#so that my posts are easier to look through

[whumperless-whump-event]

WHUMPERLESS WHUMP EVENT 2025

Welcome back to the Whumperless Whump Event of July, where we celebrate the situational and environmental side of our community via beating the shit out of our blorbos!

FAQ and plain text prompts under the cut!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: How are the prompts divided?

Q: Where can I find the prompts list?

A: @whumperless-whump-event on Tumblr.

A: The title is a “theme” for the day, followed by two tropes and a dialog prompt.

A: Absolutely.

Q: Can I use the title as a prompt?

A: Not at all.

Q: Do I have to use all of the prompts?

Q: Can I use all of the prompts?

A: Absolutely. If it's fun, go for it--don't feel pressured to finish them all, but do follow what's inspiring you.

Q: If I'm writing a chronological story, can I swap the days to make it fit the timeline?

A: Yes. Just make sure you tag each piece with the prompt and day you're filling.

Q: Can I have early or late entries?

A: Yes. Early and late entries will not be reblogged to the event account, though.

Q: Is there an Ao3 collection?

A: Yes! This year's collection can be found here, or through searching whumperless_whump_event_july2025. Please remember to submit this year's prompts to the 2025 collection and NOT the 2024 one!

Q: Can I write NSFW?

A: You absolutely can, but the event blog will not reblog any prompt fill rated Explicit. Please ensure you tag NSFW appropriately.

Q: Can I use AI?

A: No.

Q: Can a whumper be included in the prompt fill?

A: The short answer is no. The long answer is that you cannot have the role of whumper in your prompt fill (aka: no whumper-on-whumpee); however, if the character you want to be a whumpee or a caretaker happens to be a whumper, then as long as they are not fulfilling the role of whumper, it's fine. Also, if there is a whumper, it must be totally impersonal and faceless. Here are some examples for clarification:

A character's drink is spiked at a party. OKAY: The whumper who spiked the drink is never mentioned and is completely faceless, and the story is directly about whumpee recovering. NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper who spiked the drink kidnaps the whumpee. A character is left alone in a storm. OKAY: The character is stranded or lost. NOT WHUMPERLESS: Whumper tied them to a post and left them in the storm. A character is mugged on the street. OKAY: The whumper is a stranger, faceless, and the focus is on Whumpee. NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper is a stalker and there to kidnap Whumpee.

All in all, if your goal is to fulfill the event, then try to avoid a whumper. If you're using the prompts elsewhere, then ignore this; but in the spirit of the event, no whumper roles please.

Q: How do I tag my posts?

A: Tag with #whumperless whump event, #wwevent 2025 and #wwevent day [x](Don't just tag wwe, that's wresting.) Then, tag triggers and content warnings. Please put these first in the tag order! It just makes it easier to reblog.

Q: How do I get reblogged?

A: Mention this blog in your post! It's the easiest way for me to find you. Otherwise, I won't reblog it. (This also means if you do not want your post reblogged to the event, just don't mention the blog, and it'll stay private.)

I think that's about it. That's a lot, so if you've got any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask. I'm happy to help!

PROMPTS:

INSULT TO INJURY: Infected wounds / Hurt and ill / “Fate really has it out for you, huh.”

PUBLIC MISINFORMATION: Presumed dead / Search party / “There's a hand, I can see them!”

IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME: Left behind / Attempted Martyr / “Get out while you can, and don't look back.”

LIKE A KALEIDOSCOPE: Numbness / Dissociation / “Can I hold your hand?”

AT LEAST IT'S NOT MANUAL: Trapped in a car / Stranded / “You can't drive like this.”

DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE: Scheduled execution / Near death experience / “That was too close.”

AHOY THERE MATEYS: Motion sickness / Washed ashore / “I hate the ocean.”

CHEF MIS-STEAK: Hot stove / Slip of the knife / “I swear, I'm usually better at this.”

SCHEDULE YOUR MAINTENANCE: Lack of self care / Sick day / “Just take a nap. I can handle the rest.”

BOOM, CLAP: Gunshots / Sound sensitive / “Shut up, please.”

CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP: Overworking / No time to rest / “We're not safe yet.”

HOW DID WE GET HERE: Isekai'd / Evacuation / “This is not a good place to be.”

A GOOD OLD FASHIONED BEATDOWN: Training mistake / Accidentally hurting someone / “…Let's take a break.”

RIPPED THE RUG FROM UNDER YOU: Despair / Clinging on for dear life / “Please don't leave.”

GET BEHIND ME: Using their body as a shield / Full team whump / “You're such an idiot!”

KNOCK ME OFF OF MY FEET: Collapsing in public / Dizzy / “Woah, there, you good?”

SEEING RED: Bloody nose / Coughing up blood / “Good lord, is all that yours?!”

BREAKING NEWS: Storm Shelters / Huddling for warmth / “It'll be over soon.”

IRRESISTABLE: Venomous snake bite / Spiders / “Man, these bugs really just love you, don't they.”

GOT THE SNIFFLES: Seasonal allergies / Can't stop coughing / “Bring tissues next time.”

FEAR IS THE MIND KILLER: Phobias / Uncontrollable shaking / “I gotta do this. I have to.”

HUG TIME: Touch starved / Comfort / “You're safe. I promise, you're safe.”

RECOVERY PERIOD: Tending to past injuries / Bruises / “Alright. Lecture me before you pop a blood vessel.”

IT WAS ALWAYS BURNING: Wide-scale fire / Third degree burns / “You'll only make things worse if you keep doing that.”

IT'S JUST SPRINKLING: Stuck outside during a storm / Natural disasters / “We should not be out here right now.”

CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE: Flying debris / Pinned / “We gotta get you out of here.”

ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH: Withdrawal / Hangover / “You'll get through this.”

TAKE A WALK (LITERALLY): Hiking mishap / Heatstroke or heat exhaustion / “Can we take a break?”

TAKE A WALK (FIGURATIVELY): Snapping under pressure / Lashing out / “You wanna say that again?”

MIND THE STRINGS: Mind control / Psychic mishap / “Come back to yourself, please!"

ONE WRONG STEP: Caught in a trap / Impaled / “If we remove it, you'll bleed out in seconds.”

ALTERNATES:

THE CLOCK IS TICKING: Losing track of time / Long term coma / “Was I… dreaming?”

IMPROVISED SOLUTIONS: Field medicine / Makeshift gurney / “It's all we have, I'm sorry.”

HARD KNOCK LIFE: Severe concussion / Clumsiness / "Sorry… who are you again?"

UNDER PRESSURE: Can't stop the bleeding / Disrupted healing factor / "Why isn't it working?!"

WHO'S YOUR EMERGENCY CONTACT: Workplace mishap / Distress call / "Talk to me."

SHENANIGANS AFOOT: Time loops / Body swap / "You're scaring me."

A RIVER IN EGYPT: Working through injury / Recovery / "I'm fine. I'm fine."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The leaves rustle as you watch a squirrel scale the branch. The moment of peace gives you time to catch your breath. Even so, your head is still spinning. If your dad knew you were here...

You swallow tightly at that thought. Why didn't you think of that sooner? He'll be upset you're not studying. Or that you didn't turn the dishwasher on. Oh no.

"Why so down, princess? You miss me?" Nick comes up the steps of the gazebo.

You look up and wipe away your worry. You have bigger concerns. Like him and the way he makes your insides gooey.

"Sour cherry," he holds out a cone. You lean forward on the bench and thank him. You take it carefully.

He sits next to you with his cone, his thigh touching yours. You eye the scoop of gelato. You swipe over it with your tongue. Mm. That's different.

"Good?" Nick asks.

"Oh, yum," you force a smile. "Yours."

"Let's see," he focuses on the gelato. He sticks his tongue out, spreading it wide, and drags it over the round scoop. He hums and licks his lips. "Delicious."

Your gaze clings to his lips. You tear your eyes away and stare at your own cone. You flick your tongue against it, taking small licks as you watch the grass ripple.

"This is nice. Peaceful," he comments. "I like this."

"Yeah, er, it's...good," you utter.

"Woah, hey, princess, look at me," he says.

You flinch and do as he says. You look at him as his cheek dimples and his lips slant. He reaches to trace his thumb above your top lip down to the corner.

"Making a mess," he pulls back and licks clean his thumb. "Mmm, tart."

Your breath rushes out as you gape senselessly. Did he really just do that? You snap your mouth shut and slowly suck in air through your nose.

"Wanna try some of mine?" He offers.

You look at the pale yellow gelato then his bold blue eyes. You bat your lashes and rub your lips together. You can still feel his thumb there. An image flashes in your mind as you bit the tip of your tongue. You imagine him pushing his thumb into your mouth. Oh god.

"I don't mind. Come on." He tilts the cone toward you.

You can't speak. You want to say no. You should say no. Yet, you really want to do everything he tells you too. Why?

You lean forward and cautiously lick the cone. He watches you intently. Your cheeks burn as you taste the melting cream. You sit back and cover your mouth.

"Very good. Sweet," you say.

"I like sweet things," he purrs.

"Uh... me too."

He leans back against the gazebo railing, resting his elbow over it. He spreads his knees wide as he stretches his arm behind you. He continues to lap at the cone lazily. He pops his lips and tickles along the back of your arm.

"Princess, I got some bad news." He says.

You sit up straight, prickling with anxiety. Stop looking at his chest. It's just that necklace catch your eye, right?

"Bad news?"

"Ha, sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya. You know, I thought you should have my number just 'cause..." he sighs and ways his knee back and forth. "I gotta go away. It's work. They put me up in a hotel and I gotta send back reports." He scoffs. "Gets real lonely. So if I send you a text or two, can you answer me?"

"Oh uh, sure," you shrug. "Okay."

"Ah, sweetheart, that'll be amazing." He pets your arm. "I think I'll miss you. You gonna miss me?"

You raise a brow. You barely know him, really. You hide your mouth behind the cone. You look around.

"No?" He wonders.

"I... I guess. I'm sorry. I guess... well, yeah."

"Yeah? Good," he drawls. "Pretty princess waiting for me. That's something to work for."

"Uh huh," you gulp and press your lips to the cone without thinking. You cringe and pull back, licking clean your lips. You catch him staring at your tongue.

"Mm, mm," he hums and sits forward, bringing his arm across your shoulders. He pulls you closer. You could melt like the gelato dripping down your knuckles. "You do me one more favour, princess." You nod as you try not to choke. "Don't tell dad about this, alright? We both know he's a hard ass. We're just having some fun, aren't we? Getting ice cream, getting to know each other. Nothing wrong with that." He grips your bare shoulder. "Can you keep this our little secret?"

You turn the cone. You bring it closer and hover it just in front of your lips. "Yes, I won't tell."

"Good girl," he cooes as he keeps his arm around you. "I know you wouldn't lie to me."

💜

Your dad gets home at his usual time. You're where you should be, studying at the dining room table. You always move there before he gets back. He gets mad when you have all your clutter on the couch.

He grumbles at you and hollers for Austin to get downstairs. You lean your pencil on your lip and for a moment, it's more than just plastic; it's Nick's thumb brushing the soft skin. You sit up straight as the voices draw you back to reality.

Sometimes, it feels like you're just another piece of furniture. Your dad barely says hello. Austin isn't much better. When he does talk to you, he calls you brainiac or something worse. If only your dad knew he was paying a junior to do his schoolwork. It doesn't really matter anyway. As long as he stays on the team.

You close your books and stack them under your laptop. You head into the kitchen to get dinner started. You don't do much. You put the prepackaged sides and meat in the oven. Your dad never cooked so he never taught you. He just ordered from a catering company. It's expensive but if it's anything he enjoys, he never cheaps out.

You lean in the corner of the counter. You're restless. You keep expecting your dad to storm in. To accuse you of lying. He doesn't.

Him and Austin enter the kitchen but don't even notice you on their way to the deck. The door shuts and you check the timer on the stove. You're not very hungry. You're nervous. There's so many uncertainties. Will your dad find out? Will Nick message? Is this anything or just a game? Better yet, is it all in your head?

💜

You yawn and nestle down into the pillows. Your lab is early in the morning. You'll need to be rested up. You're exhausted yet wide awake. You just haven't been able to settle.

You close your eyes and try to make your body relax. As you do, you stretch your arms to the sides, fingertips at the edge of the mattress. You feel tiny in the bed. Alone.

Your phone vibrates as if on cue. Before you can let him invade your mind, Nick texts. You hesitate before you unlock the phone. The conversation pops up. Shoot, he'll know you read it.

'Hey princess. Got where I need to be. Bed time?'

You chew your lip. You can't figure out how to answer. You type and backspace so many times. You hope he isn't watching those three dots.

'Just laying in bed. Glad you're safe.' That's fine, right? Nothing weird.

'Big room. Far away. Location is confidential but nice. Am I keeping you up?'

'No. Can't sleep.'

You hit send and stare. Ugh. You should say more but you really don't know what to say.

That worry quickly turns to fright. You sit up as you hit the volume button to hush the ringer. He's video calling. Oh no.

You answer just to stop the vibration. You see the rectangle in the corner, your silhouette lit by the glow of the phone. The rest of the screen is taken up by Nick.

"Hey, I can't see you, princess."

You squeak. You twist around and reach for the lamp. You turn it on and sit back.

"Sorry," you speak softly. "Had the lights off."

"That's alright, princess. Just wanted to see that pretty face." He smirks.

"Oh..." you see your own smile in the corner and want to hide. You're so stupid.

"Lonely here. Just me. Observation mission. Real scintillating stuff."

"Really?"

"Nah.Not really." He tilts his head. "How about I show you the room?"

"If you want," you tense and look above your phone, listening intently to the hallway.

"You're quiet, princess. I can barely hear you."

"Yeah, er... sorry, I don't wanna wake anyone up." You say. You know you won't, everyone else is still awake. You just don't want them to hear you.

"So caring," he praises. "Here, let me flip this."

Suddenly, the image switches as the lens view changes. You see the suite. It's nice. The furniture is modern. A round poof to match the geometric pillows on the couch and the square chair. The decor is the sort of upscale that is almost uncomfortable.

"It looks nice," you whisper.

"Yeah, baby?" He walks around. "Got a bar..." he goes to the glass bartop. "Mini fridge," he shows you the transparent door and all the bottles. "Lots...." he aims at the shelves of glasses. "But no one to share it with."

He walks along the balcony doors that look onto a sparkling skyline then back to the room. He approaches an open door and goes through. He shows you the bedroom. It's just as big as the other room. The bed is neatly made in all white and a large circle mirror hangs behind it, reflecting the rest of the space and something more...

You cover your mouth as your eyes round. "It's a nice bed, huh? Haven't tested it out yet. I'm restless."

"Uh huh," you murmur behind your fingers as you stare at the mirror.

He's in nothing but his boxers. You can see his naked torso and legs. He's slightly obscured by the distance and bed, but you can't look away. His muscles are thick and carved out perfectly.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Nick..."

"Princess," he counters.

"I..."

"Go on, princess."

"I can... see you."

He clucks and flips the camera back to his face. He chuckles. "You like what you see?"

You blink. You open your mouth then shut it. You try again. You have no words.

"I work out so... I hope so," he says.

Silence. Still.

You're dumb. You're lame. And he knows it. You can't even speak because he's the first man ever you've seen like that. And the hottest one.

"Well... you saw me, how about you let me see what you got on?" He purrs.

You cough. "Huh? Er?"

"Come on. Unless... you're not naked, are you?"

You gasp and tug at your collar, visible in the lower part of the frame. He laughs again.

"Teasing. Come on, baby. I'm so far away. I miss you."

"Miss me?" You gulp.

"Sure. I think I've been pretty damn obvious." His face turns serious and you can see the movement around him. He sits. "Sweetheart, I could get in a lot of trouble for it. For just saying so, but I'm really into you. You know that right? You probably see right through me, huh?"

You stare. You look at yourself in the corner. You look terrified. You are terrified. Your heart is thumping so loud.

"If you're not into it, you can just end the call right now." It's hard to tell where he's looking but you just know he's watching you. Waiting.

"I...I'm just... surprised," you croak.

"Surprised? By what?"

"That... that... you... you're saying you like me?"

HIs mouth slants, "baby, I more than like you."

Your brows rise and your head pulses dizzily. Woah.

"You okay?"

"Good," you eke out. "I'm... I..."

"So... can I see your jammies?" He asks,

The question helps you focus. You let out a droning 'uh' as you look down at yourself. You glance at him again.

"Once sec."

You get up on your knees then lean on one hand. You put the phone against the foot board and back up. You angle to get yourself in frame. You feel so strange. It's nothing special. Striped linen pajamas; a button-up tee and pants.

He hums. "You look good, princess. Cozy."

You scramble to grab the phone again, "I do?"

"Sure. I think you'd look even better in something... silkier. It's so hot out. I'm sure a cute little night gown would be much better."

"Oh, maybe."

"Something... pink? I think you'd look good in satin."

"You... do?"

"Well, I think a lot of things about you. I can't lie about that," he lays back and holds his phone by his stomach so you can see his chest. Your eyes threaten to roll back. You feel faint. "I keep thinking about how much room there is in this bed. How nice it'd be to have you next to me."

"Oh?"

"Oh," he echoes coyly. "What do you think? You like that idea? Get all nice and cuddly together?"

"Sure," you breathe. "That's... that's... nice."

"It's damn near perfect," he sighs as your eyes stray to his chest hair. Something about the curls makes your thighs clench. "Right now, just talking to you like this, that's close enough."

[conclaveyaoi]

The Ashtray — Queer-coding and Intimacy Subtext between Aldo Bellini and Giulio Sabbadin

an analysis of the ashtray in Bellini's suite, the chess match in progress, shot compositions and adding my interpretation that Robert Harris uses queer-coded phrasing to imply an intimate connection between them beyond what we see on the surface.

Grab your tinfoil zucchetti. But not really. Jokes aside, I don’t want to “prove” anything, just to point out the potential significance of this and how it relates to the two characters in question. This is based on Robert Harris' phrasings in his book, classic queer-coding in literature, the long-lasting history of gay men in the Catholic church and shot composition analysis. My credentials are a summer course on film at NYU, former member of the chess club at school and being gay with an autistic brain.

This post was what made me notice the ashtray, credit to OP for pointing it out. I thought it was a cool detail. When editing a random clip, I noticed how the ashtray is then revealed to us in this scene. This is the first shot from the angle where we see Bellini sitting next to the chessboard and you can see Thomas is covering the rest of the table:

It is only when Thomas moves that we see the ashtray:

[this covering/uncovering technique is also seen when they all turn to look at Agnes in the cafeteria and Tedesco is blocking Benítez sitting in the back until he walks and we can see him]

We then get another angle of Bellini and the table and this shot includes the chair on the other side of the table that we also couldn’t see in the first shot:

Talking to my tiktok pal @tomwambsgansdarkglasses about this, I took a closer look at the chessboard and wondered: Did Bellini memorise and preserve the last chess match against his friend the late pope, keeping it there as a reminder? Has Bellini been playing chess against himself during the conclave? Why is the ashtray there and what does it represent? Does the chessboard represent the late pope/the papacy/Bellini’s inner turmoil? The table features quite a lot in this sequence (covered, uncovered, stared at by Bellini at one point, next to him in the wider shot and blurred in the end). Here’s a clip:

I. The chess match

I returned to the first scene where we see the last match against the late pope and I don’t think this is the same match preserved. There’s enough to assume this is a different match. Different pieces have been taken. Not to mention how impractical it would be to preserve the last match and take it with him for the conclave. Considering what Bellini says to Lawrence in the beginning, we can also assume the late pope was winning, playing with the white pieces and Bellini playing with the black pieces.

II. Is Bellini playing against himself?

It’s not uncommon for chess aficionados to play against themselves so that was my first assumption. Of course the ashtray may be just a meaningless addition by the set design, same as the extra chair and he was playing both sides. But if we assume the ashtray was put there for a reason, taking into account the table features in nearly every shot of the entire sequence, there’s a chance the implication is that he isn’t playing against himself. Another thing my pal pointed out was: Why would he be placing the pieces taken differently, some organised, the others dropped? And more, wouldn’t it be more practical to be placing the taken pieces on the side so he doesn’t have to reach for the other side of the table? Wouldn’t it be easier to remove the ashtray to get more space? The chessboard has already been introduced to us as an accessory associated with Bellini’s chess interest/his grief/friendship with the late pope/papacy. The chessboard could be on the table by itself and it would make no difference. There’s no need for the chair on the other side too. We can see this is a suite and a bigger room than Lawrence’s through other elements in this sequence. Why the ashtray?

III. The ashtray

Around 10 minutes before this scene takes place, we see Bellini, Lawrence and Sabbadin in the stairwells, where we see Sabbadin smoking. This is his fourth scene (auditorium, bus, breakfast, stairwells) and the first in which he’s smoking. So far we’d seen Bellini and Sabbadin often side by side and surrounded by others but never in an intimate setting just the two of them. To me this can be interpreted as a glimpse into all that we haven’t seen, those two characters being closer than what we had previously seen. There’s an ongoing match happening, perhaps started when the conclave began, perhaps because Bellini relaxes through playing. Where did they go after the auditorium? Where were they before knocking on Lawrence’s door before the stairwells? If they’ve been playing chess since the conclave began, they might have been in each other’s company, just the two of them, every night in Bellini’s suite. There’s intimacy in that. While we see it’s common for the cardinals to be visiting each other in their rooms for canvassing or socialising, this is a level beyond that once you consider Bellini’s queer-coding and the subtle implication of intimacy this brings, using their dynamic in the book as foundation. In a story about the Catholic church, widely known for having a gay subculture and being a common destination for gay men, it seems like an oversight not to make a single nod to homosexuality and queer-coding, in my view. This piece of visual subtext seems to mirror the queer-coded phrasing chosen by Robert Harris in the book to describe their dynamic and the characters, which we’ll revisit soon.

Moreover, if he’s been playing against Sabbadin, he’s playing with the white pieces and winning. Sabbadin, sitting on the side of the ashtray, is playing with the black pieces (emo “undertaker” core). Bellini’s taken pieces are all organised on his side. The few white pieces taken aren’t equally organised, some are dropped near the ashtray.

If the chessboard represents Bellini’s inner turmoil, the late pope, the papacy, the grief, wanting and not wanting, the ashtray represents Sabbadin and his intimate connection to the man himself and the papacy, since he has an interest in becoming Secretary of State in a potential Bellini papacy. The chessboard and the ashtray, side by side. The potential relationship between the two as an added factor in understanding both characters. When Bellini looks at the table, frustrated and not knowing what to do about the simony discovery and what this will mean for the election, he looks at the chessboard and the ashtray. Sabbadin’s point of view is one he has been taking into account throughout the entire narrative and stands next to his inner turmoil and his grief. We had seen that proximity but here we see a potential glimpse into exactly how close their relationship has been through some visual subtext of queerness and intimacy. Watching the film after having read the book, it seems like a visual way of adapting dialogue and descriptions from the book that didn’t make into the movie.

— Further queer-coding in the book (or why I interpret them as being together, in the book at least and don’t think that’s any reach)

I had pointed out before the moments between them in the book are more personal than professional. I like this one where Bellini snaps and brings up his father + first name:

And my favourite being the line that shows not only that Sabbadin has been to Bellini’s suite but also that he chooses to point this out to Lomeli when there was no reason to do so and he could have simply said “I have a suite” or “some of us have suites”:

The book also brings the information Bellini had been Archbishop of Milan before him and of course Sabbadin is introduced in the book as Bellini’s praetorian guard, which, again, is very unique wording:

And Harris doubles down on the description by making Lomeli say in the next page:

In conclusion, I just find this all very interesting and my intention is to explore this visual detail in the cinematography with my interpretation of the queer-coding of Bellini/Sabbadin as a couple in Harris’ book. Thanks to OP for pointing out the ashtray in the first place, thanks to @ tomwambsgansdarkglasses for going through this with me at 1am last night.

PS: If you think my tinfoil zucchetto is too big already, just wait till you find out that I went to sleep trying to discover what that blue led display in the right corner of the shot/on the other table in his suite is. A minibar/electric kettle/coffee maker that each cardinal has in their suites? I’ve checked the tutorial of Tremblay’s coffee machine and that one seems only his own. I’m trying to find the exact match. This is my idea of fun.

[hazza3000]

No rizz just constant yapping - Stiles Stilinski

main masterlist Teen wolf masterlist

I'm not too sure how to feel about this one but it's been sat in my drafts for so long I finally decided to post it, let me know how you feel!

---

Stiles can't stop staring. He's not going to say he has a problem, he does, but he just can't help himself. She's always been there, so effortlessly beautiful and kind to everyone, she was never like Lydia who made fun of him before becoming friends she's always been nice and there for him.

Even though stereotypically she shouldn't be considering she hangs out with Lydia, Jackson and Danny but she never stopped speaking to them. It always used to be the three of you against the world and when high school came and friendship groups changed although you hung out with Lydia's group you never stopped talking to them, showing up to hang outs and inviting them to the parties you threw.

Before he may have stood a chance with saying something but instead in his brain he thought it would be easier to make up this crush on Lydia which he regrets now but hey, young teenage him didn't understand it and when he decided as a young freshman was the year to admit it to you, you started hanging out with Lydia's group. 

Now with the supernatural infiltrating your lives, you still somehow smile, when Scott was bit you believed Stiles that he was a werewolf, heck you were out in the woods with them. He likes you, so much, yet you, kind you just see him as a friend.

"Dude your jaw is literally going to fall off" Scott states looking at his best friend with an eye roll, it's always the same thing.

Stiles doesn't hear him to start off with watching as you walk through the hallway, walk feels like an understatement it's more of a strut, confidence and perfection rolling off you. Stiles can't tear his eyes away from the short skirt that rests high up on your thighs, the tight top, the flawless curls. Perfection to describe you is an understatement.

Your face in what almost seems to be a pout soon changes when you spot them stood down the hall, a wide smile breaks out on your pretty lips as you immediately make a beeline over to them. Your heels click on the floor whilst Stiles stares, a goofy grin forming on his face, love struck eyes taking over his expression, puppy love with so much more meaning than any one of the boys could comprehend.

"Hey guys" your sultry voice makes the hallway go silent; all Stiles can focus on is you.

"Hey, hi, how’s your day going" Stiles rambles, stumbling over his words as he attempts to act casual but fails miserably.

In an attempt to save himself from embarrassment he tries to lean against his lockers, trying to perfect the cool guy façade. However, he forgot his locker door is open so instead of his elbow meeting the locker it meets empty space causing him to trip and almost fall headfirst. Your arms move before your mind can comprehend as you catch him from falling, a gasp falling from your lips startled at how clumsy your friend can be.

"Are you okay?" your voice asks startled as you grip him tighter feeling him almost fall from your grasp.

Stiles cringes and groans both internally and externally, yet again he’s made a fool of himself in front of you. The one person who he wishes to impress, the one person who he wishes would see his looks for what they are. Everyone else around them knows that he is totally in love with you, but you, you remain oblivious at this point he can’t tell if it’s on purpose because your too nice to reject him or whether you really are this clueless.

"Smooth, real smooth" Isaac murmurs, feeling pained for him, I mean it's hard to watch.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm great even better now" Stiles stammers standing up straight.

A frown etches across his face as he feels you remove your hands from his shoulders, his body aches for your touch, yearning for you to give him your undivided attention. He goes to say something when his eyes land on the little pink slips in your hands, dusted with glitter and black cursive writing in the middle, invitations his brain eventually supplies.

A ridiculously high IQ slashed too nothing in your presence, really, he should be tested or maybe medicated but the only medication he can stomach is you.

"Now what are those, pretty lady?" Isaac asks causing Stiles to scowl, he doesn't like his tone.

Stiles has never been particularly fond of Isaac; the sassy wolf having caused a lot of problems for Stiles in the beginning, but hatred begins mixing with the jealousy in his stomach at the easy flirtation that comes from the blond beta. Every time he’s around you; he flirts in a way that Stiles wishes he can possess.

Stiles is a smart man but when it comes to you, he doesn’t think, and he most certainly doesn’t hesitate. His hand reaches for his bag itching for the wolfsbane inside, only for emergencies, Deaton told him, and Stiles can promise that it will be an emergency if Isaac doesn’t stop flirting with you. His anger gets put to a standstill at your wide smile taking over the concerned expression that was once there, excitement his brain supplies.

"Oh, their invitations for a party after the lacrosse game tonight" your excitement is contagious, and he isn't the only one who feels it noticing how the rest of his friends begin beaming.

You begin handing out an invite to each of them before stopping at Isaac and giving him four, the blonde wolf frowns at you about to question. Scott smiles widely like a puppy, immediately thanking you. Once again, you’ve turned the mood around knowing that every one of them needs a bit of fun after dealing with the latest big bad.

"Thanks, it'll be nice for everyone to cool off a bit" the teen wolf says with a beaming smile, one of the only parties he's ever been consistently invited to, even before the bite was yours.

"There's one for you, Erica, Boyd and Derek if he wants to come. I haven't seen the others all day, but I wanted them to feel included. Oh, and tell Erica that she can come earlier with the rest of the girls to get ready" you explain, and what could only be described as heart eyes take over Isaacs face.

The way you effortlessly include everyone, not wanting anyone to feel left out or sad, no matter what. It's one of the reasons Derek was a lot nicer to you, your too nice for your own good. Its why Stiles gets so protective over you, it's like you couldn't see evil unless it smacked you in the face, not that he’d ever let that happen.

"Thank you, I'm sure they'd appreciate it" Isaac says, not sure how he's going to tell Derek he's been invited to a party.

Isaac's grin is wide, he's never really had a friend like her before, someone who can invite anyone in with open arms. She was one of the only people when Lydia rejected him to speak up and ask him if he was okay before walking him out. She's a soft spot for the whole pack.

"They don't have to come of course, but I want everyone to be included. Oh, shoot I have to get to class, I'll see you guys later" you wave your hand about to leave before Stiles jolts into action, well with a smack on the back from Scott.

"I can walk you, if you like? I mean we have the same class, and I thought—" Stiles begins rambling not knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

"Yeah, that would be nice" you say cutting him off with a finger to his lips.

He clumsily packs his bag not wanting to keep you waiting before leaving the other two wolves who just shake their heads at him. It's tragic, the way he fails at every interaction, his constant yapping and quite obvious pining, it's painful to watch.

"If Stiles doesn't snatch her up soon, I might have to swoop in" Isaac comments earning a smack from Scott as the two wolves leave shaking their head at the scene—

Said scene being Stiles walking close to you as he begins talking your ear off about something. Your smiles wide as you listen to him intently never one to cut him off and quite happy to listen as it’s usually something interesting. Never one to cut anyone off, always there to listen… your too sweet.

--

Erica, Lydia, and Allison came back to your house after school to get ready for the lacrosse game and party afterwards and although it was awkward to begin with conversation soon started to flow between the four of you. Cocktails and smiles before the big game tonight, they helped you set up for the party later, parents away as always makes for a lot of parties at your house.

"Here I got you something" Allison says pulling a jersey out of her bag and handing it to me.

I frown looking at the number fourteen on the back and the words Stilinski etched in the top. It's normally the girlfriends of the players that wear the jerseys and I'm about to tell her as much when Lydia cuts of my train of thoughts.

"Come on, just wear it. We're all wearing lacrosse shirts, and we didn't want you to feel left out. Plus, it's clean, Scott washed it before giving it to her" Lydia states nudging the shirt closer to me.

"Did you ask him? What if he gets offended with me wearing it?" I ask with a hint of confusion in my voice.

Erica just shakes her head with a laugh Boyd's jersey clinging to her chest, considering she made me put about a hundred pins in the back just so it would fit her. My frown deepens at her laugh, curious if I said something wrong.

"Trust me, honey. He will be far from offended" Erica says, so I agree with a shrug pulling it on as the girls help me style it too my outfit, whilst their scheming continues.

I can’t see any harm in it if Stiles doesn’t mind, it doesn’t take us long to finish getting ready before heading over to the school. We promised the boys that we’d meet them on the lacrosse field whilst they warm up for the game. Scott waves us over with a happy smile, immediately coming over to Allison and telling her how pretty she is, puppy love it’s adorable.

