught up with the gossip-Apparently the neighbor with the raccoon and the regular were now dating. So that was a nice little end to the story.

Squid Ink wasn't AS busy-probably because it was Valentines day, people were spending it with their lovers, not getting inked up (unless they made the appointment when single)

And it was near the end of Rider's shift when he heard his name mentioned. Probably someone making an appointment before he heard the familiar voice of Goggles going "Okay!!"

The blue inkling walked over to his station. "Hi Ridey!!"

"...Hey, Gogs. Getting another tat?" Rider asked, trying to keep his cool.

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!!!"

"A'ight anything specific in mind or-"

"Can I get just a simple quote one?"

Rider nodded. "Where do you want it?"

Goggles pulled down the collar of his shirt slightly. "Right here, please!"

"Okay. Just try to keep holding that down so I don't mess up.

-----

And so, tattoo conversations ensued.

The quote Goggles had wanted was a simple Pride one, that said "love is love". It was discreet, but a bit of it could be seen poking out if Goggles ever wore a v-neck.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Rider asked, trying to keep things subtle. Maybe Goggles hadn't read the note yet.

The blue inkling nodded. "Kinda! I had mental plans buuuuut nothing serious."

Rider raised an eyebrow. "Who with?"

"..I m-mean, I still have to ask him.." Goggles' face turned a shade of blue, and he averted his gaze.

"....Can I guess who he is?"

"If ya can!"

He smiled. "Does his name have an R in it?" Rider had a guess it was himself, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!"

"Got an accent?"

"Yep!!"

"Is he doing your tattoo?"

"....y-yeah?" Goggles sheepishly smiled. "I'm n-not that discreet, am I?"

Rider chuckled, but on the inside he was screeching. "Honestly? I had no clue myself."

"Really? I've been dropping the most obvious hints!"

"...Like what?" Rider asked, now a bit curious.

"Welllll I've been picking movies you like during movie night, I've made sure to get your drink on coffee runs, Oh! And I offered to cook dinner that one time!" Goggles stated.

"...Damn. I'm just oblivious then." The former dynamo user laughed, before turning off the needle. "There. It's all done." Rider held up a mirror for the blue boy.

Goggles' face lit up. "Whoa! It looks amazing!!! Thanks Riri!"

Rider smiled. "You're welcome. Now, uh, ...did you read my note?"

"..Y-yeah, I did. And, um...I like you too Rider!!" The blue man pressed a small, quick kiss to Rider's cheek.

Rider blushed. "S-so, you'll let me t-take you out?"

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!!!"

"I...thanks, Gogs."

"You're welcome Riri!!!"

----------

aAAAAA RUSHED END

but like. hope yall enjoy!

[voiceless-terror]

Perhaps the "stop moving!" Prompt for Jon, where he's been kidnapped by yet another avatar group and they're trying to subdue him but he's fighting too much so they break something like his leg or wrist to make him stop 👀

Hello! I’ve been thinking about this prompt for a while, and I decided to set this during the Circus kidnapping (hope you don’t mind!) and tackled it with another prompt, this one by @give-me-a-minute-to-think who asked for “ a post-circus-kidnapped fic. like, how martin and timdiscover jon was kidnaped and their reaction (espically tims.) we see in canon martin addressing that fact, but not literally anyone else. i just want some complicated relatinship and tim to be nice to jon even a little.” Hope you two enjoy!

Jon’s pretty sure bones weren’t meant to bend that way.

It was his fault, really. He shouldn’t have put up a struggle. He should’ve realized the futility of his situation and yielded to the rough, unfamiliar hands forcing him into the van. But Jon’s nothing if not stubborn, so a few flailing arms and weak kicks were to be expected. And the retaliation, of course, should’ve also been expected.

“Stop movin’,” came the gruff voice of the delivery man, with a face so nondescript Jon could forget it if he looked away for only a second. He gives one last weak slap to the hands on his body. Wrong move.

A sickening crack could be heard along with a sharp cry- Jon’s cry, because the pain currently emanating from his one good wrist is white-hot and agonizing. His eyes are blurring and the inside of the van is stifling in its darkness, but even he could see that hands and wrists weren’t supposed to look like this. He bites back the nausea and sags back into the rough hands, rendered frozen by the pain. There’s a chuckle, low and sinister, and one of the men begins to whistle the tune from the calliope.

And then his arms are yanked behind his back and the pain reaches a dizzying crescendo as his body decides it’s had enough, and sinks into oblivion.

