#sleepy's soliloquies

[sleepyiswhumping]

New Medicine

They flooded the room, their flashy, flawless, bedazzled outfits glimmering in the countless, blinding lights. Avery wanted to scream, tear out his eyes, curl up, wrap his wings around him, something, anything, to block out the lights. His head felt like it was being ripped in two, streaks and spots of light flashing in his vision as daggers stabbed themselves through his skull, slicing his mind to ribbons. Yet he didn’t die. Somehow, he didn’t die. No matter how much he wished he was, it seemed impossible. Incomprehensible agony as—no, no, no, don’t TOUCH ME DON’T PLEASE STAY AWAY— 

[kitandfelix]

The Beginning

Content: Conditioning, Explicit Dubcon, Shitty Caretaker, Pet Whump, Whumpee’s Recovery Progress is Damaged, Nudity, Conditioning is Taken Advantage Of

Felix sighed, frustrated. Work wasn't going his way; he was on the verge of losing his job, and he couldn't afford that. He had bills to pay, and, more importantly, he had to take care of Kit.

Poor Kit. They'd been friends, close friends, before he'd been kidnapped. When they'd found him, it was obvious that he'd been through horrible, horrible abuse. Now that Kit was free again, but with nowhere to go, no one else to turn to, and no help in sight, Felix took him in. It was challenging, at first; the torture had fractured Kit's mind, leaving him a grovelling mess, who'd thought of Felix as his master. Felix had almost enjoyed it, at first, before realising how fucked up that was. Slowly, and with caution, so as to avoid triggering him again, Felix managed to coax Kit, the real Kit, his closest friend, back to the surface.

He still had to tread lightly, of course. He didn't want to-

"Felix?" Kit called out, tentatively.

Felix shifted his body, turning toward Kit. "What's up, Kit?"

Kit stepped forward, hesitantly. "Are you-are you okay?"

Sighing again, Felix shook his head. "I'm fine, just stressed. Work's been rough. Real rough."

Kit slid onto the couch, sitting next to Felix. "I'm sorry, Felix. Do you want me to help?"

Felix frowned, looking over at Kit. Hesitantly, he said "...Sure. I need to relieve some stress. What've you got in m-"

Before Felix could even finish his sentence, Kit hopped off the couch and kneeled in front of Felix, hands deftly undoing his jeans' button and zipper before Felix even realised what he was doing. Panicked, if not aroused, Felix grabbed one of Kit's hands, shouting.

"Woah, woah! Kit, what the hell are you doing?"

Kit looked up, eyes wide, yet glazed over. "Felix, you said you wanted help relieving your stress. I'm helping you relieve stress."

Oh. Fuck. Felix realised his mistake, far too late. When he said he needed help with his stress, he didn't even consider Kit might take that as an order. He looked down at Kit, who's wide-eyed, pleading gaze stared back at him, almost as if he were begging Felix to let him do this.

"I-Ah, I didn't mean like-like that, Kit. I-" Felix trailed off, stammering. He hadn't meant for this. He didn't want Kit to fall back into his conditioning. But...

"Master, please?"

Oh. Master. That sounded good, when Kit said it. And the pleading. Oh, the pleading. How could he resist?

"O-okay, Kit. But," Felix swallowed, "just this once." Yeah. Just this once. He'd let this happen once. After all, how badly could it hurt Kit? Only one time.

Kit beamed up at him, before wriggling Felix's jeans around his hips and down his legs, dropping them around his ankles. As Kit pulled Felix's underwear off, he was visibly aroused, but not enough for what Kit wanted to do. Leaning forward, he wrapped one of his hands around Felix's partially erect cock, before sliding it into his mouth. As his tongue worked along Felix's hardening length, eliciting a quiet moan, Kit slipped his hands down to undo and pull off his own pants and underclothes. Felix's hand found Kit's head, tangling into his long, soft hair. Kit gagged softly as Felix pushed his head down, his now fully erect cock deep into Kit's throat as he shook his underwear off, before sliding it back out of his throat, strings of saliva webbed between his lips and the head. He smiled as he licked the tip, tasting Felix's precum.

Kit leaned back, away from Felix's glistening cock, and pulled his shirt off, before rising from where he kneeled, and straddled Felix. His nude body pressed against Felix's own, Kit smiled up at him, pressing a kiss into Felix's chest. Felix kissed his forehead, as Kit wiggled his hips, feeling the wetness of his own saliva as Felix's cock rubbed against him. As he raised his hips, he reached back and guided Felix's cock against his entrance, before lowering himself, slowly, taking part of it into himself. He moaned as his length was slowly pushed into him, gasping as Master's hands grabbed his ass, slowly lifting him up then easing him down, sliding Felix a bit further into him with each downward motion. His moans grew louder, as did Felix's grunts of pleasure, as Kit bounced up and down on Felix's cock.

"Oh, Master, yes!" Kit cried, as Felix slid himself further into Kit.

His own cock, small and hard, quivered as Felix pushed into him, precum leaking from the tip. Kit looped his arms around Master's neck, hands clasped behind his head, and he pulled himself closer to Master, face pressed into his chest. As the pleasure began to overwhelm him, Kit began to drool, his saliva staining Master's white shirt.

Suddenly, he cried out, back arching in overwhelming pleasure, as Felix's hands grabbed his hips and slammed Kit down onto his full length. He whimpered and moaned, strings of cum shooting out of his cock, covering Master's shirt. He cried out again as he felt Master's fingers dig into his hips and his hot, sticky seed pour into Kit's ass. He moaned and babbled wordlessly, slumped against Felix's chest, his mind blank with pleasure. Felix groaned as he came, pumping Kit with his seed. He felt Kit slump against his chest and wrapped his arms around him. Oh, God. That felt so good. He glanced down, seeing Kit, slumped against his chest, drooling.

He'd really need to wash this shirt, fast, or Kit's cum would stain it, but Felix wasn't worried about that. He was worried about whether he still meant that this would be a one-time thing. He wasn't sure anymore, not after experiencing just how good Kit felt. But Kit had seemed so happy riding his cock, so content lying here in his arms. If Kit really had fallen back into his conditioning, was that entirely a bad thing? He's just so happy, like this.

@sleepyiswhumping @rottingwhump

[astralberserker]

Literally, I do not understand making something inspired by and based on different real cultures and then refusing to actually create characters inspired by the people IN those cultures. No one forced Hoyo to make regions based on Africans and Latin/South Americans. No one held them at gunpoint to make a character based on the Kandake. So WHY, if you're so scared of the color brown, are you using inspiration from predominately brown nations?! Damn, at this point you should've just stuck to Northeast Asia and Europe.

[the-nameless-wacky-inventor]

car literally broke down on the highway today and I felt nothing and now I’m exhausted I think I’ve been stressed out for so long that I just can’t take it anymore

[pomefioredove]

Hi! I love your writing style, especially how you portrait Rook, it's just how I imagine him💜

Could I request for Rook, Vil, Floyd and Azul reacting to reader calling them "love" or something affectionate for the first time? Maybe with reader realising and imploding on the inside?

Of course no pressure, I eat anything you write anyway!

-🔥

GUYS THESE PROMPTS. and thank you so much <3 I like thinking I do a good job 😭

summary: accidentally calling them "love" type of post: headcanons characters: floyd, azul, rook, vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, fluff!

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

it's a quick slip of the tongue, one he might not have even noticed if he was distracted by anything else

unfortunately, today it's you that's caught his attention, and so he hears and processes every honeyed word with startling accuracy

"Could you pass me that pencil, love?"

wait. that's not what you'd said in your mind

the embarrassment is immediate, and you would have apologized if not for the big grin on his face

he goes on to brag about it to everyone for the rest of the day

...or week

however long it takes for that fuzzy feeling to wear off him

of course, at that point, he'll find you and pester you until you say it again for him

you never did get that pencil.

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

perhaps your unfortunate habit of verbalizing your subconscious thoughts has finally come around to punish you

you're in Azul's office at the lounge, and he's explaining something about budgeting

you don't... quite understand, but he seems pretty pleased with himself, so you're happy for him

"I'm so proud of you, love,"

congratulations, you broke him

he forgets everything he said and everything he was about to say

and he just stares

his face burns a bright shade of red, and for a moment he looks around the room as if he's searching for somewhere to hide

you feel bad right away, and make an attempt to explain and apologize, though your own embarrassment makes everything you say unintelligible and even more embarrassing

after a moment of watching you stammer he just shushes you

"I appreciate the compliment. Just give me a warning next time... there will be a next time, won't there?"

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

intentional or not, he's been waiting for this moment

it's late, you're tired; Rook had been dragging you around campus all day, showing you his favorite "people-watching" spots

by the time he walks you back to Ramshackle, you're happy, but completely drained

(being around Rook tends to do that)

you're too sleepy to even realize the words coming out of your mouth until it's too late

"Thank you again. Good night, love,"

his reaction is immediate

he launches into a very long soliloquy about his feelings towards you, what a wonderful day it was, and how he treasures your relationship no matter how you define it

already has some petnames of his own for you ready to go

amour, chou chou, chéri, miel, cœur...

prepare to never hear the end of this

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

Vil is actually quite used to being called all sorts of lovely things

...albeit, mostly by his fans

and if it were anyone else calling him their love, he wouldn't have even noticed

but hearing it in your voice immediately catches his attention

the sentence is so simple, of course you would've missed it. he'd simply been giving you some advice, and...

"Okay. Thank you, love,"

he would have teased you for it (lovingly, of course) if not for the fact that it made him feel flustered

him. flustered!

he stares at you until you realize what exactly you'd just said to him, and then, understandably, you freak out

trying to backtrack won't help, neither does trying to explain, or apologizing

after a moment of letting you struggle, Vil just laughs

"My, my. Don't worry yourself, I take it as a compliment. But we'll have to work on your confidence some more, won't we?"

[theoutcastwrites]

First Time - Il Dottore x Reader

So it's 1 am and I'm extremely sleepy hence why the ending is like... That. My apologies. Inspired by a line from Hozier's "First Time", because I am not myself if I don't assign random Hozier lyrics to my favorite characters

"Zandik."

The name was uttered with contempt, barely contained. He'd had half the mind to keep it unsaid, and he would have were it not for the curiosity that glimmered in your eyes when you asked: "what is your true name?"

That had been weeks ago. Still, he remembered the sweet smile with which you peered at him, the way your voice lilted with each word that slipped past your lips.

"The Fair Lady is Rosalyne, Childe is Ajax. Who are you, Dottore?"

As if a name could determine who he was. He was greater than his titles - more than what people thought of him. Yet the question lingered in his mind that night, and its presence brought about memories of long nights spent by the crackling fire, of miserable musings that never ceased. It should not have mattered; he had long abandoned his wistful soliloquies and all matters that did not concern the inevitable fall of the Old World. By all means, he was above having such worldly concerns. And yet.

Could he be blamed for pondering the idea so obsessively when it was you who proposed it? Wouldn't others be in the same predicament as him: with the syllables ready on the tip of their tongue, fighting to be heard, to be spoken aloud for the first time in so long?

It had proven to be far more difficult than he expected. It tasted foul on his tongue, a monstrous thing, made even more unpleasant by the tone of his voice - self-loathing, bitter. The mere mention of it - the reminder of that name - sickened him and made him wish he could unhear it.

"I'm sorry?"

... And for you to react like that.

He explained, "you once asked about my true name and I am telling you now: my name is Zandik."

And just why was it so quiet so suddenly? Why couldn't you say something, anything at all? He was hardly the anxious type but your silence made him feel tense. You should know that a Harbinger of his ranking wouldn't reveal these things to just anyone. You should know better than to disregard his earnest confession, his-

"Zandik?"

Whatever thoughts he'd had dissipated when he heard his name from your mouth.

"I hope I didn't butcher the pronunciation," you said, your words laced with genuine worry. He didn't know what he expected - perhaps he hadn't expected anything at all. But for you to say it so sweetly, carefully, like it was something precious and nothing less - it made his facade waver.

The lights were far too bright in the lab; Zandik could see all too well the prideful twinkle in your eyes, the happy curve of your lips. Rendered breathless, he watched as you extended your hand to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble there.

"No," Zandik spoke at last, "no, your pronunciation is satisfactory."

"What a relief..."

"Zandik." You repeated. It sounded pleasant when spoken by you - not at all like the mocking sneers he had endured at the Akademiya. Zandik relaxed against your touch. "It suits you. I like it."

"More than Dottore?"

You nodded, "more than all of your titles combined."

The sincerity of your tone surprised him. How you could find it so endearing was beyond him for many a reason. Then again, Zandik figured that it hardly mattered what he thought of his true name; so long as you decided you liked it, Zandik didn't mind hearing it again and again until it was the only word you knew.

[onyxsboxes]

🎶 🛫 LCAPT Clegan (MOTA) 🛫 🎶

With a bit of delay, it's finally here 🥳🥳🥳🥳

It is with great pleasure (and a lot of excitement) that I present to you our Let's create a playlist together Clegan (MOTA)'s version.

Let’s create a “clegan/buckxbucky/buckyxbuck/eganven/whatever we call the buckies” playlist together. 🎶 🛫 When you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen that remind you of Clegan (MOTA) and publish them. Then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool) (@onyxsboxes so i can add your replies to the playlist) 🛫 🎶 You can include more or fewer songs (as you prefer), I'll collect all the replies and put them together in a playlist that I'll share in a week or so (I'll update it as I receive replies, so no rush and no pressure).

(For those who want to add a few songs, go ahead. I'll continue to update the playlist as I receive more replies.)

I'd like to thank you all for your participation. This was the first fandom/ship oriented playlist and I had no idea so many of you would respond (it was a bit overwhelming but i a good way 🥰). It was a delight to read all your recommendations, your little comments and even your playlists for some of you. It was fun to listen to so many songs through Clegan's lens.

It forced me to really listen to the lyrics and that only made these songs more enjoyable. I hope you will (like me) rediscover some songs in a new light thanks to this playlist.

Here the link to the other playlists if you want to take a look.

I'll try to do other fandom-related playlists like this one later (when I'll have a bit more time), so if you'd like to participate or if you'd like to be tagged when the playlist is released, let me know (or there's a little form on this post for that if you prefer).

If you'd like to see a particular theme, please feel free to tell me so we can do that later.

Some statistics

The playlist lasts 22h13 with 345 different songs (I chose to put a song in the playlist only once and not as many times as it was tagged) nearly a full day of clegan's vibes 😁.

Special mention to Sibewest's Skyline, which I couldn't find on Spotify to put on the playlist 😔

Well done to Hozier's Work Song, which was mentioned 5 times 🥳

Mentioned three times

I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley

Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Rey

Mentioned two times

Blue jeans by Lana Del Rey

Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley

Coal by Dylan Gossett

Free by Florence + The Machine

Gale song by The Lumineers

Good Luck, babe by Chappel Roan

Heat Lightning by Mitski

I don't smoke by Mitski

Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Putting The Dog To Sleep by The Antlers

Somethin' Stupid by Frank Sinatra & Nancy Sinatra

Take me home, country roads by John Denver

Whish that you were here by Florence + The Machine

Your Best American Girl by Mitski

Thank you again guys 🤗🥰

Tag list under the cut (hope I haven't forgotten anyone)

@alienoresimagines @alouiadina @amiserableseriesofevents @anachilles @anavilante

@antigonenikk @antiquitea @avonne-writes @blixabargelds @brotherwtf

@bucking-mustangs-with-wings @butdaddyilovehim99 @caterina07121 @caustinen @c-goldthorn

@chirpybirdy @cleganlovesx @counting0nit @darkimpala1897 @defnotanarc

@diankn @eternallytired17 @evlia @feyd-meowtha @heretoobsessstuff

@impalachick @irregularcollapse @kaaaaaaarf @kbsd @ktredshoes

@london-cowboy @middlingmay @rambleonwaywardson @s0ftpining @scarecrowmax

@sleepr-agent420 @sleepy-hyperfixations @soliloquy-dawn @swifty-fox @thebuckys

@theseshipsshallsail @trashbag-baby666 @umika @valstarsandgalaxies

[call-sign-shark]

✨ Forget-Me-Not || Ch.3✨

Summary:  Jake calls you in the evening, panicking: Amber is sick and he does not know what to do. — Or how a flower girl will try to heal a heart beyond repair 

Words: 3.1k

Tags: fluff, dad!Jake, like tooth-rotting fluff, domestic situation

Read Part 1 || Part 2

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Psss don't forget to reblog 💚

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The crackling of the fire, dancing in the hearth, is lulling you to sleep. Heavy as lead, your eyelids close as you doze off, comfortably curled in one of the living room’s armchairs. A pleasant smell of chamomile tea and warm brioche floats in the whole house – your Aunt has just removed the cake she has baked from the oven and has put it on the kitchen table.

If heaven is a place, you are convinced it is Aunt Maya’s house.

Your sleepy mind wanders from thought to thought. Did the last client’s wife enjoy the wedding bouquet you made for her? Will you wash your hair tonight or are you feeling too lazy to do that? Despite the myriad of thoughts you have, your brain always comes back to the memory of Jake Seresin kissing you on the beach. The smell of sunscreen, the sun’s warmth on your skin, and the intoxicating taste of his lips… You continuously recall every slightest detail of the date and, each time you do so, a wave of desire lights your soul on fire. When focusing hard enough on the fresh recollection of your last encounter with the handsome pilot, you can still smell the delicate scent of the ocean melted with his masculine and slightly musky perfume. Since that afternoon, Jake and you meet almost every day.

Summer fling or summer love, whatever you call it, it cannot be ignored. This is what Aunt Maya said when you told her about Jake.

You are about to fall into Morpheus’ soft arms when the muffled sound and vibrations of your phone snatch you from sleep, causing you to jolt. 

A quick glance at the clock on the wall: it is 8 PM. Thoughts bump into each other in your skull, for you do not expect any phone call. You blink several times to shoo the fatigue away from your sleepy eyes and grab your phone to look at the screen.

Jake 🌻 

Your brows furrow at his name. Even though you got in the habit of calling each other for hours almost every night, it never happens at this time of the evening. Indeed, Jake makes sure Amber is deeply asleep first before spending time with you. You pick up the phone

“Hello?”

“Poppy, I’m sorry for calling you this late but — but I need you.” Jake’s panicked voice sweeps your smile away. Concerned, you get up from the armchair and start to scurry around the living room. Staying still during a phone call had never been a thing for you.

“Alright. What’s the problem?” You keep your composure, hoping for the calmness in your voice to soothe the aviator.

“It’s Amber.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, but his attempt to keep his cool fails miserably, “She has quite a high fever and I don’t know what to do. I – I tried to call Penny but she doesn’t pick up. I asked Rooster and Shark but they are both fucking clueless and useless. Should I bring her to the hospital? Should I give her meds? I don’t know.” He is talking very quickly, and his words muddle up in a half-incomprehensible soliloquy.

“Jake”

“I mean, I’m scared of giving her the wrong type of meds and worsening the situation. But I can’t stay there, arms crossed, while she is clearly in pain! I mean–”

“Jake, calm down. Focus on my voice.” Your tone is firmer but your words are coated with tenderness. Iron fist in a velvet glove they said. You hear the pilot’s shaky breath on the line: he has closed his eyes and holds on to your voice as he would do with a lifebelt, “Do you want me to come?” 

Another short pause followed by a long and shaky exhale, “Yes please,” he asked.

“Okay, see you soon.” You double-time to the corridor to put your black Dr. Martens on as soon as you hang up. There is no time to waste, you mumble to yourself for the simple thought of Amber and Jake in distress makes you utterly worried. 

“Where are you going, Poppy?” Aunt Maya’s voice said from the kitchen. The lovely old woman is cutting brioche slices and spreading butter on them. She does not even look at you, far too absorbed in his task.

“A friend of mine’s got a problem with his daughter. Gotta help him.” You reply, half distracted by the search for Aunt Maya’s car key. 

“Left pocket of my purple jacket.” She declares. You freeze – How the hell does she know what you are looking for? You turn your head towards the kitchen's open door expecting to see Aunt Maya’s silhouette standing there but she is not. The lovely old woman’s lips stretch in a faint but cunning smile, for she can easily imagine your surprise.  You squint your eyes and look into the pocket of the said jacket:  she is right, the car key is here. The palm of your hand tightens around the car key as you shake your head, amused. Sometimes you wonder if Aunt Maya is the daughter of a witch they couldn’t burn.  After all, she had a black cat, was a good cook, she knew plants and their effects by heart ... Yeah, Aunt Maya might be an actual witch.

“Thanks! I don’t know when I’ll be back home.” 

“Keep me informed, dear.”  She states, her voice emphasizing your nickname to make sure you won't forget to send her messages. You are about to grab the door handle when Aunt Maya’s voice echoes a second time, just before you leave, “Poppy?”

“Yeaaah?”

“ Be careful not to wound yourself with the shards of a broken heart. They can be really sharp.” 

“Uhu!” You agree without really listening to what she has just said, for you are too impatient to leave. The door slams at your departure, plunging the house into silence. 

Aunt Maya gently shakes her head, wishing you would not learn it the hard way. 

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The car engine stops purring as soon as you turned the ignition key and slip it into one of your pockets. You grab the bag on the passenger seat and rest it on your lap for you to quickly roam through the stuff you have brought. You check if you have not forgotten anything.  Ibuprofen, soft body sponges, a light Lion King blanket, and plenty of food-- You did not know what Amber likes to eat so you basically bought everything that children of her age love alongside a bunch of fresh fruits. Realizing the weight of the bag, you suddenly feel ridiculous. Isn't it a bit too much? At this point, you are even afraid of Jake's reaction; you don't want him to think you know children better than him nor you want him to believe you meddle too much in his and his daughter’s life.

You are about to leave the car when a familiar floral smell makes you stop in mid-motion. Frowning, you glance over your shoulder to take a look at the backseat. Your Y/EC eyes are welcomed by the tiny white bells of several sprigs of Lily-in-the-Valley, tied with a white silk ribbon. What are these flowers doing here? At first, you thought Aunt Maya may have forgotten them, but you quickly give up the idea for the old woman would never forget flowers in the back of her car. In fact, she was the kind of passionate soul who would have taken care of the bouquet even before taking care of herself. Looking at them a little closer, you notice a small note.

"Carried away by a soft summer breeze,  the sweet and green fragrance of my nodding blooms promises the return of happiness." 

A soft smile enlightens your face as you recognized the handwriting. Aunt Maya is definitely a witch. You reached for the flowers and smell their delicate spring-like scent. If you already bring a whole minimarket in your bag, you might as well take the Lilies-of-the-Valley with you.

"Damn it," you grumble as you are making your way to the door while trying not to damage the flowers or drop the bag's content all over the ground. Fortunately enough, Jake is already at the door, one of his shoulders leaning against the wooden frame. He has heard the sound of your engine from inside the house.

"Let me help you," He said while already unburdening you from the bag. Somehow, he is well aware that you are strong enough to carry it by yourself, but he feels bad for making you come to his house in the midst of the evening, so he tries to make up for it. Despite his anxiety, the sight of the adorable flowers bouquet in your two delicate hands brought a genuine smile to his face. He has never told you but each time you bring him flowers, the fortress he had built around his heart shatters a bit more. 

Jake’s house is a typical beachfront house, whose prevailing material is maple wood. Far from being pompous, his home is more like a cozy nest than a fancy and luxurious residence. The living room is spacious, with an open kitchen. The man makes a good living, but he likes simple things. Growing in Texas often humbled him. Jake puts down the groceries on the kitchen table. Then, he grabs a glass, pours water in it, and sets it on the counter for you to put the lilies in. A faint and exhausted smirk is etched on his thin lips, but you know the last thing he wishes at this moment is to smile. He is just being polite. You put the bouquet in the glass and take a deep breath.

“Alright, where is Amber?”

“In her bedroom”, Jake turned around to face you and leaned against the kitchen table, half-sitting on it. His strong and calloused hands are gripping its edge, “She is trying to sleep but she can’t,” his formal smile slowly fades away from his good-looking face, “When she came back from school she told me she wasn’t feeling well. Headache and stuffy nose. I obviously thought she had caught a cold but one hour ago she started shaking like a leaf and crying. I took her temperature and, dear God, she was burning.” While talking, the aviator had brought a trembling hand on his neck to rub it in a nervous reflex. The kitchen’s light reflects on Jake’s tanned skin and underlines the dark bags he had under his sea-green eyes. To be honest, this is the first time you realize how tired he must be. Hardworking naval aviator, divorced man, single dad, and sports aficionado, you wonder how he can do it all without breaking down.

You take a step closer and gently press your cold hand on his warm arm, remaining silent. You want him to know that you are here for him, but you are afraid of not finding the right words. The contrast between your body temperature wakes up a firework of sensations in your stomach. Jake’s muscles relax as if your simple touch has the power to heal his wounds.

“I usually call Penny when I don’t know what to do but I’ve forgotten she and Amelia are spending a few days sailing with their boat.” His voice, coated with fear a short time ago, is quieter. You crack a soft smile.

“So you thought calling Rooster and Shark was a good idea?”

“I freaked out, but I quickly remembered they suck with kids. They panicked even more than I did. Plus, they are having a short road trip together so they can’t even come,” He pauses and lets out a long sigh, “I am an awful dad. Not even able to know what to do when my own daughter is sick.” Sadness glows in his emerald eyes.

“Don’t beat yourself, Jake. You are scared because you love her to death, and that’s far from being a flaw.” You gently lay your small hand on his cheek, enjoying the raspy sensation of his stubble beard against the delicate flesh of your fingertips. Jake would usually be clean shaved, so seeing him with beard amuses you: it suits him well. But what doesn’t anyway? Lulled by your voice, the pilot closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. He does not know how but you always manage to find the words to calm him down. The exact words and tone — at this point he suspects you to be some kind of witch. Less than ten minutes has passed, and his anxiety already decreased because of your reassuring presence.

“But”

“Hush. Can you show me where Amber’s bedroom is?” Your fingers run one last time on his cheek in a sweet caress before you back up and rummage through the groceries bag to grab what you needed, “You know, I would not worry if I were you. Kids can have a sudden high fever but it usually does not last long. You told me she caught a cold, well it can possibly come from he–”

“Dad, my head hurts!” Said a tired and squeaky voice coming from behind you. Jake and you turn around as one, only to find little Amber standing on the last step of the staircase dressed in a pale pink fluffy pajama. She is rubbing her eyes and sobbing, unable to express her discomfort by other means than crying from her ten little years old. You looked at her, an expression of pure sadness sweeping away your smile. Seeing the bubbly little Amber sobbing breaks your heart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jake does not wait any further and immediately walks to his daughter to carry her in his arms. As soon as her dad grabs her, the young girl clings to him like a baby koala, “Don’t worry, Poppy and I are going to take care of you.” He says softly, gently lulling her by stroking her back. As loving the sight of the two is, something disturbs you: Amber is dressed far too much for someone with a high fever.

“Is Poppy gonna stay with me too?” Amber’s little voice asks before she glances at you, curiously. To be true, she missed having a feminine figure in her life, even though she cannot really word it – nor she wants to. Having you around soothes her even more. Jake looks at you, his emerald eyes waiting for your answer as attentively as Amber.

“Of course, I’m gonna stay. And we’ll fight the fever together, little cheetah?”

Little cheetah. Amber lets out a tired chuckle at the pet name, for she immediately understands you call her like that because, when you first met, she ran to you. She laughs, and it is everything. Watching the little blonde girl’s joy makes your heart sparkle. Without further ado, you join the pair and pressed one hand on Jake’s lower back while the other is busy carrying a sponge, a blanket, and a banana, “I’ve got an idea since you cannot sleep. What if we all watch the movie you want?”

“Can we watch the Lion King?” She asks, her face half hidden in her father’s neck. The aviator cannot help but snort, amused. He swears he knows every line of the movie by heart, but that comes with the joy of having kids. 

“Of course, we can watch it, that’s also one of my favorite movies. By the way, look what I brought.” You show her the blanket you’ve bought for her: it was a huge and comfy black blanket with the movie logo – a lion face – on it. Amber’s eyes widen at such a sight, her sea-green iris enlightened with excitement.

“Is it for me?!” Amber beams.

Jake lowkey clenches his jaws, trying hard not to let his heart fall for you, even though he is afraid it’s already too late. His inner voice whispers in his ear, telling if that it would not mind if you would stay in their life forever. 

“But first, Dad’s gonna dress you with something lighter. Aren’t you, dad?” 

“Hm?” Snatched from his thoughts, Jake looks at his daughter, then at you, and blinks several times until his mind connects with what you just said, “But she’s sick. She needs to wear something warm.”

“Nope, she has a high fever, and wearing something too warm can increase her body temperature. She’ll feel better with a lighter pajama.” You raise a brow and the pilot falls silent. He stares at you for a short while, completely wrecked by the thought of you being a caring mom for his daughter. After the bloody war, he fought against his ex-wife to gain Amber’s custody back, Seresin swore to never let another woman step into his and his daughter’s life. And here she was,  looking at you with complicity even her own biological mother never had with her. 

“Alright, we’ll be there in five minutes.” He finally says, managing to come back to his senses by God knows what kind of miracle. As the father and his daughter disappear upstairs, you decide to make the living room the coziest place possible, already comfortable in this household.

You start cutting fruits and chocolate squares in a bowl, in the company of the spring fragrance coming from the lily-of-the-valley next to you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Oh yes, the past can hurt. But from the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it. 

Amber’s eyes were staring at the screen as Rafiki talked to a grown-up Simba, the movie making her forget the discomfort she was feeling lately. With one hand, she picks banana slices and chocolate. With the other, she presses the cold water-soaked sponge you gave her to alleviate the fever against her forehead. At some point, the adorable little blond turns from her dad to lean her head against your shoulder, her eyes – green like wild forests – still focusing on the screen. You glance at her and smile, a wave of tenderness coming through your soul each time you would look at her lovely bratty pout. 

Hey! Where are you going?

I’m going back! 

Jake’s heart races to the rhythm of Hans Zimmer’s This is My Home. He has tried really hard not to look at Amber and you, snuggling together and eating the snacks you had made for her to feel better. His very own soul could not handle it – One more glance is all it can take for him to definitely tear his heart from his ribcage and give it to you, no matter if you destroy it right after. 

But Amber liked you so much. And you’ve been seeing each other almost every day for one full month.  He brings one hand to his forehead, feeling feverish all of sudden. Maybe he has caught Amber’s cold – How can he realize you were the one giving him the fever?

It’s going to be dangerous.

Danger? Haha! I laugh in the face of danger!

His shiny green eyes cannot help but take a quick look at you, but as he gives in he realized he cannot look away anymore. Enchanted by your charming silhouette, Jake drowns in your features. You are beautiful – so beautiful that the flowers you always brought could not compete with your graceful looks. Feeling watched, you frown slightly and check on the blonde pilot. Your eyes meet, and time stops. Boom, boom, it beats faster and faster in his chest. He gathers all his willpower and stretches his arm to rest it on the couch’s back right behind you.

Amber has started to doze off, still snuggled up to you. It seems like she does not want to let you go – Good thing, his father neither.

“Please stay,” Jake whispers, doing his best not to wake his daughter up.

“But it’s going to be dangerous.” You reply, your lovely smile enlightening your face.

“Danger? I laugh in the face of danger.” 

“Of course you do, Seresin.” 

You chuckle.

He falls.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Taglist: @acarboni21 @child-of-of-the-sunshine @djs8891 @teacupsandtopgun @clancycucumber230 @eddiesgorlie

[the-letterbox-archives]

insincere. (lesson 1: getting out of bed)

this lesson is a letterbox archives original – do not steal, plagiarise, or repost this to other websites. trigger warnings below. author notes at the end.

this lesson of insincere. contains: allusion to: depression, derealisation, and hypersomnia

This is real. You are real. I am real. You and I are the same, and we are real. The pain of reality will haunt us for a while, but that doesn’t mean we don’t feel it. That doesn’t mean we aren’t real. No matter what. There are no insincere thoughts. There are no insincere emotions. There is nothing without that truth.

Ven’s drowsy thoughts stirred confusion within them. An uncertainty as deep as their soul would allow. A sinking, cavernous hole carved into the very epicentre of their being taunted them, as their eyes adjusted to the light.

All at once, it was too much. There was light, there was feeling, there was sound too, for some reason. Where was that noise coming from?

With a quick head tilt, Ven noticed the open curtain beside them, giving way to an inexplicably bright existence just outside their safe walls.

Okay, there was a simple problem, and it had a simple solution. Should’ve been easy enough. However, when Ven tried to move, they found themselves stuck in place. Their bed held them in place, like a hug of fossilised amber – comfortable, secure, unmoving. The paralysis wasn’t in waves, it hit all at once with more force than a firing squad.

Why was nothing working? Why couldn’t they move? Was something wrong?

No, that’s silly. There’s nothing wrong just because they couldn’t get out of bed. And it was a nice bed too! Three mattresses softened to perfection, gentle, warm blankets, smothered by recognisable cushions at every corner. The simple act of looking at it was enough to make you sleepy.

There’s nothing wrong. Ven repeated that adage, as well as their half-awake soliloquy.

It took a demoralising amount of time for anything to happen. Each second that passed with Ven unmoving was another strike at their hope. But nothing was wrong. Why couldn’t they move? Every nerve, every vein, every thought pressed for movement, but nothing happened. It was one simple task, why was it so difficult?

Just get up.

And close.

The.

Curtain.

But nothing happened. Not for a while. Thankfully, nothing stays stuck forever. A stagnated river is always crushed by the current of a new tide. If they weren’t careful, it would flood. Perhaps a flood would be helpful now, though.

Ven tried again to move, this time finding it marginally easier than before. Something clicked. A disjointed, uncomfortable click, but it enabled action nonetheless. It was possible. To detach was to sever a critical tendon, to undo something never meant to be undone.

But Ven wanted to wake up. Every day before, they had woken up. Sure, it was a struggle at times, but they always got up.

With a snap, Ven removed themselves from bed. Their legs wobbled slightly, but a great weight was lifted off them, unburdened by the thought of never acting again. The light poured into their bedroom, a strange, shadowy light swallowed the outside. But their job wasn’t done yet.

It’s time to wake up.

holy is that a new project i see?? this is a super self-indulgent little thing, with less pressure (ig?) than my bigger projects. despite that, it's super fun to write and really helped me work things out. hope you enjoy!!

(border by @cafekitsune)

[butdaddyilovehim99]

I was tagged by @sleepy-hyperfixations (thank you bb ily 😌) list 5 movies let others decide which fits my vibe

Tagging: @daysofxavierspast @soliloquy-dawn @johnslittlespoon @spirited-away-to-mandalore @caterina07121

[sleepyiswhumping]

Catigernus' Sacrifice

Content: Death, violence, gore, self-sacrificing whumpee

~~~~~

Sweat. Blood. Metal on metal, flesh on flesh. Screams as he cut down opponent after opponent. A one-man army. Battle lord, his parents had called him. Pain, flaring in his shoulder. Irrelevant. Keep fighting. Claws through flesh, swords through bone. An explosion of agony in his stomach. He faltered, slipped. A blade, slamming into his gut. He roared, lashing out with his claws, quick as lightning. Another dead. But he was growing weak. What felt like a hammer slammed into his chin, shattering his helm. The sun, the accursed sun, blistering and boiling his skin. Lost the flow, the bloodlust. Strike after strike rained down upon him, arrows slamming into his armor, blades cutting his flesh to ribbons. A sharp pain erupted in his chest. One of the gunmen must have hit their mark. Impressive. 

Sweat. Blood. Swords through flesh, swords through bone. Slipping, on the crimson mud. Slipping, on the corpses. Slipping, on his memories. Stay focused, Catigernus. But he could not. His skin bubbled and burnt under the sun’s vicious gaze. The countless soldiers around him continued to strike even as he collapsed. A blade in his gut, arrow in his shoulder. Legs, trampled, bones, shattered. Even if he survived the onslaught, where would he go? His family? Gone. Across the sea. The Empire? Collapsed. The survivors gone, with his family. His— sight? He could not see. His body was failing him. He felt the blows rain down, but they felt dull, muted, soft. Even the sword through his stomach, slicing his insides as he fell, was soft. Even the arrow in his shoulder, grinding against sinew and bone as he collapsed, felt slow. Even the blistering, burning, melting flesh on his face and neck felt nothing more than warm and comforting. 

Sweat. Blood. Nothing. He could no longer smell anything. The acrid scent of gunpowder, piercing the air, was gone. The thick, musky smell of ten thousand men’s sweat, tickling his nostrils, was gone. The sharp, metallic scent of blood, sweet on his tongue, had disappeared. The pain slowly faded into a dull, soft throb, behind a thick wool that clouded his mind. The dust on his tongue felt dry and rough, and then it felt like nothing. The cries of the soldiers around him faded. The shrieks of his friend, his companion, one of the few people he dared to love. Impossibly loud, still audible from the boats, until they were not. Until he was not. Until all Catigernus heard was his heart pounding through his skull. And then. 

Silence. Introspection. Had the life he led been a good one? A fulfilling one?  

Had he been happy?  

He thought so.  

Until he didn’t think at all. 

~~~~~

Birds, chirping. The melodic sound filled the air. The song from a songbird, or a few. Then, agony. Searing, violent pain everywhere. Fiery, blistering pain across his face. Grating, rough pain in his shoulder. Sharp, piercing pain in his chest. Visceral, slicing pain in his stomach. His legs were in too much pain to even think about, stomped and shredded to fleshy masses into the dirt. All he had was one arm. He reached forward, dug his fingers into the packed, crimson-stained ground, and began to drag himself. Where he was going, he did not know, but it was surely better than here. 

[attapullman]

Whodunit? / Prologue

Summary: Meet Bob & Fanboy, the nosy kids on the block who now solve mysteries in this sleepy little town. When they're not cracking beers by the pool, you can catch them at the diner down the road hitting on waitresses and cranking the jukebox. But what's going on at the bank? And why do you look so upset?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: f!reader, food and alchohol mentions, 80s inaccuracies

mo's note: thanks for checking out this silly little 80s sleuth!au series the infamous bathroom photos sparked in me! and biggest shout to @bobgasm for letting me talk an ear off about these heart-stealing hometown heroes!

origin story / prologue / whodunit? masterlist / one

*clink*

The sun had barely bathed the modular, dusky pink apartment complex in a warm glow when Bob and Fanboy tapped their celebratory mid-morning beers in a cheers. The best friends, in their mismatched lawn chairs next to the apartment’s kidney pool, glug down a sip before resting back to enjoy the sun. Another mystery solved, another ‘solved it’ beer opened.

Fanboy chugs down half, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his King Kong long-sleeve. It’s been a minute since they’ve allowed themselves the good beer. There hadn’t been a case for a while before this week’s dropped in their lap. 

That was part of the issue of only solving mysteries in a town no bigger than a postage stamp - there wasn’t a lot of crime. The occasional police consulting helped keep the bills paid, but mostly it was a few odd dollars to track down who was having an affair with who. Something Fanboy’s mom could figure out, the township’s gossip hive very well informed.

Beside him, Bob was quiet. Not out of the ordinary, but normally he had some sort of soliloquy about helping out the townsfolk. It had taken them three days to figure out who was taking the Patterson mail every day: interrogating the neighbors, talking to Phil the postman, sneaking into the back of the small post office. Only for the Patterson’s son to be the culprit to hide his report card. Twenty bucks later, they had the rest of the afternoon off and a six-pack of the good beers.

Bob finally clears his throat, pushing back the hair curling around his neck, aviators slipping down his nose. “Another good job, man.” 

Always a man of few words.

It was small town mysteries like missing mail that kept them in business. Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia and Robert “Bob” Floyd had grown up here, two overactive boys whose mothers wanted them out of the house away from their Star Trek and quarters collections. What else was there to do outside than figure out why Mrs. Palomino and Mr. Altman down the block always seemed to both come home from lunch at the same time?

Spoiler: The discovery of the extra-marital affair had gotten them grounded for a week, but had given them both the sleuthing bug they could not shake.

Now it was decades later. There was hair on their chests (kind of - Bob’s was so pale you needed the right light to see it) and they were somewhat making a living out of their boyhood pastime. Move over Hardy Boys, Fanboy and Bob have got this town covered. 

It had been Mickey’s idea to make their boyhood sleuthing shenanigans an actual money maker. Bob was helping his old man fix cars - how he’d gotten his ’65 Mustang with the cream interior Fanboy wasn’t allowed to drive - and it had taken little convincing to put up fliers advertising the were open for business.

A car horn pierces their relaxing morning, shattering whatever calm a 10AM Sierra Nevada Pale Ale provides.

A neighbor walks by, fresh off their night shift. They raise their morning beers in greeting before turning back to the half-empty pool before them. The apartment complex was…okay. Better than living with their folks, though. Their unit had peeling paint and the water heater took the entire length of Fleetwood Mac’s “Hold Me” to produce any hot water. Not quite the place to take a sweet thing home, but made do. Between Bob installing transmissions and Fanboy’s city hall maintenance gig, solving small town mysteries in their off hours, the best friends were making a life in their hometown.

After wasting the morning talking movies and girls, lunch was at the diner a few blocks down. Checkerboard floors and vinyl booths greeted customers over the sounds of Soft Cell and Michael Jackson. The boys settled themselves in a booth near the counter, where Fanboy could get a better look at the new waitress with the slick ponytail and glossy smile. She was stunning and he was smitten. 

Before she started they maybe ate at the diner once a week, opting for fast food or the bistro with a much better reuben. But now they were here nearly daily, Fanboy always making some excuse for fries, a Coke, or a chocolate shake so he could flirt and show off his curly mullet. His best friend and business partner was a good wingman, otherwise he would have lost it by how many times he’s heard Blondie’s “Call Me” this month.

That had always been their dynamic - Fanboy leading the battle with where to go, what to do, who to see, and quiet Bob picking up any pieces his bud dropped along the way. 

As a Sunday with no responsibilities, the two enjoy their burgers and Cokes, laughs stuck on their faces. Bob teases his friend about his crush (not that Robert is much more of a ladies' man) and the two keep her busy with innocent questions about music and whether a banana split or chocolate sundae is better. Fanboy insists a chocolate sundae is the only option. Other customers join on the debate, the jukebox providing a lively soundtrack.

Just another chill Sunday in a sleepy little town. 

It takes a firm grip on his upper arm and a pointed look to finally get Fanboy to leave the diner and his crush. The late afternoon sun assaults them as they push open the doors, Bob quickly pulling down his shades to cover his sensitive baby blues. To his side, Fanboy lights a cigarette, tapping the ash into the pavement on their way home. 

A squad car catches their eye, not a regular sight in this part of town. They wave as the police captain rounds the corner, the father of a former classmate. The man is all business and nods back with his serious frown before turning back to the building.

It’s only then the amateur sleuths realize it’s not just one squad car, but several that are littering the street between the diner and the local bank. Officers marching in and out of the older building, heads pulled together in hushed voices. One navy-clad patrol officer strings bright crime scene tape across the glass door that’s been welcoming customers since 1894. Since it’s Sunday there are no customers, so where’s the crime? 

The hometown heroes cross the street, trying to blend in despite Fanboy’s bright green ball cap. They’ve almost fully integrated themselves into the scene when a loud voice booms, “Where do you two think you’re going?”

The police captain’s bark is one they know well. From being told to butt out when they’ve gotten a little too nosy, to helping out on investigations, Bob and Fanboy have spent their fair time with the burly man with the impressive mustache who likes to yell. He tolerates their presence on a good day, rues their existence on a bad one.

“What happened, Captain?” Fanboy tries to look inside the bank, but it’s just more officers milling around. No employees seem to be in the vicinity. What was going on?

And that’s when Bob spots you. Sitting on the bench behind your father, head in your hands, eyes weary with stress. His lieutenant sits beside you - also mustached, Bradley would grow a tail if his captain did - trying to take your statement like he has for the past hour. But you don’t know anything, you’re just an assistant manager.

It’s your day off. You forgot your paycheck from Friday in your locker and used your opening key to quickly run the errand before dinner. There was no one around. The security officer was on break. The vault was open. And the massive pallet of cash being picked up first thing tomorrow is gone.

You raise your eyes from your trembling hands and shake your head. This cannot be happening. Your dad is beside himself, already screaming at one officer who insinuated you knew anything about the stolen money. A glimpse of battered cowboy boots - does Bob Floyd wear anything else? - and that’s when you catch the eye of the crime-solving duo you’ve known since childhood.

“Mickey? Robert? You have to help me.”

taglist: @bobgasm @roosterforme @bradshawsbaby @just-in-case-iloveyou @bcarolinablr @petersunderoos96 @yuckosworld @maryelizabeth13

join the taglist for whodunit? and more

[astralberserker]

WHERE ARE THE LEAKERS THAT SAID THEY WERE DARK SKINNED?!!!!!!

[shoyoist]

OOOO ITS THIS ONE

BTW HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DILF SHOYO ART YET?????

I LOVE THAT PANEL SM HE MANAGES TO LOOK SO CUTE AND SO RUGGED AT THE SAME TIME I ADORE IT

[animated-moon]

goodnight everyone it's time to z

[rsmrymnt-tea]

For better or for worse, if you rant to me I will rant back…? But like…. Not angrily? So go off in my asks I guess shdkahaj