Stiles, Isaac and Jackson on the other hand seem deep in some form of debate. After hearing Scott speak up Stiles turns and his jaw practically falls of his face, his eyes glaze and his cheeks turn pink. Hunger is evident in his gaze as he looks over the jersey that’s hung over my figure. 

When Scott had told him that he’d given his jersey to a girl, Stiles was furious ranting and raving at the thought of you now thinking that he had a girlfriend because some random girl was wearing his jersey. He should’ve have known that his best friend wouldn’t have done that and now his anger with Scott turns to amazement, he could kiss the man.

“Hey guys” I say with a wide grin, walking over carefully so my heels don’t sink to much in the grass.

“Hey” Stiles says too dumbstruck to stumble on his words.

He’s barely able to focus with you wearing his jersey, HIS. A possessive feeling surges through his chest as he thinks about the other students believing he has some claim over you, it almost feels like he does as well, his imagination runs wild as his lacrosse shorts begin tightening. He needs to cool it and quick.

“Sorry about the jersey, you can have it back after—” I attempt to apologise wondering why he’s so quiet.

Stiles is never one to be quiet, he’s known for his sarcasm and inability to shut up so if seeing me in his jersey has made him go silent, he’s probably too nice to say that a boundary has been crossed. I wouldn’t want to upset him, and I would over to take off but I’m not wearing anything underneath. 

Isaac and Jackon on the other hand shake their heads, confused on how you can be so oblivious. Jackson is convinced that your just taking pity on Stiles and not wanting to upset him by rejection and he told Stiles as much before you came over hence a debate occurring whilst Isaac believed that you may like someone else, like him, and your too sweet to say anything as you don’t want to upset Stiles.

“No, it’s fine it looks better on you anyway, you should keep it” Stiles blurts out, not even thinking about his words or the implications of them.

His face turns bright red as his brain catches up with his mouth realising that his lack of filter has once again messed it up with you. He wants to take it back but is scared he’ll make himself look more of a dickhead. However, when your laughter plagues his ears, he can’t even form words.

“Thanks, Sti” I say with a beaming smile, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Stiles has to bite back a groan, his knees suddenly feel weak and is it hot out here. You pull back a glossy stain staying on his cheek which he refuses to wipe off, he’s never washing his face again, he’s decided. He hears Jackson snort behind him as his brain comes back online but before he can shout at him the sound of a whistle cuts through the pitch.

Coach. The conversation comes to an abrupt end as coach appears hollering at the boys to come to the field for his usual pep talk which has definitely been stolen from a movie and it always ends with him telling them to win. We bid the boys a goodbye before making our way over to the stands by the bench.

Not too long after that the lacrosse game begins, the game is rough brutal teenagers being hit off here and there the bench becoming sparser as injuries make their rounds. We’ve been neck and neck the entire game. Stiles is sat on the bench anxiously having a bad feeling about this, it almost seems supernatural the way players are being knocked about. 

Stiles startles as a hand is placed on his shoulder, looking up to see you smiling encouragingly being able to sense his nerves from behind him. The lacrosse glove falls from his lips as he stares at you for a little longer than what’s socially acceptable, he even seems to miss as another player gets sent off.

“Stilinski, you’re up” Coach hollers at him but Stiles was too busy staring at me to be able to comprehend his words.

“What?” Stiles questions turning to look at coach confused as to why he’s talking to him, he never talks to the bench warmers. 

“Do you want to play or—” Coach attempts to rant but gets cut off by me as I stand up nudging Stiles, assuming his lack of words his down to nerves.

“He wants to play don’t you, Sti” I say nudging him forwards, as the words seem to register in his brain his eyes widen.

“Yeah, play in the game, yeah” Stiles jumps off the bench, the supernatural world leaving his brain as he jogs on the pitch.

“Go, Stiles” I cheer loudly, his cheeks turning red as he covers them with his helmet.

The game continues the same for a little while until the last ten minutes. Stiles manages to get the ball, he seemingly stares at it for a moment shock from the fact that he just caught it, he doesn’t run he just stares momentarily.

“Stiles run” I scream loudly, the others on the Beacon Hills side screaming at him as well cheering him on as he finally takes off into a sprint.

And somehow ends up scoring the winning goal, the crowd goes wild as the whistle blows signalling the end of the game as we win, with only one goal ahead. Scott and Boyd immediately run over launching him in the air as the other players pat him on the back cheering celebrating the win. 

Family and friends on the stands rush onto the field getting ready to celebrate as coach screams cheering the win. Stiles is beaming with pride, having the moment he has always dreamed of come true feels amazing. I run straight over to him getting ready to celebrate and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he looks around for me, taking his helmet off to help him see better.

He watches as I rush over to him beaming and he picks me up without a second thought, I a girlish shrill leaves my lips as he spins me around happily. He hardly notices Scott and Allison behind him, or the other players jostling us around he has me in his arms and he played in an actual lacrosse game, not only that he scored the winning goal! 

“You did it!” I exclaim excitedly a wide smile etched onto my lips as I pull back to look at him.

“Yeah, I guess I did” Stiles says a matching grin on his face.

It’s only then that he notices the proximity, our faces are close together, foreheads practically touching, his jersey clinging to my figure and before he can think about it, he leans forwards closing the gap. His lips find mine without even thinking about what he’s done, it was too easy it wasn’t his fault, and this wasn’t a part of his six-year plan.

A startled gasp falls from my lips as our mouth’s connect, shock written across my face. Stiles hearing this noise immediately pulls away about to apologise, fearing that he’s ruined everything that he’s rushed into this without even asking. Before he can even speak, I grab the back of his neck and pull him in again, my lips connoting with his in a more passionate kiss.

My legs wrap around his waist, my nails raking through his hair as we spend a few minutes wrapped up in bliss. Stiles is in a haze not believing that this is the end to his already perfect night, he finally got the girl. The girl of his dreams, the girl he’s been dreaming about for ten years, and nothing can stop him now.

Hollering breaks, us apart eventually, the team seemingly whooping and cheering as we pull apart, but Stiles isn’t ready for this to end. His lips immediately begin chasing mine eagerly, he’s finally got his moment he doesn’t want anyone else to spoil it.

“Stiles” I whisper, placing my hand on his cheek as he grins at me dopily.

“Yeah” he responds voice hoarse, his forehead moving to rest against mine once again.

“Later” I say placing one last kiss to his lips before jumping down.

His brain finally catches up and his jaw drops slightly at the implication as I begin walking away over to Allison and Lydia before he can question what I mean. Scott and Isaac come over shoving him in congratulations as the rough housing begins, happy that their friend both one the game and got his girl simultaneously.

“You finally did it” Scott exclaims excitedly, and Stiles can’t help but grin.

“Yeah, I did” Stiles replies with the same smile he’s had on his face since he won the game, watching as I talk with the girls.

“I can’t believe you had it in you” Isaac states, looking over at us and Stiles is about to retort snarkily when my voice breaks through.

“Stiles, are you coming?” I ask, calling over to them as Allison makes her way too Scott, all of us about to leave to head to mine for the real party to begin.

“Always” Stiles responds without even thinking, immediately walking over picking his helmet up on the way.

We naturally split off into couples, none of us even thinking about it, completely natural. Stiles is a nervous wreck as we make our way over to the jeep, his hands clammy and before he can stop himself, he asks the question he needs to know the answer too.

“You know I really like you, right?” Stiles asks, earning a snort from me as I turn to face him.

My back presses against the Jeep’s passenger side, as I pull him forward by his jersey his lips caressing mine once again, I run my finger down his jaw before allowing it to dip over his torso nails scraping in their wake.

“I do now” I say, leaning forwards to place a kiss on his lips. 

It turns out Stiles can get his dream girl, and good things do happen in Beacon Hills, even too human boys like him that have zero flirting skills and are all talk. And let’s just say if the windows are steamed up and they both arrive at the party late, no one says anything…

Well at least not until the morning as it was her party after all.

[untilmynextstory]

sugar on the rim | stripper!honey summary: pope didn't really want to go to a strip club for his birthday, but maybe it's not so bad when he receives a private dance by the headliner, Honey.

T-Shirt | 18+ chapter summary: It wasn't until last week that he realized that Honey dressed in themes differently from the other girls. She didn't wear traditional lace and bodysuits.  Her attire was almost theatrical  - an experience. A part of him tried not to feel jealous at the thought of other men getting such an experience.

warnings: smut, mentions of assault (man grabs dancer), fighting notes: hi guys, somehow my writing inspiration returned after watching the pitt and I decided to rewatch animal kingdom. This character was originally for a jax teller story, but writing her with pope became easier! I also am not the best smut writer, and I was hesitant to include it in this, but it flowed better with it. i do for sure have two more little blurbs/one-shots, but I have gotten really attached to this iteration of this honey that there will probably be more. additionally, I have more versions of honey planned that I hope my inspiration stays for me to write. i also want to give a shout out to @girthgrudgefear as their small piece of pope x stripper!reader gave me the push to fully go through with fleshing this out more and to post this.

WESTERN

Like most jobs, there were the pluses and minuses. Stripping isn’t something Honey is ashamed of. Stripping is the one way for her to remain close to one of her loves in life, which was dancing. Dancing is her one escape in the world ever since she was little. Despite what most would think, there isn’t any cattiness backstage amongst the girls and the bartenders, bouncers, and owner ensured they were safe and cared for. Most girls wanted to come in, do a shift, and go home. The girls are trying to pay their way to college and pay bills. 

Being one of the older dancers, Honey is almost a mother figure to them as she would help them navigate the world of college, loans, and being a young woman. 

Besides, dancing keeps her in shape as well.

One of the job's minuses is the specific clientele. 

98% of their clientele are men, and 2% are women. 

Men could be grabby, rude, and over all assholes. Not all of them, but most. 

The women for Honey were always her favorite to dance for, especially at parties. The women are there for a good time, and their joy is infectious. It always felt more fun dancing for women, especially when they would try to join her in dances. 

Yet, most of the time, Honey dances for men who thought she owed them or was something to be bought. 

So tonight, she isn’t particularly looking forward to the private party she and a few other girls are booked for, especially when she knows that her fellow dancers have offered things off the menu. Honey doesn’t judge; she just cautions them to be safe and not to serve everyone. 

She is familiar with the party for which she was booked. The Codys are as infamous as the beaches in Oceanside. Honey was fortunate enough that she had been growing up just a little out of the age range of the boys’ social groups; out of all of them, she is more familiar with Craig due to his presence in the club, and he used to mess around with a few of her friends. 

They were more into surfing, and she lived at a dance studio. So her interactions with the Codys were few and between. 

Though it is one of the brothers’ birthdays, Andrew, or Pope, as he went by, she heard Pepper and Jasmine talking amongst themselves about one of the brothers specifically requesting girls who offered more. 

Honey is confused about how she landed in the middle of all this. However, the Codys had money, and even her boss isn’t ignorant that one of the brothers, Craig, was a frequent high-paying customer, and he wanted the best. 

She assumes this was why she is alone in a room with Andrew Cody. 

One thing she learned and honed in on as a dancer was to dissociate. It was easy to get lost in the music as she undulated her hips. And even though most girls found it a bit tacky, Honey made sure to have theme nights for herself. And tonight happened to be her Western theme. Besides being a headliner, she needed to give people reasons for coming back. She needs to provide these men with fantasies, as that is why they are here. They want to escape and feel powerful. 

And Honey finds it’s not hard most days as she gets plenty of offers from men wanting her to be their mistress, who will put her up in her place in the more exclusive areas of The Strand and Oceanside overall. 

Yet, tonight, she thinks her little outfit isn’t catching the eye of her customer. She has a bedazzled bra and ass-less chaps, yet for the sake of earning more tips, she has on a pair of black bikini briefs that she only untied at the end of private performances, and only for her loyal, high-paying customers. 

While dancing, it is essential to make eye contact, yet in dim lighting, it is easy to look over men’s shoulders and give the illusion of empty smiles. 

Yet, this customer sat stone-faced in his seat as his hands clutched the armrests. She wasn’t even sure if he was enjoying the dance, even as she undid her bra. Usually, that gets her a reaction; he does nothing except stare. 

However, as she moves from the stage to his lap, she assumes he is enjoying it, if what she feels beneath her is any indication. 

When the 30 minutes are up, he stuffs her hand with cash and politely waits for her to redress herself before they leave the room. 

He is her easiest customer for the night. 

CHEERLEADER

Honey doesn’t think about the Codys, or Pope, specifically, for the rest of the week, despite the enormous tip that Pope had given her. Instead, she focused on her routine for Sunday for her headliner performance. And it was the week her two longest customers, Mr. Briggs and Steven Carmichael, were making their routine visit. 

Mr. Briggs is an elderly investor, entrepreneur, and businessman who owns things in and out of Oceanside. He is old enough to be her father, and she is sure his youngest daughter is her age or younger. She knows he is married to a highly conservative Christian woman, who is highly involved in a local church. When Mr. Briggs comes to the club, it’s always through a special access door that leads to one of the private suites for privacy.

Since she showed up at the club at 23, he has requested Honey.

He is nice despite consistently trying to pay her for things off the menu or, worse, constantly offering her his home to be the weekend lover. She doesn't want to call him sweet, as a man like him has to be ruthless in business. Yet, she knows to be sweet and seductive with him, as one night with him, she makes her rent payment for the month. 

Steve Carmichael is a retired pro-surfer. Now, he has his merchandise line associated with surfing and sponsors local talent. He is single, but she is under no illusion that in all the places he owns a home, a girl is waiting in an empty house like the one he consistently tries to place her in. 

Although Honey blames herself for being young and naive and allowing him to be the only customer she ever slept with. 

Yet, she may have another regular customer. 

It’s late on Thursday night when she spots him. He looks awkward and out of place in his button-up. His eyes glance around the dancers. She watches as a few dancers try to approach him, but he rebuffs them.  She shakes her head in amusement as she approaches him. His eyes lock on her, and he trails down her body over her outfit, which was that of a cheerleader, as she walks to him. 

She throws him a coy smile. “Want a dance?”

He nods awkwardly before she leads him to a private room, nodding towards Cliff, who keeps guard of the area. 

She gently guides Pope to a chair. “So that you know, this is only a dance.”

He nods in compliance before she begins moving to the song playing. This time, she doesn’t fake eye contact with him as she moves around. She notices his eyes can't seem to stay focused on her face. In fact, he seems entranced by her belly ring. 

Despite his being here, he still seems stiff. 

While she cages his lap with her legs, she grabs his hands and places them on her hips. He looks up at her, alarmed, but she gives him a bemused smile. She leans down next to his ear, “Relax.”

It takes a few minutes, but he does. She smiles at him genuinely as she continues her routine, and not once does he move his hand from anywhere other than her hips. 

POISON IVY

“Do you always dress in theme?”

Honey looks at Pope inquisitively. She believes these were the first words he had ever said to her. She shuts the door to the private room and twirls in her costume for show.  

She is wearing a red wig in a half-updo with two buns on top. Her outfit is a one-piece monokini with a scrunch-butt bikini bottom. The bundle of leaves mixed with rhinestones is strategically placed to cover her breasts.  

She smiles at Pope underneath her eyelashes as she leans up to his ear and grazes the spot on his stomach above the lines of his jeans with her nails. “Do you like it?”

She thinks it is adorable watching the tip of his ears turn red. “It’s nice,” he settles on.

She laughs as she removes her elbow-length fishnet gloves and stuffs them in his front pocket. 

“Just nice?” She teases. 

Pope doesn't reply, but she can see the flush building in his cheeks. 

He is turning out to be her favorite customer. 

NURSE

Pope didn’t expect to become a regular at a strip club. He hadn't been thrilled when his brothers added that as a stop in his birthday celebration, and even worse when Baz announced he got him a private dance with the headliner, Honey.

He didn't know what to expect when entering the private room. Craig had already moaned about him getting to have a private dance with Honey. Apparently, Honey wasn't cheap, and Craig never had the cash for barely 15 minutes with her. 

Pope swears he remembers Craig coming to him with a busted nose when he was 16 from a girl named Honey. 

Pope didn't get to ponder those thoughts as he watched Honey come out in a lasso and assless chaps, fake guns in holsters to her sides. 

He had watched in a trance as she controlled her lasso and the way she moved her hips. The way her gold dripping honeycomb belly ring glinted under the club’s light. Worse, the feeling of her pert ass grinding on him and the smell of something sweet like marshmallows, vanilla, and caramel infiltrated his senses long after the dance. 

Yet, he noticed she didn't dance like she was scared of him or that she was dancing for a Cody. He felt normal just being a customer. Even with his brothers, they walked around on eggshells. In that room with Honey, he was just another customer. 

He thought that would be the last time he would see Honey. 

After another night of no sleep and another re-run of Planet Earth, he had idle time.

He had made his way to the strip club before his mind caught up. 

He tried not to feel disappointed that he couldn't spot her. A part of him felt foolish for having hope. Yet, he spotted a figure approaching him in a skimpy cheerleader outfit. She seemed happy to see him. 

He followed her silently into a private room and recalled the look she threw at him and her words, indicating that she only danced. He had nodded, as he did not argue, and he would never push for more despite knowing a few girls offered. 

Despite the warning, she did place his hands on her hips. He could still feel her heat and the smoothness of her skin. The smell of her perfume infiltrated his senses. He recalled her sweet smile and the way it reached her eyes. He can't remember the last time someone smiled at him. 

Returning home, he fell asleep easily that night. 

It wasn't until last week that he realized Honey was dressed in themes. She didn't wear traditional lace and bodysuits. 

Her attire was almost theatrical  - an experience. A part of him tried not to feel jealous at the thought of other men getting such an experience. 

He had to admit her poison ivy costume was his favorite. She gave Uma Thurman a run for her money. He recalled the bikini bottoms he itched to pull and wondered if she would let him. He knew that she would never let him touch her in that way. Yet, the fantasy of her and her sweet smile fueled him to feel longing, the craving of a soft touch. The way she sometimes giggled at him despite his lack of words in his responses was enough to forget the demons perched on his shoulders. 

Instead, he had pulled the green fishnet gloves out of his pockets, inhaling deeply for traces of marshmallows, vanilla, and caramel, and held them tight in his fist while he worked to find release. 

Walking into the strip club, he is curious about her outfit tonight. 

. . .

Tonight is a night of hell for Honey. 

Most would think it’s common for men to get quite grabby, but it's not. Sure, they had assholes every night,  but most strip clubs have their regulars who respect the rules and look out for the girls. It’s typically any out-of-towners, or fresh 18-year-olds, and drunk college boys that get a little too hands-on. 

Tonight is one of those nights, especially since some surfing events are happening. Everyone is on edge, especially regarding a table filled with some Portuguese surfers. Cole, their bouncer, had walked over to them several times, especially as one seemed to be getting rough with Jasmine. 

Honey typically had no problem taking over a rough table on such nights. She had done it for the green girls, who didn't know how to regain control. 

Yet, she feels she might have gotten a little over her head with these guys. 

At most, on the floor, Honey only goes topless. It is for private dances with loyal, high-paying customers that she ever went full nude. Yet, this table did not seem to understand the word no as the men kept tugging on the strings of her bottom despite the clear no-touching signs. 

She would usually redirect with a laugh and a quip, so that the men usually knew they were reaching their limit. After all, men loved to test boundaries. 

Yet, the man kept persisting with his friends, egging him on. 

“Sir, I think it's time for you and your friends to take your party elsewhere if you can't respect the club rules, " she tells the group. At this point, she knows Cole needs to escort them out. 

Yet, in her move of walking away, she makes a fatal mistake of turning her back. The man grabs her roughly, causing her to cry out in shock at the pain of his grip. 

She goes to scream for Cole, but she is ripped out of the man's grip. She is in a stupor as the Portuguese man is thrown on the floor. 

It takes her a while to recognize the bulky form of Pope. 

Cole is trying to intervene as Pope continues to punch the man. The club is silent as they watch Pope beat this man to death. 

Cole and Cliff finally manage to pull Pope from the man. Pope is heaving in anger. She can hear her boss telling everyone the show is over as he works to try to get the club to focus on the drinks and the dancers. Honey follows Pope, who is taken outside by Cole.

Cole frowns at her following them. 

“I'll be okay,” she answers his silent question. Yet, she knows Cole is still waiting on the other side of the door for her to walk back to him. 

Pope is silent and staring at the moon. 

She isn't sure what to say. She has seen her fair share of violence. She isn't queasy or revolted. It is just the intensity she had seen from him. And she is familiar with the Codys, particularly Pope, who is known for violence. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” He tells her without turning to look at her. 

Honey licks her lips and folds her arms around her chest. “Can you give me a ride home?” she asks gently. 

She is unsure if he even hears her, but he nods.

She holds out her hand for him. He looks so confused at her, but he does grab it as she leads him back inside. She doesn’t bother changing into her sweats and tank top and just switches her platform stilettos into her slip-on Converses and slides on her jacket. 

She follows Pope silently to his truck and thanks him quietly as he opens the door to let her in.

The ride is quiet, and she is unsure what to say, so she is silent as Pope drives her to her place. She lives in a small two-bedroom house on the Strand. It was a bit pricey, but it is her home since she returned to Oceanside.

Pope pulls up in front of her place. She notices that he is clutching the steering wheel hard, and in the light of the moon, she can see the blood on his knuckles. 

“Come inside?” 

He looks at her with wide eyes as if he is shocked she would ask that. 

 “Please.”

She almost misses his nod, but he opens his door and escorts her to her door. She wonders if she is making a mistake. 

Sure, she is aware of the Codys, but she doesn't know them. And most would think her crazy, out of all the brothers, she would have Pope in her home. 

She directs him to sit on her green velvet couch before she escapes to her bathroom for her first aid kit. 

Returning to the living room, Pope looks stiff and out of place. Reminiscent of how he was during their first dance. 

“Let me look at your hand.”

Pope seems to realize that his knuckles are bloody as he looks at them and flexes them. “You don’t have too…”

“I want to,” she tells him as she settles in front of him between his thighs. “Besides, it would be a shame for my outfit to go to waste.”

Pope’s eyes zone in on her outfit for tonight, which was that of a sexy nurse. The skirt is barely existent, and her top was of a pleather material that made her modest breasts look like a C cup. 

She notices his eyes are stuck on the zipper, threatening to burst. 

He doesn’t fight her as she begins to clean his hands gently. 

“Are you okay?” She asks him. She looks up to find him already staring at her. She feels her cheeks become warm. 

“This is nothing,” he replies quietly. “Are you?”

“Not my first bar fight, slugger,” she replies, almost laughing at his sour look. 

She finishes wrapping his hand and kisses his bruised knuckles. She can tell he is uncertain, and being in an unfamiliar place probably makes him more anxious. 

“Thank you.” He tells her as he gently flexes her hand.

“I’ll see you next week?” she asks, leading him to her door. He nods before making his way to his truck. She laughs as he doesn’t pull away from her house until she closes the door and is safe inside. 

PLAYBOY BUNNY

“It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Honey, who has found her home on Pope’s lap, leans back in and raises an eyebrow at him. She is surprised when she feels his hand squeeze the fluffy cotton tail of her costume. His healing hands trail to the front of her strapless corset teddy. They look better than they did last week. 

Her hands trail up from his broad shoulders into his growing hair. She thinks she can distinguish little curls forming in his dark hair. She had been eager to see him since last week. It didn't help that the days were slower, as if the universe knew her feelings for Pope. 

She knows her tips were shit for the night as she barely worked the floor waiting for him to stroll through at 1 AM, an hour before closing. He had barely made it in before she was dragging him to a private room. 

She leans down to his ear, “Like you didn’t have a favorite playmate?”

He doesn’t give her a verbal response, but his hands tighten around her waist, especially as she grinds purposefully on him. It’s not the little teasing moves she makes on the customers. This is purposeful in movement. It’s meant to elicit a response. She wants his response.

At this point, Honey has concluded that Pope isn’t a regular customer. He intrigues her, and he is probably the only customer who has. She wants to know what's hidden beneath his guarded stares and the stories of his rough hands and scars. 

She can feel him beneath her, and she is sure a wet spot is forming between the two of them. His eyes trail over her form. She can see his want more clearly than any other night she has been on his lap.  “I don’t recall you being a centerfold.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, the air between them thick and heavy. “Take me home tonight?”

. . . 

It's under an hour that Pope has Honey naked in bed with his head buried between her thighs. Her clothes are scattered across the floor of her bedroom. Honey only managed to get his shirt off and jeans undone before he gently threw her on her bed. 

“Andrew,” she keens as he drags the flat of his tongue across her folds, fingers tightening on his growing hair. Her thighs are trembling with the promise of release as she arches her back. 

“Look at me,” he commands once he realizes her eyes are shut. 

Honey obliges with no complaints even if it's a struggle as he closes his lips around her clit.

“Fuck,” Honey moans as he sucks gently. “Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-”

Honey's back arches off the bed as she gushes against his mouth. Yet, before she can come down from the aftershock, she feels two of his thick fingers breaching her entrance and his lips closing around her clit again. 

She gasps as she protests, “It's too much.”

Pope's fingers are steadily pumping in and out. “You can give me another one.”

Honey is breathless as she whines and withers before him. Her body tightens again with the promise of release. However, Pope's thick fingers vanish and she feels her pussy flutter around nothing. 

“Andrew!” Honey's eyes snap open as she finds him standing at the edge of her bed. Admiring her slick form. She can see her release on his lips. His hair is mussed from her fingers.  

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks gravely. A part of her is in disbelief that he would ask her that after he was just buried between her thighs. Yet, as she catches her breath, she feels the question is filled with a heavier meaning than just sleeping with him for the night. 

“I want this,” Honey replies without hesitation. 

He doesn't second-guess himself, or her, as he removes his pants with his boxers in one move. She swallows as she sees his length, stiff and aching, as he places a condom on. 

She is sure he is the biggest she has had based on girth alone. 

He crawls over her slowly, hesitantly. Honey can't help but kiss his nose and nibble at his lips when he reaches her face. He pulls her into a deeper kiss as she spreads her legs wider, as she feels him heavy against her thighs. 

He pulls back and looks into her eyes. “It's been a while for me.” He says shyly.

She smiles softly, “Me too.”

Honey had been sure that he would have entered her in one sharp thrust. Yet, she is taken back as he sinks into her slowly until he is buried fully inside her. She can feel him trembling. She sighs as her body adjusts to him. 

“You okay?” He whispers as he kisses her neck. 

Honey nods as she takes a breath. “Please move,” she begs. 

He doesn't need to be directed twice as he begins a steady pace that has Honey sighing as her head falls back against her pillow. She brings her legs up higher, and she groans as she slips deeper into her. 

“Oh fuck,” she whimpers when his fingers begin rubbing circles on her swollen clit. 

Pope continues to push into her slowly, deeply. Honey winds her arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss as her fingers tangle in his curls. Yet, she needs more. 

Suddenly Honey nudges him on his back and in one swift motion she sinks back down on his cock. 

“Fuck,” Pope groans as he nudges a spot deep inside that her her squeezing around him. “I'm not gonna-”

“Let go,” Honey whispers as she brings him into a messy kiss as she grinds down on him. 

Pope sits up and delivers a sharp thrust. His arms wrap around her tightly as his thrusts turn brutal. Honey's nails dig into his shoulders as she clenches around him abruptly, which triggers Pope's release as he fills his condom. She laments the use of the condom. 

She finds herself being turned to lie on her back. She shivers as Pope gently removes himself. 

“Sorry,” he says as she hisses at the feeling of the emptiness. 

She watches as he removes his condom and throws it in her wastebasket. She lets out a startled yelp when he picks her up bridal style. 

“What are you doing?!”

“You need to piss. Don't want you to get a UTI.”

Honey thinks she is going to fall in love with this man. 

CIVILIAN 

Honey wakes up feeling completely rested, but sore. She moans slightly as her body slowly returns to consciousness despite her wanting to stay asleep. However, she remembers why her body feels so sore, especially as she feels the weight and warmth of a person wrapped around her. Or more particularly a hand underneath the shirt she is wearing, gripping her tit. 

A grin takes over her features, and she thinks about last night with Pope. Pope had taken her a second time after she had made a late-night snack. To say it was intense would be an understatement. She knows she will walk funny and must take it easy when dancing. 

She grabs his hand and presses a kiss to his fingers, and she is startled when she feels it flex. 

“How you feeling?” His voice is rough from sleep. 

She turns to face him, a smile on her lips. “Good. How are you?”

“Best sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” He admits. 

Honey almost preens at his words. She knows he has just been released from prison, and his mom's place is too crowded from the little they speak. She can only imagine how that messed up his sleep cycle. 

She pushes him to lie flat, which he does with no resistance, and she straddles him. 

She giggles as his eyes focus on her breasts that are conveniently covered by the opening of his button-up shirt. 

In her haste to remove his clothes, she had broken the buttons with a promise to mend them. 

His hands grip her thighs, and his thumb rubs circles on the flesh, causing her to shiver. It's quiet between them, and she knows there is no going back. He isn't just a customer anymore. 

“You know, I think this is my favorite outfit,” he tells her. There is a vulnerability in his eyes. 

She smiles at him and rubs soothing circles on his chest. She can fill his heart pounding, “I think it’s mine too.”

[softforbuck]

pairing: f!reader x john walker (post-thunderbolts*)

rating: nsfw

word count: 4,769

summary: you sneak into the avengerz tower. walker finds you. after some… complications, you fuck. enemies to lovers.

warnings: smut. walker calls reader a whore but it’s sexy.

notes: you might notice that i don’t love him. but he’s hot. what can i say?🤷‍♀️ cross-posted on ao3. requests are open! use my ask (anonymous option available!), dms or comments to request <3

"Who the hell are you?" You whirl around upon hearing your person being questioned. An innocent smile appears on your lips before you quickly pull your mask back down over your mouth. No way in hell are you going to let John Walker out of all people figure out your real identity. You'd prefer Bucky. Or Yelena. A proper... well, not superhero. But, you know, not a Captain America rip-off. "No one." 

You close the lid of the ice cream tub you were just wharfing down out of utter frustration of being broken up with by your partner. Not like they'd deserve the wonderful human being that is you, but still. Being dumped hurts. 

Walker takes a deep breath as he figures out who you are. Or, rather, whom he knows you as. One of the most annoying vigilantes of this town. You never steal anything, per sé, but cause a ruckus that him and his friends have to clean up afterwards. You've caused some grey hairs on his otherwise pretty luscious head of hair. 

He looks better like this, you notice, without that stupid helmet... beret... thing. Walker's still wearing his uniform though, not that you'd complain. The muted red and blue, the dirty white. It makes him look good. Not as good as Steve fucking Rogers - may he enjoy his retirement -, you tell yourself, but hot as hell nonetheless. This realisation is your cue to leave.

"Anyway, guess I gotta go. Nice chatting with ya, Johnnie." You turn to leave the way you came: Through the vents. To your surprise you'd found some stuff there before, like someone was actually living in there, but you paid it little mind. Instead you eavesdropped on Bob singing in the shower and Alexei beating Bucky at some weird old-school game you weren't able to understand after getting stuck and watching them for about an eternity. 

Before you actually get there, you feel a couple of rough fingers wrap around your upper arm in not necessarily the kindest manner. "Not so fast, young lady." Your shoulders slump, your head leans forward in defeat. Of course he wouldn't just let you go. 

"You want me to pay for the ice cream?" You reach for your wallet that is hidden in one of your boots, more or less leaning on Walker as to not fall over, but of course he misinterprets your action as a threatening one and in an instance you find yourself pressed against the wall. You gasp in feigned surprise. 

Walker's holds is pretty damn strong, having your arms crossed behind your back, forcing them to stay that way with just one hand. The other supports him against the wall, allowing him to lean in close. Actually, this is pretty fun. He smells kinda good. 

No. No, you tell yourself and ball your hands to fists. "Let me go, Walker," you growl, baring your teeth. You hear him chuckle. You hear him fucking chuckle. 

"Why would I?," he asks, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, his chest pressing lightly against your back, making you feel his weight, his presence. "Let me get this straight: You're a vigilante, wanted by the police, a fucking nuisance to my team and me, and to top it all off, you break into our home. Yet you demand me to let you go?"

You nod. "Yes, that is exactly it," you confirm, a little yet very confident smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Believe me. It'll make it easier for both, you and I," you insist. Pushing your cheek against the wall, you look behind your shoulder, right at him. He's close. John is so, so close to you.

His eyes have fixated you, they focus alternately on your right, then your left eye. Then your lips - or, well the part of your mask where your lips would be. Just for the tiniest fraction of a second, yet you catch it. And he catches you catching it. Seemingly, he does not like it, as his grip on your arms becomes harder. 

Seems like you are stuck. Both of you, though, since he makes no effort to call any of his teammates or actually make you immobile other than just holding you in place. Maybe he's just thinking about what to do next but you severely doubt he's able to do that. 

Then, you suddenly hear the sliding door to the kitchen open and feel Walker's hold on you loosen. Just a little, but enough for you to push yourself off the wall and use the momentum to pull your arms free and turn around.

John's surprised to find himself lying on the floor a second later; you've overpowered him, made him fall down onto his back. And now you're kneeling on top of him, your hips lightly pressed into his as you duck down as to not be seen behind the kitchen isle. You don't need another Avenger finding you. 

You feel Walker's hands move to your hips, try to lift you off but you hiss into his ear, "don't you fucking dare."

After the lights are turned on, you hear heavy footsteps on the ground, a certain gait you know comes from one of that person's sides being heavier because of a certain vibranium arm. Your hand his pressed to the mouth of the man under you, your hand placed next to his head and your own breathing slow, quiet.

John hasn't moved his hands away from your hips. In fact, he is rather enjoying all of this. He hates you, of course, but he doesn't mind how fiery you are. Banter with you is fun, fighting against you is fun. And you're hot. That's just the way it is and certainly not his fault.

Bucky, still oblivious to the two of you lying on the floor - though he has noticed and wondered about the tub of ice cream -, opens one of the many cupboards for a late night snack. The only cereal in this building are the Avengers Weetabix. Alexei throws out any other box and only buys these ones, of course. Either way, that's what Bucky will be having tonight. 

You notice a wee bit too late that the place where you've found a spoon literally twenty minutes earlier is on the side of the kitchen isle where you and your mortal enemy are having a cuddle. Before you can do anything about it, Bucky's already taken the corner. And then pauses.

A slow blink while he holds his cereal and milk filled bowl in his metal hand, as he seemingly analyses the situation. Then he grins. Chuckles, even. 

"Looking strong, John!"

Bucky opens the drawer, gets out a spoon, and winks at you. Walker's ego has surely taken a hit, no matter how John's gotten himself in this situation, and Bucky's not mad at the break-in whatsoever. He's simply visibly amused. 

Walker isn't. He lays the back of his head onto the marble floor as he sighs in defeat. This is fucking embarrassing. Super strength isn't even one of your superpowers. 

"Don't break him too bad, yea? I fear his ego can only take so many hits." With that, Bucky makes his way out of the kitchen. He leaves the light on, which will come in somewhat handy later.

You let a few more moments pass by before you try to lift yourself off Walker and finally leave the way you came. But John's hands on your hips make it impossible to do so. "What the fuck?" You look down at him, brows knit together tightly. 

The grin plastered across his face is nasty. Seems like he's gotten himself together and now you're the one in trouble yet again. A little noise leaves your lips as you feel yourself pressed into the floor a moment later, with him kneeling on top of you now. Different from him, you're not facing the other, but actually have your cheek squished against the floor, just like a few moments earlier when you had found your cheek pressed against the wall. 

Walker was a pest. Fucking annoying too, yet you - again - find yourself not particularly minding the close proximity. You could've really cursed yourself out for that. The two of you hated each other's guts, yet you weren't the only one doubting that.

When he had you pushed against the wall,  John had already very much questioned his morale. Then when you sat atop of him, it had only gotten worse. The pent-up frustration against you from all the more or less lost fights was turning into a very different kind of frustration. 

"You with someone?" Why the fuck would he ask that? You grunt in reply and squirm underneath him. "What does that matter to you, asshole?!," you hiss, moving your butt up to try and somehow get him off of you. All that does is make your ass push against his dick. This, in turn, lets a wave of heat wash through not only him but you as well. Fuck. 

A grin appears on the dirty blond's lips as he leans in close. His body presses more tightly against yours, his firm chest, once again, flush against your back. "Because," he begins, "if you're not with someone, I might not take your freedom but rather something else."

Ew, corny. Yet honestly? Kinda hot. And with the weird feelings swirling within you, it wouldn't be that bad nor weird to sleep with him, would it? Especially considering that you really have no one and can only hope to ever get lucky again. This Walmart version of Captain America has to have some stamina and knowledge, too, no? Doesn't he have a kid? 

"Well, what about you? Gotten back together with the mom of your kid yet?," you ask, half-knowingly, half-unknowingly rubbing some salt in an old wound that has never really healed. 

You immediately feel the consequences of your own actions. The air is pressed from your lungs as John pushes his elbow into the centre of your back, you wince in pain. "Okay, okay. One step too far, sorry!" You're not able to because he's holding onto your wrists with one of his big and strong, rough hands, but otherwise you would've have laid your hands next to your head defensively. 

"You better be sorry," he grunts, before lifting his elbow off your back. Next, he does something way worse though:

Walker leans forward. "If you want me to fuck you, you better let me see your face." You feel your mask being pulled off your face. Shit. Fuck. Shit shit fuck. "Pretty enough to look at," is all he says, with a certain teasing tone.

He actually finds you incredibly gorgeous but is hardly ready to admit that to himself. Not yet at least. Maybe once you've fucked each other's brains out, it'll be different though.

"You're such a fucking freak!" The new Avenger only chuckles. "Really? I think it would've been way freakier to fuck a woman who's wearing a mask. Wouldn't you agree?" 

He adjusts his position. You wonder whether he purposely rubs himself all against your ass, letting you really feel him. And damn, the more he does that, the more you realise that rip-off captain America is packing. 

It makes you nervous. Did you even really agree to this? Do you even really want this? 

John seems to realise the exact same thing, as is proven by him leaning forwards again. Without your mask, you can feel his hot breath fanning against your ear, hitting the side of your face as well. He smells like he's brushed his teeth before coming to the kitchen. You wonder why he's still wearing his suit when he's seemingly gotten ready for bed. Is he that much of a fanatic? 

"You haven't given me your reply yet. Do you want this or not?" Both of you know that this is most certainly not your only option to not be locked up. You could very, very easily slip away from him if you only wanted to. But that's the thing: You don't want to slip away. You want this. 

"Yes." The word slips from your lips in a way that almost makes it seem pathetic, which he quite obviously likes. The chuckle against your ear is mean, teasing: "Whore."

He's just as much of a whore as you are. But you know better than to tell him that, considering he's got the upper hand and all.

Even now that you've in a way shown him that you won't just up and run away, he still doesn't loosen his grasp around your wrists - "How are you gonna do anything like this?" A valid question. His other hand is holding him up, keeping him from resting his entire weight on you. And he's heavy. The super soldier serum might've not bulked him up quite like Steve Rogers's did, but he's still rather muscly. And also taller than you.

"Shut up, I'm thinking." How the hell did this guy get you to want to sleep with him? Your forehead hits the floor with a soft thud. You can't believe he's gotten you wet and himself hard from your prior endeavour and now he can't even figure out how to fuck you. How has this man managed to get someone pregnant?

You're just about to suggest you do it the old-fashioned way, go up to his room and do it in his bed when you hear heavy fabric moving. Then you feel his gun belt wrap around your wrists. Well, you didn't expect that. 

Experimentally, you try to free your wrists; you can't. This makes you gulp. Walker has never before gotten so close to actually tying you up, turning you in. He hasn't tricked you, has he?

He hasn't. Because the next thing you feel is his fingers in your hair, lifting up your head by it. The subtle pain is a nice sensation, one that forces a tiny little gasp from your lips. You'd expected him to be rougher, though. 

Either way, he uses this chance to actually have a proper look at your face now. The corner of his lips is pulled into a smirk. "What're you hiding this pretty face for?" Your gaze flickers to your discarded mask. "Don't want to distract you when you're supposed to be catching me, not gawking at me like you're doing right now," you reply as nonchalantly as possible when in reality, his intense gaze, his lustfilled eyes are making you nervous.

Your witty remark makes him roll his blue eyes. His hand travels from your hair to your jaw, squeezes your cheeks. John's silent. You can only guess what he's thinking. One of your most up there guesses is that he's thinking about a horse on a field as to not cum immediately. That's cause he's pretty damn hard.

How could ne not be? He's got a sexy lady under him, his hips pressing into hers and every movement makes him rub his dick against her soft, perfect ass. He wants to ravish you. 

But you seem like you need a little more foreplay, considering you're showing no signs of arousal. How wrong he is. All this is turning you on more than you'd ever admit, even with a gun to your head. 

You'll take it though, wonder what Walker is up to when he lets go of your face and sits up instead, on the backs of your thighs, to be precise. Then you feel his rough fingertips slip under the lower hem of your shirt and take ahold of your the waistband of your spandex pants. 

Shit's getting real. You take a deep breath and when you breathe out, you feel him pull the fabric down over your arse. 

John chuckles at the sight. "Really?" His ring finger wraps around the elastic of your panties, pulls it away from your body and lets it snap back against your skin. "You're wearing a thong to break into Avengers Tower?" Like he isn't totally getting off on it. He can feel his boner throbbing in his trousers, and he's salivating like a fucking dog. You look delicious.

"No, actually-!" You're interrupted when he pulls at your panties once more and rips them this time. You hear what you're pretty sure is the noise of him stuffing the fabric into his pocket. Pervert. 

A dissatisfied little noise leaves your lips. Not because he got you half-naked while he's still wearing all of his clothes minus his belt, but because he ripped one of your favourite pairs. "You're gonna replace that," you demand, which only makes John laugh. He figures he's going to rip a few more pairs of your panties if your reaction's always this sweet.

"Sorry, what were you gonna say? Why are you wearing thongs?" He really just brushed over the matter like pretty underwear isn't expensive. Asshole. You clear your throat, then choke on your spit when you feel Walker spread your cheeks. Curious one, isn't he?

This is nothing that hadn't happened before - except it is -, so you compose yourself. "I was going over to my boyf-... ex's place." You don't think he's actually listening. "I had a really, really nice evening planned for us. It'S our anniversary, you know? So I wanted to cook with him, play some games, cuddle, watch a movie, and then, well, sleep with him." Your voice sounds genuinely frustrated, sad, even, so Walker actually stops his admiring your ass and pussy. 

What is he supposed to say though? His blue eyes focus the half of your face that he can see, the other is laying on the floor after all. "You trust me to make you forget about the bastard for the night?" That's definitely not what you expected to hear. You rather figured he'd make fun of your for being broken up with but this almost seems like some form of empathy or sympathy or something along those lines. Which is nice. Really. It is nice. 

But you hate him. You have to remind yourself that you do. Can't mix work with private stuff, after all. 

All you manage is a little nod, which makes him almost scowl. "Do you want me to fuck you?," he becomes clearer and very vocal about wanting your consent and goddamn is that sexy. You feel heat and wetness pooling between your legs. 

"Yes." You can practically hear his satisfied smirk as he repeats his words from before: "Whore."

You're happy to live up to that title, wiggling your hips to direct his attention back to where it is required. He's happy to comply, of course. 

Walker scooches back a little further to grab your thighs hand push them under your body slightly, spreading them in the process and lifting your pelvis to give him access. You expect for his cock in your coose but that's not what happens. You don't hear him pulling down his pants, freeing his dick. Instead, you feel his hands wander to the back of your thighs once again, thumbs brushing softly over your inner thighs and travelling further and further up. 

You can't help it, a wanton whimper makes its way past your lips, your hands ball to fists in anticipation. You want him to touch you. So, so badly. 

"Don't be so impatient," the dirty blond hums teasingly, like he isn't getting impatient as well. It's starting to hurt but for some reason he wants to make you feel good first. And it's not because you were dumped today, he would've wanted to do this anyway. 

Maybe it's because your relationship has always been filled with teasing, never giving the other what they wanted. Do you even want his dick? Taking into account how surprisingly wet the anticipation has gotten you: probably. 

"It's like a fountain down here," he comments and final-fucking-ly brushes over where you need him most with the tips of his thumbs. Only barely though, only your swollen lips.

"Walker, I hate you," you grunt, squirming in his grasp. Wanting more. Needing more. 

You hear him laugh behind your, feel his thumbs drop from your pussy and rest against your thighs again instead. "Well, if you hate me..." And then his hands drop from your sensitive thighs as well. Squinting, you adjust your position until you can look back at him. 

His eyes are filled with lust, half-lidded as they seem undecided whether they want to focus on your eyes - your lips that are slightly swollen from you chewing on them - or on your pussy that is oozing its juices for him.

He settles on your cunt into which you feel his tongue dive barely a second later. You hum in enjoyment, press back against it and rest your cheeks against the marble floor. This is good. He really is surprisingly good at this. You would've expected the wannabe Captain America to be a selfish lover who cuts after barely two minutes and then leaves his woman dissatisfied.

Oh, how very wrong you were. 

Maybe it is because you're mad at your ex but John might even be better than them. An awful realisation, I know.

It's just that he doesn't only use his tongue, he also doesn't stick to the same pattern. His fingers are involved, two spreading your folds, a thumb applying pressure to your clit, and another digit curling against your g-spot while his tongue works fucking wonders. 

God fucking dammit. Who would've thought? 

"John." First time you didn't use his first name condescendingly. You can feel him smirk against your sensitive pussy. Your fingernails dig into your palms as little tears of pleasure spring to your eyes. 

You're certainly not the only one enjoying their time though. Walker could drown in you. You taste, smell, and feel divine. His focus long since hasn't solely been your pleasure but he has found his own in your desperate moans, pathetic pleas. But especially in the way you uncontrollably rock yourself back against his mouth and fingers. He knows you're close and he is not ging to stop until you cum. He has long since disregarded the slight ache in his jaw from not having done this in, well, quite a while. You're his first ever since the mother of his son has broken up with him. Honestly, he wouldn't want it any other way.

With every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his finger, every moment of harder pressure from his tongue, you feel yourself tripping closer to the edge. You can feel something coil within you, you can feel the noises from behind you becoming louder from how incredibly wet Walker's gotten you. You can tell he's enjoying himself, happily slurping every ounce you're giving him, relishing in the beauty that is your cunt. 

It gets you off. The man you hate so much, the man who hates you just as much - your mortal enemy -, eating you out like there's no tomorrow. 

Suddenly, without another warning, you cum. You don't even try to hide the moan that slips past your lips. You just allow it to be heard by him. Your thighs are shaking, your eyes are squeezed shut. Heat is rushing through you. And John still isn't stopping lapping at your red and swollen cunt. No way in hell is he letting one single drop go to waste.

He finally decides he's done and sits back on his heels, takes in the aftermath, the mess he has turned you into. And damn are you a hot mess.

“Still hate me?,” he asks with that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Shut up.” You're breathless, but manage to punish him with a look that could kill. “I didn’t hear an answer.”

You're defeated. 

And still pretty fucking aroused. 

Luckily, John has a remedy for it: His cock.

Gently, he makes you lay back down properly on your stomach again before taking care of getting rid of his pants. Well, not entirely. He just barely pushed them and his underpants down enough to allow his dick free. But that's all he and you need. 

Out of half-lidded, lust-dazed yes, you look back at him and his... at least six inches. 

The view is fucking hot. You're thankful for Bucky having left on the lights. You can see him in all his glory, but also the colours of his uniform, the way his hair is slightly tousled, the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. Walker's hand wraps around his dick to give it a few pumps like he isn't already rock hard and leaking pre-cum. His thumb brushes over his tip, spreads it for some lubrication, as he seems to realise: protection. You may be a bae, but he certainly doesn't want to get you pregnant.