_______

He spends his days being touched.

Cold hands and a face with a permanent smile. Sometimes there’s more of them, as if he’s a spectacle to be watched and studied. The Strangers like to learn about bodies, foreign as they are to them. Nikola enjoys narrating the process, poking and prodding at the bruises and burns and the strange, twisted hands. He doesn’t bite back his gasps and whimpers, he’s gagged, but Nikola likes to hear them. Likes to hear the wordless grumble of his voice, rendered mute and unintelligible. 

The weeks go by, he loses hope. He’s not there much anymore, he’s somewhere else, a place where the pain can’t reach him. He’s back in Georgie’s apartment, the Admiral purring in his lap. He’s back in Research with a smiling Tim and a woman he imagines to be Sasha. He even thinks back to Martin’s lunches a few months ago with a sort of fondness. People talked to him, people cared. People worried when he was gone. 

Every once in a while, his daydreams are interrupted by the sting of bones knitting together wrong or the itching flare of infected tissue. He starts to think of his eventual skinning as a sort of blessing in disguise; Lord knows he’s wanted to scratch himself out of it more than once. He just wishes they would hurry it up, not draw it out so much. Shouldn’t he be ready by now?

And then Michael comes. He feels a strange, manic strength return to him at the promise of a story, even if it ends in his own demise. I want to know. Tell me, tell me. The Eye’s gaze doesn’t reach him, but the power it’s planted within him grows. By the end, he feels strong enough to reach for the door handle himself, ignoring the pain that raising his arm causes. 

It’s locked. His one salvation is gone. But then Michael is too, and Helen gives him a different sort of hope. One that lands him directly in Elias’s office. 

His injuries are ignored in favor of a more pressing threat- Melanie. The only thing that keeps him standing and lucid is the remaining strength he siphoned from Michael’s statement. But it’s an empty, sickening vigor, one that’s sure to leave him feeling more drained than ever once it fades. Elias says nothing as he stumbles after Melanie with a limping pace, arriving some five minutes after her. She’s sitting at her desk, silently steaming when Jon makes his way in the office, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“Jon!” Martin’s bright voice pipes up. “You’re back! We were wondering…” His voice trails off as he takes in Jon’s appearance, dirty and gaunt and yet shining with a strange sheen. A thousand showers won’t erase the feeling of those cold, slimy hands on him, Jon knows. Tim’s head pops up from his desk and even he looks a bit concerned; it’s the most positive feeling he’s shown Jon in ages. 

“He was kidnapped, apparently,” Melanie drawls, and Jon doesn’t take her ambivalence to heart. She feels trapped like the rest of them. And Jon’s safe now, so what does it matter? What does any of this matter?

“K-Kidnapped?” Martin sputters, making his way over to his side. Jon flinches back unconsciously, gripping tightly at the wall and Martin stops in his tracks, his face softening. “We didn’t- nobody told us-”

“It’s fine,” Jon croaks, though they all know it isn’t. “It was- it was the Circus. A-And I’ll tell you about it-” he nods in Tim’s direction, seeing his wide-eyed stare out of the corner of his eye.”-as soon as I have a rest, if that’s alright.”

Martin casts a critical eye over him, his gaze coming to rest at the stiff way in which he holds his arms. “Seriously? I think you should go to the hospital, Jon. You look-”

“I’m fine now,” Jon assures him- he’d wave away the concern if he could lift his arm at all. “Just- just a moment, please.”

He limps to his office and they let him, their eyes reminding him of those curious mannequins and the way they stared and dissected him as if he were a cadaver on display. You’re not there anymore, he tries to reason as he collapses into his office chair. There’s a statement on his desk and he wonders if it was Elias or one of his assistants who placed it there, just waiting for him to come back. He’s so hungry.

But opening the file is agony. His burned hand cries out at any touch, and his crooked one doesn’t cooperate. Still, he forces the movement and the tape recorder clicks on for him, a move that usually chills him but now feels like a small mercy.

The words spill from his lips, natural and all-consuming. It doesn’t energize him as much as Michael’s direct account, but it certainly goes down easier, untainted by the jagged edges of the Spiral. He only realizes at the end that the statement was written in French, a language he doesn’t speak. Another development. Elias would be proud. Probably is, sitting up there in his office. And in perfect and non-coincidental timing, his email pings with a message from the man himself, informing him of his new flat, the keys to which are in his bottom drawer.

