#so decided to drabble it

[hellsgreatestperformance]

I want the K - Accepting

@culling : A kiss while one or both parties is crying.

「 🕸️Valentino was on the warpath lately, it seemed. The moth had a myriad of various, chaotic kinky ideas mulling around. There was always a kink for something and Angel Dust, his money maker, his main star, was always involved in filming it. Certain things he could handle. Most he could disassociate with. But others created concealed unease that kept his mind conscious. The one today took more out of the spider than usual, tempting him to seek a liquid substance strong enough to beckon sleep. His entire body ached from the constant touch he endured, the fatigue that pushed past his limits and an oncoming migraine from listening to Valentino spew his venom. His cell had been buzzing ever since he left the studio. Things hadn't gone according to plan, and he was the one paying for it. He scrolled through the various texts that consequently came. His hand griping the device tightly as it shook from anger. Fuck this. He put it away and headed to the hotel.

No one was in the lobby lounging about. Nor was Husk waiting at the bar with his usual sour expression. Even Niffty must be off doing whatever she does. He helped himself to an assortment of liquors, scanning the bottles until he picked his poison. No need for a cup since he downed half the bottle then held it below his waist. Things were alright in the beginning, but took a turn for the worst faster then he imagined. So much for trust. He got what he wanted, he supposed. But the cost was greater than anticipated. And he was getting tired of it. No matter how fucked up he got, he was still valuable, desirable. His fingers clutched the bottle firmly as he moved to sit at the bar. He was so fucking tired, but too sore to sleep. And the numbing sensation would take time to settle in. So, he finished the entire bottle. At least here he had a bed to sleep in. And even though he had woken up to Niffty stealing a bit of hair, it beat his boss standing over him.

His upper arms rested on the counter, his chin set on them. With a sigh he closed his eyes. His life when he was a human was far from perfect. The shit he witnessed prepared him for the after life. And maybe he deserved the torment, since that's what hell was for, right? And it was meant to be eternal. But the one thing, no, person he missed was his sister: Molly. She was a reason for getting by and he had wanted to protect her, but he forgot to protect himself. No, he just didn't care after awhile. Molly hadn't been a contender for the addiction. It won. And he had no idea what it had done to her when she found out. If she found out. Had she even missed him? Did she wonder why? Was she pissed with him? His hands intwined with his hair and he just felt like...like shit. All of this was his fault. All of it. If he had just made better choices. If he wasn't this fucked up, stupid spider. Everything could be different. Maybe he wouldn't even be here. Maybe he'd never have even met Valentino, ugh.

He felt it. The salty liquid dwelling in his eyes, threatening to spill. And the internal faucet too deep to control. The anger, the shame, the feelings he felt all throughout the day finally pleaded. Finally declared enough was enough and forced their way out. Little droplets against the bar. This form of expression his least favorite. He wasn't supposed to cry. Men didn't cry, right? His father would say so and reprimand him. But Molly, when she had caught him she just hugged him tight. Promised everything would be alright. And for the first time in his life he allowed himself to break down before her. Arms wrapping around her for comfort as he cried against her shoulder. And what about when she had cried after? Where the fuck was he?! In this hell hole! He threw the bottle across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall. No one came. He didn't want them to. He didn't want them to see him like this. He hated it. But Smiles, cause of fucking course it was him, appeared out of nowhere. With that stupid fucking grin on his lips.

❝ What d'ya want, Smiles, I ain't in the fuckin' mood! ❞ He snapped with little remorse. ❝ Can't yuh go be creepy someplace else?! Vaffanculo! ❞ Yet the prick was just standing there smiling! Did he enjoy this? Yeah, laugh at the stupid spider for slipping up and crying over stupid bullshit. Big laugh! He flipped him off. But even caught like this, the tears didn't dry up. They had just gotten worse. Smiles had said something sweet? To him? yeah, like he was falling for that shit. This prick didn't care about him and if he did, it was only because of Charlie. He himself was their main resident and who knew if it would hurt their reputation if he split. No one came cause he was here, but could wonder what scandalous thing made him leave. The hotel was all that mattered. He'd trust Charlie and Husk way before trusting this guy.

He got up from the bar stool and walked in the Radio Demon's direction. After all, he was near the opening of the bar. ❝ Fine, fuck you! ❞ He pointed at him using his upper right hand and was taken aback when Smiles seized it. ❝ Hey, what're ya doin'? Let go 'f me! ❞ He tried to retract his arm, but Smiles just wasn't having it. The grasp was firm and it was making him uneasy. Why wouldn't he let go? His eyes drifting from the Radio Demon's to his hands a few times in panic. When Val did this, it never meant anything good. And the thoughts circulating his mind were making his heart palpitate. Even if he tried to unload his arsenal on him, he'd never succeed. And he was too panicked, too surprised by this development. Fuck, he hated feeling helpless. And when the Radio Demon pulled him closer, he closed his eyes and braced for the worse.

And the worst was...a kiss???

His eyes shot open almost instantly. Sheer confusion written on his face as he tried to process this unusual action. It had only lingered a few seconds, possibly to be certain the spider reacted. And react he did. A few steps taken back and his hand finally freed. Why in hell would Alastor of all beings kiss him? The scandal! Some sort of ulterior motive had to be lurking behind that calculated smile. Eventually Smiles spoke, revealing in his own twisted way that his persistent crying was a bother and needed to be put to an end. It seemed after that he just sat at the bar and minded his own business as if this never happened. Well good for him, but Angel still felt completely confused. The thing was, was that Smiles could have ignored it. He could have fetched someone else to take care of it for him. But the fact that Smiles himself had done it, could it be that somewhere in that fucked up mind he...cared? What could it be? Maybe he was overanalyzing it.

He went behind the bar and poured something strong for them both, placing the glasses beside one another on the counter. Then he nervously sat down beside the guy, his index finger circling the rim as he glanced over his way. ❝ ...Thanks. ❞ Was all he said beside taking a sip of the hard liquor. He wanted more than anything to ask why. Sure, Smiles said why but he felt like something was missing. Like there was more to it then meets the eye. Or maybe it's just what he wanted. There was something about Smiles that made him curious. Made him wonder what spending time with him was like. Just a thought that occasionally seeped into his mind. But he never really thought the chance to learn would come up. Smiles always seemed to disregard him, which, he supposed, made sense given his approaches, but now there felt like an opening. An opportunity to enter his world. But he kept it to himself. By tomorrow none of this little encounter would matter anyway. He finished his drink, then sighed.

