#so it ends abruptly lol

[janewaykove]

Title: Back To Work

Characters: Janeway/fem!reader

Rating: PG

Janeway wanted you to come to her quarters in the evening when she had time off. You approached her door and heard her call for you to come in. You found her in her chair, her arm casually draped over the back of the chair, a position you loved seeing her in. She had on her short-sleeved undershirt and was reading a book.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your relaxation time," you said, feeling like you'd intruded.

"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand in the air to dismiss your concern. "I just lost track of time. Make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to the sofa. "Lemme just finish this chapter."

You told her not to hurry and you sat down on the sofa. You couldn't help but be transfixed on her. The intense stare at the pages. The arm over the chair back. The undershirt. She looked irresistible. You couldn't stop imagining all the things you wanted to do to--

And then you noticed her book was lowered and she was smiling at you as you were lost in the thought of her. "Sorry," you said shyly.

"For what?" she asked. "Having naughty thoughts about me?"

You shifted in your seat. "How did you know I was--"

"It's written all over your face clearer than the words in this book," she answered. "Plus there's a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth." She laughed as you wiped your mouth. "I'm teasing you," she added, standing up and walking over to you. She removed her shirt revealing the tank top beneath it. She knew you loved seeing her in that. "Better?" she purred seductively. She motioned for you to put your legs up on the sofa.

"Much," you said, stretching out on the sofa as she wished.

She straddled your waist and put her hands on either side of your head before lowering herself down to kiss you. You moaned lightly as her tongue explored your mouth. Soon you were moaning even louder as she started to grind herself against you.

Her lips moved to your ear. She nipped and nibbled at your lobe. "Is this what you wanted?" she whispered into your ear. You nodded as your voice had suddenly been lost in the excitement. She rocked her pelvis harder against you, bringing out more sounds from deep within you.

Your hands found their way to her hips and you pulled her towards you with an uncontrollable need to feel her against you as much as possible. You slid one hand up under her shirt, wishing to feel the warmth of her skin. "I need you," you finally spoke. It was a faint, breathy plead, but she heard you.

She sat upright and began fiddling with your pants, trying to unfasten them. Your pulse sped up with anticipation. When her eyes locked on yours, you felt a surge of electricity shoot to your very core. She grinned, knowing exactly how you felt. She got your pants undone and--

"Captain," a male voice appeared from the air, "You're needed on the bridge."

"Dammit, Chakotay," she groaned before actually replying to say she would be right there.

You let out a heavy sigh and she shrugged at you.

"This'll have to wait," she frowned as she fastened your pants back up. She crawled off of you and put her other shirt back on. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You were sitting up by now and looking disappointed. You tried to smile, not wanting it to feel like it was her fault for having to leave you like this. "Duty calls," you said with faux cheer.

Buttoning up her uniform, she leaned down and kissed you. "I promise," she reassured. And you knew she meant it. "Stay the night," she said, on her way out. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

And with that, she was back to work.

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

[puppyeared]

Dear Wormwood PART 1

(slight tw for bright color at the end)

[robiinurheart33]

Before, when ghost was still Simon and his mom still looked presentable enough to go out in public, she would take him and Tommy out to the pier near their house.

He can still remember; every Friday night after dinner, when his dad passed out in front of the television. The three of them would sneak out of the house and Simon would giggle, pretending as if they were ninjas, holding onto little Tommy’s pudgy body. His mom would buy him a tiny little ice cream cone for each of them and sit at the boardwalks, watching the sun go down for its rest.

“Have you ever heard of the green flash, Simon?” She would hum, green eyes near sparking in the golden hour.

“Nope.” He popped his lips at the last letter, his lips sticky from the dessert.

“Just when the sun sets, there’s a slight moment where at the veeeerrry horizon - there, you see?” She points to where the sun is now meeting the sea, Simon squinting dramatically and placing his hand above his eyes.

“…yeah.”