A new flat. How considerate. He tries not to think of the lonely, unprotected darkness that awaits him there. No Georgie. No Admiral. That’s probably for the best, he thinks. You wouldn’t want to endanger them.

Martin knocks, startling him out of his maudlin thoughts. He’s got tea and biscuits and Jon is struck by not only how much he missed the normalcy of the act, but how horribly hungry he is. For real food. He almost feels giddy with the realization. 

“Thank you, Martin.” He’s rewarded with a tired smile and more questions. More apologies. He’s been reading statements. Jon worries about this, but Martin brushes it off. Jon keeps his arms resting on his lap, out of Martin’s sight. He gives non-answers to his inquiries and he can tell Martin’s frustrated- he only wants to help, but Jon won’t let him. They end the conversation at a strange but polite stalemate, a promise that there will be time for them to talk. He’s surprised Martin lets him go like this, but perhaps he’s realized what Jon already did all those weeks ago.

He’s beyond saving.

And then he’s gone again, back to that big room with those terrible waxworks and that strange, lilting tune and the faces that were wrong, the voices that were stolen. Everything echoed, even the tiniest of whimpers. And the laughter. He wants to curl up and make himself small, hide under the desk but his limbs are stiff and immovable, glued to his seat. His breaths start to come in small, tremulous gasps when another voice speaks up from the doorway.

“The Circus?”

Tim. Jon meets his eyes, attempting to get his emotions under control. You’re not there anymore. You’re back, you’re safe.

“A month you were gone,” Tim’s stomping over to his desk and Jon pushes his chair back, trying to create space but all Tim does is collapse into the chair across from him, heaving a sigh. He hasn’t sat there in ages. “Fuckin’ Elias. Where did they have you?”

Jon slumps in his seat, the tension in his frame somewhat easing. “It was a Wax Museum. I-I think that’s where they’ll be attempting the Unknowing.”

“That’s a lead, then.”

“Yeah,” Jon let out a weak chuckle. “At least something good came out of this.”

Tim’s eyes go dark. “Don’t joke about that.”

Jon nods, slightly taken aback by the fervor of the words. “S-Sorry.”

“What did you see? What happened?” He’s leaning forward now, his interest getting the best of him. Jon opens his mouth; he plans to answer- he could describe the waxworks, the van that took him away, the layout of his prison- but that’s not what comes out.

“They wouldn’t- they wouldn’t stop touching me,” he says, his voice fading to a whisper with each word. “Everyday. She came in and she smiled and she kept talking about my skin and touching me and I-I-” And once again he’s back there, cold hands on his face and mocking voices in his ear and it’s wrong, so wrong-

A hand rests on his shoulder and he rears back, an automatic response of revulsion as his heart stutters in his chest. But it’s not a smiling mannequin, it’s Tim. Tim, who’s kneeling by his chair so he doesn’t loom, whose hands are warm and real, flesh and blood. He’s staring down at Jon’s lap, where his arms lay crooked and burned and broken. Useless.

“They needed me to stop moving,” he whispers, as if it’s a valid explanation. Tim’s jaw is clenched. It’s a barely concealed rage and Jon feels guilty that it scares him so much. And yet, in spite of that anger, or perhaps because of it, he takes the hand from his shoulder, gentle and slow so Jon can see the path of his movements. He puts two fingers to the crooked arm, an impossibly soft movement as he leans in to inspect the damage. 

And there’s no ulterior motive behind it. It’s just a touch, careful and concerned, probing lightly at his arm like he’s something fragile that Tim doesn’t want to break. He feels a tightness in his chest that for once doesn’t have fear as its source.

“I would’ve looked for you. If I’d have known.”

Tim says the words more to his lap than to him. And yes, he suspected that if Tim knew the Circus had him, he would’ve looked. But it wouldn’t have been for him. His presence would only be incidental. Tim’s staring at his arm as if the power of his gaze could knit it back together right and whole. His hand remains in place, and Jon wonders if it’s for Tim more than him. It’s as if he has to be reminded that Jon’s real, that he’s here.

“I need to tell you something.” The words are loaded with import. “But not now. Are you still staying with your friend?” Jon blinks at the change in subject.

“N-No. I have a new flat, but-”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Tim’s suddenly all business, rising to his feet and looking down at Jon with a face that allowed for no argument. “Not with this Circus business. You can stay at mine, after you go to A&E. You’re not okay.”

Jon stares down at his lap, all fight leaving him. “I know.”