❝ Uh, goodnight, Smiles. ❞ 」

[kentopedia]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[teddybeartoji]

satoru as the guardian of an itty bitty six year old nobara... he spoils her so fucking much, and he lets her do anything and everything lmao nobara is so loud and lively and satoru fucking loves it like he adooores her so so so much<333333333

lets nobara climb all over him like he's her personal jungle gym whenever she's bored and lets nobara mess up his hair if she so desires. this is all very normal btw,, satoru doesn't even bat an eye when he feels her tugging at his arm as he's cooking, only smiling to himself when nobara grumbles that he's too heavy for her too pull on. satoru just ruffles her hair and tells her that he'll play mario cart with her after they've eaten and just fucking dies out of cuteness agression when nobara stomps her little foot while glaring at him. the hair thing is very casual too – sometimes satoru's just laying on the couch, watching tv, when nobara plops onto his back and just splays herself all over him like a puppy. yk how they sometimes lay on their backs with their paws up in the air – like that. it's very cute!!! she watches the tv with him for a while in silence but then she gets a little bored and goes to play with his hair instead. she styles it, she combs it; she makes fun of it being white, commenting that satoru's just so old already but he loves it.

they have spa days together, too. after a very, very bubbly bath, they're both clad in the cutest pyjamas with equally adorable headbands holding back their head. satoru's never been afraid to spend his money, meaning that the bathroom they share is as big as they come – they both have their own sides, seperate sinks and cupboard for the both of them (satoru really loves spoiling her). nobara has her own little stool to stand on as well, so she can see herself in the mirror perfectly as they wash their faces before applying face masks. sometimes nobara insists on putting on satoru's herself bc she thinks she can do it better. of course, he lets her.

after that, satoru carries her to the couch, so they can watch a movie while the mask dries. they eat popcorn and candy, and joke about whatever's playing on the screen. and when the twenty minutes are up, they both head back to the bathroom to wash their faces again. nobara does this for satoru, too – her eyebrows are furrowed, her eyes determined as she cleans him up. satoru pokes her cheek and laughs as she tells him off, as she tells him to stop messing around. satoru apologizes with a grin.

he blow dries her hair after all the skincare is done, his hands gentle as he combs through the strands. he's extra careful, knowing full well that he'll get reprimanded if he were to tug on her a bit too hard. satoru's rather good at it btw – doing her hair. he's learned how to braid it in different ways, so he's ready for whatever she could ever want. he's got hairties with him at all times, he's even got some hairclips in his pockets – in various shades, to match with the outfit she's wearing.

satoru likes to teasingly call her "little lady". it almost always ends up with her trying to shove him, the argument that 'she's not little' the saying she counters her guardian with. satoru thinks she's very adorable. nobara usually calls him by his name, sometimes by his last name but that's only when she's a little pissed off or when she's trying to be tough. she calls him 'toru' when she's tired though; when she's glued to him, her tiny hands circled around his neck as satoru's carrying her home from the park.

satoru's always there at her taekwondo practices, silently cheering her on as she kicks ass. he's so proud of her, so fucking proud. every once in a while, she turns to him with a big grin on her face, yelling out in excitement after yet another win. satoru is so incredibly proud.

satoru really adores nobara. she might not be his kid, but he still loves her like one. a father, a brother, a guardian - it doesn't matter. family. and nobara couldn't be any happier either – to have somebody that lets her have her fun, that doesn't even try to tone her down in any way. to have somebody that loves her unconditionally. it's everything a child could ever possibly want.

[belsreverie]

imagine sebastian comforting you after a run, but he doesn't rlly know what to say so it comes out a little awkward...

"you look terrible, hehe. did something happen? did you have an unfortunate time with an angler? i'm surprised you didn't die this time. lucky you."

tens, hundreds of eyes staring at you from the gaps in the locker. teeth wrangled in a messy form, screaming at you to leave the metal box and to accept death straightforwardly. your bodies twitching uncontrollably, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you try to settle down in his shop. it's definitely your safe space, but it's not helping.

you are not expected to return.

...

"oh." sebastian sees how uncomfortable you look, his tail fin flicking nervously against the wall once he notices that it's not the time to crack jokes. it's not like him to be so soft, not at all, but towards you...

"you're shaking."

...

"just take a breather here for a bit." he huffs, his tail extending to smack down on an empty spot across from him, the light on his head flickering as he does so. "urbanshade can wait a little longer for their little crystal, no?"

[14dayswithyou]

I'm here to Redeem my kiss from Conan for reading the pinned post ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ I also come on the behalf of Conan Kissers requesting little crumbs, croutons even, about our #1 tired dad.

✦゜ANSWERED: Croutons you say..... In da staff fridge?? Don't mind if I do... >:3

"Can you pass me the sugar, sweetheart?"

Conan's voice easily melds with the soft melody playing from the radio, but you somehow manage to hear him just fine. With a hum of acknowledgement, you leave the cake batter in Conan's care, take a cursory glance at all the ingredients scattered about on the table, and look for the rogue bag of sugar you were certain you pulled from the shelf earlier. Once you find it hidden amongst the flour and eggs, you place it within Conan's reach... before an idea comes to your mind.

With a mischievous grin blooming on your face, you casually lean over and plant a kiss on Conan's cheek. His reaction is almost instantaneous; it barely takes three seconds before the look of surprise forms on his face as the redhead turns towards you, slips a hand around your waist, and happily returns the favour.

"Cheeky," He murmurs, "You know that wasn't what I meant."

His other hand slips into your own grasp in an innocent gesture, and soon enough, you both find yourselves gently swaying to the music. The scruff of Conan's stubble tickles your forehead when he draws near, but you don't seem to mind it that much when he's pressing soft, butterfly kisses against it in a silent apology.

"...It's not often we get a quiet moment to ourselves like this."

"Mm."

Resting your head against his chest now, you listen to Conan's heartbeat as he continues to sway you back and forth in a soft lull. The gentle thrums emitting from his chest almost sync up with the romantic music as you both sway to the beat, but the tender moment comes to an end once the melody begins to fade out.

With a sigh, you glance up at the redhead and give him a soft look.

"We should finish baking Alice's birthday cake first." A playful nudge from your hip coerces Conan back to his original spot by the kitchen island — but not before he places one last kiss atop your head. "Are you done with the sugar?"

Your lover steals the air from your lungs by leaning down and placing one final kiss against your lips this time.

"...Now I am."

[ebongawk]

the first time chrissy breaks smth at the trailer, maybe one of wayne’s mugs or smth, she’s spiraling like it’s the end of the world while eddie is like ???? baby things break all the time is this what living at the cunninghams is like

Crash!

Eddie jumped to his feet, snuffing his half-smoked cigarette and tripping over their hastily discarded clothes to grab boxers and rush toward the kitchen. Chrissy had just gotten up, pulling on his t-shirt with a shy smile over her shoulder after saying she wanted a glass of water. Eddie offered to get it (especially since her knees didn't seem to, uh, want to work properly, not that he was being particularly smug about that) but Chrissy insisted that she needed to stretch her legs.

Swinging around the doorway to the kitchen, he found Chrissy standing in the middle of the floor surrounded by tiny shrapnel shards of a mug. Sharp little landmines just waiting to dig into unsuspecting toes.

"Ah, shit," Eddie breathed, trying to assess the best path to her. "Don't–– Don't move, sweetness, one second, let me––"

He rushed into the living room before she could respond, yanking his Reeboks on and nearly falling on his ass when he tried to jump up too quickly. Laughing at himself, he walked back into the kitchen, trying to avoid the bulk of the ceramic and cringing at every slight crunch under his soles. Chrissy hadn't moved, her eyes down like she, too, was searching for a pathway among the mess.

"Alright, uh, just––" He hoisted her easily into his arms, protecting her bare feet by carrying her like Princess Buttercup through the fire swamp. Depositing her in the hallway, Eddie ducked past her, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the pantry. "Lemme clean this up, alright? You can, uh, go back to the bedroom if you want? I'll bring you some water."

Chrissy didn't look at him. She kept her eyes down, and Eddie followed her gaze, searching her skin for any small cuts he hadn't noticed.

"Fuck, baby, you alright?" he asked, crouching down by her legs, rapt eyes searching for specks of blood. He carefully lifted one foot, making sure her heel was intact before setting it down and inspecting the other. He looked up at her, wrapping his hands loosely around her knees. "Are you hurt?"

Chrissy still wasn't looking at him when she shook her head. Eyes shut tight, head turned resolutely away from him as Eddie slowly rose to standing. His palms climbed from her knees to her hips to her waist on the way up, and he squeezed gently.

"C'mon," he said softly, not quite understanding what was happening but hoping he sounded reassuring. Urging her back a step, he eased her into turning toward his bedroom. "Go sit, yeah? I'll be back in a minute."

Still silent, Chrissy turned and practically ran back into the bedroom. Eddie blinked after her for a moment before turning to the task at hand, grabbing the broom and carefully sweeping up the debris. Making sure to get all the corners under the cabinets to avoid any later mishaps.

He threw the pieces into a paper food bag before throwing them in the garbage to hopefully prevent anything from piercing the plastic. Smacking his shoes a couple of times over the can, he tossed those aside before grabbing another mug of water and walking back into his bedroom to see if Chrissy was okay.

She was dressed in her own clothes, quietly gathering up her belongings and folding them back into her overnight bag. Eddie stopped, feeling his heart seize in his chest. Ice slithered up his back, cold tendrils like fingers wrapping around his spine and holding him in place for a long, breathless moment.

Was she leaving?

"Chrissy?"

Back to him, Chrissy froze, her makeup bag hovered over her backpack.

"I'll, um," she began, her voice thick. Clearing her throat a little, she tried again. "I can, um, drop some money off for the mug later."

What?

"What?" Eddie asked, trying to shake off the glaciers wrapped around his ankles with a cautious step toward her. "Why would you do that? Baby, it's just a mug. Dunno if you noticed but, uh, Wayne has about a million of them."

"But I––" Her voice was heavy with tears. Whirling around, Chrissy dropped the makeup bag in her hand to the floor, looking up at Eddie for the first time as tears spilled down her cheeks. "But I broke it, Eddie. I was careless and I dropped it. I-I didn't mean to, I swear, I just––"

"Whoa, hey, hey." Breaking out of his hesitation, Eddie crossed the room, gently cupping her cheeks in his hands and wiping her tears away. She met his gaze, her big blue eyes swimming. A storm settling over the ocean. "Sweetness, it's okay. It's just a mug. I'm just happy you're not hurt, alright?"

"B-B-But you even offered to get it, and––"

"And it doesn't matter," he insisted, ducking to grab her attention when her eyes wandered away in shame. "I couldn't give less of a fuck about a broken mug if I tried, okay? It's just a mug."

Collapsing against his chest, Chrissy took in a hitched breath and let out a great sob. Eddie held her close, letting her cry her upset into his bare skin. One hand wrapped around her waist and the other buried in her hair. She clutched at him, fingers digging into his back like she was terrified he was going to change his mind and decide he was angry.

What in the fuck went on at the Cunningham household that would make her respond like this?

After about a minute, her cries quieted, though her shoulders still trembled against him. Eddie kissed her temple, lips tracking down to her cheek before he pulled back far enough to wipe the remainder of her tears away.

"Will Wayne be mad?" she asked, her voice small and her eyes so terribly scared.

"Nah," Eddie reassured her. "Wayne probably won't even notice it's missing."

Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. Her face crumpled, eyes filling all over again.

"We have to tell him!" Chrissy cried. "W-We can't hide it, Eddie, what if he finds out and gets even more mad––"

"Hey," Eddie cooed softly, trying to keep his voice from quavering with the anger that suddenly surged. Not at her, of course, never at her, but what the fuck was wrong with her family? "We'll tell him, yeah? But I swear, baby, he's not gonna be mad. It's just a thing." Gently urging her chin back, Eddie looked her directly in the eye when he said, "Things break all the time. That's a fact of, like, general product ownership."

"But," Chrissy whispered, falling back into his chest. "But what about the set?"

"Uh. What?"