“Just for a split second, you can’t blink or you’ll miss it. A green flash will appear just after the sun disappears.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not! I’m being dead serious!” She straightens her back, an amused smile twitching at the corner of her mouth as she holds a sleeping Tommy to her chest. Simon swings his legs back and forth, contemplating.

“Look, just see for yourself. It’s gonna happen soon.” A small, childish tone laces her words as they both turn to the horizon, eyes zoned in on where the sun is setting.

Sure enough - right as the sun collapses into a bright ball peeking over the sea, a bright, almost inconspicuous green flash appears.

“I saw it! I saw it!” Simon vibrates in excitement, pointing at the sea and smiling brightly at his mom. She smiles back, smile lines appearing and wrinkles returning as she giggles.

“See? Wasn’t that awesome?”

“So awesome!”

Simon keeps that memory tucked closely next to his cold heart, one of the few good memories of his childhood he can still remember vividly. The smell of the ocean, the stickiness of his lips and hands, the texture of wet wood under his fingertips, his mother’s lopsided smile, the sound of the ocean and the exact shade of green that appeared.

He knows that shade of green like the back of his hand. He knows it because none of the trees, leaves, grass ever came close to how intense it was. Simon used to naively believe that that shade of green was only special for him and his mother. (Sans Tommy, because he was asleep)

But now, staring into Johnny, his Johnny’s eyes, the same exact shade of green that appeared in the sky 25 years ago, Simon doesn’t believe that anymore. The same shade of green smoke plumes up behind Johnny, surrounding him like a possessive hug. It felt sickeningly wrong. His eyes aren’t green. His eyes aren’t green. He knows it because he’s spent the last 478 days burning the image of him into his mind, not wanting to forget him, ever. His eyes aren’t green.

[arcanadreams]

Times Cal Saw Sorenn in Kit!Traveler

Do you guys remember this post from like a whole ass year ago? WELL after playing a6 again and getting caught up with episode 8, I finally got the inspiration to write something based on it! I've always felt that Sorenn was underutilized by the narrative, especially in the case of Kitalphan travelers. And even moreso on the Calderon route. So, I have taken it upon myself to write a little ficlet of some ways I think Calderon would see bits of Sorenn in a Kit!traveler. Traveler is referred to with gender neutral pronouns and is given the name "Traveler" so that everyone can insert themselves as they please! I banged this all out in like two hours so apologies ahead of time for any grammar mistakes LOL

Times Cal Saw Sorenn in Kit!Traveler

Eyes

In the seconds following him being, in hindsight, probably the biggest asshole imaginable, Calderon had the gall to ask their name. More specifically, he had the gall to ask “What did you say your name was?” 

They blinked in surprise before staring at him a moment. It looked like they were processing both the fact that he had even bothered to ask, and that he had managed to still be rude about it. Their gaze turned incredulous as their eyes met.

Those eyes. Calderon resisted the gasp of air that threatened to escape his chest. Their eyes looked practically identical to Sorenn’s. They were the exact same color, at least. He didn’t get a good enough look at their shape in that brief moment to decide if that was the same, too. It was likely a coincidence, anyway.

“I didn’t, but…it’s Traveler,” they said, and this time he was unable to keep his expression neutral. One of his eyebrows quirked instantly, uncontrollably. That name was familiar. Undeniably so. And yet he didn’t know where he’d heard it. He shook his head; he was being foolish. He just missed Sorenn dearly and his mind was playing tricks on him because of it.

“Well, whoever you are, we’ll be dropping you off in Teranium once we get there. I suggest you come up with a plan before then. The streets of Nos Vega are not kind to the unprepared. Until then, unless you can do something useful, which I highly doubt, stay out of the way.”

Despite his harsh words, he still couldn’t keep himself from giving them one last once over before he left the bridge. To anyone on the outside looking in, it would seem as though he were sizing them up, to see if they were worth anything. Which, well, he was. But it was an excuse for him to check if those eyes really were that same shade.

They were.

Posture

The first time they did it, it confirmed Calderon’s suspicions of their wealthy background. After all, that little trinket they had with them when June brought them on board was made of Kitalphanite; whoever they were, they had credits. And likely, high social status.

So when the doors of their room slid open and they saw him standing there, and adjusted their posture, it didn’t shock him one bit. They straightened out their neck, aligned their shoulders, crossed their arms, and jutted their chin out ever so slightly. After living in the high end of Goldis for so long, he knew noble posture when he saw it. It almost made him scoff.

When their eyes met again, though, he was once again reminded of Sorenn. Sorenn often used to do much the same posturing, but he did it as a joke. He often struck a similar pose when he mimicked his royal siblings; well, the more troublesome ones, at least. 

But Sorenn had also used what he called “royal body language” to his advantage, as well. It often came out when other members of the guard were being difficult, or if anyone gave him or Cal a hard time. It was an offensive maneuver, of sorts. A “do you know who I am?” without saying the words out loud. And it always worked, and always left him and Sorenn laughing.

As he and Traveler discussed the trinket, which they discovered was a music box, and he apologized for his rudeness on the bridge, he noticed their stature grow less rigid and their shoulders relax. He was glad to see it.

Sociability

Traveler may have started out hiding in their room most of the time, but they started growing comfortable aboard the ship somewhere during the trip to Cursa. Cal could tell, with how often he heard them talking or laughing to someone. Usually it was Ayame, Sebastian, or Ryona. They didn’t get on very well with Damon; but then again, who did? Though he couldn’t really blame them after suggesting selling them out to their family’s murderer. And June, well…that was complicated.

They took a surprising interest in everyone’s hobbies, of all things. They started helping Ryona with her plants on the regular. They’d sit with Ayame on the bridge and talk about anything and everything. Every now and again, they could be heard giving Aya’s shitty karaoke machine a go. They started helping Bash in the kitchen, both because they wanted to learn to cook and because they wanted to spend time with him.

They were also perfectly content with sitting in silence in the company of others. Once or twice, he had found himself and Traveler sitting in the common room of the Andromeda Six. No words were spoken, yet a sense of companionship lingered in the air. It was…nice. He hadn’t had someone to be alone together with in quite some time. The last person he could sit in companionable silence with was Sorenn, actually.

As a prince, and one of the older ones at that, Sorenn almost always had to be in “Peg’asi mode.” Always presentable, always powerful, always charming. But when his battery was drained, when he didn’t want to be a prince anymore, he would sit with Calderon in the barracks of Orsanna’s Guard during their training days, and they would just be quiet together. 

Traveler really was like their older brother.

Compassion

He regretted snapping at them as soon as he’d done it. “Very few people have had the luxury of growing up in a golden palace, with servants to cater to their every whim,” he had said, harsh and unwarranted, and stopped himself abruptly. Traveler looked at him with confusion and hurt in their eyes, and he felt like a dick yet again. 

Yes, Cursa was a dangerous place. But what had he yelled at them for? For being kind? For showing the same compassion Sorenn always had for people down on their luck? He didn’t have to join the Guard; he wanted to. And if Sorenn could have joined Cal in the Bronze District, he would have; he’d said as much. But as a prince, the leaders of the Guard, and for that matter, his father, King Fenris, would never allow him to be stationed anywhere less than Gold.

And here was Traveler, showing that same compassion, digging into their pockets for a donation for a starving child when they know damn well they don’t have a credit to their name at the moment. And yet they still hoped to find some way to help. 

He was shocked when they purposefully caught up to him after his outburst. “I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier,” he said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you must think of me.” 

He was even more shocked at their reply. “You’re a good man,” they said. “I can see that. You’re also incredibly stubborn and ill-tempered, but surprisingly, I like that about you too.” 

“You do?” He asked, and they nodded with a smile. There it was again; that compassion. 

~~~~~~~~~~

And yet, for all the ways Calderon saw their older brother in Traveler, he also saw, well, Traveler.

Their eyes were the same shape as Sorenn’s, too, not just the same color. The two of them must have both gotten Nikolle’s eyes. But Calderon had met Traveler’s gaze enough times now to see the differences. The corners of Traveler’s eyes always crinkled when they smiled; they smiled with their entire face. It was like their joy overtook them every time they laughed. And when they were excited, their eyes twinkled in a way that brightened them to almost an entire shade lighter than they typically were. The first time their eyes lit up at the sight of him, Calderon couldn’t breathe.

For Traveler, the “royal posture” wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a tool. It was a comfort. He noticed whenever they did it. That telltale straightening of the neck, aligning of the shoulders, crossing of the arms, and jutting of the chin. They did it when they felt unsafe. The first time he realized the meaning was on Cursa. When Alisa approached the crew, they did it before she was anywhere near them. They did it when she got close to him and Damon. They didn’t ease up when they outstretched their hand to shake hers, offering a pleasant greeting. They stiffened up more when she laughed at them. They were emulating their older brother to feel confident, to feel safe, and Calderon felt a lump in his throat whenever he thought too hard about it.

Sorenn was sociable and likable, but it was because he was born and raised to be that way. He knew all the right things to say and when to say them; he once confided in Cal that sometimes he didn’t know where the prince in him ended and the person in him began. Traveler, on the other hand, was likable without practice. They were painfully genuine in their every interaction. They had confessed to him that, after being left alone in the palace for so long, they hardly ever liked to be without company. Sitting in silence with someone wasn’t a luxury for them because they had been forced to be around people; it was a luxury for them because for so long they had been without anyone. Sorenn was molded into a charmer; Traveler was left alone to grow into a lover. Calderon would sit in silence with them forever, if only the circumstances of the universe would allow it.

Traveler’s compassion went beyond that of their older brother. It went beyond that of the average person, in fact. Once, when walking into the common room, Calderon heard a sniffle. Following the sound, he saw Traveler curled up on the couch. He immediately made his way over to them, brows furrowed in concern. They had their knees hugged to their chest, their face obscured. Soft sobs shook their frame. He called out for them, and they jumped, not having heard his approach. Only when their legs lowered did Calderon see the open book resting in their lap. The book Damon lent them ended with the dog dying, they explained, frowning, their lip still quivering slightly. With a fond smile, Cal reached out to wipe their tears. He cupped their cheek when he finished, moving forward to press a kiss to the top of their head. Truly, what had he done to deserve someone so sweet?

~~~~~~~~~~

Once, after a particularly rough nightmare, Traveler stumbled their way to the captain’s quarters. 

“I had a dream about Sorenn,” they said when the doors opened, still heaving and trying to catch their breath. “You are the only person I know who…I just…I need someone who understands losing him.” 

“You haven’t lost him fully,” Calderon whispered as he tugged them into his arms. “So much of him lives on in you.”

[creaturefeaster]

I'm not sure how to word this so forgive me if it sounds odd but would the mimes be considered parasites from a more scientific standpoint? Considering they look for living hosts and such. I hope I conveyed that right I don't want to sound rude ^ ^;

Not quite, but I understand what you're asking.

Mimes can-- but do not need to if they do not want to-- seek out a host that is capable of life, but currently is not alive. Life in this instance means capable of functioning through an energy source, and not alive means not actively receiving the required energy in order to function.

So this includes: the recently but vitally intact deceased as well as animals, dying plants, unpowered electronics, dead but undamaged electrical grids.

I believe from a scientific point of view, they would be participating in some form of forceful mutualism, especially in organic hosts where they prevent further decay of the body by providing energy and reviving dead cells. In return, mimes gain near-complete control of the mind and body of the host, and are the only thing that can ensure the body continues to thrive as intended.

[crybaby-bkg]

sadly and soggily thinking about dating gojo and being so deep in the relationship, that you think you two were made for each other. two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole, two severed souls connecting once more. so perfect for each other that you don’t even think about mentioning marriage and kids, convinced that you guys are already on the same page.

all until it comes up in conversation and things aren’t as perfect as you thought they were. marriage—yes, absolutely, gojo is ecstatic about tying the knot, giving you the wedding of your dreams, calling you his for the rest of you guys’ lives.

but….kids? he’s thought about it and the answer has always been a clear no in his mind. he couldn’t even dream of bringing another him into the universe, fears that it might throw off the balance of the world. that he can’t exist if his child does, but why exist at all if his child’s lesser abilities will only result in them being shunned? of being told how much of a disappointment they are? of being isolated?

and sadly, it’s a breaking point for you. you just wanted one, at least, with your forever partner. and if he can’t give it to you, then he must not be the one for you. you didn’t wanna trap gojo or coerce or manipulate him into giving you the baby you always so selfishly desired, so you leave him.

and how broken does it make him. makes him resent a baby never even conceived or planted, makes him hate what used to be and would have never been.

but…it also makes him think. if his fears would come true, if his hesitance is justified. would he be able to go long lengths to protect his baby? to protect you? would that target his whole family having a weak spot? and is it…is it even worth it at all?

[irlbop]

Imagine, though, that the first three Papas hadn’t been assassinated, and there really was a plan to have them reincorporated into the Ghost Project. Perhaps not as the frontmen audiences were more familiar with, but there was certainly use to be found. The Ministry could be resourceful when it wanted to be, after all.

Primo would probably feel confused at best, fatigues at worst as the memories of touring and strutting about began to reappear in the marrow of his bones. He was far from young when the Ghost Project had been revived under his visage, and he’d certainly not gotten any younger in the decade that had passed since he passed on the position.

Ever the diligent shepherd throughout his life, the eldest Emeritus son had found himself quite enjoying his retirement: It had allowed him more time to rest, more time to tend to his personal passions. Further to the point, though, what more did he have to offer? Ghost had prospered with each succession. As far as he was concerned, he had done his job: It was now up to the Next Guy to keep it going.

But, ever the good son and dedicated brother, he hears out the proposal. The stage may not call him back, but the Church does. And for that, he just listen.

Secondo would furrow his brow, almost reflexively creating a slight sneer. Though, it’s not out of disgust so much as uncertainty. And Secondo is very rarely a hesitant person.

He knew how the Church saw him: Angry, bitter, so on and so forth. The very things that contributed to the decision to end his tenure.

…Well, that, and perhaps his exorbitant spending on the Ministry’s dime. There was only so much he could get away with under the justification of gluttony, lust, and sloth, evidently.

Regardless, though, he found the prospect somewhat suspicious. After he retired the mitre, the Ministry appeared to want little to do with him. The Clergy kept interactions to a minimum, and most paperwork had been designated to other members often before. Most who look forward to his presence are Siblings with an appetite they claimed only he could satiate — and frankly, he was content with that.

He was far from a dullard, but Secondo couldn’t fathom what the Ministry realistically could pull from him at this point. Perhaps, then, “conflicted” is the better expression he wore: Eyes narrowing at the prospect as he pondered what this could mean, quiet anger that they would demand more of him after he had given them plenty, but also curiosity.

And a bit of temptation. Best to hear the details. Perhaps maybe even confirm the perks. He would keep his guard up of course, but maybe he could regain access to the Black Card if he played the right cards…

And then…There’s Terzo. Of the Papas present, he was the most emotionally expressive.

“Prone to fits of flamboyancy,” Primo would muse if he were in a gentler mood.

“A shameless twit with no damn self-control,” Secondo would insistently correct.

If that moment had been someone’s first exposure to Terzo, however, they probably would not have guessed it. He is the picture of calm. Almost ennui. Heterochromatic eyes sit beneath bushy brows, hooded as though the proposal were someone waxing poetry of the gilded lily that was doing taxes.

If someone who did know of Terzo and his antics were to see him, they might have concluded one of two options: That he was either zoning out, fantasizing about all the schlong and balls and pussy he could be investing time in; or he was hungover and/or high and thus not computing a single syllable that tumbled into his ears.

But Terzo was stone-cold sober. And he was hanging on to every word like claws sink into flesh.

The fact of the matter is that yes, Terzo could be loud. He could be showy. He was outspoken, enduring, a consummate performer. But that didn’t mean Terzo was dumb. It was so easy to simplify him down to a happy-go-lucky himbo of some sort that people — even his own brothers — would often forget the bottom line: He was still an Emeritus, born from a line coated in blood and shadow.

And in that moment, the blood and shadows within him were boiling, as though the essence of The Pit had found itself replaced into his mortal form.

In that moment, he was putting those years of breathing exercises to use by tempering his inhales and exhales to feel less heated, less sharp. Without the papal paints to give illusion to his features, his features seemed sharper, but not necessarily menacing. He was white-knuckling it in those gloves he was almost never without, ever thankful that their cloth texture didn’t give away his feelings like the squeak of leather would.

They want them back? They want him back? How about a proper send-off to his papacy first? How about an actual final show, one last thing to give to the followers he’d busted his ass off to give to the Church? An apology card signed by the Clergy, an Edible Arrangement, something!

He brought home a goddamn Grammy. And how did they repay him?

By dragging him off of the stage, mind-song. This was the way the most successful Antipope to date’s reign had ended: Not with a bang, not with a kazoo, but with a whimper.

He had given the Church everything he had: His youth to studies, his adulthood preparing for succession, his mind, body, and soul put to the form of song for them to exploit. He even gave them things he did not actually possess, but dressed up just enough to superficially please them. Yet now they come back, ready to take even more? What was even left in their eyes to snatch, he might’ve wondered beneath it all?

A dark bile flowed through his veins like the Serpent through Eden. And oh, how this domain did love its corruption. That is, except for when it conflicted with what they wanted. And what this church of expression and freedom wanted, as far as Terzo saw it, was control. Power. All that uncreative jazz. You were only as free as they saw fit.

Well. Fine. This church loved serpents so much, why not become what they loved? He could slither pitifully on his belly. He could sit in wait. He could speak honeyed words. He could remind them he was but a soft, simple creature.

He could bite.

What this proposal to reincorporate himself and his brothers foretold, he did not yet know. And it frankly didn’t matter to him: He would take it. He would take it and cradle it and slowly nurture it with his venom until the Ministry would recognize the necrosis developing far too late to stop it.

He was, after all, an Emeritus: The favored bloodline of the Dark One. He was insurrection, he was spite.

“I see…” he uttered, stifling a nonexistent yawn.

“And this…idea that you have: What’s in it for me?”

[braidlottie]

SUIT AND TIE

OLDER!SIDNEY PRESCOTT X FTM TRANS READER

wc: 747

warnings: smut, older!sidney (scre4m), suit kink, handjob, mommy kink, hotel sex, sub!transmalereader, dom!sidney, edging, use of “pretty boy/good boy”, afab language, little bit of aftercare/subspace at the end

you sat in a booth with your coffee in the very back of the coffee shop, looking at sidney from afar. you could barely see her from all the people crowded around her, wanting to get their books signed.

she looked so good, the way her bangs flowed gently across her forehead. you had told her she looked amazing in her dress earlier this morning, the comment making her blush. gale and dewey even came down for her signing, they did not want to miss that.

fans hugged and took pictures with her for about ten more minutes, then sidney came over and told you if was time to go back to the hotel.

-

you sighed and sat at the end of the hotel bed you and your girlfriend shared, untying your shoes and plopping down on the king sized mattress behind you.

“you looked adorable today,” sidney walked out of the bathroom. “you’re wearing the tie i bought you.” you propped yourself up on your elbows. the tie was navy blue, and had tiny yellow ducks all over it.

“and this suit… you wore it just for mommy, didn’t you?” her hand snaked from your shirt collar all the way down to your belt buckle. “my handsome boy. i feel so special.” you groaned, her knee pressing against your aching cunt through your tight slacks.

“i saw you staring earlier today. you looked so embarrassed.”

“j-just wanted you.”

“i see. that’s why you’re probably wet for me right now, isn’t it?”

you tried to hump against her knee, but no avail.

“ahh, ahh. hips down. i’m gonna take my sweet time with you.” she made you scoot back against the headboard, her hand hovering over the wet dot on your pants.

“sid- mommy, please,” you were trembling at this point, you hated when she teased you like this. “please.”

“you want me to touch you, baby boy?” she whispered, making your cheeks heat up. you gulped and nodded, almost taking off the pants yourself. “yes, mommy.”

“yeah? ohh, good boy.” she chuckled at how desperate you were, taking her sweet time unbuckling your belt. she slid your pants and boxers down slightly.

her hand started to stroke you so gently, your moans coming out as wretched mumbles. “oh! please, right there, pleasepleaseplease-”

“you’re such a dirty little slut,” she mocked, playing with you so carelessly, rubbing your swollen clit.

“not so fast,” sidney pulled away, almost making you cry. that burning sensation spreading through your entire body, you felt like you were on fire. your clothes felt so tight, everything was just too much. “be patient, hmm?”

her middle finger slid into you first, then her index, making you gasp in surprise. “damn, baby, i could fit my whole hand in here if it wanted to.”

you whimpered in response, making her coo. “you like that?” she slipped her third finger in, your back arching off the bed.

she busted open your shirt, the buttons flying all around the room. you gasped, never knowing that sidney had the strength for that. “mommy wants to see all of you, pretty boy.”

she kissed right below your belly button, pumping her fingers into you faster. everytime you whispered “gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” sidney’s hand abruptly stopped, curling her fingers inside you.

eventually she figured you had enough, finally lettting you cum tonight. “i’m gonna count down from 10, okay? then i’ll let you cum, sweetheart.”

“ten.”

“nine.”

“eight, such a good boy.”

you couldn’t take this much longer, squirming around in the bed.

“seven…six… five…”

“fuck, i-i, i can’t, icant,”

“four, three, two…”

“one.” sidney said the last number so sweetly, and you cried out into her neck, your vision blurring white as you made a mess on her hand.

“that’s it,” she helped you ride it out. “keep cumming, sweetheart.”

“oh fuck, sid,” you whispered, hips stuttering.

“yeah, you’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

“yes, fuck yes.”

“say it.”

“i’m- i’m your good boy.” you felt embarrassed until you saw sidney’s smile of reassurance. she loves egging you on like this. “there he is,” she caressed your face, while you came down. “my sweet angel.”

“i didn’t go to hard, did i?” she bit her lip nervously but you assured her that you were just fine. you were mostly non verbal while in subspace, just wanting to curl up next to sidney and let her praise you.

you wished moments like this lasted forever.

[wundrousarts]

I recently watched The Portable Door and I think it could appeal to anyone that loves the whimsical and wacky everyday fantasy of Nevermoor! It’s definitely more grounded in reality, but entertaining enough nonetheless. It’s about these two interns at a weird magical company that get involved in a sinister scheme. To put it in Nevermoor terms… it’s sort of like if C&D was run out of the Deucalion, which is run by Baz Charlton? Also Christoph Waltz plays a villain in a very Squall-like manner. I’m a sucker for whimsical fantasy movies, so if you are too, maybe give it a try.

[cargopantsprentiss]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss Characters: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner Additional Tags: Season/Series 03, Case Fic, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, (not in this first part but worth mentioning), JJ has a lot of big feelings, Emily has a lot of big feelings about JJ, Sharing a Bed, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:

“If we thought about all the monsters who could be raping or murdering people right this second, we’d never sleep again.”

There was a fierceness in JJ’s eyes as she turned to her, “I know that, but this is different. We’re here. He’s doing it right under our noses.”

“And if we don’t get some sleep so we can focus clearly, we might never catch him,” Emily responded, hoping she had found the right mix of firm and understanding that JJ wouldn’t shrug her off, wouldn’t feel like she was being talked down to. That she would understand that it came from a place of love.

 Or, JJ gets caught up in a case. Emily gets caught up in JJ.

[theprinceandthewitch]

Look my guys... there is no fucking force in this universe that will ever EEEEVER be able to convince me there wasn't a plan for a Lunter endgame. Like you CANNOT look me in the eyes and tell me the Heartbreak card with Amity on it and King's "Skip to the finale, because it is quite a payoff" playing over a literal Lunter Kiss wasn't foreshadowing. When literally everything else that was presented in SAI came true later.

"Oh, well, those hints were subversions of expectations" How the FUCK were they subversions when they're literally part of an episode that spoils future events. Like how is anyone supposed to know that these specific details were subversions of expectations but the others were not. That's because they weren't fucking subversions they were FORESHADOWING lmao.

This show clearly wanted more than 3 seasons [from a studio that usually cancels it's shows right after it's first season btw]... but here's the thing: I honestly dont think they would have done a good job if they got more seasons.

Hunter needed to be introduced in season 1 and not season 2. Antagonistic character's like Hunter need alot of time dedicated to them to make their redemption arcs work - this is even more important if you plan on pairing this character off with the protagonist. The reason why he isn't in season 1 [beyond just those two cameos], despite the show making references to him in WBW and SAI is because they had to deal with two major things in this season:

Lilith's redemption arc and Amity's redemption arc. Hunter isn't excluded because of some weird shipping reason - they wanted to focus on these two character's first and then move onto him. Which again, was a mistake and it was a mistake that came about as a result of thinking they were going to get alot of seasons.

[cinnamonanddean]

Gosh I know we're in the endgame here but this season is really getting rid of the old hangouts: the Talon, the mansion, now the farm. It's sad ☹️

[juniperhillpatient]

literally so odd to go back to my own old writing because mostly it’s just fun & nostalgic & something I’m doing for kicks & my critiques if I have them are just stuff I’ve consciously learned to be better about or that I’m working on as I go. But every now & then I come across something & I’m like. Hm. genuinely deeply perplexed by the reasoning behind my own writing choices but Okay

[cybervom1t]

an ode to sleepless nights

love did not exist before you

like god, you created it the moment your tongue touched my skin

turned lust into love like water into wine

but like an omnipotent god you were destructive

i was your sodom and gomorrah and you were my hellfire

striking the wickedness out of me with every broken promise that fell from your lips

now i am broken only to be rebuilt in your image

i pray every night to you with my hands clasped around your body like the holy grail

and a rosary clenched between my thighs

- boudreaux (may 2020)

[giddlygoat]

so i had an idea for an upply fic where they do an RPG to pass the time down in the caves. here’s a snippet!

plundar had kept a tally of every significant sleep cycle. he would draw a line on the wall for every period slept away, and in this way, their estimated first year anniversary of being trapped in the abyss did not go unnoticed. 

“well, it seems we have a very special quest ahead of us!” fungus proclaimed proudly, adjusting the enormous brim of his hat. “you say that every time,” korgran pointed out plainly, folding his arms. “and it’s always true!” fungus winked dramatically at him, earning a small smile from the brute. 

“but this one is a special special quest. because today is a very special day!” 

plundar grimaced. “don’t remind me.” he muttered. 

“korgran fails to see how today is worth celebration.” korgran added skeptically. fungus sighed. “yes, i realize the circumstances are horrific. but there is a bright side,” and he learned forward for effect, “at least i’m trapped in this horrid place with my two favorite people.” 

adam trilled grumpily from where he clung sprawled in his hammock of web. 

“yes, and my favorite spider too, of course.” he added with a grin. plundar sighed softly, tossing a glance in adam’s direction. “why don’t you come over here and act like you like us or something, huh?” he joked, to which adam remained silent. 

“oh well, guess you will just miss out on the special quest.” korgran chimed in helpfully. that got adam’s attention. within moments he was crawling from his web and skittering down to plundar’s side. 

“just make sure he doesn’t eat anymore pieces,” fungus said under his breath, which everyone heard perfectly well. “c’mon, that was one time - give him a break.” plundar pointed out, stroking adam’s fuzzy abdomen. 

“that was ten hours of my life thrown down the drain, but the past is the past, i suppose.” fungus corrected begrudgingly, tapping his crinkled papers on the stone pad.