He lets Tim take control, lets him do that aggressive sort of care-taking he was known for in the earlier days of their friendship. It’s not the same; there’s no gentle words, no teasing but stern instruction. Just a silent tending that feels familiar all the same. Tim’s the one who speaks to the doctors, who listens to their instructions and later explains to Jon what’s going to have to be done in the coming days, as if he were a child. He knows it’s going to be bad, painful. But Tim keeps his voice level and Jon is somehow reassured. When they get to his flat and Jon’s warm and medicated and settled on the couch, he asks the question and Tim answers, his voice fluid and his words made eloquent in their grief. And Jon understands.

Tim doesn’t let him sleep on the couch. He’s curled up in the bed under a mountain of blankets and he pretends not to notice Tim standing in the doorway like some sort of sentinel. 

“I would’ve looked.” He repeats the words as if trying to convince himself of their veracity. “If I’d have known.”

Jon closes his eyes and tries to believe him.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135263

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Peter Parker’s Younger Sibling

Peter Parker x sibling!reader

warnings: bullying mention, blood mention

a/n: a fuckin reach, its been a WHILE since ive seen tasm

prompt: y/n is peter’s sibling

peter and you were playful kids

you were just a year and some months younger than him, so you had a harder time remembering your parents than him

but he always told you stories about them that made you miss them a little more

peter was a genius, we all know it

he was the one helping you with your homework most nights

“peter i cant do it!”

“that’s okay, y/n. look, start with two times four, that’s eight, then four times six, twenty-four, right?”

“can i say a cuss word?”

“sure”

“math is shit”

you would cry during homework a lot

you’d also pass out on his floor after talking for hours

and you’d either wake up facedown on the floor or in your room since uncle ben would pick you up and put you to bed

peter took it upon himself to take you back to your room, but he usually dragged you by the arm, sooooo

you’d play action figures together

he was batman, you were robin always

“can i be batman?”

“oldest gets to be batman so im batman”

“but i wanna be batman!”

peter walked you to your school before taking off on his skateboard

and he’d pick you up on his way home

on half-days your brother taught you how to skate

you fell a lot

aunt may had to patch you up

“how many times do i have to tell you those skateboards are dangerous?!”

peter got you your own skateboard so that you could practice without him

you would text him after you did a trick and he’d always say hell yes! show me when i get home!

being his photography assistant

really you were his assistant constantly

science fair was the most boring day of the year

“y/n, stand right here, i need to get something from my locker”

*judges walk up while youre left unattended and in a state of PANIC*

you were bullied in middle school, same as peter, he’d always stick up for you and get beat up instead

it made you very mad but it was scary, too

“how’d you get into this fight, peter?”

“oh, you know, just happened”

“peter was sticking up for me, uncle ben”

“was he now? you’re a good brother, peter”

lonely when he moved onto high school :/

but you got there soon enough

you guys were kind of loners, just ate lunch together, lugged around your skateboards, you were an artist, he was a photographer

just spectating the chaos of high school, rolling your eyes at the drama

“i have two bucks, do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“uhh, a coke?”

you saw peter get bullied by flash and lost your shitttt

you actually started a food fight after throwing mashed potatoes in his eyes

“what the hell, parker?!”

“sit down and eat your goddamn food, flash, or next time it wont be potatoes”

peter was half-proud, half-embarrassed

trying to see how long you could skate through the halls before any authority figures stopped you

sometimes......you guys got sent to the office together :)

*phone ringing* “hello, is this ben parker?”

“which one of them is it this time?”

the principal’s office was a trip sometimes

you and peter exchange your glances and wait to get scolded

“ah, the parkers, come in, lets have a chat...why do you two always feel the need to get in trouble together?”

“we just happen to get along really well for siblings”

no you fuckin dont lmaoooo

it was always something with you two

like always

*banging on peter’s door* “I KNOW YOU HAVE MY BROWNIES, PETER, GIVE THEM BACK”

*peter through a mouthful of brownies* “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT, YOURE CRAZY”

“is that my jacket?” -peter

“you mean my jacket?”

“y/n, i swear to god if you steal any more of my clothes it’s over for you”

“well, aunt may keeps giving me your clothes, so take it up with her”

and then there was just the little annoying things

“peter, can you stop clicking your pen?”

*clicks pen faster*

“you’re the worst”

and my personal favorite

“peter, open the door”

“why?”

“emergency”

*opens bedroom door* “what?”