"The set. The set of mugs. It'll be incomplete now." She looked at him again. "Do you know where I can buy a replacement?"

Eddie blinked at her. "I'm, uh, pretty sure that was, like, a novelty mug he got at a truck stop. It's not part of a set."

Her bottom lip warbled. "So it was important to him? A memory?"

"God, Chrissy, no," Eddie couldn't help it – he had to laugh a little. Gently, he eased her down onto the bed, sitting beside her and pulling her halfway across his lap. "And even if it was? It's not important enough to throw a fit over if it gets broken. It's just stuff, baby, they're just things." He shook his head, resting his chin on her crown when she snuggled into him. "You can't own stuff without expecting to lose or break it, that's not how accidents work. I've broken probably two dozen mugs in my lifetime."

Her voice was so, so incredibly small when she asked, "So you don't want me to leave?"

"Baby, you can stay the rest of your life if you want," Eddie vowed, his voice laced in jest but meaning every goddamn word. "Or, y'know, just until we get the hell out of this town."

He felt the slight curl of her smile where her cheek was pressed over his heart. Wondering if she could hear the new uptick through the wall of his chest.

"I-I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want you to yell at me."

Taking a slow, deep breath, Eddie closed his eyes to keep from cussing out the phantom of Chrissy's mother that seemed to have its claws stuck into Chrissy's brain.

"Listen, I am never going to yell at you," Eddie promised. Letting his fingertips drift up and down the length of her spine. Giving her hip a soft squeeze with every pass. "And if I do? You have my express permission to hit me."

"Eddie––"

"I can't promise I won't like it, though."

"God," she snorted, falling into a fit of giggles. After a moment, she let out a deep breath, the warmth of her anxieties bleeding across his skin as she exhaled them from her bones. "Thank you for being so good, Eddie."

His scalp prickled in pleasure at her compliment. Forehead falling against her crown, Eddie took his own shaky breath in, slowly breathing out as he pulled her even closer.

"Shit, sweetness, for you? Anything."

[rexscanonwife]

🌈 Welcome to WLWeek 2024 🌈

Hello everyone, I wanted to put together a nice, low-pressure event dedicated to my fellow wlw self shippers for one week of June because it's pride month, babey!! This is the first time I've ever tried to 'organize' an event, so take it easy on me, I'll try to be as communicative as possible and if anyone has questions about it, asks and DMs are always open!

On to the details! Its gonna last from Monday the 10th through Friday the 14th, and anyone can opt in or out as they see fit! No one is obligated to participate throughout the entire week or from the beginning alone, just do what you feel like!

RULES:

NO PROSHIPPERS/COMSHIPPERS/NEUTRAL, all blogs with that will be blocked on sight!

Obviously don't participate if you're not wlw/not shipping with a female character

Lesbians, bisexual, pansexual, sapphic, and once again general wlw/nblw are welcome!

Essentially I am tolerating NO funny business, and I won't tolerate bullying either so everyone be very niceys and hey, try to support each other! 💖💖💖 now onto the prompt list

Monday June 10th: Favorite style/aesthetic-

draw you and your female f/o in your favorite clothing style (goth, Y2K, cottagecore, etc.) Or what you think their favorite style would be! alt. for writers, write a drabble about going shopping for these outfits with your f/o!

Tuesday June 11th: Morning routine -

draw you and your female f/o getting ready for the day. Who's the early riser and who's dragging them back into bed? alt. for writers, write an early morning cuddle session/chat. 

Wednesday June 12th: Date night-

draw you and your female f/o on a date! Is it a dinner, a picnic? Are you guys dressed to the nines or at home in your jammies? Alt. for writers, write a date gone slightly awry. How do you fix things/compromise? 

Thursday June 13th: Beach day-

it's summertime, draw you and your female f/o in beachwear and enjoying the sun and sand! alt. for writers, write out a nice dip in the ocean! Can you swim? Can your f/o? Does one have to teach the other? Is it nice and relaxed or does it dissolve into splash fighting? 

Friday June 14th: Role/Ship Swap -

draw your f/o as the self shipper and you as the fictional character role they fill! What kind of s/i do they make? Would they write fanfic, draw fanart? Alt. for writers, write a gush post from ur f/o's point of view! 

And that's it!! Do one of them, do all of them, or do none of them, it's your choice! I just wanted to show some love to my fellow wlw self shippers out there this month and so something fun for them!

Now if you got this far and you read the rules make sure to put 'great googly moogly' in the tags when u rb! And don't forget to tag my blog here when you write/draw for this event!!! 🫶🫶 everyone who does will get a rb from me and a little promo as well, and maybe even a follow cause I need more wlw mutuals :3

[welcometomypersonalhell098]

Don’t Imagine with Jade Leech…

Warning: None! As far as I’m aware. Some weird mushroom? It does “bleed” but not much detail

author’s note: this is my first ficpost!! planning on a floyd ver for suresies >:) (god no one is gonna see this this is so self indulgent)

1.3k words, fluff, pre-relationship

DON’T Imagine…that for once you didn’t have to worry about overblots or whatever latest shenanigans your friends had gotten up to. Everyone was in their own little bubbles, even Grim who had pounced on the chance to attend a Heartslabyul tea party. For once, there was only peace and you couldn’t be more relieved. You decide to take a leisurely stroll through the halls of NRC. Why not? You could stand to learn more about the place that you call home now. (You wonder if it will be that way indefinitely.)

Don’t think about peering into the science classroom while being sucked into the vortex that was your own thoughts and finding Jade shouldering on hiking gear. The equipment was bulky yet swung across his back effortlessly as he took stock of his stuff. You spot a lantern peeking from the side of his overcoat and a compass on a backpack strap. You blink and realize this must be the “Mountain Lovers” Club that Jade himself had told you about in passing. You recall that conversation with a weird fondness. Jade Leech was most certainly a man to be wary of—that was a fact without question. But, in the moment you showed interest in his little club: you saw his eyes shine with a wholesome joy. That is not a passion a person could fake, you were sure of it.

“Prefect? Can I help you?”

Oh, certainly do not think about how you were caught staring. Jade’s eyebrow crooks upward with the beginnings of a crooked smirk creeping up his face. You clear your throat and ask where he was going. Try not to think about how you feel like you walked in on something intimate. Don’t, because your face is warm. You don’t miss the way his face brightens ever so slightly under the usual mask of cunning.

“Ah. I am heading to the mountains. It is a little ways from the school gate, and yet I have yet to scale it. I wish to correct that today.” You hum in response. It wasn’t like you had much else to do today, and Jade wasn’t bad company—to you at least. It was hard to tell with him; like any day now could be the day the other shoe drops. You know that. And yet, you ask to join him.

“You…Want to?” He says, the shock written all over his face. It shifts back just as quickly as it came into the Jade’s usual polite expression. “Fuhuhu…I would not want to turn you away after you asked so nicely after all. “

In a few hours, you and Jade were well on your way up the mountain. The journey was mostly quiet as the two of you walk side by side absorbing the peacefulness into your very bones. Sunlight streams through leaves above you and warm your skin, the chittering of woodland birds becomes the soundtrack, and the crunching of sticks accent your footfalls. Interspersed among beats of comfortable silence was Jade’s stops to examine mushroom specimens for his terrariums.

He halts you with a hand on your wrist for one of these stops(don’t think about how it stops your heart singlehandedly) and crouches to a mushroom though it looks to you much more like an open pomegranate. “A ‘Bleeding Tooth’,” Jade says with a hushed awe in his voice, “It secretes a thick red liquid—hence the name. Despite that, it is completely nonpoisonous. What a most fascinating specimen.” The name was indeed scary sounding. You crouch down next to Jade for a better look, and you can’t help but agree with wonder.

There is a pause. As you look at this most strange looking growth, Jade peers at you. “Creepy. Is it not?” He says nonchalantly. You blink up at him. He looks back with a glint in his eye that you feel as familiar. You just can’t quite recall from where. But it makes you feel wrong inside. “Mushrooms are a particularly extraordinary part of land ecosystems,” He continues, “They do not hunt or hide. But they will be the ones to dispose of all life eventually and make it anew. And if something, or someone, were to stop them…well there’s been enough proof of its power.”

Ah. You remember now. His yellow eye draws you in like an angler fish draws in prey. You cannot help but liken this scene to when you first met Jade in the Coral Sea—when he was swimming circles around you and merely toying with his food.

“It is a little scary, is it not?” Jade Leech says again. You stare. And Jade stares back. Something in the back of your mind supplies the nature of Jade’s unique magic to you. It does nothing to stifle the tension in the air that threatens to suffocate you. You wonder, if there was any part of Jade that wanted to make you bleed like the mushroom he so admired.

“Not really.” You reply as you turn back to the fungi. Jade makes a tilt of his head. “Really, now?” You nod. “I mean, that’s how they survive, right? They grow in bright colors and weird shapes to make sure they can live. It’s not like we can fault them for that,” You point to the oozing mass in front of you both, “Isn’t that what every living thing wants? And it’s pretty important that they decompose stuff, since it recycles nutrients. If anything, doesn’t it make them pretty essential?”

You look over at Jade again: “They don’t tend to hurt the living unless somebody decides to mess with it. And some don’t have any effects at all. It’d be weird to lump them all together like that.”

Jade stares. And you stare back. Something imperceivable happens within his mind and you find yourself wishing you could peer inside. He smiles. “I knew bringing you along would be most fruitful.” And he stoops down to take the Bleeding Tooth with him.

You’ve been walking for a few hours at this point. The two of you chat more freely now after that little pitstop. You find yourself slowing as you hike higher and higher up the mountain: apparently you severely misjudged the fitness and experience required for such a journey. Your hiking partner’s mirth in his eyes cannot be overstated and you shoot him a look. He plays it off masterfully with a faux offended look that you would even say such a thing. You nudge his side. He laughs. Despite his ribbing, he lends you his hand to pass the rougher terrain. Do not think about how your fingers lace perfectly against each other. Do not think about how when you make it across the felled tree in the way; Jade takes a few seconds longer than necessary to pull away.

At last, the you two make it to the top and the view was worth your pain and more. It was gorgeous: the sun casting hues of orange, yellow, and pink as it sets across the vastness of the mountain below you. Every tree and bush looked like strokes of a paintbrush on the ethereal work of art. You turn excitedly to Jade at your side to point out the way the clouds frame the scene—and are met with his expression examining your own. You dared not put a name to it, but it made your heart race in a way you didn’t know it could. Do not even think about classifying Jade’s expression as “fond” or god forbid “admiring.”

Because then, it would mean your heart would be as good as his.

[ambrosiagoldfish]

Adam’s the type of guy to non-stop complain when you work too much. He’d annoy you until you give him the time of day. And if that doesn’t work, he’d just pick you up, plop himself down in your seat then make you sit in his lap. He does it all while you complain about ‘having to get work done’ or something stupid like that.

“Relax babe~ You’ve been here all fuxking day, Plus…” He’d lean his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath would send a chill up your spine “I’m sure you’re just as pent-up as me, right?”

He’s a little high maintenance, but it’s ok. You know He just has attachment issues :(

[wanderingblindly]

hi liquid my darling :))) for your kiss prompts, in aid of you practising these prompt drabbles (and for my own indulgence xo) pls write whichever pairing your heart desires to the prompt of “wanna practise?” :’) thank u i love u

Please feel free to ask me more kiss prompts, which I definitely fill at some point in time (unspecified).

Wedding Bells, Wedding Kisses (Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, 900 words, drabble)

“Max!” Charles calls, slamming the front door open with significantly more force than necessary – dramatic, as always. Max mutes the stream he’s lurking in, thankful that he wasn’t on audio, and calls back.

“What’s up?”

Charles storms into the office, following the sound of Max’s voice. He stands in the doorway, cheeks a little red and chest moving like he’d run in from the parking garage. Despite the visible distress, Max can’t help but think that he looks adorable like this: worked-up over something that – inevitably – doesn’t actually matter. “Yeah?” Max starts again, half wondering if he’s meant to try and figure it out himself. 

“The wedding.” Charles breathes, voice still a little shaky with whatever energy he’s buzzing on.

“The wedding.” Max nods along, as if it makes total sense, standing from his office chair. “You’re… nervous?” He prods gently as he makes his way towards the door, stopping when they’re face to face.

“How do you… how do we kiss? For the wedding.” He looks at Max with those wide, earnest eyes that always hit him right in the gut – trusting and honest and vulnerable. 

But Max can’t help it: he laughs a little, no more than a snort. Charles ran up to the apartment, hair on end and eyes frantic, to ask about how to kiss? When they’ve kissed for years? Charles punches him on the arm before he can actually answer. 

“Stop laughing, I’m serious!” He cries, voice one step away from a true whine. “How are we meant to kiss?”

“Like we always do?” Max offers, voice still light with laughter as Charles rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“It’s not the same, Max. We do not have one, a wedding kiss.”

Max takes another step closer, closing the minimal distance between him and Charles – standing nearly chest to chest in the office doorway. He looks down at him, just a few centimeters that somehow makes all the difference, and takes in the state of his lips – clearly bitten during whatever bout of anxiety caught hold of him in the car. And it hits him:

“We can, of course…” He starts, watching Charles’s eyes flick to his own lips before meeting his gaze again. “Wanna practice?”

—

Max guides them to the couch, shooing away the cats and grabbing Charles by the shoulders – urging him to sit. “So,” He starts, sitting down next to him carefully. 

Charles looks nervous, hands gripping his thighs tightly, straining his jeans. Frazzled isn’t a strong enough word; he looks shaken to his core. Somehow, Max thinks, he looks even more distressed than when he tried to make a move on him for the first time – terribly drunk and painfully endearing, wearing his tux and still holding his Rookie of the Year trophy. 

“Like this, then?” Max asks, leaning in and placing the most chaste of kisses on Charles’s cheek, right on the spot where his dimple forms. 

Charles giggles, nervous and fleeting. “At least pretend you like me, yes?” His dimples are on display, his laugh firming up as Max pulls away and rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, yeah, I can do that,” He says, moving a hand to Charles’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly in a familiar motion. With practiced ease, he slots their lips together. He can feel Charles continue to relax in his hand, the tension he holds in his face easing as Max sweeps his thumb along his cheek. 

He sighs into it, making that little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s content, and Max takes it as an invitation. His hand slides to the base of Charles’s skull, fingers finding their spot in his soft, overgrown hair. Charles leans into him, allowing Max to pull them tighter together – allowing him to gently coax his mouth open, allowing him to kiss him deeper, to let him taste him fully.

Max moves his other hand to Charles’s hip, silently urging him to come closer, when Charles pulls away – lips stained Max’s favorite shade of blush. They match his cheeks, both alive from his touch. 

“My mother will be there, you know,” Charles laughs a little, pushing against Max’s chest playfully. “Be respectful.” Max is listening, really, but it’s like part of him has been ignited; Charles almost seems bashful, chin tucked towards his chest slightly, long hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, lashes dark against his cheek as he looks down.

Max isn’t listening. 

“Give her my apologies,” He smiles, grabbing Charles’s hips with both hands and pulling him onto his lap – earning a surprised noise, something between a gasp and a giggle. “My self control, you know,” He catches Charles’s lips again, tasting that delicious blush like it’s the first time “It’s not so good.”

“Max,” Charles tries to chastise him, voice closer to a moan than a beratement. 

“Let’s practice later, ok? Wedding kissing,” Max says, moving his lips lower – hoping to elicit that hiccupy breath he loves so much when he touches him just right. With a delicate brush against the sensitive skin under his jaw, sliding up to catch his earlobe between his teeth, he whispers: “What d’you think?”

“I –” Charles starts, sentence falling off as Max slides a hand up his shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with feather-light touches. “Yeah, yes, um. Later, right.”

“Thought so.”

[gaily-daily-musings]

Here, have another abomination of an idea:

Anakin works at a nursing home. He's a vampire. It's easy to drain and eat people there. No one suspects someone is killing the elderly because they are already on their deathbeds. It's the perfect job. Obi-Wan is a 70 year old man at said nursing home. A surprisingly attractive 70 year old man.

(Yes I was thinking about iwtv when I wrote this why do you ask?)

“Good morning Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan groans. He hates mornings. His back cracks as he sits up. Anakin helps him to the bathroom. Obi-Wan waves him off.

“I can do it myself, Anakin.”

“So you've told me, but you fell last week.” He reminds the old man.

Anakin took care never to let someone fall or hurt themselves on his watch. It would look suspicious if too many people died around him. It had to appear random.

Obi-Wan grumbles as Anakin helps him.

“Way to make me feel older than I already am.”

Obi-Wan takes a seat on the toilet and Anakin gives him his privacy. Once finished Obi-Wan struggles to get up and over to the sink. His hands shake as he washes them. The Parkinsons was getting worse.

Anakin hears the sink going and opens the door. He clicks his tongue. “You didn't tell me you were finished.” He pouts.

“I can pull up my pants by myself, thank you!” Obi-Wan normally isn't so grouchy. In fact he liked Anakin. They had a report. But he'd woken up feeling particularly bad today. He's almost always in pain now, but it varied.

He dries his hands. Anakin comes over and wraps a strong arm around his waist. He steers him out of the bathroom into the little room. It wasn't standard for nurses to touch patients in this way. They had certain procedures they followed. But Anakin was handsy. Obi-Wan chalks it up to him being overly friendly, but then again he's seen him with the other residents. He doesn't hover the way he does Obi-Wan. Probably means nothing.

Obi-Wan groans as he's lowered into his chair. Anakin's brows furrow. He knew the poor guy was in more pain this morning. He'll have to slip a little more drugs into his oatmeal. Obi-Wan didn't have any family and couldn't afford a higher treatment. Good thing Anakin was here to take care of him.

Anakin was amiable with all the folks and staff here but it was Obi-Wan he liked talking to the most. He wasn't insistently chatty the way Karen was. Neither was he sexist like Todd or Clark. And he certainly wasn't racist like any of the frankly alarming number of people. He was personable. He was kind. But his soul felt sad. It called to Anakin.

He didn't have to pretend to be interested whenever Obi-Wan talked. He told him so many stories of his youth and his life. It was strange. Anakin has been removed from humanity for so long his mask has started to feel like his face. He feels Obi-Wan's loneliness as if it is his own. A mirror.

He listens to stories of Obi-Wan's dead wife, Satine. How she'd been fierce and strong. How he'd supported her and her entire career. How they'd had a son together. How Korkie had been killed in a car crash at 17. How they'd never recovered from the loss. Anakin could listen to him talk for hours. He has listened for hours.

“What I'd give to be 30 again.” Obi-Wan sighs. “Not to mention I was so much more handsome back then.”

“You're handsome now.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “Lying does not become you, Anakin.”

“I'm serious. You're like a silver fox.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

-

Obi-Wan has a dream involving Anakin. It's half remembered and blurry, but he'd heard Anakin call to him. He'd come helplessly, unable and not wanting to resist. Their bodies had twisted and melted together. The heat of Anakin’s stare and scorching touch of his hand burned like a furnace.

Obi-Wan can barely look at Anakin the following day. Too ashamed. Anakin holds a secret smile like he knows what he's thinking but that's impossible. Nevertheless, he pushes the memory down. He was much too old for wet dreams. And much too old for Anakin for that matter.

Anakin guides him out of the bed to the chair in the corner so he can sit and watch his programs. Anakin's hands linger around him, pressing close. He inhales like he's smelling him. Like Obi-Wan was delectable and not stinking of chemicals. It's nothing new. Anakin always lingers. But this time his mind wanders to the dream.

He stiffens, flinching away. Anakin doesn't seem to be offended by it.

“It's okay to rely on me.” Anakin whispers. “Whatever you want, just ask and it's yours.”

Obi-Wan shivers. It was a good thing, he thinks, that he had Parkinsons and could simply blame his reaction on that. He licks his dry lips and tries to find his words. He can't. Instead he nods.

Anakin gives his arms a squeeze before releasing him. He turns back around to grab Obi-Wan’s lunch.

“Lemme me know when you're done. I'll come get the tray.” He winks and leaves the room.

Obi-Wan breathes out a shuddering exhale. The thing is, it had felt real. The dream. Anakin's hands had felt real. He looks down at his legs and swears he sees bruises in the shape of fingers. He's old. A light breeze can bruise him. He'd probably tossed in his sleep and done it himself. And yet…he puts his hands over his thighs where Anakin had had his mouth on him. It’s almost like a memory half forgotten rather than a conjured dream.

-

Anakin wasn't on duty when Obi-Wan has a stroke. He rushes into work the second he hears. By the time he finally arrives Obi-Wan is in bed dozing peacefully. The doctor has already checked him out. His chart hangs on the end of his bed. Anakin doesn't need to consult it or anyone else about the incident. He already knows Obi-Wan's heart was giving out. He can hear it stuttering in his chest. It wouldn't be long now.

Anakin feels real panic settle into his bones. He has not felt this way in a long, long time. Not since…well…

He's never made another vampire. Never wanted to curse anyone to this kind of existence. But he wants Obi-Wan. He needs him.

He gingerly sits beside the bed and places his hands over Obi-Wan’s soft ones. He can't imagine never hearing that accent again. Never seeing those blue eyes hold his image within them.

So many people desired Anakin. He's had so many partners. People wanted him. But they did not cherish him the way Obi-Wan did. Obi-Wan looked at him like he loved him. Like no one ever has before.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter open. His gaze locks onto Anakin’s. There's confusion there. Disbelief too. But also a familiar little swelling of love as his pupils dilate.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers, his voice soft. Too soft. Like he's scared. “I can offer you eternity.”

He strokes a thumb over the back of Obi-Wan's hand and listens to his soft breathing.

“Be with me and live forever.”

The confusion is still there. He probably thinks Anakin is not real. That he's not here and this is yet another dream. That's fine. Let him think this is his imagination. Anakin will take it.

“Forever?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you an angel?”

Ankain smiles. More like the Devil come to steal his soul out from heaven.

“No, I'm a vampire.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He processes this. Anakin leans closer taking his face in his palms.

“Please accept my gift. Accept me. I promise to love you the rest of my existence. Until the stars burn out.”

Obi-Wan lifts his hands and places them on Anakin's. He exhales sadly, a smile on his lips.

“Darling, you never had to ask."

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 ❞ ; 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

━ lilia vanrouge x gn! reader ━ he's lived a long life and faced many experiences, but maybe this time, he'll find himself yearning to experience this long-lost feeling once more. (f/n means first name)

this work may contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

lilia has lived for about 700 years. 700 years is a lot as it brought him several experiences and knowledge that are all unique to him. not to mention, raising kids was one of the things he never expected to do, and yet he already had.

and having you by his side was something he never expected in his 700-year lifespan as well. at first, he thinks you're a total sweetheart, going out of your way to help him and accompany him any time so he won't feel lonely.

until those thoughts are buried deep into his mind and his feelings have developed from familial and platonic to something a little more... like a memory he has long forgotten yet remembered once more.

it has been so long since he felt butterflies or felt the drive in his heart to see you every day, and every single time he feels his heart thumping in his chest at the sight of you, he reminds himself that he shouldn't.

the last time he loved someone, he lost them, and he could not risk repeating the same act with you only to eventually lose you in the end.

but maybe this time, he'll try to take the risk.

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

[gallawitchxx]

here's a lil bathroom booty call for the @galladrabbles prompt "WILD by Troye Sivan" by @badassfetish <3

- - - - -

The door of the bathroom stall is hard against Mickey’s back, the flimsy lock threatening to break with every thrust of Ian’s hips. Sweaty fingertips slip and bruise, and Ian laughs, hot breath kissing Mickey’s ear.

Christ, he could come… but he’s not ready for this to end.

Mickey can’t believe he caved by Tuesday when they just fucked on Friday. But there’s still too long to the weekend, too long til he drowns in Ian’s hands, too long since he’s been a fool—

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he pants, and Ian moans like he wants it just as bad.

[pyrepostings]

Cw: blood mentioned, needles, noncon drugging, noncon use of a straitjacket, defiant whumpee, old timey abusive mental asylum setting, medical whump, carewhumper, multiple whumpers, accidental self inflicted wounds

~

Whumpee bit down, hard, on the hand clasped over his mouth, and simultaneously pulled his free hand out of the grasp of the second orderly. He pushed, and headbutted, and somehow managed to scramble away, to underneath the nearest hospital bed. Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard the orderlies he just escaped cursing him out.

He was under no illusion that he was safe now, but he couldn't just stand there and let them do what they want with him. He had just earned the right to not wear the straitjacket in the common room, and now a simple mistake was going to erase all of that. He wasn't going to just let it happen.

He heard the door opening, and chatter. The one he had bit was getting chewed out for putting his hand near a patient's mouth. He struggled to control his breathing. He just needed the steadiness to undo the buckle of the hand they restrained with the hand they didn't get to. He knew he was smearing blood over the white canvas fabric, but he just needed it off-

the chatter was gone, replaced by the sound of a pair of women's heels walking towards him. With the jacket off, he balled up tight. There was only one pair of legs in the room he could see, but he wouldn't put it past them to be perched on one of the beds. His breathing was still too ragged for him to try to listen for others' telltale breaths to give away an ambush. Still, he pushed himself away from the side of the bed she was on.

She didn't do anything at first. Listening, probably. He pulled his knees to his chest, ignoring the pain in his bad leg from the struggle, and running his hand through his hair while he still had the chance. He needed to calm down. He wouldn't be able to escape, but there had to be a way to put off the torture, for just a little while longer. He couldn't find it if he couldn't calm down and think-

"whumpee?" She called, as if she knew him. As if she wouldn't hurt him like the rest. "Whumpee, I want to help you. My name's caretaker. Can you come out from under there please?"

Whumpee couldn't help the strangled laugh that bubbled out of him. Oh, she was here to help. Like they always were. Right before they stab him in the back. She wore enough of the uniform to tell him she wasn't on his side. No, he would not come to her beck and call, heeling for her like a trained dog. She would have to drag him out, kicking and scratching and biting if she wanted to put him in a jacket again, or to prick his neck with sedatives.

"Whumpee, they told me you were hurt pretty badly. I just need to clean and bandage the wound, how's that sound hm?" He could see as she crouched down and spoke.

He shuffled further away. "No. No, I won't please don't-" his pleas were barely audible. The was no point in making sure she could hear them, she wouldn't listen anyway. She would have him punished. But it was a mistake, a slip of the hand. He just wanted to go home.

"whumpee, if you don't come out on your own, or at least talk to me, I'm going to have to call the boys back in, and we're going to have to drag you out from under there. You don't want that, do you?" Her voice was sickly sweet, and did nothing to draw him out.

If she wanted to drag him out, she could do that. But he wasn't going to just let her. He watched her feet like a cornered animal would watch a tigress, knowing she could smell blood on the wind, which wasn't all that dampened by his clutching his injured hand to his chest.

She lost her patience eventually, and did as she said she would. The original two orderlies were called back, and they circled the bed, hunting strategy now much closer to that of wolves.

Between the three of them, he didn't have a side to back out of, couldn't fight them all off. They all crouched down, and he curled on his back, gripping the bed frame from below. He heard them coordinating, but it did him little good as hands were on him, twisting into his clothes, yanking his deteriorated limbs free.

He was soon out, and he struggled. He clawed and spat and bit and snarled, but they pinned him down on the floor and he soon felt the needle pierce his skin and steal his fight.

He felt his resolve drain from him like pouring water from a cup, coating his limbs and nerves in cement. He could barely keep his eyes open as they lifted him to put him in the jacket, stopping only to wipe the blood on his hand away and bandage it.

It was over. There was no use fighting anything anymore.

He let them manhandle him to the bed, not listening to their orders but knowing they weren't expecting him to anyway.

The thick leather straps were overkill, but it meant they would leave him alone for awhile to let him cry in peace.

[robyn-i-guess]

“It’s your turn to make dinner.” with Gerry & Michael Distortion

"I am not cooking tonight."

Gerry huffs and collapses onto his couch.

"What a greeting," Michael responds, its voice annoyingly cheerful as it always seemed to be. The door that was not there before removes itself, leaving just Michael, Gerry, and the dizzying feeling Michael tends to emit.

"Seriously though," he responds, "I couldn't. I'll burn the place down."

"Oh, don't doubt your talent!" It smiles. "I bet you'll make it combust!"

Gerry sighs of exhaustion, grabbing the cheap slushy that he had gotten in his way back from the Institute.

"Why don't you get that – what do you call it? Where the little people bring you your dinner?" Michael sits on the other side of the couch from Gerry, causing a headache to form as its presence usually does.

"Doordash? No, nothings open. It's 1am, Michael."

"I'm open!"

Gerry chokes on his drink. "You're fucking what?"

"I can deliver you the food!" It smiled like it had no clue what it just said. Did it know? Gerry didn't have the energy to pinpoint that.

"From where? Everything is closed."

"The kitchen!" The smile twists in a weird way. Is it meant to be excitement? Does Michael feel excitement? Too many questions lay unanswered.

"Fine, whatever. It's your turn to cook then. Go ham." Gerry pulls a throw blanket over him, trying his hardest to push away the growing migraine was threatening tonight's sleep. The buzzing in his head (that he didn't realize was there) disappears, a sign of Michael leaving his side.

5 minutes later comes a smell from the small kitchen that can only be described as painfully sour candy.

The next minute it's warm both in scent and temperature. Gerry questions just for a moment in his sleep riddled mind of the house is on fire, before remembering fire alarms exist. Michael could turn them off, but it wouldn't. He thinks.

Then there's sizzling, maybe popping, maybe boiling. The sound is hard to pinpoint, but it's certainly a cooking sound.

Then 30 minutes of silence. Nothing. Gerry knows Michael isn't gone because he can feel it look at him. Was it even 30 minutes?Maybe that's all it was doing. Maybe the exhaustion was getting to him.

On his shoulder came a gentle tap with what felt like a knife. If not for the jacket be wore, it might've cut or punctured the skin. Gerry pulls the blanket off and in front of him is – as he expected – Michael, with its usual shit eating grin.

"Wakey wakey!" It squeaks, holding a plate that curved weirdly into a bowl that Gerry knew he didn't own, but he does now, he supposes.

In it is certainly... food. It is like if an artificial intelligence was told to create what it thought food was; sure, it resembles something edible, but what it was couldn't be pinpointed. Are those noodles? Is that sauce or the color of something cooked? What plant is that? The answer is none of the above, it is not anything, it's simply food.

It tasted like ramen.

Apparently, Michael just had fun with instant ramen.

Whatever keeps it entertained.