"Can't get pregnant," you say. And he trusts you. 

John fills you to the hilt with one singles thrust and makes you yelp his name in pleasure-pain. "Oh lord!"

He feels so so good. 

And you also feel so so good. Walker's eyes squeeze shut a moment as he finds a proper position. Prone Bone is a tiny bit difficult, he finds, but offers such wonderfully deep thrust, he doesn't even mind the effort he has to put into thrusting.

This also allows him to get really fucking close to you, put his weight onto you, and allow you to feel his breath against your ear. 

Quickly, he finds a rhythm that is pleasurable to him and also to you. At least he assumes sp from your moans and whimpers that seem even more intense than when he'd eaten you out. With every finished thrust, he grinds against your ass, really makes you feel him, and its driving you nuts.

"Hey, baby, eyes on me," he demands suddenly. John's voice is a low growl, a tone that allows no disobeying. So you open your eyes you've previously screwed shut to really really feel the pleasure.

You've never seen a man this horny for you. The eye contact he forces upon you is intense, a little crazy, but so hot. It makes you clench around him, which in turn makes him moan. His rhythm after isn't quite so rhythmic anymore.

You can hardly blame him. He has been holding on for so long. It's respectable he hasn't cummed yet, actually. Still, he's keen on giving you even more before he does. 

One rough hand of his holds onto your hair close to the back of your head, ensuring you don't break eye contact, while the other holds him up and you down. Your hips are going to be bruised from being pushed into the floor tomorrow, but you don't mind whatsoever. It'll be a nice reminder. Perhaps something you'll be able to tease him for.

With every thrust, John can see your eyes becoming more glossy, glazed over with an insane amount of pleasure no one has given you before. And you can see his restraint, his holding on slip.

You can feel him pulse, throb within you. His chest vibrates against your back with every growl, every grunt, every occasional moan that he seems too embarrassed to let out. 

He moans your name, buries his face in the crook of your neck when it seems to get too much. His hips snap against yours. The room is filled with the noise of skin slapping against skin, your moans and whimpers and his muffled noises. It smells like sex, the air is stuffy.

It's like both of you are high on the other. John is inhaling the smell of you, you are getting drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock filling you out so irregularly. 

"Please, John, please make me cum!," you beg - and that drives him over the edge. You calling him John, the pathetic tone to your voice, your begging, the way you're squeezing him. 

You can feel him fill you up, the thought and feeling of it, his thrusts that have become lazy but still so powerful make you orgasm a second time, exhausting you like no fight against him has before. 

He stays within you for a while after both of your orgasms have subsided, still pushing your hips into the ground, still having his fingers wrapped into your hair. 

"I could do this again...," he says, finding a particularly sensitive spot on your neck with his lips. Your eyes widen but it's too late, he has marked you. How utterly embarrassing. Yet you don't regret sleeping with him. Not at all.

[yuujispunches]

The power of echoes and nostalgia ~ S.G

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Reader.

Summary: a high-school reunion can make old feelings and memories resurface, specially when you’re met with your former best friend and first love.

CW (content warning): modern!AU (no curses), Geto is still Geto, none of the bad stuff really happened, maybe some cursing and nothing much really this is mainly fluff and nostalgia.

AN: Hi guys! Thank you so much for all of your support, I love reading your comments and reblogs 🤍 A reminder that English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You stared at the email for the third time that morning.

Subject: Jujutsu High Alumni Reunion - 10 Years Later

From: shoko.ieiri@alumni.jhs.ac.jp

The school logo looked almost cartoonish now. In high school, it had felt iconic and unshakable. Now it just looked like someone with graphic design ambitions in Microsoft Word.

You hovered your mouse over the RSVP button. It had been ten years. Ten. You had stopped counting after the first four, and the distance from those years became easier to manage that way. Nostalgia was always dangerous territory, and you weren’t entirely convinced you were ready to revisit the part of your life that included stress dreams about Gojo throwing pencils at your head in chemistry class.

Still…

Shoko had included a little note at the end.

Y/N, you better come. I’ve already had to bribe Gojo with sushi to behave, and if I’m dealing with him alone, I swear I’ll fake my own death. -Shoko

You cracked a smile. She still knew you too well

Click.

——————————————————————————

The reunion was set at a moderately fancy venue in Tokyo, one of those “repurposed industrial spaces” that looked like an Instagram ad and charged too much for a glass of wine. The concrete pillars had fairy lights wrapped around them. It was kind of charming, in a try-hard kind of way.

You walked in, already spotting several familiar faces. Most had changed in subtle ways: softer features, more carefully maintained fashion, slightly hunched posture from a decade of adulting. Yet, it was comforting. The recognition came easily, like muscle memory.

“Y/N!”

You turned and caught sight of Shoko in a sleek black blazer, a glass of whiskey already in her hand.

“You came!” She grinned, sweeping you into a one-armed hug. “I knew the guilt-trip would work.”

You hugged her back, laughing. “You still use the same manipulation tactics. I see med school didn’t change you.”

“Why fix what works?” She replied with mock sincerity. “Come on. Let’s mingle. There are a lot of people here I can’t handle sober, so I need a buffer.”

You were barely halfway to the bar when a loud voice rang through the crowd.

“Y/N! My favorite chaos gremlin!” Another voice you recognised immediately.

Gojo Satoru. Still tall. Still smug. Still wearing sunglasses indoors like he was allergic to social norms.

He strode toward you, arms open like he’d just won a Nobel Prize.

“I see some things never change.” You said, accepting the hug.

“Oh please.” Gojo said, pulling back with a grin. “I’ve matured. Evolved. I even read a book this year.”

“Was it a manga?” Shoko asked flatly.

“You wound me.”

The three of you settled near a high table, laughter bubbling as the drinks arrived. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this. The weirdly dysfunctional balance of personalities that made your high school years oddly enjoyable. Gojo, for all his eccentricities, brought an energy that made everything chaotic in the best way. Shoko was the grounding force, dry and observant and always five steps ahead.

It wasn’t long before more familiar faces drifted over. Nanami, Utahime, Haibara, Mei Mei and even Yaga himself, now sporting glasses that made him look like an academic mob boss. The nostalgia hit full force as you exchanged stories and awkward “oh my god, remember when…” moments.

And yet, one face hadn’t appeared.

Suguru Geto.

You hadn’t dared to ask.

The last time you saw him was at graduation. You were close, closer than most at least, but after high school, life just… peeled you apart. It wasn’t an argument or falling out. It was a slow unraveling of texts left unanswered, calls not returned, and two people with growing silences between them.

You couldn’t explain why that hurt more than a fight would’ve.

And still, you thought about him sometimes. In the way people remember songs from their teenage years. Bittersweet and resonant. Like an echo.

You took a sip of wine and turned slightly, your eyes scanning the room again only to freeze.

He was here.

Suguru stood near the far end of the room, talking to Nanami and Utahime. His hair was still long, tied back into a neat bun. He was dressed neatly, if a little more casually than most. He looked, older. Wiser. But somehow still so painfully familiar.

As if sensing your stare, his eyes flicked toward you and you locked eyes. Your breath caught.

He looked surprised. And then he smiled. That same, quiet smile you remembered from countless late-night conversations in your dorm common room.

Shoko leaned in, her voice low. “You should go say hi.”

“What if it’s weird?” You muttered.

“It will be.” She said. “But also, cathartic. Go.”

——————————————————————————

You walked slowly, trying not to look as awkward as you felt. Suguru turned fully to face you, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

“Hey.” You said, halting a few steps in front of him.

“Hey.” He echoed. His voice hadn’t changed. Still warm, a little deep. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kind of… didn’t know if you’d show. But here you are.”

You smiled nervously. “Here I am.”

A beat passed. Then, suddenly, you both laughed. And just like that it was like no time had passed at all.

“Do you want to get some air?” Suguru asked, tilting his head toward the terrace.

You nodded.

——————————————————————————

The terrace was quiet, away from the buzz of the reunion. A few potted plants and overhead lights made it feel more comfortable than expected.

For a while, you both stood there, leaning against the railing in companionable silence.

“You look good.” He said suddenly.

You turned your head toward him. “So do you.”

He smiled again, softer this time. “Ten years. That’s wild, huh?”

“Yeah. I feel like I just blinked.”

“Remember how we swore we’d be adults with our lives together by 25?”

You snorted. “I think we were high on vending machine snacks.”

He laughed. “Probably.”

A moment passed. There was a moment of silence, but not the awkward kind just a bit heavy with the weight of the time apart and the unsaid words hanging in there.

“Why’d we stop talking?” You asked quietly, the question slipping out before you could second-guess it.

Suguru’s expression shifted, his smile fading into something more thoughtful.

“I don’t know.” He said after a long pause. “I think… we both just got busy. I kept meaning to text. Then too much time passed. And I wasn’t sure if I should. Whether you’d want to hear from me.”

You looked down. “I thought the same thing.”

He nodded slowly. “I regretted it, you know. Letting it drift like that.”

You looked at him, your heart twisting in your chest. “Me too.”

Another silence. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was shared. Understood.

Suguru turned slightly, his arm brushing yours. “Do you want to… start over?”

You blinked. “Start over?”

“I don’t know.” He said, a little sheepish. “Rebuild. Reconnect. Or just… catch up properly.”

You gave him a slow smile. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” He breathed out, visibly relieved. “Maybe… coffee next week? I know a place that still sells those criminally sweet matcha buns you used to like.”

You laughed, warmth spreading through your chest. “You remembered?”

He grinned. “I never forgot.”

——————————————————————————

One week later you met again.

The café was nestled in a quiet corner of Tokyo, one of those cozy spots that looked like it had been around forever, with hand-written chalk signs and mismatched chairs. You spotted Suguru already sitting by the window, a matcha bun and two drinks on the table.

He looked up as you entered, smiling immediately.

“You remembered.” You said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Told you I didn’t forget.” He replied, nudging your cup toward you. “Still take it with soy milk?”

Your brows rose. “You seriously remember how I take my drink after ten years?”

He shrugged with mock arrogance. “I’m excellent at retaining the important things.”

You smiled, touched.

The next hour passed easily, not that it was that surprising really. Conversation flowed as if no time had passed. You updated each other on work, mutual friends, embarrassing adult milestones like taxes and failed IKEA furniture. Suguru talked about his job as a high school guidance counselor, which both amused and fascinated you.

“Wait- you give life advice to hormonal teenagers?” You teased.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, feigning offense. “I’m surprisingly good at it. I even made one kid cry in a good way. Personal best.”

You snorted into your latte. “This is incredible. I need a photo of you sitting backwards in a chair giving heartfelt advice like a cool uncle.”

“You joke, but I absolutely do the backwards-chair thing.” He said, deadpan.

The laughter faded into a more comfortable silence. You found yourself studying his face, his eyes crinkling when he smiled, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped the cup. He felt familiar. He felt like home.

“Hey.” He said after a pause. “Want to do something dumb?”

You blinked. “Like?”

“Like...ditch our grown-up responsibilities for a few hours and go do something stupidly nostalgic.”

“Are you asking me to relive our teenage years with less stamina and worse joints?”

“Exactly.”

You grinned. “I’m in.”

——————————————————————————

First stop: the arcade.

You hadn’t stepped into one in years. The moment you walked in, you were assaulted with neon lights, electronic beeping, and the aggressive sound of buttons being mashed.

Suguru immediately dragged you to the air hockey table.

“You always cheated.” You accused.

“I played creatively.” He replied, grabbing a mallet.

It was like reliving a piece of your youth. Shouting, laughing, trash-talking over each slap of the puck. He won the first game. You dominated the second. Somewhere in between, a group of middle-schoolers started cheering for you both, though they rooted more for you after Suguru accidentally launched the puck across the room.

——————————————————————————

Second stop: purikura.

“I refuse to make a duck face.” He said firmly as you dragged him into the photo booth.

“You absolutely will.” You replied. “It’s tradition.”

The photos came out gloriously chaotic. One with you both making peace signs, one mid-laugh, one where Suguru looked halfway to a sneeze. You stuffed the strip in your bag with a grin.

Then came a walk through the old neighborhood, past the convenience store that sold cheap fried chicken, the playground you used to sneak into at night, the vending machine that Gojo once got his arm stuck in trying to “liberate a stuck soda.”

You ended up sitting on the swings, dusk falling around you, colors fading into soft hues.

Suguru looked over at you. “I’ve missed this.”

You swung gently, toes dragging in the dirt. “Me too.”

He turned toward you slightly. “You know, I thought about calling you so many times over the years.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He was quiet for a second. “Because I wasn’t sure if I had the right anymore.”

Your heart tightened.

“I always wondered if you moved on. If you forgot.”

You shook your head. “I never did.”

He stood up slowly, walking over to stand in front of you, hands in his coat pockets.

“I don’t want to wonder anymore.” He said. “I want to know. I want to see if there’s still something here.”

You stared up at him, heart pounding.

“There is.” You said softly. “There always was.”

And he smiled that soft, familiar smile and reached for your hand.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t exactly tell anyone about seeing Suguru again. Which meant, obviously, that Gojo found out in under 48 hours.

Your phone buzzed during work. New messages from Gojo:

[1 image attachment: A badly photoshopped image of you and Suguru in wedding attire]

Just wanted to say congrats on the engagement

I’ll be your flower girl 🥰

You shook your head as you typed the answer:

Gojo. We’ve literally had one coffee and a matcha bun.

Gojo’s reply came almost instantly:

The bun was a metaphor. For eternal love. Duh.

Later, Shoko sent a text that read simply:

You and Suguru, huh?

Don’t mess it up. He’s good for you.

Also Gojo is planning a karaoke date. RUN.

You groaned. “We need new friends.”

Suguru, reading over your shoulder, just chuckled. “No we don’t. We need less chatty ones.”

——————————————————————————

You and Suguru didn’t define it immediately.

There were more coffees. Walks. Movie nights where you fell asleep on his shoulder. Moments where your fingers brushed and didn’t move away. Comfortable silences and subtle smiles.

You learned the tiny ways he’d changed: he liked herbal tea now, had gotten into gardening during lockdown, and hated how slow his metabolism had become. He learned you’d taken up watercolor painting, developed a small addiction to podcasts, and still hated parallel parking.

Then came the first kiss.

It wasn’t grand or dramatic. It happened one night after dinner, when you both stood outside your apartment door, neither quite wanting the night to end.

He leaned in, hesitated. You leaned the rest of the way. It was soft. Familiar. And just a little shaky with nerves.

When you pulled back, you were smiling.

“So…” You whispered.

“So…” He echoed, his smile matching yours. “Does this mean that we’re finally doing this?”

“Yeah. We are.”

And then his lips met your

And then his lips met yours once again, soft but firmer this time from all the years of longing finally being out in the open.

——————————————————————————

Six months later, the group had a second reunion. It wasn’t official, just Gojo’s idea of a “campfire-style barbecue” that somehow included a bubble machine, sparklers, and a playlist labeled '00s Hits, Regret Nothing.

You sat next to Suguru on a picnic blanket, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder as you shared grilled corn and stole bites from his plate.

Shoko was seated nearby, nursing a beer and watching Gojo attempt to roast marshmallows with a hair dryer.

“You two are gross.” She commented, nodding at you and Suguru.

“Love you too, Shoko.” You replied sweetly, leaning against Suguru just to spite her.

Utahime wandered over. “Suguru, you ever imagine you’d end up with Y/N back in high school?”

He looked at you, smiling softly.

“Every day.” He said.

You choked on your soda.

Gojo, from the fire pit, let out a dramatic gasp. “I KNEW IT! I knew there was chemistry! I was right! I was right and no one believed me!”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “You once said I had chemistry with a vending machine.”

“It was a good-looking vending machine.” Gojo muttered.

Everyone laughed and for a moment, surrounded by old friends, with Suguru’s hand holding yours and the stars above, it felt like something had come full circle.

Not a perfect loop. But something better.

A new beginning.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[marichild]

ciel for the character ask game!!

OMG ANON HI. THANK YOU FOR THIS AAAA I CAN TALK ABT MY BABY.... ask game

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

favorite thing about them: he’s my babyyyy <3 three apples tall and they’re all laced with cyanide. he’s a baby who turns to arson and is impossibly kind and tries his very best to be cruel and heartless but he cares. he wants to be an adult but he’s a child who needs essential growing-up experiences and wants them no matter what he says.

least favorite thing about them: literally nothing could make me hate him. ever

favorite line: i have two actually—

“There are only two kinds of people in this world. Those who steal, and those who are stolen from. And today, I steal your futures. That’s all there is to it.” there’s something about the way he says it so coldly, especially knowing he wasn’t thinking rationally at the time; especially knowing that this night will come to be one of his greatest regrets. he sincerely believes what he says, but. does that make any of what he’s doing any easier to digest? does it help him any?

“I’m a hopelessly self-centered and righteous person. That’s why I took your hand to repay the disgraces against me. Not for anyone else’s sake, but for myself!” oh god. first of all the first time I read this scene (and the entire arc in general) I was crashing the fuck out. second of all what I think about this scene is that he isn’t lying, but that he does want revenge for his brother and parents. he isn’t half as self-centered and self-righteous as he believes he is; those things may be true, but at the same time: he’s so hopelessly kind. he cares so much. he cannot be like his brother as much as he tries and he’s buckling under the weight of his trauma. god. my baby.

brOTP: tbh. as much as ciel & sebastian compels me. all of the servants and soma and also sieglinde. cannot pick one over other. the thing is ciel phantomhive is literally a friendship is magic bitch and he’s just in denial about it.

OTP: cielizzie ❤️ this is less in a romance way and more of a weird fucked up fell-for-the-facade way + partnership built on odd trust way. also they are in love. don’t ask me to elaborate I’ll pull up with a whole essay on ciel’s relationships

nOTP: ehhhh nothing I would not read if it was done in an interesting way tbh

random headcanon: I saw a post abt this a few weeks ago!!! but!!! ciel needs his walking stick not just for decorative / status purposes but also because he genuinely needs it, since his body still isn’t as strong as it should be with a combination of his chronic illness and his still being underweight and low-stamina after spending so long in that cage. he has chronic pain, too, probably, in addition to an off depth perception that he has since adjusted to. yes the cricket match was hell for him. (<- now you may ask. mari if he’s your baby why are you doing this to him. idk man the logical chain of events says this is most likely to happen despite him being thirteen years old.)

unpopular opinion: okay I’m going to cheat a bit but since r!ciel is ciel phantomhive also. r!ciel is not a little bitch and I do not trust you if you purposefully hate on him ❤️ that is a child under the influence of a grown adult immortal man and has been through exactly what his brother has been through and suffered something his brother will never understand. also does a child being a nightmare not delight you. come on

song i associate with them: oh god. um. mukanjyo by survive said the prophet is one I associate with him sometimes. uhh. what else. blue & grey by bts I suppose. wiege from alien stage because it was brought up in the hunting dogs server one time and I cannot get the image of the phantomhive twins in place of hyuluka (as siblings ofcs do not shoot me please).

favorite picture of them

I have two again <3 LOOK HOW ADORABLE HE IS IN THE FIRST ONE IN HIS HALLOWEEN DEMON OUTFIT. something abt the startled expression because those kids pushed a candy basket into his hands 🥺🥺

second of all I’m specifically insane about this one because: once upon a time you would have folded into your the shadow your brother casts but no longer. you’re made of something sharper and more jagged now; who you have become wants the parts of the world you were once happy to relinquish. you are no longer going to sit and be heartbroken about being the sickly spare because you are not anymore. you spent years molding yourself into something you are not and succeeded halfway and sacrificed so much for the brother who just comes back and plucks it out of your hands with the kind of effortless heartless joy and sadism that you could never replicate. who said you’re just going to sit around and let it happen?

[roudiru]

just got done watching through hermitcraft season 6 in full for the first time with a friend yesterday! while we were watching i did a bunch of doodles of moments that inspired me. this page is so dense and everything is all over the place, i'm so sorry.

here is a quick 30 second timelapse of my doodle page if anyone wants to see the exact order i did the doodles in. might make it easier to look at lol

this is basically my birthday present to myself since my birthday is today!! i don't typically get much art so it's nice to have something that feels good to look at. grian's content has stuck with me ever since i started watching him during the very end of season 6 all the way back in 2020, it feels like he's gotten me through everything that's happened to me since then. it's incredible to finally see the full context of where he started in hc! i also watched his evo series last year so i couldn't help but throw in a little nod to that in my doodle page.

i'll be starting my first full rewatch of grian's hermitcraft season 7 today, possibly before the time i scheduled this post at. i'm very excited since it's the first full season i watched unfold!! i'll probably have a doodle page going on with that season as well, so look forward to it. drawing my favorite pesky bird is super fun for me if you can't tell!

[inhurtandincomfort]

For the Comfort My OCs Ask Game!

💤- A pleasant dream to Eldwin 🌲 - A day outside to Kieran post-capture 🪀 - A stress or fidget toy to Jowan 💰 - A shopping day to Ancassiuss

💤- A pleasant dream to Eldwin

Did that one here!

🌲 - A day outside to Kieran post-capture

Kieran closed his eyes. Warm sunlight soaked into his skin. It seemed like forever since he'd felt the sun.

It was… spring, now. Or summer. He wasn't sure. A gentle river ran through the forest feeding into a lake nearby. A pleasant breeze brushed through towering trees, ruffling branches hundreds of feet in the air. Fresh air was heavenly after being cooped in that musty basement, and the sunrays felt like a blessing. He clung to that feeling, let it revitalise him. There was a life awaiting him outside. He just had to be patient.

"We should head back," Heather commented, her gaze surveying the woodland. There was no one around for miles. No one ever came there. "He'll be home soon."

"A little longer." He couldn't bear to tear himself away just yet. It was too soon. It was always too soon. "Please."

A collar weighed heavy upon his neck. Her fingers hovered over a controller for a second, before she sighed. She stared into the distance. "Five more minutes. That's all."

🪀 - A stress or fidget toy to Jowan

"Stop fidgeting."

"Don't do that."

"Stop that tapping!"

"Can't you ever just sit still!?"

The beads twirled between his fingers. Wrapping around, looping over, flipping between in an expert manner. Large beads at either end of a string. One hand deftly worked the simple toy performing increasingly complex tricks. Up, sling, roll. With his free hand he turned a page. Endless fields passed by the window.

"Pay attention."

"Am I boring you?"

"What are you doing?"

Jowan glanced up. Thirteen leaned his head against the glass, but his eyes were on Jowan, or more specifically, the string in his hand.

"Ah, am I bothering you? Sorry, I'll stop."

"Don't." When Jowan met his gaze, Thirteen looked away, staring back out the window. "I was just curious, is all."

Oh, I see, Jowan thought in amusement. Thirteen had been content to watch the scenery for awhile, but it had been a long journey. No wonder he was getting bored.

"It's called Begleri. It gives me something to passively do while I work on other things." He flipped the beads in a series of impressive spins that had taken hours of practice. He stopped, grasping them tightly. "Do you want to try?"

For a moment he thought Thirteen was going to ignore him. Then he held out his hand expectantly. "How hard can it be?"

.

.

.

"Why is this so impossible!?" Thirteen scowled at the toy hanging loosely from his fingers. "Here, take it back."

He tossed them flippantly toward Jowan who easily caught them, wasting no time getting back into his routine. "It just takes practice."

Thirteen folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, stubbornly fixated on the window again. "You make it look so easy." He grumbled. Was he pouting?

"Here, try this."

Jowan held the beads in confusion. A single string with a large bead on each side… "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"It's a game from Xluvia. You can learn some really cool tricks with it. It's called Begleri." She picked up another set to demonstrate. She swung them around in a series of rapid movements he couldn't keep track of. She giggled when he tried to replicate, and failed miserably. His cheeks grew hot and he handed the string back to her, but she shook her head.

"I wasn't laughing at you! I wasn't an expert from the moment I picked it up, you know. Here, start with something easier," she said, taking his hand in her own. "Look, hold it like this…"

"I've been doing this for years. It wasn't always so easy." Jowan hesitated. He didn't know if Thirteen would appreciate the offer, but… "Seeing as you're stuck in the lab a lot anyway, I could teach you properly, if you'd like. If nothing else it's something to do. Oh, you don't have to though…"

Thirteen looked back at him. Surprise flashed across his face before it was masked with nonchalance. "Sure, whatever. Fuck all else to do down there anyway."

Jowan smiled softly, and their journey continued in comfortable silence. Loop, flip, swing. It was second nature to him, now. Stern voices still nagged in the back of his mind, but it was getting easier to ignore them. Swing. Flip. Catch.

Thank you, Thaleia.

💰 - A shopping day to Ancassiuss

"Thirteen rics."

"Thirteen!? It was seven last time! Yswenna, you wouldn't be trying to swindle me would you?"

"Times are changin', doll." Yswenna propped her elbow on the counter, resting her chin on her hand. Black rings adorned her fingers, and deep sea hair draped her shoulders. "These resources aren't so abundant anymore. Supply and demand, you see?"

"Aren't I your biggest demand? Couldn't you cut me a deal?"

"Are you saying you can't afford thirteen rics?" A coy smile danced on her lips.

"I'm saying, I'm your most loyal customer," Ancassius drawled, idly twirling his coin purse. "Don't I deserve some special treatment?"

She hummed, a twinkle in her dark eyes. "I'll do twelve."

"You'll do eight."

"Eleven."

"Nine."

"Twenty."

"Wait what?"

She laughed, showing a glimpse of her shark-like teeth. "Let's make it ten, for my most loyal customer. "

"Done!" Ancassius threw ten shiny coins on the counter, and snatched up a box. She watched his every move like a hawk stalking its prey.

"You know, it doesn't take long to whip up. If you bring some ingredients next time, I can make it for you in a flash. And you can keep your low price."

He flashed her a grin. "Where would be the fun in that?"

—-

"Captain!" Moira called in a muffled voice, waving one arm for his attention. The other arm was laden with dozens of goods perched in a precarious pile. She had a lollipop stick in her mouth.

"You've been busy," Ancassius remarked, meeting her where she stood by a market stall.

"This place is great! I've never been able to buy things before!" She swivelled her lollipop, eyes bright with childish glee.

"Did you get everything you need?"

"Almost. I just need one teensy-weensy little thing," she said sweetly. And here we go. "Can you lend me some more money?"

Ancassius' hand twitched at his side as he resisted the urge to bury his face in it. "Moira…"

"Just a little! I'll pay you back, I swear it!" She vowed, "Or I'll cut out my tongue so that I may never swear again!"

"Please don't do that."

"Just one thing! I've already kept the Madam long enough." She gestured to the stall owner, an older woman with stern lines on her face. She gave them both a dirty look.

Saints help me. "…What is it?"

Moira snatched something off the stall and shoved it in his face. "Look at it, isn't it adorable?"

It was… a rat. More specifically, it was the crooked shape of a rat the made from wool, bigger than her head with large teeth and beady black eyes. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, 'adorable.' In fact, adorable would be the last word Ancassius would use to describe it.

"It's… something."

"I need it."

"No, you don't need it."

"I do."

"You don't."

"Please?"

___

"We need to teach you some financial management."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 29

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The grey sky stretches on and on. The winter kingdom is unending. So vast you are certain it is a whole other world on its own.  

You slump in your saddle, chattering, shivering, bones aching, muscles taut, fingers numb. Even with the furs, even with hands and feet wrapped thrice over, you are frigid to your core. Bryce has both reins in hand as you have only the strength to straddle Roach. You cling to the pommel of the saddle as it's the only thing you can do.  

The tip of your nose is frozen despite the scarf shielding you from winter's breath, your own freezing in the weave of the fabric. The man with his beard fares better in his leather and furs, as if he isn't bother by the matting of flakes around his chin or in his brows. You are a summer's maid after all. You are not fashioned for these bitter lands. For as long as you've traveled, that's become clear as the absent sunlight.  

A croaky, strafing cough rises from you, rattling your chest. Each breath is like needles in your throat. Bryce draws Roach closer as if to shield you with his body.  

"There it is, on the horizon," he grits. "The heart of Winter. Stone Hull." 

You look ahead, snowflakes catching in your lashes. You shiver and let out another hoarse bark. You sink down and nod. You can only see a heap of snow. 

“We’re close. We will be there by nightfall. You will sleep warmly.” He yells through the wailing winds. “A mulled cider to warm your bones. Stew of elk. The meat is hearty and will put some back on you.” 

You nod and sway as he guides Roach. You are weak. You feel as if you’ve been asleep for days, though consciousness has been painfully clear. 

At times, when your mind is not bound by the ailments of your body,  it wanders beyond the snowy plains and craggy passes. You wonder how you've come so far. Why? Why should you be here in the Winter Kingdom? Why should the king favour you so that you much suffer the snow and the shame? That gloom only adds to the wither of your will.

You groan as Bryce touches your sleeve. Your eyes drag over to him, drooping as you fight away fatigue. He gives a hum.

"Poor thing. Once you have walls, you will not feel so ravaged," he avows.

You dip your head. Once you have walls, you are well and truly trapped. He keeps his grip on the reins as he clucks at the horses. They push their legs through the deepening blankets of powder. You watch the flakes gather in Roach's mane. You close your eyes and shudder.

You sink into the daze. The gales whistle as a tunnel forms around you. The breath of the horses, the grunts of your escort, and your own willowy whimpers dissipate into the furor. It is only the sudden horror that breaks through the desolate trance of your ague.

Bryce shouts again and fumbles for the horn across his chest. He blows as he stares up. You follow his gaze. Your eyes scale the impossibly high wall, the mortar white with snow. It is so tall it seems to touch the sky.

"Who goes?" A voice calls from a slit in the wall, made obvious only by the point of an arrow.

Bryce laughs before he answers. "It is I. The king's mule. Bryce."

"The king? I see only two and the creature beside you is much too small." The wind nearly drowns the guard out.

"He is back. With the people. I am sent ahead, as his dutiful servant. Lazeer, you know me. I cut the spearhead out of your shoulder before it could fester."

"Aye, and you kissed my sister," the guard snorts.

"So you do know me?" Bryce preens.

"Wait." The voice calls and there is a clatter, the arrow's tip disappears.

"Never fear, mouse. We're home."

You chatter and lump in the saddle. Any further and you think you would fall from it. You tremble and wait. When the door lurches inward, appearing from amid the snow-trimmed wall, you wince.

You jostle in the saddle as the man called Lazeer brings you within. Guards turn the cogs to close the doors as Bryce slips down and comes around to ease you to your feet. You cling to him and press your face into his damp cloak. You cannot stand.

"Please, sir... I am very weak."

"Hush, mouse. You will be well. Cuppa cider, like I said." He bends and scoops you up in his arms. "Laz, the king will be some weeks out. A fortnight at best."

"And he sent you ahead... for what precisely?" The other man challenges.

"We've a new queen. New brethren. We must prepare to welcome them."

"Mm, yes, the summer folk. Delicate things?"

"She is strong in her way," Bryce rebuffs. "Gather those counselors left here. We must convene on the morrow. I'll have some mead left in your chamber."

"Mead and mutton," the man insists.

"Aye, as you'll have it."

You close your eyes and shiver as Bryce turns sharply. The world is tilting this way and that in your vision. You hear Roach snorting angrily as the stablers try to lead her away.

The motion of Bryce's gait is both soothing and disorienting. You peek between your eyelids and see stone walls; a tapestry; a fur rug; a flickering torch. Each time you look, it is something new.

Hinges creak loudly and the air thickens with warmth. You smell a fire. You are laid on something soft. You open your eyes and stare at the heavy canopy draped from the high posts of the bed. Bryce puts a knee on the mattress and unclasps your cloak.

"I must get this off. It is frozen through."

You cough. He eases the cloak from beneath you and you notice how the tails are frozen solid. He hangs it close to the hearth. You stare at the amber flames and reach out weakly.

Bryce puts his large hand to your forehead then curls his fingers and feels your cheek. He sighs. He pets your neck as another rattling cough rises from you.

"Mouse, you will be well. Only rest. Yes. Rest and something warm."

Warm... warm! His hands are like fire on your skin. As he tries to pull away, you catch his wrist. "Please, sir..."

"Shh, lady, I promise, I will not leave you long. I only go to seek help. You must have something to sup on. It will hearten you against the weariness of the road," he coaxes and strokes your knuckles. "Not so long at all."

"Please, I..." your eyes are glassy and dull. You don't feel right. "I think I am dying."

"You... are not," he insists. "I only go to call a servant. I will not be far beyond that door."

"It is death. I sense it in my bones. I hear my mama calling to me." You snivel as your panic swells. Your head lolls as visions of the forest rise before you. Running, heaving, hiding. Your parents falling to the grass. You were sitting between them when sir Dustan's men took you away. "Mama, papa..."

"Shh, sweet maid," Bryce cooes. "You will be well again. I swear to you."

⚔️

A warmth spreads over your forehead. You flick your eyes open as the ghastly silhouette looms over you. The fog slowly dissipates enough to make out Bryce's steely hair and coarse features. With them comes all the he's dragged you through; the queen, the king, the long journey to Stone Hull. The summer kingdom fades into your memory, forgotten with all left behind there.

"Sir," you eke out as he presses the hot cloth to your face.

"Aye, there you are, mouse," he growls.

You stare at him. His eyes are shadowed with fatigue, his hair is askew, and he does not wear his mail. You sniff and it brings forth a haggard cough.

He hushes you as the rattling quiets. You suck in a scalding breath. You clumsily lift your hand and touch his sleeve.

"Let me go, sir. It would be better..." you murmur.

"Better? No. Do not bid such dire ends," he reproaches. "My heart would be shattered.

You groan and let your hand fall. "What day is it? How long..." your voice drifts off and your eyes close.

"A week, mouse..." his timbre follows you back into the void.

When you rouse again, Bryce remains. He sits in a chair with a high back and high arms. His head lolls as he snores, his limbs draped around the wooden frame. You hack out a cough and roll onto your side. It doesn't relent until you spit up a glob of thick phlegm. You spew it into the corner of the sheet. It's nasty but you cannot leave the bed.

You recede back into the depths and wake again as the room shifts. Bryce leans you back against the stacked pillows. You shake as you cough violently. He brings a bowl under your mouth. You spit into it.

"Good mouse," he drawls. "Be rid of the sickness."

Your head is not so heavy. It pounds but only dully. You lean back into the downy pile and look around the chamber. You stare at the fur rug before the fire. It was taken from a great beast.

You focus on the soldier. He is weary. He sits on the edge of the bed.

"Bryce. Sir," you say. He flinches.

"Oh, you're awake still."

"I am," you affirm. "Sir, this is your home?"

"Not my chambers, but a spare one," he answers as he wrings his thick hands. "It'll do. A nice fire, a cozy bed..."

"Sir," your voice scrapes dryly. "You need sleep."

"Eh, I've had it. Closed my eyes not long ago."

"Not long enough. I see it."

He scoffs and shakes his head. His shoulders droop as he clasps his hands loosely, leaning on his thighs.

"You worry for me? Foolish mouse. That is your fault. You care too much for all but yourself." He hangs his head and holds it in his hands. "And I, the fool, has delivered you as bid. Selfish, I am. Selfish I remain. So do not fear for me... I fear enough for myself and in doing so, I've greatly hurt you. I've... I've..." He folds over his lap. "Rest, mouse. Rest. Let this old soldier wallow in his sins."

Your eyes sting as you watch him. Sir Bryce is the strongest man you've known. Even stronger to you than the king.

You slip your hands out from beneath the layers of wool and you press them flat. You sit up shakily, using all your effort to do so. Your hand trembles as you reach for him. You touch his shoulder.

"I was angry, sir." You rub his arm as he winces. "Perhaps, I still am but... I know the truth." He stiffly turns his head, looking at you from and angle as he keeps his head low. "The king will have as he desires. Whether it is you... who gives it or..."

You flop back and clutch your chest. You spasm in a fit of coughs. Bryce moves to clasp one of your hands in his and tucks his other behind you. He draws you forward and slaps your back. A mouthful of phlegm flies out of your mouth and onto the blankets. You heave in a deep breath and he rubs your back softly.

You groan and lean into the soldier.

"Sir, I am not mad. I am afraid. And I will need a friend," you bring his hand to your stomach and squeeze it tight. "You are my friend, are you not?"

"Oh girl, I am your dog. I am entirely devoted to you," he curls his arm around you and rocks you.

⚔️

You lurch awake as the door slams. The force of it shakes the stones set into the walls. The canopy is drawn shut around you, hot stones tucked beneath the blankets to pen in the warmth. You gasp and press your palms to your neck as heavy footsteps stomp across the chamber.

"My king," Bryce's groggy voice scratches in the night. "You've arrived."

"So I have," King Geralt's grit scrapes your ears. "She is here."

"Your Highness, she sleeps. She is recovering."

"Recovering? She is unwell?"

"She does better now, but she requires sleep."

A sonorous breath puffs in the air. The fire crackles and its light flickers between the canopy's edges.

"How poorly?" The king asks.

"You know these winters. The summer kind, they are not made for it," Bryce explains gently. "How about your queen? How does she fare the winds?"

"My queen? Don't you utter her name." The king snarls. "Curses. She is my wife but she will wear no crown until I have an heir. That is what a queen can do for me."

"My king, forgive me. I only... the roads are not easy. I inquire as to your own health. To that of your people, old and new."

"My people. My..." The king growls. "Much has occurred. Very much indeed."

A shadow darkens the space between the canopy. The curtains are drawn back as Bryce grunts. The king's burly figure is limned in the firelight at his back.

He sits and the mattress jostles from his weight. You blink as he reaches for your hand. "My summer maid. You are awake. You sensed me, didn't you?" His tone is softer. Before, it was salt and steel. Now it is as velvet. He brings your knuckles to his lips. "How I missed you sorely. How I dreamt of you." He looks back, "A lamp, sir."

Bryce returns a dutiful "aye" and lights a lamp, moving it closer to shine upon you. You lower your lashes at the glow. The king cradles your chin and tilts your face up.

"Oh, my summer maid. My beloved," his thumb strokes your cheek. "You are... oh, my heart. To see you as this. So delicate, so frail."

You stifle as cough and touch his sleeve, "my king, I am better by the day."

"You..." his mouth falls open. "Oh, your voice..." He lets you go and takes your hand instead. He brings it to his cheek and leans into your touch. He has a beard. As thick and white as the hair on his head. "I hear how the winter has ravaged you but you are strong. You survive. For us." He kisses your hand again. He clings to it and turns to face the soldier. "You were to keep her safe."

"Eh? She's safe."

"She is... barely," the king accuses.

"No, no, you know better. You know how the ague carries on the winds. You will not say this is me--"

"My king," you croak and tug on his hand, though it is a pathetic attempt to move such a man. He flinches and looks at you. "Sir Bryce fended off the wolves and the foxes. He saw me here. He saw me to this place... he has kept me warm and he has healed me." You put your other hand on his. You haven't the strength to make him do as you will, so you can only use what you have. Your kindness. "He brought me home, didn't he?"

The king's expression eases, "yes, treasure." He moves closer and leans his forehead against yours. "We are home."

[greeenchrysanthemums]

The timeline of past events for the GG rivals au

Year 547:

War breaks out between Wintertide and Coral Crest.

Impulse and Skizz join the army.

Etho leaves his village to fight in the war (he is 16)

Years 548-49:

Etho grows to be feared and infamous.

Year 550:

Grian and Pearl meet (they are 14 and 13).

Year 551:

Ren becomes king following the suspicious death of his father (he is 24; young for a king)

Year 552:

Scott becomes Impulse's squire.

Grian vanishes, leaving Pearl all alone.

Joel becomes Lizzies personal guard.

year 553:

Etho is captured by Coral Crest -> set free by Joel.

Mumbo and Grian meet.

Pearl starts her mercenary work.

Wintertide and Coral Crest enter a tense and hostile truce at the very end of the year.

year 554:

Whispers of a resistance in Wintertide begin.

Year 555:

Etho helps Mumbo and joins the resistance.

Scott becomes a knight.

Pearl and Scott meet.

Martyn joins the Wintertide army.

Year 556:

Gem leaves her village and becomes Impulse's squire (she is 17).

Gem and Grian have their first run-in and Gem is promoted to knight.

Cleo joins the resistance.

Year 557:

Jimmy and Tango join the resistance.

Bigb joins the resistance.

Marytn and Ren grow close -> Martyn becomes his personal guard.

Etho and Gem cross paths again.

Year 558:

Pearl reunites with Grian.

Pearl befriends Gem.

Year 559:

Grian and Mumbo meet Scar.

Scar agrees to help + joins the resistance.

Year 560-561:

Lots of back and forth between Gem and Grian.

No other major events.

Year 562:

war breaks out again.

Year 563:

Wintertides Commander dies -> Gem takes over.

Year 564:

Coral Crests ruler dies -> Lizzie takes over.

another uneasy truce is made, and fighting is halted.

Years 665-66:

Relative peace between the kingdoms

Some back and forth between Gem and Grian, but things seem to be pretty quiet on the resistance's part.

Year 567:

Current events

[waywardstation]

APOLOGIES FOR DISAPPEARING RIGHT AFTER THE SEXYMAN POLLS POSTS I got very sick once again ^^;

BUT I have stuff to post!! I have a project participation announcement, and I have asks/messages to get to, and art and fics to post too. Thank you for your patience as I start things up again ^^

[umblrspectrum]

ive been struggling big time coming up with anything funny to draw that hasnt been done yet so have my rw au art dump

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I’m the anon who sent you that ask about Sonic and Shadow’s relationship in the Chronic Sonic au. If your post saying you ignore long asks was directed at me, can you please just… post the latest version without answering? I would prefer to save it to my likes and maybe have other fans read my thoughts.

thank you

Well no, it wasn’t just directed at you, there are a couple long asks in my inbox (some of which are positive and very beloved and i cherish, Dopambles I’m looking at you <3). But you’ve sent your ask twice now and this one too so I’ll answer this one. I don’t really want to make this a big long thing, but I also don’t really wanna leave ya hanging when this seems so important to you so lets do this (everyone else can ignore this if ya want I’m going long-winded through everything.)

So, reasons i don’t like to respond to or even post long asks sometimes lets do this [cracks knuckles]

1. I don’t like posting things onto my blog that I haven’t checked over first. I struggle a lot in reading and comprehending long asks. I don’t know why, it’s weird, okay. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not gonna blindly post walls of texts to my blog without checking them over first, because I want to make sure I’m filtering asks so nothing harmful gets posted to my blog. You’d be surprised at how whack a lot of anons can get. Not to say your ask was whack, but I also am struggling to read it so it’s hard to say for sure! It’s not due to the nature of your ask, it is simply because my brain be like dat.

2. Sometimes, I just don’t like having to scroll through walls of texts that aren’t my own to get to my latest posts. I get a lot of asks as it is. I do love answering them, but when they get long, the amount of time it takes to scroll through em makes it hard to refer back to my previous posts and is just is not intuitive or fun when interacting with my own blog, which leads me to my next point

3. This is my space. My blog is by me for me. I choose to post and share to interact and have fun with other people but at the end of the day this blog is my space. I did not create it for anyone other than me. I welcome the people who find joy in my stories here, but this remains my space. If i was being paid for this it’d be different, I’d absolutely curate and change things to make it a better and easier experience for those that i charged to be here, but like… I’m not being paid for this? And to ask me to do what you want in my space so that you can have the experience you want is… i dunno it sounds a little entitled. (I’m not saying that you ARE entitled, only that it sounds like it to me personally.) Contacting me even after I expressed my difficulty in answering asks to try and convince me to post it for your sake is a little rude. I’m not a professional creator, I’m not a person with fans, I’m just a random dude trying to have a good time with other people on a dumpster-fire website. I’m not a creator trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time. This is what i do in my free time to relax and—

4. —being a moderator for other peoples hc’s and conversations is not personally relaxing to me. My blog is not a public confessions blog and I am not a public message board. I am honoured when people share their personal stories and how what I doodle has helped them feel seen and that things will be okay, but I’m not a place for other people to come say what they want to each other, I’m a person, not a message board. How other people use Tumblr is up to them, however, I am not going to change how I use tumblr so that you can have a better experience when it will make the experience worse for me.

5. If i answer asks, I don’t draw. And I like drawing. If I’m posting asks (even without answering them) and stressing about being the middle man in conversations that I will have to regulate to make sure conversations stay kind, that takes a lot of time and energy and I got so incredibly burnt out when i tried to do that. So i stopped. And I will not be starting up again simply so you can have a good time, because I will have a bad one. And this is my space to not have a bad time. If something stresses me out, I will not do it here, it is as simple as that. I have my whole irl to be stressed about.

These are some of the reasons I don’t like to post long asks. I have notified you that I struggle to read, I don’t understand why you continue pushing. I have amazing anon’s who send wonderful long asks who have been kind and considerate with me about my struggles reading and processing. They continue to send their wonderful asks and have assured me it’s okay if I never post them. I am confused as to why you cannot seem to respect my decision as well.

The final reason regarding my hesitance in posting your ask in particular is simply that your hc was not accurate to how I was aiming to portray the characters in the current timeline. You are more than welcome to hc and speculate, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I cannot simply post it without answering it like you suggest because I would need to clarify that it’s not true. When I used to do that, people would start to misinterpret my au’s and it stressed me out. It takes hours for me to write up responses to things sometimes because I want to make sure I’m being kind and thoughtful and accurate. I am honoured that you shared something personal but what you wrote is simply not where the characters are at right now. It could be them in the future, but it is still early in the au so that kind of resentment hasn’t set in yet. Shadow is hurting because he’s taking the brunt of Sonic’s negativity but he is resigned to it because for him nothing else matters as long as Sonic stays alive, even if he has to be the person Sonic hates in all this and that is heavy. He’s angry at him when he does not take care of himself, but he is not resentful. Sonic struggles with being a burden on all of his friends, not just Shadow. The way you described the relationship was closer to how Tails and Sonic interact than Shadow and Sonic and even then, there’s more going on that I just don’t have the time or energy to really walk through. And besides, I want to save that energy to draw out things later.

As i shared with another commenter who asked something similar, I can absolutely DM you your ask back if you want to save it. However I don’t understand why you need me to post it to save it your likes if you simply want to save it. You have your own blog you can post it to. Why does it need to be on my blog? Why do I have to do extra work so you can have an easier time to do what you want? I am very grateful for your interaction and love of my comic, and I understand it’s frustrating when people make things harder for you to have a good time, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me by asking me to change how I use tumblr to suit your wants instead of what is easiest for me. I am not a public service you pay for. I am a person, a full time student with family issues, struggling siblings that I’m trying to help, a person who is struggling myself. I have a limited amount of energy in a day, I get tired quickly. If i want to continue to find joy in drawing I have to set boundaries. You may not always know why someone does something, I guarantee there is more here that I will not share because it is personal. Sometimes you just have to be okay with not knowing, you have to be okay not understanding, and you have to be okay without an explanation that makes sense to you. All you need to do is understand that often times there is a reason people behave the way they do. It’s not a reflection on you or their opinion of you, it is simply many other factors at play that lead to such an outcome.

I sincerely hope this did not offend you, I am not angry with you, nor do I wish for any of this to be taken as scolding or upset you. If it has come across that way, I apologize. I am sorry I am not in a state to give you what you want, and I’m thankful for your patience with me in reading through this and I hope it is enough to at least paint a little bit of a picture as to why I will not be posting your ask. It’s unfortunate that I ended up spending hours addressing this anyway both to you and to another commenter—the very thing I wanted to avoid—but I value you as a person and did not want to leave you feeling negatively if I could change that. I hope this does not affect your enjoyment or experience with how you were having fun with my au, and if it does I am deeply regretful. However, I do have to set boundaries and make sure I’m doing okay or there would be no AU at all. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you have a day as kind as you are.

[exile-arc]

it's meant to be the happy time of year - c!tommy + if we make it through december (phoebe bridgers cover)

❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️ / ❄️