“aunt may is making meatloaf”

“shit, uh...get your board, we’ll skate to mcdonalds and tell her we already ate”

peter and you RARELY ever brought your parents up until he found your dad’s briefcase, you didn’t have much to say

soon he was flooding his room with conspiracies and pulling you in to explain them

he began acting REALLY weird, but he was pretty open with you, he told you he went to oscorp

“YOU SNUCK IN??”

“your standards for me are way too high, y/n”

soon you started to feel not-so-good and weird things started to happen

“peter??”

“yeah? whats up?”

“this is gonna sound really weird...my hand is stuck to the door”

“it happened to you, too??”

“happening, pete. wait—this happened to you?? what is this???????”

yall done fucked up and got bit by spiders peter had so carelessly brought back into the house

it was an adjustment to say the least

and this adjustment got a whole lot harder that one night...you can remember peter just...so upset

you tried to chase him out to make sure he was okay, but uncle ben told you to stay with your aunt

maybe if you’d have been there...it would’ve been different, but when the cops got to your house you were at a loss for words

peter was covered in his blood still

“hey, hey, just breathe, okay? it’s not your fault, peter. just hop in the shower, yeah? i’ll take care of your clothes”

when peter took your advice and you were left alone, you just cried, you cried until he finally found you curled up in a ball in your room

then he cried, you just hugged each other sobbing your eyes out

peter got distant for a while, which was rough since the two of your were mourning for your uncle and dealing with these newfound powers

sooner or later he came around and helped you out, designing webshooters and a suit for you

“we match?”

*sigh* “yeah...yeah, we match”

ah yes, spider-team

you really tripped out new york at first, they thought spider-man was a teleporter

peter was still talking about your dad, but you really didn’t care, uncle ben was always going to be who raised you

you and peter would be covered in bruises after going out

“uh—peter punched me”

“y/n???!!!”

“I PANICKED”

just being dumb scared teens that cant function to save their lives until they get a little bit lucky

seriously like, every big villain you guys fought was just the worst

peter didn’t help all the time, he was good at provoking them sometimes

“hey, spider-man, you mind shutting up for a minute? for my sake?”

“sorry, sorry, just couldn’t help myself!”

he gushed to you about gwen stacy, he actually dragged you to her apartment to be patched up by her SEVERAL TIMES

yadda yadda yadda peter graduated high school! how cool is that? but he was late (what a surprise) even though you put off spidering today just for this

but he made it and you clapped the loudest for him

“thats my brotherrrr!!!”

cute family picture! (aunt may printed a bunch of them and gave them to you two and peter pinned them to his wall)

you and peter actually have a lot of pictures of the two of you just goofing off

he has one of you stuck in a trash can that cracks him up every time

seeing harry osborn again after YEARS

“wow, y/n, last time i saw you i just thought you were peter’s annoying little sibling”

“aww, it’s good to see you, too”

electrooooo

this guy really worried you bc like, bzzzz shock

you and peter weren’t equipped for that

it took a while, but you were finally able to deal with that

and several other problems

including peter’s breakup, which was a whole ordeal of its own

*peter laying upside down on your bed* “i dont know, y/n, you know? i wanna be with her so bad, i love her...but her dad is haunting me”

*you, drawing on your notepad with your legs propped up on his* “yeah, makes sense”

you actually had to tap out during the end of electro, you were hurt pretty bad

“y/n, hey? yeah, you’re okay. stay here, just stay right there, i’m gonna be back for you”

*thumbs up to show youre still alive*

but when peter came back for you there was bad news, he’d lost gwen

he ripped his mask off and fell to his knees, you could barely move but you powered through it, giving him a hug while he cried

“we...we better get home before aunt may starts to worry”

she was at work, so you two had the place to yourselves to clean up and mourn before the official news was revealed

“i should have listened to her dad, y/n, this is all my fault”

he was a mess, you couldn’t bare seeing him like this. it’s been so long since you’d seen him like this

the funeral was rough, peter was grasping onto your shoulder the whole time

he insisted that he was going to stick behind and stay with gwen for a while

“okay, i’ll see you at home...love you”

“love you too”

you gave him a hug and left him to his business, the next few months you were the only spider-person operating in new york...until rhino popped up

“im coming with you”

“you’re sure?”

“yeah, im sure”

(these are kinda ass but anyways im tagging my marvel ppl even tho ik this isnt mcu so just ignore this post if you dont care, sorry!!)

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @allthecreativeonesaretaken // @frostedgiant // @praellee // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs //